Kyra slipped on her leather jacket and zipped it up to her neck. She followed Tarek down the dock toward the boat slips, taking care not to catch her stilettos in the decking slats. Tarek stopped short, and Kyra barely avoided running into him. She peered around him, and there, in the third slip, was a large luxury pleasure boat with a navy hull. Toward the front end, on the bow, painted in silver calligraphy, was the boat’s name. The Island Pearl.
“This is it?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
“Yes,” Tarek said, his voice just as soft.
Kyra blinked, taking it in. She crept closer for a better view, but Tarek held out his arm and nudged her back, angling his body in front of her.
“Hello?” he called, raising his voice to carry over the lapping waves. “Police.”
“Oh, uh. Hello?” a voice responded, and a young man emerged from the shadows. He was holding what Kyra thought might be a beer bottle. The dark blue of his Coast Guard uniform made him nearly invisible until he stood right beneath the boat’s lights. “Can I help you?”
“Good evening. I’m Detective Collins with the Massachusetts State Police. Is this the Hawthorns’ boat, The Island Pearl?”
“Umm, yeah.” The man raised his beer and gestured to himself. “I’m Brody. With the Coast Guard.” He pointed to his uniform and sloshed his beer. “Goddammit.” He swiped at his chest. “You need something?” he asked, frowning down at his stained shirt.
“Brody?” Tarek asked. “As in Brody McAllister?”
“Yeah, what of it?” Brody’s eyes snapped up to Tarek.
“You found Ed Gibson.”
“Who?”
“You found the man who drowned in the harbor last January.” Tarek’s tone was patient and conversational, like he was asking for directions, not talking about finding a dead body.
“The dead drunk guy?” Brody barked a laugh.
Kyra stiffened.
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “So what?”
Her indignation at Brody’s callous response to finding her father turned to surprise when Tarek found her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze, silently telling her to remain quiet.
“When do you return to the station on the mainland?” Tarek asked.
“I’m here for a while. Why?”
“I just had a few follow-up questions. I’ve got my card.” Tarek dropped her hand and pulled a business card from his pocket. He held it up. “Can we meet up?”
Brody made a doubtful face.
“I’ll buy you a drink.”
“Yeah, sure.” Brody descended to the stern to meet Tarek and held out his hand to take the card. Tarek stepped up to The Island Pearl and gave a low, appreciative whistle when he was close enough to get a better look.
Kyra choked. You’ve got to be kidding. Tarek glanced at her. A warning flashed in his eyes.
“Beautiful,” Tarek said as he turned back to the boat.
“Yeah, one of the nicest in the marina, which is saying something.” Brody rolled his shoulders back. He took the card and glanced at it before slipping it into his back pocket. “I’ll catch you soon, Collins. Ma’am.” He raised his beer to Kyra, turned, and disappeared into the shadows.
“Ma’am? Really?” Kyra hissed. “I’m offended. I’m not that much older than that guy.”
“Come on, granny. Now I’m famished.”
They walked up the street along the harbor, their backs to the yacht club.
“There was someone else on that boat he didn’t want me seeing,” Tarek said.
“Really?” She turned back, squinting in the darkness. The light from the moon and the club seemed to converge on the silvery script on the yacht’s bow. “You know, Dr. Brian was reaming out his wife for flirting with a Coast Guard officer at the party.”
When Tarek raised his eyebrow. Kyra filled him in on the argument she’d overheard. “She stormed off. Maybe it was her?”
“Maybe.” He tilted his head, considering it. “This is it.” Tarek guided her toward a door set in a fieldstone foundation covered in English ivy. It opened into a warm, low-lit pub. Kyra paused in the entryway while her eyes adjusted to the dim interior lighting, cast from mismatched brass and pewter sconces. The room came into focus. A fire roared in a deep stone hearth on the far side of the pub. The paneled wainscotting absorbed the din, muffling the voices of the patrons sitting at simple wooden tables shoved into every nook and cranny. The air was tinged with a dampness that came from decades of spilled beer and stone walls.
“It’s just like the ones in England.” Her voice came out breathy.
“I thought you’d like it.” Tarek’s warm breath tickled her ear, and her heart stuttered.
She hadn’t realized he was standing so close behind her.
“Tarek!” a voice boomed. An enormous man wearing a flannel shirt, the sleeves rolled up past his elbows displaying his tattoos, appeared. He’d tucked dishcloths in various pockets, and they fluttered around him like streamers. He strode up and clasped Tarek’s hand, then gathered him into a bear hug. “Good to see you, man.” The giant stepped back. He was at least a head taller than the detective, making Kyra feel tiny. He slapped his big hand down on the detective’s shoulder. “This way.” He stepped toward the dining area, then turned around and looked Kyra up and down. His eyes narrowed. “Bar or table?”
“Bar,” Kyra said, raising her chin. “Please.”
