The Harbor

Twenty-One

Gold-tinted marsh grass moved gracefully with the morning breeze in the protected area south of the lobster pound and the cottage Teddy Shelton had rented. The fingers of saltwater were a dark blue under a sky dotted with puffs of fair-weather clouds. A migrating hawk flew high overhead. It was all a pretty sight, but

J.B. was focused on Teddy Shelton's truck. Yellow birch leaves had fallen onto its windshield.

Once he found out about last night, Bruce Young had gone on the hunt for Shelton so he could throw him out of the cottage, never mind that it appeared he'd already left voluntarily. J.B. ran into him at the lobster pound and suggested he do the driving. Nobody, even Bruce, liked the idea of Shelton beating up an unarmed twenty-two-year-old without more provocation-as much as they didn't mind the idea of Kyle Castellane with a fat lip.

Bruce was the one who'd spotted the tire tracks in the protected marsh's delicate, picturesque landscape, most of it without trails. The tracks led them straight to the truck. It was locked. Bruce was willing to crowbar it, but J.B. dissuaded him.

"It's a long walk to town," Bruce said. "Maybe he stole a boat at the lobster pound or hitched a ride with one of the guys. I'll check."

J.B. nodded. "I'll drop you off. Let me know what you find out."

When they arrived back at the lobster pound, Bruce jumped out of the Jeep, then hesitated. His coat was open, a cold breeze lifting the ends of his hair. "You sure Kyle's okay?"

"I saw him at breakfast," J.B. said. "He's colorful, but he'll be fine."

"Hate to see anyone go through something like that. Think he's not pressing charges because he's scared Shelton 'll find him and finish the job?"

J.B. had thought this one over on his own. "I think it's because he didn't tell us the whole story." Bruce nodded. "Maybe he wasn't just standing next to Teddy's truck."

"Could be."

"Teddy could have freaked once he realized he'd knocked the shit out of a Castellane. He could be long gone, you know." Bruce exhaled, obviously not relishing this development. "Christina? She okay? I didn't stop by the café this morning."

J.B. had breakfast there with Zoe, who was distant, not cool, just not that approachable. Since he had things on his mind, too, J.B. didn't mind eating his eggs and home fries in silence. She'd had a goat-cheese-and-chive omelet. One of the lobstermen teased her that year she'd spent in Connecticut was showing. Christina had seemed very pale and drawn, even more tired, just going through the motions of her café routine.

"She's hanging in there," J.B. said.

"Yeah. Well, I'll see what I can find out about that jackass Teddy."

"Don't go up against him, Bruce."

He grinned. "What, you think if he can beat the crap out of Kyle, I'm a goner for sure?"

"No, I think he's probably armed to the teeth. He likes guns, Bruce. That's what put him in prison."

Bruce shook his head in mock amazement. Not much got to the guy. "You think the FBI's got a file on me?"

"If not, I'm making one. Keep me posted."

"I'd ask you to do the same, but I know you won't."

Fifteen minutes later, J.B. was back at Olivia West's house, standing on the bluff as Zoe dragged her lime-green kayak through the rose bushes, which made him think of her rose tattoo, which in turn brought up his long, tortured night. Not good. He was in deep with this woman. It was like having someone grab him by the ankle and jerk him over a cliff. He was plunging headfirst, no bottom in sight, anything possible, from a smooth dive into the water at the bottom to smashing himself to death on the rocks.

He stood at the edge of the waist-high roses. "Glutton for punishment, aren't you?"

"You know how it is." Her kayak was at her feet, half pushing her down the steep path. She had on leggings, a turtleneck and fleece vest, her orange life vest hanging open. She squinted up at him, the sun high and bright above her. "You've got to get right back up on the horse again. If I get dumped out today, I might consider a new hobby."

"Do you have another kayak?"

That took her by surprise. "What?"

He smiled. "Another kayak. I can go with you."

"Have you ever been kayaking?"

"Nope. Looks easy enough."

"This cockiness of yours is why people around here want to set fire to your boat. I guess compared to what you do for a living, probably kayaking does look easy." She sighed, gestured toward the house. "There's one in the garage. It's shocking pink."

"Not going to let me use the green one?"

She grinned at him. "Your reputation might benefit from a pink kayak."

He found it in the back of the garage and dragged it, a paddle and a life vest out to the path. Zoe was lifting her lightweight kayak over a stretch of jagged rocks. She wasn't doing this because she got dunked yesterday- she was doing it to make sure she minded her own business and stayed out of the police's way. Let them find Teddy Shelton and talk to him.

