She deserved better. “Greta?”
Blinking, Greta got her bearings, seeming to put her problems with her boyfriend aside. “Marshal. I’m sorry. You need your coffee topped off.” She scurried back with the pot and gave more coffee to her customers, ending with Gus.
He shoved his fingers through his hair. So this is what it’s come to. I can’t find a killer, but I step in to handle a lover’s quarrel.
Greta’s expression reflected more than a conflict with a boy. She bit her lip, rubbed her hands over her apron and looked scared. Was she about to cry?
“Do you need to sit down?”
She shook her head. “I’m fine. My boyfriend…”
He stood and drew her away from the simmering argument over anchors. “Has he hurt you?”
Greta gazed at Gus with sadness in her eyes. “He’s good to me.” She paused, her hand clasped at her stomach. “Most of the time. But he can’t get on a boat here so he thinks he has to go to Juneau to find a job.”
“That sounds like a good solution for him.”
“I don’t want to go, Marshal. My family is here. I like Petersburg so much better than Juneau and I just got promoted to assistant baker.”
“Then, by all means, find a way to stay here.” He smiled and pointed at his sticky bun, half-eaten. “You made these, didn’t you?”
She grinned shyly. “You like the hazelnuts I added?”
“I do. You’re a fine baker.”
Her expression changed again, smile gone, eyes cloudy. Her voice sounded desperate when she said, “We can’t always get what we want.”
He picked up on her longing. She wants me? Gus was so surprised and so unsure about whether or not what he saw in her eyes was true, that he stammered. “F…Find a way to stay, Greta. I can help…I...”
He stalled out, thinking of how he couldn’t even find Sing Lee’s killer, the murderer of an important, generous man. He hunched his shoulders. “I am no Sing Lee, but I…”
Greta made a guttural noise. “Thank God, you are not. He…” She hesitated and seemed to rein in her emotions. “His culture isn’t like ours.” With that, she wiped her hands on her apron as if to finish the topic. She held up the coffee pot. “I’m going to brew more coffee, Marshal. Excuse me.”
Gus sank in confusion against the counter. Was Greta asking to be freed from a boyfriend who was hurting her?
He put his hand to his forehead, when a new concept sought purchase in his brain. He was a Federal Marshal, an investigator who must push personal emotions aside and focus on the case. The last thing he should consider were his feelings for Greta. The next to last thing on his mind should be rescuing Greta from her boyfriend.
The new idea unfolded in his brain like a bud opening up: Greta spoke of a culture clash with Sing Lee. Who, besides Greta had felt the conflict?
****
“Am I Greta or Gus? Hell, maybe I’m the abusive boyfriend.” As Parker sipped on his B&B morning coffee after a hearty breakfast, he re-read Liv’s article in the Petersburg Pilot. Though he was acutely aware of his obsessive need to know all about Liv, his estrangement from her meant he could only read articles she wrote and hear about her actions from other people in town. Lately he’d taken to overanalyzing her prose, compelled to find himself in her work.
On his computer, he pulled up Liv’s TJ Hawk article about detectives. “A veteran detective makes connections and deductions out of thin air. You, his girlfriend, model your new scarlet red, low-cut dress for him. Instead of praising your taste and whistling over your sexy look, he conjures drunken dances on tables, prostitutes and porn stars. He asks you to change into something more subtle, immediately.”
A bite of peanut butter toast. One more time through the article on Sing Lee. Now, tie in Everett Olson and Tilly Grant’s deaths to the 1932 murder. Parker smiled. ‘Connections out of thin air.’
Was ‘culture clash’ part of the motivation for the deaths of Ev and Tilly? Halley, the cannery superintendent said he’d struggled to ‘fit’ in Petersburg.
Culture clash. Weren’t the Chinese dedicated to a spirit of harmony? What were the big differences between the Norwegian culture and Sing Lee’s?
Parker downed his coffee, tucked the newspaper under his arm and trotted over to the Municipal Building. With a wave to Ivor, he rushed downstairs. “Nilson. Let’s look at cultural differences in Petersburg. Who amongst those people on the board don’t fit here?”
