See You at Sunset (6 page)

Embarrassed and still feeling guilty, Holly shoved her hands in the pockets of her jeans and stared down at the floor. “Thanks, Aiden.”

“Chin up, girl. Everything will sort itself out. See you later.”

By the time she looked up, Aiden was heading out the door. But standing in front of him, pretty much blocking his way, was Seashell Bay’s gorgeous deputy sheriff.

The guys exchanged a few words and a fist bump before Aiden strode off. Holly had to shake herself into action, partly because they were two of the hottest guys on planet Earth and any red-blooded girl would be struck dumb at the vision of all that hotness in close proximity, and partly because she tended to freeze whenever she saw Micah these days.

That development was incredibly annoying. The man had been one of her best friends all her life, and yet damned if she didn’t feel like a nervous teenage girl when she thought about being alone with him, even in the store.

“Coffee, Deputy?” she asked brightly. As he strode up, she took a step back to lean against the back counter. The extra four feet of distance did little to diminish the impact of his overwhelming masculinity or the way his tall, muscled form seemed to make the store shrink around him.

“Hell, yeah. You know how I need caffeine in this high-pressure job,” he said as he laid his deputy’s hat on the counter. He flashed her a quick, charming grin. “It’s getting hot out there already.”

It was getting pretty hot inside the store too. She felt herself flushing, even though the store’s aging but still-efficient air-conditioning kept things at a steady seventy-three degrees.

Hormones, dammit.
And she wasn’t anywhere near old enough to blame it on early menopause.

Since Micah took his coffee black, all Holly had to do was pour a cup, put a lid on it, and set it on the counter. And, yes, she was avoiding handing it to him in case their hands brushed. “There you go. I just made a new pot a few minutes ago.”

Micah reached into his pocket and pulled out a small wad of bills.

Holly rolled her eyes. “Put your money away, my friend. It’s on the house, as always. Cops and firefighters don’t pay for coffee in this establishment.”

Micah shook his head. “Maybe not before, but now they do. At least this one does. Holly, I’m sure as hell not taking free coffee when Florence and Beatrice are obviously struggling.”

As hard as her aunts had tried to keep the store’s financial woes under the radar, Micah clearly knew they had more problems than the prospect of competition from a convenience store chain. Though the Jenkins General Store was looking tired, she suspected most people on the island had failed to realize how bad things were. Then again, Micah knew pretty much everything that was going on in Seashell Bay, often via Miss Annie, in whom Florence and Beatrice usually confided.

“It’s just a cup of coffee, Micah,” Holly said.

His expression was polite but implacable. “Doesn’t matter. It’s the principle. And I’m going to buy everything I can here from now on. No more picking stuff up in town just because it’s a little cheaper. Islanders have been doing that more than we should.”

He pushed a five-dollar bill across the counter. “And don’t give me any change,” he said with a little growl roughening his deep voice. Holly found it adorable—also totally sexy, which she would
not
think more about.

“You’re a doll,” she said as she picked up the bill. “But I’m not going to breathe a word of this to Florence and Beatrice. They’d shun me for accepting money from the law.”

His grimace signaled his discomfort with the conversation. “They’ll just have to get used to it.”

He seemed almost as nervous as she felt. “Just how bad are things anyway?” he asked after a few moments of awkward silence. “There are rumors that the store might have a hard time surviving, Night Owl or no Night Owl.”

Crap.
The last thing they needed was that sort of damaging gossip.

“You know what, I think I could use some coffee too.”

That was a lie, but she needed a moment to get herself settled, so she turned her back on him and reached for a paper cup. When she’d filled it and turned around again, Micah hadn’t moved a muscle. He was just a brawny force of nature planted in front of her, his big hands resting on the counter as he patiently waited for her to answer.

When she didn’t immediately reply, he blew out an exasperated breath. “That bad, huh?” he said. “It’s written all over your face, babe.”

She didn’t know which was worse—the way his casually uttered
babe
sent chills rocketing down her spine or the fact that he could so easily read her. Then again, Micah had always been skilled at reading people, which she supposed was one of the reasons he was such a good cop.