J.B. knew he should follow her lead, but that wasn't why he'd offered to join her. He didn't want her out on the water alone. It wasn't a protective impulse so much as a common-sense one. Zoe could take care of herself, but she wouldn't naturally or easily regard anyone or anything in Goose Harbor as dangerous. J.B. didn't have that problem.

He made his way down the steep rock path and slid his kayak over the gravel beach. The air was clear and ice-cold down by the water. If he didn't take to kayaking, it could be a rough few hours.

Zoe zipped up her life vest. "Quick lesson. Wear your vest. Put it on properly. If you get into trouble, blow the whistle."

"Got it."

Next she demonstrated how to hold her paddle. "You want to stay centered in your boat. Don't lean with your shoulders or your torso or you'll go over. Just find that center line and hold it."

J.B. noticed the dark circles under her eyes. He doubted she'd slept well. "I don't want to capsize."

"Then don't lean."

Next she showed him how to paddle. Stay centered. Use his shoulders. Develop a rhythm. To turn, paddle on the opposite side he wanted the boat to go. She showed him how to do a power turn to reverse direction, but he didn't know if he'd remember that maneuver. She said it was easy. Natural.

"We'll stay in calm waters, close to shore," she said. "The hard part is when you run into winds, currents, big swells, rapids, swirls, unexpected rocks. You should have a proper lesson, but at least I'll be with you if something happens." She grinned at him. "Then I can blow my whistle."

"Okay, Captain, let's launch."

"Another thing. You'll get wet. It's unavoidable. You'd do better in a wet suit, especially on a day like today. But so would I."

He had on khakis, a canvas shirt and his boat shoes. If he got wet, he'd stay wet. He noticed her outfit emphasized the shape of her slim body. "That'd be something. You in a wet suit."

"Don't even go there."

But he already had, and would again before his first-ever kayaking expedition. It'd be something to do out on the water. Think about Zoe in a wet suit.

He had to be out of his mind. He'd need another vacation to get over this one.

She pushed her tights up to mid-calf. She was wearing beat-up water sneakers with no socks and just plunged into the rising tide, dropping seat-first into her kayak and shoving off with her paddle. Her moves were competent and effective if not smooth. She used her paddle to keep from getting pulled back to shore with the tide. "I forgot to tell you how to get in the boat. Did you see me? Butt first. Legs next. Don't drop your paddle. And zip up your life vest. It won't do you any good if it falls off."

Or if he froze to death before he could get back in his boat. J.B. complied with her instructions, but he wasn't smooth or competent in launching-and he got wetter than she did. But he ended up in his boat, and after some remedial instruction from his guide, he was paddling along fairly well. As promised, he did get wet.

They meandered northeast along the rocky coast, past Sutherland Island and amidst the small islands off the Olivia West Nature Preserve. Because of the narrow passages and shallow waters, J.B. had stayed away from the smaller islands in his lobster boat. He'd never live down getting hung up on an underwater ledge or running aground in the mud.

Zoe finally led him to a pocket beach on the northwest shore of Sutherland Island. She hadn't shown him how to land, either, but there was nothing to it. She explained that it was important to pick out a sandy beach, some place where they'd have a minimal impact on the environment-he wasn't to be fooled by the rugged appearance of the landscape.

J.B. thought she looked relaxed and in her element.

They peeled off their life vests and sat together on a rounded, sun-warmed boulder above the water and several low-lying wild blueberry bushes. Zoe had a dry bag and offered to share her water bottle and Christina-made ginger cookies. Her rear end was just as soaked as his, but her tights would dry faster than his khakis.

"So, this island's named after one of your ancestors," she said. "George Sutherland. Did you know he fought in the Revolutionary War? He's buried here."

"On the island?"

"Mm. There's an old cemetery. Do you want to see it? It's not very far."

She was already on her feet, ginger cookie in hand. He followed her across an open expanse of sloping gray rock, the tide crashing below-much rougher here than where they'd landed. They curved inland, taking a visible but overgrown path under pines and spruces, until they arrived at a tiny, shaded cemetery enclosed in a crumbling three-foot wrought-iron fence. Maybe a dozen slender stone rectangles marked graves.

Zoe climbed over the fence and examined the largest of the stones, leaning slightly with time. "George Sutherland. There he is."

J.B. joined her at his ancestor's stone. 1742 to 1797. Just fifty-five when he died. J.B. knelt in the weeds and touched the smooth, cool stone, and tried to imagine what life must have been like on this small island over two hundred years ago.