Nilson looked up from his coffee, distaste in his expression. “Morning. The boss called. Wants you to get back to him. Threatening we’ll both be demoted if we don’t get someplace on the case. The dick.” He waited a beat. “I said we’re thinking about using Liv.”
“We will not.”
“Oldshack agrees with me.”
Parker ignored Nilson’s comment, his eyes on the photos of suspects. “Whose cultures fit into Petersburg? Certainly not the Halleys. Who else?”
Nilson rubbed his eyes and peered at the wall. “It’s obvious. Josh Cameron and Tuck Barber.”
“Josh is a hippie type, though; and probably won’t make waves because he’s got a police record. But Barber? He’s arrogant; people are eager to be his friend, but never seem to get close to him. In some ways like Sing Lee, Tuck Barber is customer-friendly, but culturally distant.”
“How did Sing Lee get into our case?”
Parker waved his hand. “Never mind. It’s time to go deeper with Halley and others who worked with Barber at the cannery. As Litoʼs Landing’s owner, he’s earned a place of power. But what was he before he got there? How did he make his money? Let’s re-examine his relationship to Tilly and Ev. Maybe we missed something there.”
Nilson did not rise. “I’ll lean on the lab for Tilly’s tox report. Oldshack wants my help in convincing authorities in the Grand Caymans to give up the account names and amount.” He looked at the board. “I’m still interviewing Tilly’s family and friends. State of mind, drug use and all that.”
“Good. Keep at it. We’ll meet back here around three to compare notes.”
Nilson nodded and picked up the phone. Parker stood at the door gazing at the wall of information, thinking about how important it was for a person to be accepted by a town.
Parker cleared his throat. “Do not approach Liv Hanson. I’ll talk to Oldshack and explain exactly why, but until then, let’s keep her out of this mess.”
****
Liv sat in the Coffee Hüs drinking her latte, pleased that when she lifted the cup to her lips with her injured shoulder, the pain was minimal. Two weeks ago, the wound had made any movement excruciating. Still, the idea that someone in town had shot her, even if that person was targeting Parker…that concept made being out in public feel uncomfortable.
“You okay?” Chet asked.
“I want Parker to find the person who shot me.”
Josh brought his coffee to the table, leaving Susanna behind the counter. “I’d be paranoid, too, Liv.”
“I can only guess the emotion,” chimed in Candy Peterson, the harbormaster. A petite woman with long salt and pepper hair and a kind face, she sat at an adjacent table, hands around her coffee mug. “The thing is, every time you move your shoulder, you’re reminded of the nightmare moment. And because you’ve got those dates cemented in your head, you’ll never forget the time, place, and what you wore.” She squinted at Liv. “Sounds like a curse.”
“Yeah,” Josh said, his short dreadlocks shaking as he nodded. “At first when I heard about your date thing, I thought it was cool because I have such a lousy memory for detail. But your brain must ache from the effort to store minutiae.”
Liv lifted her cup to drink, amazed at the turn of events in her life.
She’d been shot at and exposed as a date savant, and sure enough, people regarded her as a freak, the town rainwoman. Before, they were cordial to her; now they looked at her like she was a ticking bomb, armed with deadly dates. “Actually, it’s soothing to my brain to take control of ev
ents, to sort everything in its proper place.”
“I’m lucky to remember customer’s coffee drinks,” Josh said.
“I’m lost without the calendar on my phone,” Chet offered.
Candy said, “Day to day humdrum stuff sifts right through my brain. What I recall are the odd things.” She pointed to Chet. “You took a boat out fishing this morning before slack tide.”
Chet ducked his head. “Only time I could get out…I figured a few fish might be hungry for my bait even if the current was running.”
“SA Nilson fished in the channel November 17th, a Monday morning, when it was still pitch dark. And you, dear Liv, returned in Matt’s boat at dusk, way after slack on November 19.”
Liv was about to protest that the marina office was dark that night when Candy said, “I came back to the office for some papers. Didn’t even turn on the light.” Candy shook her head. “I knew Matt was nutty-wild to catch a sockeye, but I didn’t know you were, too. Lord, I’ll never understand the obsession to fish.”
A chuckle from Chet. “You’re a harbormaster and don’t like to fish?”
