Love at First Light (Lost Harbor, Alaska Book 6)

by Jennifer Bernard

  “I think it’s a boat. But I’m not sure,” S.G. said in answer to his last question. She looked across the property at the peony fields. “I have to start working.”

  “Of course.”

  Apparently, they had a deal.

  “One more thing,” he asked casually. “Do you still have the clothes and other items you had with you when you arrived in Lost Harbor?”

  “I saved everything in a box.”

  “Can we look at that box?”

  S.G. pointed at Jessica. “She can. It’s in my room at Denaina’s.” As she took an enormous bite of her walnut-cinnamon bun, she skipped off toward the brilliantly colored peony fields.

  Ethan and Jessica headed back to the driveway where Jessica had parked her old Subaru. “I guess we have a case,” he said.

  “You could sound a little more enthusiastic about the ‘we’ part.”

  “I’m not used to working with untrained civilians.” He opened the passenger side door with a jerk.

  “And I’m not used to working with patronizing cheechakos. But here we are.”

  “Chee what?”

  “See? You don’t even know the Alaska basics. You need me, that’s what’s really bugging you.” Wagging a triumphant finger at him, she opened the driver’s side door. “Right now you need me to check out S.G.’s box. I think she trusts women more than men.”

  “Yeah, there might be something to that,” he agreed thoughtfully. “No wonder, considering her history.”

  They both got into her car and seamlessly continued the conversation. “Did I imagine it, or are you relying on a dream that may or may not have anything to do with reality?” she asked him.

  “I wouldn’t say ‘relying.’ But a good investigator looks at all possible clues.”

  “Maybe I should pull out my crystal then.”

  “Your what?”

  Oops. She’d let that slip out without proper preparation. She started up her car, which had a hole in the muffler and therefore conveniently kept conversation to a minimum. It had been very handy during their shouted discussion of “parameters,” which seemed to mostly involve her letting him handle anything that reeked of danger.

  Fine with her.

  “What now?” she shouted over the roar.

  “Let’s go see that box she kept.”

  She nodded cheerfully and backed into the turnaround to exit, startling a pair of geese that were wandering across the grass. “Sorry, ladies!” she called to them. “I didn’t see you there. My bad.”

  They honked back, clearly irritated by the metal intruder.

  She noticed that Ethan was rubbing his forehead with an expression of pain.

  “So you talk to birds. And you like crystals.”

  “And?”

  He didn’t answer, just shook his head. He’d mussed up his hair with his rubbing, so she reached over and straightened out an especially unruly lock.

  He allowed it, though he shot her an incredulous glance.

  She returned it with a sunny smile. Such a grouchy bear.

  “You’re probably extra crabby because your fiancée just dumped you.”

  “Thanks for reminding me.”

  “If you’d forgotten, it probably wasn’t meant to be.”

  “Obviously it wasn’t meant to be, or we would still be together. Watch out for that—“

  She veered around a rooster who’d gotten loose from the pen. Rolling down her window, she scolded him. “You should know better. You’re going to get yourself killed like that.”

  As she rolled up the window, Ethan sighed deeply. “What would it take for you to let me drive?”

  “Well, I suppose you’d have to be okay with me telling you where to go.”

  “I can live with that.”

  She hit the brakes, and they switched seats. Maybe it was petty, but she thoroughly enjoyed the rest of the drive to Denaina’s, because her instructions went mostly like this: “Right at the next road. Not there, that’s a driveway, can’t you see the difference, cheechako? There, see that crab trap in the weeds? Take a right there. You mean you’ve never seen a crab trap, city boy? It has a raven perched on it. Hello, my beauty, do you mind if we pass?”

  Yes, she definitely enjoyed herself. Ethan? Probably not so much.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jessica spent an absurd amount of time chatting with Denaina, a Native Alaska woman with the kindest smile Ethan had ever seen. She left the rest of her pastries with Denaina, and came back to the car with a large cardboard box in its place.

  “She says the only thing that’s missing is S.G’s knife. She confiscated that when she moved in. No weapons in the home.”

  He moved to take the box from her, but she held it away. “S.G. wanted me to look through it, remember?” She slid into the passenger seat and plopped it on her lap. “I’ll do it while you drive.”

  He gritted his teeth, reaching for his patience. Back when he’d worked closely with his sister Olivia, it hadn’t been like this. Olivia was a meticulous, careful investigator who loved solving puzzles. They’d brainstormed cases, backed each other up, divided the work peacefully. Jessica, on the other hand, seemed to fly by the seat of her pants, operating on instinct and pastries.

  “How about we go somewhere and look through the box together,” he suggested. “Since we’re apparently a team now.”

  She smiled brightly. “That sounds fair. Oh, I know a great place. You take the first left after the second curve in the—“

  “I got this,” he told her. He forced his jaw to relax. “No need to be a human MapQuest.” He started up her car, wincing at the hoarse rattle from the rear. “Have you considered fixing that muffler?”

  “I did consider it. But I decided fixing the hot water heater was more important. You’re welcome.”

  Lord give him patience.

