Page 36
The woman in his chair looked offended. “I'm only repeating what I heard.”
“That's how these things start,” Ricky said, resuming his work. “One person says something they don't know, another adds a detail, and by lunchtime Harvey's been murdered by a pirate with a poisoned harpoon.”
I laughed, although the thought of a pirate in Hartwell Cove was less disturbing than the fact that a real person had been killed in our town. The conversation shifted to Harvey's ex-wife, then to Owen Price and his public argument with Harvey on Friday. Someone claimed Owen was about to lose his marina business. Someone else said Harvey had been threatening to foreclose on half the town. Neither story came with a source more reliable than a cousin, a friend, or a person who'd overheard something while waiting for coffee.
I listened without contributing much. I had seen Harvey and Owen arguing, and I knew the exchange had involved bank numbers or terms of some kind. I also knew Harvey had received a message that had visibly unsettled him. Those were facts. Everything else was speculation.
Ricky finished with his client and came over to sit on the edge of the counter. “So, how are you really?”
“I'm tired.”
“That I can see. I mean, about last night.”
I looked toward the window. Harbor Lights and Dixie’s Dockside Dinette stood next door to each other, and people were already carrying conversations from one doorway to the other. The festival had been the biggest event in town all weekend, and now its final evening was going to be remembered for a murder. There was no way to keep people from talking about it.
“I'm alright,” I said. “It was horrible, obviously. I keep thinking about how normal everything seemed just before it happened.”
Ricky's expression softened. “I know. I was right there with you. I keep replaying the evening, wondering if I saw anything that might have mattered.”
“You told Josiah what you remembered.”
“I know. It just feels like I should have noticed more.”
“You can't notice everything, Ricky.”
He gave me a doubtful look, but before he could answer, the door opened, and Tammy walked in carrying a tray of coffees.
“I stopped at Dixie’s,” she explained, setting the tray down carefully. “I got one for you in case you were here, Max. You wouldn't believe what people are saying over there.”
“I'm afraid I can guess,” I said, accepting the cup.
“One woman was convinced Owen had been arrested, and another swore the sheriff had found the murder weapon in Harvey's car.”
“Neither of which is true,” I said.
“I know. June told them to stop making things up, but that only made them lower their voices and carry on.”
Ricky shook his head. “The whole town's turned into an amateur detective agency.”
“An amateur detective agency with no standards of evidence,” I added.
“That's the worst kind.”
Tammy sat beside me and studied my face. “Have you spoken to Josiah today?”
“No.”
“Are you going to?”
“I need to get my car back. I'll call the sheriff's office and find out whether the parking area is accessible.”
She nodded, accepting the practical answer, though I suspected she understood there was more behind it. I wasn't ready to discuss the conversation I'd had with Josiah at my house, and I wasn't going to start now in the middle of Ricky's salon. I took another sip of coffee, grateful for something to do with my hands.
As if the thought had summoned him, the door opened again, and Josiah stepped inside. The room didn't go silent, exactly, but the conversations faltered. A woman near the reception desk suddenly became very interested in her phone. The client in Ricky's chair twisted around to look, earning a gentle warning to keep her head still.
Josiah wore his sheriff's uniform, and there were shadows beneath his eyes that hadn't been there the last time I'd seen him. He looked as though he'd spent the night working, which was probably exactly what he'd done. His gaze found mine almost immediately. Something shifted in his expression, too fleeting for me to name, before he turned to Ricky.
“Morning. Sorry to interrupt.”