"When did the Wests get here?" he asked Zoe.

"Not that early. Olivia and her brother were the first Wests actually born in Goose Harbor. Before that they were in Portsmouth, I think. My mother's family came down from Castine-it's just below Mt. Desert Island."

J.B. checked the other gravestones. Many also bore the name Sutherland. There were two babies, a teenaged girl. "No one lives on the island these days," he said.

"Not since the late nineteenth century."

A bramble stuck on Zoe's upper thigh, and she picked it off unconsciously. Gravestones or no gravestones, J.B. noticed the shape of her legs, the curve of her hip, thought again of that rose tattoo. She seemed oblivious.

They climbed back over the fence. He could feel his kayaking in his arms and shoulders. Zoe seemed unaffected, but he had no doubt she'd fake it just to lord her greater experience over him. He tended to bring out the competitiveness in people, make them feel as if they had something to prove to him. It wasn't always a bad thing. Wanting to stick it to him could bring out the best in people, too.

On their way back to their kayaks, he noticed a partial stone foundation amidst the birches and pines, the dry undergrowth. Zoe explained it was the foundation of the original Sutherland house, which, according to local legend, had burned down the same night Abraham Lincoln was shot. The entire island nearly went up in flames. Island fires and boat fires. Both were treacherous.

"There's an old boathouse at the tip of the island,"

J.B. said. "I noticed it when I was out on my boat last week. New door, new lock."

"Really? I wonder if Luke worked out a deal with the preserve. He owns the island, but Olivia left the preserve enough money to buy it from them-of course, I think he should just donate it." She smiled as if she knew she was expecting a lot. "I know the preserve wants the island for public access. They think it'll help discourage people-especially kayakers-from stopping on the smaller islands and disturbing the seabird nests. They can picnic and prowl around here instead."

J.B. nodded, looking out through the brightly coloredleaves and the dark green of the spruces and pines. "Gravestones, cellar holes, history, wildlife and scenery. Not a bad combination."

They returned to their kayaks, and after more water and cookies, set off back down the coast, the wind holding back until they reached Olivia's point. J.B. had no illusions he could handle white water and tough currents or one of Maine's notorious fog banks floating in, but he decided he did all right his first time in a kayak.

When they pulled their boats out of the water, he thought he noticed Zoe might be examining his wet butt. He smiled to himself. Yesterday's kisses hadn't been a fluke, a response to the stress of her first full day home. The woman had something going for him. He didn't mind at all.

They left their kayaks in the front yard and headed up to change into dry clothes, but they didn't make it to their respective bedrooms. They got as far as the upstairs hall before J.B. scooped her up and found her mouth, lifted her onto him as she wrapped her arms around him.

"Damn," she whispered, "it must be the kayaking- I can't seem to resist you."

"Good."

She kissed him back deeply, hungrily, her arms over his shoulders, her fingers clasped behind his neck. When he lifted her higher, pressing her against him, his hands slid over her wet tights, the curve of her hips, between her legs. The wetness there wasn't cold at all.

But his intimate touch startled her, seemed to bring her back to reality. She slid down off him, back to the floor, and caught her breath, pushing both palms through her short blond curls. "I should get changed," she mumbled, and disappeared into her room.

J.B. didn't push it.

Retreating to his room, he put on dry pants and checked his voice mail. He had a message from Bruce Young. No boats missing at the lobster pound. No one saying they'd seen Teddy Shelton or given him a ride. "The guy's gone, McGrath," Bruce had said. "Maybe it's just as well."

Teddy Shelton had hit the road. Kyle Castellane wasn't pressing charges. J.B. clipped his belt holster back on and decided it wasn't necessary. He didn't need a gun. He needed a dose of common sense. He should go back to D.C. and let these people get on with their lives. If he hadn't tapped on Shelton 's window, probably nothing would have happened. He wouldn't have beaten up Kyle last night and spent the night in the marsh. J.B. wouldn't have found out Stick Monroe had sentenced him to seven years.

Maybe he wouldn't have kissed Zoe the way he had.

She met him downstairs in the kitchen, and J.B. filled her in. She shook her head at Bruce's suggestion that Teddy Shelton was gone. "We're not going to be that lucky. He's still here. Lunch at Christina's? I haven't had my annual fried fish sandwich."

J.B. smiled. "No fish for me. I want meat."

She muttered something about Montanans, but at least she was smiling and the circles under her eyes didn't seem so ominous. He thought it might be that near-lovemaking in the upstairs hall, but she'd probably say it was the kayaking.