“I like her already.” He grinned at Tarek, who let out a long-suffering sigh, earning a chuckle from the giant. He held out an enormous mitt of a hand to Kyra. “Gully.”
“Kyra. Nice to meet you, Gully.”
“Come on back.” He led them toward a bar in the rear of the pub. Tarek pulled out the barstool closest to the fire for Kyra to sit. Gully walked around the bar and, wiping his hands on one of his towels, asked, “What can I get you?”
“You’re tending bar?” Tarek asked.
Gully shrugged. “You know how it is in the off-season. I’ve got eight bartenders scheduled to start Memorial Day weekend, but until then, it’s me, or no drinks.” He grinned and turned to Kyra. “Don’t order anything too fancy.”
She wasn’t sure if he was teasing her.
“This place is open all year round,” Tarek explained. “It’s a few hundred years old, built by an English sea captain.”
“So goes the legend.” Gully nodded. “But take that with a grain of salt. The island has an unreliable but colorful history of drunk sailors and teetotalers. This part of the building has always been a tavern, though.” He pointed to the ceiling. “Above us is storage space for the fancy hotel next door.” He gestured toward the ocean. “The legends say the tavern was even open during prohibition to those islanders who knew about it, and they used the hotel as part of the bootlegging trade.”
“Really?” Kyra asked, looking at the pub in a new light.
Gully winked at her. “The tourists love a good story.”
“How long have you been coming here?” Kyra asked after Gully had taken their order. “The island, I mean.”
“Since high school. Gully and I would get summer jobs. Gully worked in the restaurants and eventually bought this one a few years back. I worked at a bike shop, in construction, and for a few hours I drove a tour bus.”
“A tour bus?” she repeated, unable to picture it.
“I crashed it…” He shrugged. “And then for the last few summers, I was a lifeguard on the beach by your house.”
That fit. Of course, he’s a swimmer.
“Wait, you crashed a tour bus?”
“First, it was empty. Second, it wasn’t my fault, not really. No one explained emergency brakes to me. How was I supposed to know? I parked it, and it just rolled down the hill and slammed into the seawall.” He mimed a car rolling down a hill and exploding. “Completely totaled. I was fired on the spot. That’s when I started lifeguarding. Worse pay, better view.”
“You swam, then?” she asked, laughing at the image Tarek had described.
“Yup, high school and college. Scholarship.”
“And you know Gully from home? Where’s that?” To her surprise, she wasn’t just trying to make polite small talk. She was genuinely interested in the detective’s story.
“We grew up together in Worcester, a city west of Boston.” He focused on her, and she felt a not uncomfortable warmth radiate from her collarbones. “And how about you? Where did you grow up?”
“Our house was technically in New York, but we were rarely there,” Kyra said, guessing he probably knew everything about her since he ran checks. “After my mom died, I went to live with my aunt in London.” She gave him a thin smile. “It’s not a great story.” She met Tarek’s intense gaze, then dropped her eyes to her wineglass, feeling self-conscious.
“And your dad? Where was he?” Tarek asked.
“He was a war correspondent, so he traveled a lot. I think after my mom died, he went to Beirut or Aleppo? He was rarely in one place for long.” She didn’t look up, afraid he’d look at her the way everyone did, with pity, when they realized she’d been essentially orphaned as a child.
“That must have been hard.” Kyra’s heart sank at his sympathetic tone.
Gully brought their food, setting the plates down on the bar. Kyra gave him a grateful smile.
“This looks delicious,” she exclaimed as Gully slid a cheeseburger in front of her and a lobster roll in front of Tarek. Between them, he placed an enormous plate of fries.
Gully took Tarek’s empty beer glass and grinned. “Another round?”
Tarek looked at Kyra. She nodded and grabbed a handful of French fries.
Kyra snuck another fry from the depleted plate. “I couldn’t eat another thing.”
Tarek leaned back and patted his flat stomach. “Me either,” he said with a smile.
“Amateurs.” Gully cleared away their plates and wiped down the bar. “Can I get you guys anything else?”
“No. Thank you. My burger was delicious.” She sighed. “The English just don’t know how to make a proper burger.”
“It’s the fat content. See, most countries and departments of health recommend a higher meat-to-fat ratio, but not here in the good ol’ US of A. We like a solid fifty-fifty.”
Kyra gaped at him. No.
“He’s kidding,” Tarek said. “It’s closer to seventy-thirty.”
“Next you’re going to be telling her we don’t use bacon fat in the fryer.” Gully shook his head in mock disappointment.
Kyra’s eyes went back and forth between them. She didn’t know if they were teasing her.
“How long you in town?” Gully asked Tarek.
“Just a few more days, probably.”
Kyra caught him watching her before turning his eyes back to Gully. Gully’s beard twitched.
“You’re on the case of the fire at Mander Lane?”
“Yeah.” Tarek spun his beer glass on the bar. “I need to follow up with some people in Boston, but I think I’ll have to come back at some point.”
