Close to the Bone

10

Cate walked to Buzz’s Head Shop from Henry’s office, her mind spinning with possibilities.

Who would steal the bones?

Someone who didn’t want them identified.

Hence, the killer.

The teenage girl’s killer was still on the island.

Or a drug seeker took them just for the heck of it.

She sighed and adjusted her scarf. The temperature wasn’t horrible, but the wind was icy. Passing Cheater’s Bookstore, she glanced in the windows and saw an employee watching TV behind the sales desk. No customers. Buzz’s Head Shop was next. She tried to open the door, but it was locked. Spotting the sign that stated the shop opened at nine a.m., she checked the time. It was past ten.

What did I expect from a marijuana dispensary?

Two years ago Jerry Hooper had claimed Becca Conan had been in his pot shop the day she’d disappeared. No other person had seen her. The previous investigators had found Jerry’s sighting to be rather odd because Becca’s boat had been found in Bishop Bay Marina, adjacent to the ferry dock and nearly an hour from Jerry’s pot shop in North Sound. His shop had sold legal drug paraphernalia for decades and then became a licensed dispensary when pot became legal.

“You waiting for me?” a lazy male voice asked.

Jerry strolled her way, keys jingling in his hand. Taking his time as if he didn’t have a care in the world. He probably doesn’t.

“Hey, Jerry.”

He squinted. “Cate?” His eyes lit up. “Nice to see you.”

“Your sign says you open at nine.”

He didn’t look at the sign. “Well, it should say somewhere around nine.” He slid the key in the lock.

“It’s past ten.”

“That’s pretty close.” He grinned, showing impressively white teeth. “You’re lookin’ good. I heard your brother is back.” He pulled the door open, and an odd mix of odors rushed out. Pine, citrus, and grass. Not the skunky smell of smoked pot she’d expected.

“Yes. He’s working for the park service.”

“What can I do for you? You need some help with pain?”

Does everyone know?

Jerry flipped on the lights and unlocked an inside door that allowed him behind a glass case. It looked like a case in a bakery, but instead of displaying cakes, this one presented large mason jars of the dried green herb. The jars and case were impeccably clean and arranged in perfect rows. Each jar had a neatly printed label.

Purple Power. Blue Haze. Lemon Haze. White Widow.

What’s the difference between Blue and Lemon?

“No pain. I’m reviewing the Becca Conan case.”

“Yeah. The author’s missing kid. I heard they found some bones on his island. Is that why you’re reviewing it?”

“Who told you about the bones?”

He leaned both arms on the case, his easygoing gaze looking her up and down. “Everybody is talking about it. You know how it is.”

“Two years ago you said she’d tried to buy marijuana from you.”

“Yep.”

“You sure it was her?”

“She looked like the picture being passed around by the police. Young girl—way too young—who wouldn’t show ID when I asked for it.” He yawned. “I told her to leave, and she left. That was it.”

“Were you stoned?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “I don’t smoke the stuff, but I am around it, so I’m always in a good mood.”

“How come you don’t have security cameras?”

“Don’t need them. If someone commits a crime, where are they going to go?” He spread his hands. “It’s a fucking island.”

Cate couldn’t hold back a smile. Jerry hadn’t changed. “Good to see you, Jerry.” She held up a hand in goodbye and turned toward the door.

“You too, Cate. You here to stay?”

She paused, her hand on the door. “No. Just visiting. Doing a little work.”

“Too bad. I always pegged you and your brother for longtimers. I knew Logan would be back.”

“Maybe someday.”

The door pulled open, and she let go as a man stepped inside. Adam Jacobs. Son of the water taxi driver who’d driven her to Ruby’s Island the night the remains were found. He drew up short as he recognized her, guilt crossing his face.

“Hey, Adam,” she said, enjoying his embarrassment from being seen in the shop by an FBI agent.

“Cate. You sh-shopping?” he stuttered.

“Nope, just talking to Jerry. See ya.”

She pushed the door back open and stepped outside, still entertained by Adam’s shock. If you’re going to buy the stuff, don’t act like a felon. Retying her scarf, she looked up and down the street. Not a car in sight.

Not like back on the mainland. She pictured her Bellingham office. A small hive of action and energy.

I’ll be back to work soon.

She moaned as she remembered she needed to inform her boss the bones had been stolen. Pulling out her phone, she dreaded the call. She was tempted to wait and see if they could locate the bones before the ferry arrived.

Dream on.

“Cate? Is that you, honey?”

A woman approached, covered from head to toe in heavy winter wear with only her eyes and nose showing. It took Cate a moment to place the green eyes. “Good morning, Mrs. Bishop,” she said, watching the woman closely, remembering that Samantha’s mother wasn’t mentally steady.

Marsha Bishop’s eyes warmed. “It’s so good to see you. I’d heard you were back.”

“Just for a bit.”