“Crab and shrimp, yes. Finned creatures you can have.” Candy turned to Liv. “But I want to go back to your date recall. Does it help you with writing, like with the research you did for the Sing Lee articles?”
“I wish. When it comes to what happened to other people, I’m like anyone who studies history; I have to take notes and consciously memorize the facts. But when something happens to me, like this date, right now, sitting at this table in the Coffee Hüs, I have total recall. I will remember what we said, what we wore, the time frame, date and weather. It’s as if my brain takes a photo of the occasion in brilliant color, complete with a snapshot of the weather outside at the time.”
Josh looked disappointed. “So you’d be lousy at Jeopardy and other trivia games.”
“Sorry. Not my thing. Still, unlike a lot of people, I’m at ease with memorizing dates if the situation calls for it. To me they are friends, not foes.”
“Too bad you can’t make money off it,” Chet said.
“My mother suggested I should be an attorney.” Liv made a face. “Lately, I’ve been thinking I’d be good as an interrogator; a lie catcher is what I call myself.” She sighed. “Anyway, I have an easy time of choosing an outfit to wear each day.”
“Well, I enjoy your writing, Liv.” Candy downed the rest of her coffee. “The series on Sing Lee is great. I like how it’s a story instead of a report. Makes it real.”
Josh shook his head as he held up his mug. “Five cents for a cup of coffee? Poor Gus has zero technology for crime solving. No wonder the marshal couldn’t find a killer.”
“Even with modern technology, the Feds can’t unearth what happened to Ev or who shot Liv.” Candy gazed at Liv. “You’re helping us understand why so many crimes are unsolved.” She paused. “And why we live in fear that a criminal might live next door.”
****
“You. Played. Me.” Tuck stood in the doorway of The Smiling Coho, drilling Liv with a look of disgust while he flipped the sign over to ‘Closed.’
When Chet came around from the workroom, eyebrows up, Liv said, “I’m okay, Chet. Keep at what you’re doing back there while Tuck and I talk.” She spoke slowly to keep her voice from shaking. Liv had witnessed Tuck’s mean streak, so she stayed behind the counter when he approached, her hand resting on the drawer containing her gun.
“One day a dance partner slash cock tease, the next, a spy with her own bodyguard in the back room.” He jerked his thumb in that direction. “I hear there’s a chart going around town, written by you, that has my name on it.” Tuck leaned toward her. “Can you spell defamation?”
Liv opened her palm.
“What, you couldn’t help yourself? Come on Liv, you and I are the smart ones. Shrewd at business ventures, anxious to bring more prosperity to ourselves and to Petersburg. You write crappy features and dream of pressing salmon oil. And you do the little dance with me to raise my libido and squeeze money out of me.” He passed his hand over his crotch and gave a dry laugh. “Your plan was working until you threw me over for a cop and became his spy.”
Liv’s heart sank as she watched her tactic to borrow money from Tuck implode. She crossed her arms over her stomach, feeling the chill of Tuck’s anger along with her failure to get the salmon oil business going. “I’m not a spy.”
“Show me the chart.”
“I wrote it for the authorities when they asked me for important events around Tilly’s death. Naturally, you’re in there.”
“I want to see it and so does my lawyer.” Tuck gazed up at her apartment. “You watch me from your desk window like some kind of pervert.” He sneered at her necklace. “Connecting the date dots with your accessories. That’s loony. No judge would ever believe you, and that’s why it’s going to be easy to sue your ass.”
Liv drew in a breath. The only money she had was set aside for her mother’s knee operation. She couldn’t use it for attorney fees.