No point in pretending with Deputy Hottie.
“Quite bad. I did a little snooping through the files yesterday.” She gave a nervous little laugh. “I know that’s not very nice, but I needed the truth. My aunts just won’t level with me when it comes to the store. It’s like they’d rather quietly die than let people know they’re in trouble.”

His dark gaze warmed with understanding. “They’re proud people. Most islanders are like that.”

Yeah, but they were a little too proud sometimes. And that applied to her too. Maybe it was time she started asking for help, or at least a sympathetic ear. For some reason, she wanted that to be Micah.

“No kidding, and unless I can talk them into finally making some changes, I’m not sure the place will make it. They’ve been losing money for over a year, Micah. Florence and Beatrice still have some savings they built up in decent years, but when that kitty runs dry, all they’ll have left is social security to live on for the rest of their lives.”

If her new firm succeeded, Holly would gladly support them. But she knew they would hate that idea. They’d been so independent and so hardworking their entire lives. The situation was just massively unfair.

Micah grimaced again. “That would totally suck, but at least they’ll have their house. You can still live pretty cheaply on the island if you don’t have to carry a mortgage.”

“If I know Florence, she’ll try to mortgage the house rather than give up the store.” She sighed. “I’m not sure her bank would go for it though, which might be a good thing.”

He reached across and gave her shoulder a quick, gentle squeeze. “You’ll think of something. And don’t be afraid to ask for help, okay? Almost everyone in Seashell Bay would go to the mat for you and your aunts, me included.”

Her throat went oddly tight, so she just nodded.

“Well, as much as I’d rather spend the whole morning talking to you,” Micah said, popping the lid on his coffee, “I’d better go earn my salary. That break-in’s not going to solve itself.”

Disappointment flared surprisingly strong. It was silly to want him to stay, but his words had triggered a flood of awful memories that made her pulse start to race. She’d always felt completely safe in Seashell Bay, never having to even think about personal safety or loss.

“I feel terrible for the woman, Micah. She must feel so…”

Violated.
Holly practically gagged on the word.

Micah loomed closer, his gaze narrowing with concern. “Holly, are you okay? What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” she said, flapping a hand. “It’s just that it’s such an awful thing to happen, especially to a newcomer.”

“You got that right,” Micah said. “Fitz was a little freaked out at first but seems fine now. She strikes me as a pretty tough customer.”

Unlike me
, Holly thought grimly. “The fact that someone
seems
fine doesn’t mean they are. I’ll bet she’s hurting and at least a little scared.”

He grimaced. “I know. I’m not always the best at picking up female signals.”

Well, he was pretty adept at picking up
her
signals.

“That’s a common male affliction, for which there is no cure,” she joked, trying to lighten things up. “I hope Fitz has a friend she can talk to.”

“She and Jessie are buds.” He dropped his gaze for a moment, apparently thinking. “You know, Fitz always comes down to the Lobster Pot on Darts Night. Maybe you could check in on her. I’m sure she’d appreciate making a new friend.” When he looked up, her stomach dipped with a funny little swoop at the sudden heat in his eyes. “You’ll be coming, right?”

Holly nodded. “Morgan made it clear that she’ll be dragging me to the Pot tonight come hell or high water.”

“Good. Then I’ll see you there.”

“I’ll look forward to it.” Which was certainly the truth, Lord help her.

A moment later, his expression morphed back into that of a serious law enforcement guy. “Holly, I’m going to say this to you and everybody else on this island. You have to lock your doors whenever you leave home, okay? And keep them locked even when you’re in the house. Let’s try to make it at least a bit of a challenge for whoever this asshole is.”

“I promise.” Holly never left her doors unlocked, not anymore. Not after what had happened in Boston.

The drive to Barrington Point took Micah eleven minutes, at least three longer than usual since he had the bad luck to be blocked by a truck carrying Rex Fudge’s old lobster boat. But instead of putting two wheels in the shallow ditch and roaring around the blockage, Micah forced himself to relax and use the extra time to think about Crystal Murphy’s kid, Justin Gore.