“And you’re an FBI agent now.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Seems like yesterday you three girls were having sleepovers at our house.” Her gaze was distant. “Music and chatter until all hours of the morning. I miss those days.”

“Those were good times.”

Marsha’s eyes sharpened. “You’ve got to find her, Cate. You and Tessa. No one knows her like the two of you do.”

Cate couldn’t speak. Does she not realize it’s been years since Samantha vanished?

“Those police didn’t take it seriously. They think she’s dead.” Marsha scoffed. “Ridiculous.” Her eyes pleaded with Cate.

“I’ll see what I can do.” What else can I say?

Marsha brightened immediately. “Thank you, dear. I need to get going. Give your grandmother my love.”

She moved past Cate, humming under her breath.

Cate watched her leave and was swamped with guilt about her missing friend.

It can’t hurt to review Samantha’s paperwork.

Henry had swept and vacuumed up the glass and then hammered a piece of plywood over the window from the outside. It looked cheap and ugly, but it would have to do until he found someone to replace the glass. He’d looked online, and no one on the island did window or glass repair.

He wasn’t surprised.

He started scrubbing at the fingerprint powder and made the mess worse. The fine powder simply smeared, unwilling to detach from any surface.

The bell on the office door jingled, and he went out front, happy to step away from the mess in the back. He was pleasantly surprised to see Jane Sutton.

“Morning, Ms. Sutton. Are your hands still bothering you?”

“Oh, no. I just stopped by to see if you needed any help cleaning up.”

Am I more surprised at the offer of help or the fact that she knows I have a mess?

“Do you know everything that happens on the island?” he asked in full seriousness.

“Of course not.” She brushed aside his question with a hand. “I just know how pesky that fingerprint dust can be.” She held up a spray bottle. “I brought this for you.” Her eyes twinkled. “My special mixture.”

“You deal with fingerprint dust often?” he asked dryly, reaching for the bottle.

“Cate was fascinated with law enforcement when she was younger. She went through a stage where she was lifting fingerprints from all over the house. Took me a while, but I put together a recipe that works.”

“You didn’t tell me you were Cate’s grandmother when you were here the other day.” Henry gestured for her to follow him into the back of the clinic.

“You didn’t ask.”

He snorted, liking the woman more and more by the minute. “She was always into crimes, huh?” he asked as he sprayed a light-switch plate.

“Not until her friend Samantha vanished. Then both she and Tessa started talking about careers in law enforcement.”

Henry wiped the light switch and was astonished as the black dust seemed to jump onto his paper towel. “What happens in someone’s past can guide their future,” he said, thinking of his sister.

“She didn’t have to go all the way to the mainland to be in law enforcement,” Jane stated.

Henry glanced back at Jane. She was watching him closely. “Cate told me she’d been shot.”

Jane’s face fell. “She was,” she said softly.

“What exactly happened?” Cate had avoided details at lunch.

“A routine visit. Low threat. She and another agent went to interview a potential witness. They were on the porch, knocked, and when the door opened, the man fired on both of them.”

Henry slowly turned to Jane, horrified by the image in his mind. “I’d never be able to knock on another door.”

Jane nodded. “The other agent died. They were close friends.”

“How long ago was this?”

“Three weeks. I convinced her to come to the island. She has a few more weeks of medical leave.”

“She looks good. I would have never guessed.”

“The island heals,” Jane said simply. “Hurting people come from all over the world. Chronic illnesses, broken hearts, cancer survivors. Many never leave. They find peace. A serenity.”

“Some say being near a body of water will do that,” Henry found himself saying. Am I validating her claim?

“That’s a big part of it. Now Cate and Logan have returned, both damaged inside and needing to heal. The island is in their blood; it pulls at them, but their mother moved away when the children were young. She didn’t belong here.”

“Wait.” Henry was confused. “How can your own daughter not belong here?”

“Believe me, it broke my heart and the hearts of her children. But the island will gently expel those who don’t belong.” He must have looked aghast because she held up her hands in reassurance. “They’re meant to live somewhere else in the world. They have a home, and they’ll find it.”

“And Cate should live here,” he said flatly. This is a bunch of crap.

“Yes.”

“You’ve told her this?”

“No. Of course not. You can’t force anyone to stay. You just know.”

Henry studied the older woman; she looked completely serious. “Is this more island hazing or tales?”

Her smile was sad. “No.”

“Why are you telling me this? I just got here.”

“Because I see and feel it in you, Henry. You’re meant to stay.” She tipped her head to one side. “Right? How did you feel when you first stepped off the ferry?”

He didn’t speak, remembering the sense of relief and peace that had pervaded him. He’d believed it was because he hadn’t taken a vacation in years.

She took his silence for affirmation. “You know. Cate knows too. But like any stubborn islander, she’ll continue to fight it for a bit.”

“Sounds like a waste of time.”

“Maybe. I have faith she’ll listen to her heart this visit.”

What have I gotten into?