Drumming his fingers on the counter, Tuck said, “I know where you’re going with the Sing Lee series, by the way. You and Parker have tapped me as a Sing Lee type, imposing my principles on Petersburg. In your story, I’m the old Chinese guy and you’re Greta. Sweet, innocent Greta versus the town’s power broker. You think I can’t read between the lines? Your next article is meant to put the whole bloody town against me.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
His expression smug, Tuck placed his elbows on the counter and rested his chin in his hands. “More grist for my lawyer. I’ll get the chart from Halley if you won’t give it to me. He and Susanna are blabbing all over town about your idiotic skill.” He wagged his head. “And here I thought we were dance pals with some fucking potential.” Standing up slowly, he gave her a hard look. “If you and your cop buddy try to pin Ev’s and Tilly’s deaths on me, I’ll sue you.” He picked up her pearl necklace and twisted so it tightened on her
neck. Abruptly he dropped it, turned and walked toward the door. “Our salmon oil partnership is over, and if you don’t get that damn chart out of circulation and watch what you say in the Sing Lee series, I’ll see you in court.”
He strolled out the door, slamming it shut.
Lifting her necklace and straightening it, Liv let out a breath and waited for Chet to come out of the workroom.
Parker emerged from the back, soaking wet and out of breath. “Are you okay, Liv?”
“Wha…Oh, Chet called you.” She grasped the edge of the counter to keep from flying into his arms. “I keep getting blindsided, Parker. Since the day you walked into Petersburg to announce Ev died, everything’s fallen apart.”
Parker took her elbow and she sat down on the stool behind the counter. Chet brought a towel from the back room and handed it to his son.
“You shouldn’t be here, should you?” she asked.
He toweled off his face and hair. “Dad said Barber was enraged. I had to come.”
Parker put his hand on Liv’s shoulder, the warmth of his touch settling her enough to say, “Tuck wants to sue me for the data sheet flying around town. He twisted my necklace like he wanted to choke me. I’ve never seen him so upset. He—”
Parker squeezed her shoulder. “Youʼre a witness, Liv. What we’re seeing is Barber reacting like a guilty man, and we have you to thank for flushing him out.”
“You do? I did?” Liv turned to Chet. “You agree?”
“Absolutely. I heard the whole conversation so I can testify he threatened you. Tuck Barber’s reaction to a spreadsheet he’s never seen was way over the top. He’s afraid you know something, otherwise he wouldn’t blow up like that.”
She straightened her back. “So that’s a good thing. What can I do next?”
Parker shook his head. “Leave town. Please.”
“Are you kidding? Sure, Tuck frightened me, but since I’ve lost him as a donor, I’ve got to stay in town to find capital.” She rubbed her h
ands together. “Bob Halley screwed up by showing my data sheet to everyone. I’ll shame him into processing my fish oil.”
Parker glanced at his father. Chet shrugged. Parker said, “Tension in this town is high, with Barber as a prime example. You have to be careful, Liv.”
“You, too.”
“Dad goes with you to see Halley. He’s definitely on our suspect list…be wary of him.” Parker scrubbed a fist over his wet head. “I’ll go out the back door. Best you flip the sign to ‘Open’ and go back to business as usual so Tuck sees you’re not intimidated. We need to keep him off center, nervous enough to make a mistake.”
Liv walked to the door, opened it wide and reversed the sign. “Done. What’s next?”
Parker’s eyes narrowed. “I drill Halley. After that, Cameron. I’m going to let Barber twist in the wind for a while. He’ll expect a visit from me immediately to prove I’m defending you. I won’t confront him. Instead, we’ll keep him guessing as to our next move while we wait for the tox report.”
“Tilly. Poor Tilly.”
“Got to get out of here,” Parker said. “I hear customers coming. Dad, you’ve got the conn.”
“I do.”
“Liv?”
“I’ll stay safe,” Liv said, even while she felt more vulnerable than she ever had in her life.
Chapter Seventeen
Parker stood on the back steps of Liv’s store, a curtain of rain on three sides of the little porch hemming him in. Appropriate: I am cornered. He unclenched fists primed for clocking Barber and breathed deeply while his adrenaline thinned. The fucker had threatened Liv.
Parker had raced to the store not even thinking to put on a jacket. Only at the last minute had logic prompted him to duck into the alley behind The Smiling Coho. He couldn’t be seen with Liv, and his strategy called for keeping Barber out of the loop and nervous. Let the guy wonder and worry about the Feds’ next move.
I want to beat Barber senseless, but I have to let him walk away. For now.
He jogged through the rain to the police station and stood, dripping, in Ivor’s doorway.
“What the hell?” Ivor said, eyes wide.
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