Justin had graduated from high school last year after a tough slog. For most of his nineteen years, his mom had raised him by herself. His father, a drunk who had worked off and on at the wharf, had taken off to the mainland around the time Justin turned ten. Things hadn’t gotten any better for the kid since. He was widely perceived on the island as lazy and careless and, so far, incapable of growing up.

Crystal’s beaten-up trailer nestled in a pretty stand of beech and maple trees on a lane just off Island Road. Most islanders who lived in modest homes, even those that could rightfully be called shacks, tried hard to keep them clean and tidy. Not Crystal and Justin. Maybe Crystal was just too worn out by life to make the effort, and Justin apparently didn’t give a damn.

The rickety wooden step at the door had sunk well down into the soft earth at an angle. When Micah stepped gingerly onto it, it rocked enough to almost make him lose his balance. He knocked twice on the screen door.

Justin appeared, rubbing a hand across his eyes. He was dressed in a faded black T-shirt and patterned black-and-white boxers. The young man was about average height but weighed no more than a hundred thirty pounds soaking wet.

“What?” he grumbled.

“Hi, Justin. Is your mom home by any chance?”

The young man shook his head, his black, curly hair drooping down onto his forehead. “Nah, she’s got the day shift this week.”

“Well, it’s you I wanted to talk to anyway.”

“Talk to me about what?” Justin asked warily.

“Mind if I come in first?”

“Mom doesn’t like people coming inside.”

Because it’s a dump or because you’ve got a stash and she’s protecting you?

Her son was the only family Crystal had, so Micah wouldn’t blame her for trying to protect him. “Okay, we’ll sit down at the picnic table then.”

Justin stared daggers at Micah for about ten seconds. Then he shuffled sideways and slipped his feet into a pair of flip-flops before opening the door and stepping out. “I don’t have any weed, if that’s what this is about.”

In the past couple of years, Micah had caught Justin smoking pot three times and each time had let him go with a warning. The last one had included the proviso that, if he caught him a fourth time, a charge would result.

Micah made a point of not going nuts if the local kids toked up from time to time as long as they didn’t do it openly, and as long as nothing harder was involved. He figured a little marijuana was part of growing up. But he wouldn’t put up with flagrant use. When he caught Justin and one of his pals brazenly lighting up down at the dock as they waited for Crystal’s ferry to arrive—and there were about forty people on hand to smell the pungent odor—it had ended his patience.

He took off his sunglasses and sat down with his back to the sun.

“Okay, what?” Justin slipped onto the bench opposite Micah.

“Start by telling me everything you did yesterday from eight in the morning until five thirty. I’ve got plenty of time, so don’t leave anything out.”

Justin squinted hard, angling a hand against his forehead to shade his eyes. “I was right here all day, just like I am every day. Listening to music. Surfing the Net. Same old boring shit.”

“I’m guessing your mom was at work since you said she’s on the day shift at the restaurant.”

Justin nodded.

“That means nobody can vouch for your claim that you were here all day, right?”

“Doesn’t mean I wasn’t,” the kid said petulantly. “Where do you think I was?”

“Your mom still on those antidepressants?” Micah said, changing tack. “And she was on tranquilizers for a while too, as I recall.” Crystal had never hidden her problems, especially not when she’d had a few beers down at the Lobster Pot. Seashell Bay folks sympathized with her because she worked hard and tried to be a good mom.

Justin shrugged. “You’ll have to ask her about that.”

“Any drugs in the trailer? Prescription or otherwise?”

“Not as far as I know.”

Micah stared into the kid’s light brown eyes, trying to make contact even though Justin was continually shifting his gaze. “Okay, then I don’t suppose you’d mind me having a quick look around in there?”

“Mom wouldn’t like that. She never lets people inside.” Justin’s eyes dropped, probably in embarrassment. “It’s kind of a mess.”

“I get it, Justin,” he said gently. “But you’re not a minor anymore. It’s okay for
you
to give me permission. If you really don’t have anything to hide, this whole thing could end right here. And believe me, I’m not going to judge you or your mom because of a messy house.”

Justin thought for couple of moments and then made a gesture of resignation. “Okay, but please leave Mom’s stuff alone or she’ll kill me.”