  He drove to an overlook he happened to know about. The first time he’d come to Lost Harbor, he’d had extra time on his hands because Padric was in the process of reconnecting with Zoe Bellini, his childhood best friend. He’d discreetly given them time together when he knew it was safe. During those off times, he’d driven around Lost Harbor to get a feel for the town.

  He’d discovered the overlook when he’d stopped to take a photo and nearly tumbled off the cliff. The view was so entrancing he’d forgotten to watch his steps carefully enough. Understandable, once you saw the full vision of jagged mountains and the blue-tinted glaciers wedged between them.

  At the end of a path that wound through grass and wildflowers, a bench had been installed on the very edge of the bluff. A memorial plaque announced that it was in honor of Jack “Hammer” Holt. The bench offered a view of the mountains across the bay, where sun glinted on the snow that still lingered on the highest peaks. Clouds of mist clung to the steep green slopes. It was such a dramatic vista that he’d sat for an hour, just watching the play of light and clouds.

  “Good choice,” said Jessica approvingly. “This is my favorite patch of wild strawberries. We put them in muffins later in the summer.”

  Now that she mentioned it, he did detect the scent of strawberries. Every time their legs brushed against the plants growing alongside the path, a heady fragrance rose into the air. He found it nearly overwhelming—sweet perfumy scents mingling with fresh sun-warmed grass. It made him both dizzy and almost deliriously happy.

  Jessica looked at him oddly as they reached the bench. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, it’s just the smell here is incredible. I think it’s making me drunk. I don’t remember it smelling so good last time. But that’s because—“ He broke off as he sat down on the little wooden bench. “Put that box in the middle so we can both see it. I want to take photos and a video of every item.”

  “Because why?” she asked curiously as she took the other end of the bench, the box on her lap. “What were you about to say?”

  “What are you waiting for? Let’s open that box.”

  She lifted her eyebrows meaning
fully.

  “You’re holding the box hostage until I answer your question?”

  “Aren’t you just dying to see what’s in here?”

  He shook his head. This was definitely nothing like working with Olivia. “Fine. I had an accident and ever since then I’ve had a more acute sense of smell.”

  “Really!” Her eyes widened, catching dazzle from the golden morning sunlight. “That’s amazing. What sort of accident would do that?”

  “Well, I was clinically dead for a minute, so that might have done it. Now can you hand over that goddamn box? Honestly, you are the most aggravating—“

  She scooted over and planted the box between them. “Here you go, but I want to hear more about this incredible new gift you have. Do you promise to tell me more about it later?”

  “It’s not a gift. It’s an anomaly. It probably means I have brain damage.” He took out his pocket knife and slit open the tape that held the box closed.

  “Technically, I should be doing this,” she pointed out. “S.G. said so explicitly. We should respect her wishes.”

  Silently, he handed her the knife. He appreciated her scruples. Not many people had such things anymore, in his jaded experience.

  Perfectly comfortable with handling his knife, she quickly sliced open the box. Obviously baking involved unexpected skills like knife-handling and arm-wrestling prowess.

  The box was filled with animal hides. No, not hides, he realized as Jessica drew them out one by one. Clothes made from animal hides.

  “This must be what she was wearing when Nate found her,” Jessica explained. “I remember hearing about her handmade wardrobe.” They examined each item in turn. He took photos of the tunic, the trousers, the boots.

  “Is there any chance we could learn anything based on the animals these hides came from?”

  She shrugged. “Maybe, but I doubt it. These all look like fox and lynx to me. Pretty standard skins.”

  Of course she would know something like that. Maybe working with a local would be helpful after all.

  “What about the pockets? Anything there?”

  Gingerly, she reached inside the pocket of the trousers. He didn’t blame her for being wary; a strong rank odor hovered over the box. The first pocket was empty, but the second one held a small piece of fabric.

  Real fabric, not animal skin.

  She turned it over and rubbed it between her fingers. “It’s very soft and silky.”

  “It looks almost threadbare. All the color has been leached out of it. Can I feel it?”

  She handed it over. It was a scrap, nothing more, but it didn’t fit with the rest of the clothes.

  “Maybe the trapper got hold of a length of silk at some point,” Jessica suggested. “As a present for S.G.”

  “Hmm.” He grunted, turning it over and over in his hands. “I don’t get the impression that he cared that much about her. She was like a servant. Why would he get her a present?”

  “We can ask her.”

  “Do you have her phone number?”

  Jessica nodded and pulled out her phone to dial it. “Hi there, S.G. We have a quick question for you. We found a super-pretty piece of fabric in one of your pockets. It’s so deliciously soft, I want to curl up in it. What is it, do you know?”

  After a moment, she nodded and ended the call.

  “She says it’s something she’s always had, but she doesn’t know where it came from.”

  “Always had.” Thoughtfully, he ran his finger across it. “That might mean it was with her when the trapper found her.”

  “Like a baby blanket or something?”

  “Or part of what she was wearing. She obviously wasn’t naked, or she wouldn’t have survived long enough for Murchison to find her.”

  “Good theory. But how does it help?”

  “I might be able to get a buddy of mine at the FBI to analyze it.”

