“I’ve never seen you in a suit. You look nice.”
Almost apologetically, he glanced down at his new clothes, trying to remember what he’d worn to Ruby’s funeral, the last time he’d seen Cate. “I was best man,” he said, as if that explained things.
“Evelyn said he’d asked you. Was it a nice wedding?” She shifted her attention away from the sheriff and began stroking Kipper.
“Very nice.”
“I’m happy for both of them.”
“Why didn’t you come?”
Cate looked up suddenly. Her gaze was penetrating, the same look that had pierced him from the page of the National Geographic. “I thought it might be too distracting. You know how people are.”
He nodded. Her presence would have conjured up memories of the nightmare the county had been through only two years prior.
Cubiak took a step forward. “I…”
“Please, don’t. I know what you’re going to say and it’s not necessary. It wasn’t your fault. None of what happened was your fault.” Cate hesitated and lowered her gaze. “Or mine.”
At the door, Butch yelped and danced a nervous jig, her nails clicking on the hard floor. “She needs to go out,” Cubiak said, feeling cowardly but grateful for the reprieve as he followed the dog onto the porch and then into the yard. The moon was rising over the horizon. The night was still, as if the wind was holding its breath. Cubiak gulped in the cold air. Why hadn’t Bathard told him Cate was back? Had she asked the coroner not to say anything because she wanted to surprise him, or because just a few hours earlier she hadn’t made up her mind about seeing him?
Cate was still on the floor when he came inside. He scooped up one of the pups and slid down alongside her. Cate smelled like sea breeze. “That’s Kipper,” he said, indicating the pup in her lap. “This one’s Scout. The two at your feet are Buddy and Nico.”
“I didn’t know you were a dog person,” she said.
“I’m not.”
“I see.”
He started to move toward her, but she pulled away from the wall and turned to face him. They were inches apart but it felt an enormous distance. Kipper stirred. Cate stroked the pup gently. “You’ve done a fine job so far.”
“I’ve had help from the vet.”
“Who’s that?”
“Natalie Klein.”
“Ah, Natalie. She’s good.”
They lapsed into silence and then spoke at the same time.
“Can I have one?”
“I’ve missed you.”
Cate bent her head, her face hidden by her hair.
Cubiak closed his eyes. He’d spoken too soon, acknowledged a reality he’d kept hidden even from himself. “Yeah, sure. Why not?” he said after a moment. “But with your travel schedule…”
“It won’t be so bad anymore. I’ve cut back. And I thought that maybe when I take an assignment, you could dog sit.”
“You’re moving back?”
“I already have.”
Cubiak felt his color rise. “That’s good.”
Buddy and Scout rolled into a single, squirming ball that demanded their attention.
After a few moments, the pups fell away from each other, and Cubiak held out his hand to Cate. When she took it, he rose to his knees and pulled her up. With Nico and Kipper cradled between them, they melted into an awkward hug. When he tried to lift her mouth toward his, she burrowed her face into his chest. He heard her say something but the words were muffled.
“What?”
“I missed you, too,” Cate said, leaning away from him.
Their eyes locked.
“No guarantees,” she said.
“There never are.” Cubiak drew her close and kissed the top of her head. For him, for now, this was enough.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Like so many writers, I work in isolation but I could not do my work without the help and kindness provided by others. My gratitude extends to many:
To my daughters, Julia and Carla, who continue to offer their support and encouragement as well as their criticism, suggestions, and hands-on assistance.
To the women of my writers’ group, B. E. Pinkham, Jeanne Mellett, and Esther Spodek, who enthusiastically read and critiqued every word of the novel.
To my early readers, Norm Rowland and Barbara Bolsen, whose candid reviews of the initial draft helped shape the final manuscript.
To Max Edinburgh, who read the completed work aloud to me—twice—giving the words a voice other than my own and thus offering an invaluable and sometimes humbling perspective.
To Rod Polacek, who shared experiences from his days of high school wrestling.
To Raymond Zielinski, who patiently tutored me on the complex process of repairing a wooden sailboat.
To Wayne J. Spritka, the former officer in charge of the Sturgeon Bay Coast Guard Station, for providing important factual information and escorting me on an extensive tour of the facility. Historic data was gleaned from several works: The United States Coast Guard in World War II by Thomas P. Ostrom; The U.S. Army Campaigns of World War II, vol. 6, Aleutian Islands, prepared by George L. MacGarrigle for the U.S. Army Center of Military History; and Yank—The GI Story of the War by the staff of Yank, the army weekly.
To Alex Skalka, my late father, who served in World War II. Though he seldom talked of his experiences, his stories made it clear that war was ugly and a far cry from the glamourous adventure portrayed in many late-night television movies.
Finally, my sincere thanks to the staff at the University of Wisconsin Press, including Raphael Kadushin, Sheila Leary, Carla Marolt, Sheila McMahon, and Andrea Christofferson, for cheering me on through the second book of the Dave Cubiak Door County Mystery series.
Death at Gills Rock Page 24