“You be careful.” Gully wiped his hands on his dishcloth, then his eyes traveled back to Kyra. His head tilted to the side while he studied her through narrowed eyes. “You, too.”
Kyra straightened in her seat. Goosebumps rose on her arms.
“I’m always careful,” Tarek scoffed. “You ready?” he asked, turning to her.
Kyra nodded and pulled on her jacket.
“Don’t be a stranger.” Gully shook his friend’s hand. “And bring her back. I like her.”
Tarek ignored him and ushered her out. She was aware of his hand on the small of her back, guiding her out of the restaurant. Before stepping outside, she looked back over her shoulder. Gully was still standing behind the bar, watching them. He raised his hand in a halfhearted wave and stepped out of sight.
The crisp evening air was a welcome change from the warm stuffiness of the pub. Kyra inhaled the refreshing scents of flowers and the sea. They turned away from Gully’s place and walked up the street. She zipped up her jacket and stuffed her hands in her pockets, wishing she was wearing something warmer … and her sneakers. Her feet were murder.
“The car is that way, I think.” Kyra pointed in the opposite direction.
“I texted the station, and they sent us a ride. Also, it gives forensics the opportunity to search your car. They’ll pick it up, give it a once-over, and drop it off in the morning.”
It was then she noticed the patrol car parked at the corner. The officer gave them a wave through the window. Tarek opened the rear door for her. She slid in, and Tarek climbed in behind her. The bench seat was made of a hard, slippery plastic, as was the floor, making it difficult for her to find a stable, comfortable position.
“It’s a short ride.” Tarek gestured to the bare-bones interior. “All set,” he called to the driver and tapped on the ceiling.
The officer’s head swiveled around, and he gave them a thumbs-up. The patrol car lurched forward, throwing Kyra into Tarek’s chest, and his arm went around her shoulders, steadying her.
“Sorry.” The officer glanced back at them in the rearview mirror, the creases at his eyes deepening. “The roads are terrible this year.”
The car snaked out of town, weaving to avoid potholes.
“It’s so dark.” Kyra peered out the window. The only light came from the moon and stars.
“Yes, ma’am. Not a lot of lights out here.”
Kyra made a face at the second ma’am of the evening. She felt, more than heard, Tarek’s chuckle at her back.
Kyra took in the island at night. The darkness made it difficult to make out recognizable landmarks, and they pulled into her driveway much earlier than she’d expected. The officer brought the car to a halt close to the walkway. Tarek grabbed her arm to keep her from sliding off the seat from the change in momentum.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, untangling herself.
“Boy, Wes Silva sure did a good job on this old house,” the officer said, dipping down in his seat to get a better view through the windshield.
“You know Wes Silva?” Kyra asked, leaning forward.
Tarek’s hand slipped away.
“Yes, ma’am.” Kyra bit her tongue. Seriously!? “He was a few years above me, but he was in the same grade as my cousin,” the officer said, as if that explained everything.
He came around and opened the car door to let her out. She debated whether to invite Tarek in for a drink. Her heels caught in the gravel, and she stumbled.
“Whoa, careful there.” The officer gripped her elbow, keeping her upright. “Good thing the detective got you a ride, huh?”
“Yes, um, thank you.” She turned back to Tarek, who was still in the car, watching her. He looked like he was trying not to laugh. Right, then. No drink.
“Goodnight, and thanks for coming to the party. Um … and for dinner.” She turned to the officer. “And the ride.”
“No problem.” The officer grinned and climbed back into the driver’s seat.
“Night, Kyra,” she heard Tarek call after her. “Talk to you tomorrow.”
She pushed open the door and felt along the wall for the light switch. Her fingers found the panels, and the room flooded with light. She shut the door behind her and locked it. Sighing, she slipped off her cursed heels and tossed them in a corner. She headed toward the kitchen, turning on lights as she went. The police cruiser’s wheels crunched on the gravel as it left the driveway. A loud yowl welcomed her home. Cronkite announced his presence with another meow and rubbed his face against her calf.
“Hungry?” She reached down to scratch the cat’s ears. He pushed into her hand and purred. Kyra pulled down a bowl and poured out his kibble when her eyes fell on the phone, still plugged into the wall. “The phone!” She dropped Cronk’s bowl on the counter and reached for it, ignoring the cat’s withering stare. She pressed the power button, and the phone booted up. “Yes!” She fist pumped into the air. Before she could open the menus, Cronk jumped on the counter. He let out a cry, demanding her immediate and unwavering attention to his dinner needs. “All right,” she grumbled. “I’ll feed you.”
Kyra fed the cat and reached for her own phone. She snapped a photo of the burner’s lit-up screen and shot a text off to Detective Collins.
The phone powered on.
He responded a few seconds later. I’ll bring your car back in the morning. Don’t do anything until I’m there.
Kyra frowned, annoyed. “Whatever. I won’t do anything.” She stalked upstairs to bed, leaving the phone plugged into the wall.