  “That would be cool. Do you think it’s silk?” She reached out to feel it again, and somehow their fingers managed to brush against each other. A spark literally arced between them, and she quickly drew her hand away.

  “Weird static electricity,” she said with an awkward chuckle.

  He didn’t think it was static, but he didn’t want to discuss the alternative—that it was sheer chemistry.

  “I don’t know much about fabrics.”

  “Oh!” Her eyes lit up and she clapped her hands together. “Before we send this off to the FBI, maybe we should talk to someone who does know about fabrics.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “We happen to have an amazing tailor in town. She’s an Old Believer Russian who can craft the most incredible clothes out of the most random thrift store fabrics you can imagine.”

  “Old Believer?”

  “Yes, we have quite a few here in Lost Harbor. Have you seen the women around town wearing full-length dresses and head scarves? The men in tunics?”

  He nodded, since they were hard to miss, with their unique throwback outfits—like the Russian version of the Amish.

  “I always thought they kept to themselves.”

  “Yes and no. Olga has a shop right in town. She mostly makes clothes for the Russians, but not exclusively. And she knows everything about textiles. Let’s go!” She put the trousers back in the box and closed it up. “At least let’s give it a try before we hand it over to the feds.”

  “My buddy would be doing us a huge favor,” he pointed out. “It’s not like he’s dying to get his hands on a fifteen-year-old bit of cloth.”

  “Are you arguing just to argue, or do you really think this is a waste of time?”

  He cocked his head and thought it over. “That first one.”

  “Thought so. Come on!”

  She grabbed his hand to tug him to his feet. The same jolt of energy they’d experienced earlier jumped between them.

  This time there was no ignoring it or pretending it was anything other than “sparks.”

  Caught off guard, he met her confused gaze and they looked at each other for a moment, blinking in the sunshine. Neither spoke. In his case, that was because he didn’t know what to say. So what if there was an attraction between them? They were all wrong for each other. Crystals? Intuition? Talking to geese?

  There was another problem. If she was really planning to pay his fee, she was technically his employer. And if that wasn’t enough, twelve hours ago, he’d been engaged.

  For all those reasons, sparks between them were a bad thing. Solve this case, go home. No stops in between.

  She must have come to the same conclusion, because she dropped his hand at the same moment that he pulled his away.

  He carried the box while she led the way back up the path to the road. The way she moved—light and sensual, like someone aware of the wind on her skin and the sun on her hair—kept his eyes riveted on her.

  He didn’t have to take this job, he reminded himself. His commitment was to Maya, and she’d told him the job was off. S.G. didn’t need answers about her family right away. She’d waited fifteen years, she could wait some more.

  But if anyone knew the urgency of “don’t wait,” it was him. You never knew when death might take a swing at you. S.G. had survived so much. She deserved to find the truth. If he could help, he should.

  He watched a butterfly flutter past Jessica’s hair, which gleamed copper in the sunlight. Who was he trying to kid? One big reason he wanted to continue working this case was walking right in front of him. Jessica kept surprising him. He wanted to see what other skills she had up her sleeve beyond plumbing and arm-wrestling.

  Like that sad story about her father. The look on her face while she’d shared it had tugged at his jaded heart. It made him want to shield little eight-year-old Jessica from that pain. Of course he couldn’t do that, but he could do his best for S.G.

  He’d just have to ignore those inconvenient sparks.

  After all, they probably just meant that he and Jessica were polar opposites—even magnetic
ally speaking.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Olga, the tailor, twisted the scrap of fabric this way and that, rubbing it between her fingers and even sniffing it. “Very fine silk,” she finally announced. “Expensive. Thousand dollars a yard.”

  “Do you have any idea where it was produced?” Jessica asked her.

  “There is no way for me to know. This kind of luxury fabric is rare to see.”

  “Could it have been made in Alaska?”

  “Oh no.” She laughed as she waved that off. “No one creates fabric so expensive here.”

  “One other thing,” Ethan interjected. “Can you tell what color it used to be?”

  She took out a magnifying glass from under her work counter and studied it for a long time. “Rose pink,” she finally announced.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Mostly sure. But it’s very old.”

  Jessica let out a long sigh as they left her little shop, which was overflowing with bolts of fabric. “I guess I was wrong.”

  “About what?”

  “About her being helpful. That was a total waste of time.”

  Ethan shot her an astonished look. “Are you kidding? It’s a huge clue. The fabric is pink and expensive and S.G. has had it forever. It must be something that dates from her early life. That tells me that her family is most likely wealthy.”

  “But if we don’t know anything about where the cloth came from, what difference does it make?”

  “The first rule of investigating is persistence. Most leads don’t go anywhere. Chin up, Tasty Cakes.”

  She gave a double take as they strolled along Lost Harbor’s main downtown street, where they’d parked her car. “Is that your idea of a nickname?”

  “It’s a tribute to your sweet rolls. Why, does it bother you?”

  She pondered it, rolling the term over her tongue. “Well, I don’t see how anything with the word ‘cake’ could be a problem. Cake is one of humankind’s best inventions. I suppose it’s better than my other nickname.”

  “What’s your other one?”