My smile grows, but it quickly fades when I realize just how worried my family and friends have been about me.
I feed Bryce some good news. “I’m wearing the jeans, boots, and sweater that you sent me.”
After a few more things are talked about, Bryce says, “Get to work. I have three manuscripts to sell.”
We hang up. My mind is going at warp speed. Subplots. Plot twists. Climaxes.
My phone rings again.
It’s Clay.
“Thank you for the cinnamon roll this morning,” I say when I answer. “If I ever come back to Granite Harbor, it will be for the cinnamon rolls.”
“Well, you’re going to have to tell Randall that yourself tonight when we take you out for drinks. Do you have plans?”
I smile. “Turns out, I’m pretty open.”
“Wonderful. We will be by at about seven to pick you up. We’ll make you a Mainer yet, honey!”
It’s 6:59 p.m., and I’m putting on my earrings when the doorbell rings.
I answer the door in black heels, jeans, and a black V-neck sweater that hugs my body. My hair is down, well past the middle of my back.
Clay and Randall freeze.
“What?” I look down. “Too much?”
“Honey, if I wasn’t gay, you’d be my first choice.” Clay turns to Randall. “Do you remember what Sadie wore that night to The Angler’s Tavern?” His eyebrows rise. “Who told her that chartreuse was coming back?”
“Who’s Sadie?” I ask, pulling on my newly purchased coat.
“Nobody,” Randall says.
We pull up outside The Angler’s Tavern. Randall insisted on driving, said that alcohol makes him break out in hives. The Angler’s Tavern is just that—an old tavern stuck between Merryman’s Restaurant and Rain All Day Books. Inside, it’s lined with pictures of fishermen circa the 1800s and the biggest fish caught, old boat paddles, small boats, lifejackets, and anchors. The light in the old bar is from small table lamps that adorn each small table. The bar itself looks like it’s made from mahogany wood. The smell is musky, aged, as if the bar were a walking history book, a living legend. The mood is light, a small-town feel. And I welcome the lightness. I didn’t feel any lightness in Belle’s Hollow. Everywhere I went was heavy, scattered with memories of Kyle. Constant reminders from others:
“Oh, honey. How are you doing?”
“Are you sure you’re eating?”
“You still living alone in that big house on the hill?”
“We miss you at the fire department. Kyle’s picture is on the wall.”
That’s the thing about death. It’s permanent. Nothing about it is temporary, not even the grief. But here, in Granite Harbor, nobody knows about Kyle. Nobody knows about the grief that has been dragging behind me for the past three years. I just want to be free of the sadness. And this place might be allowing me to do just that.
We grab a table in the corner.
“Clay, Randall, who’s this hot little number?” A woman’s voice sounds from behind me.
I turn.
“Bitty, this is Alex Fisher from California,” Randall says.
Bitty is short, like four foot five, with a tight ponytail, her hair thick and lively in the back, and big brown eyes. Looks to be in her late twenties.
I extend my hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“And you.” She whistles through her teeth. “Your name sounds familiar.” She taps her pen against her lips.
“Baseball player.” Not writer.
“Oh, that must be it.” Bitty takes her notepad from her apron. “The usual, boys?”
“Bitty, I think I’m going to change it up in honor of our new friend,” Clay says. “A chardonnay. Surprise me.”
Bitty deadpans. “Really?” She rolls her eyes. “If you want wine and shit, drive your ass to Portland.”
“You’re right.” Clay laughs. “How about a Manhattan, neat? And a tall Diet Pepsi for my man.”
“Got it.” Bitty looks at me. “And for you, Alex?”
I haven’t had a drink in a while. I haven’t been to a bar in a long time. I scan the drink list menu in front of me. “I’ll have what Clay’s having.”
“You got it.” Bitty walks away.
The tavern door shuts, and in walks Eli with three other men.
I’d like to cancel that drink order now. I’d like to leave.
A fresh, intimate feeling enters through my stomach. One I’ve been unfamiliar with for quite some time.
Eli’s in plain clothes this time, and it makes his chest look bigger and broader than his uniform did. He’s wearing a black sweatshirt with some sort of logo on the front, jeans, and a sport fishing hat he takes off as he enters the bar. The three other men follow suit. Patrons nod to the four of them, making small talk as they make their way up to the bar.
Before Eli sits down, his eyes scan the room.
He finds me.
Still, the piercing in his green eyes hasn’t changed since this morning. It’s still there. Alive. Well.
I nod to him, totally unsure of what to do, though I want to be confident, like I know what the hell I’m doing.
What am I doing?
Before I can answer my own rhetorical question, Eli is at our table.
“Clay, Randall.” Eli nods. “Alex.” He looks back at his friends at the bar and motions for them to walk over. “This is Ryan, Ethan, and Aaron. Guys, this is Alexandra Fisher, Granite Harbor’s newest tourist.”
Five
Eli
October 11, 2017
My heart starts to slam against my chest.
She’s here.
I have to go say hello.
No, you don’t. Yes, you do.
My father would be ashamed if I didn’t.
Fuck.
This will not end well, Eli. Be cautious. She’s fucking married. Don’t you see the goddamn wedding ring?
I walk over to her table but panic just before I make it to them because, when I see strands of her hair fall forward, all of a sudden, I don’t know my name. I call for relief from Ryan, Aaron, and Ethan.
I hear Ryan whisper under his breath, “Fucking A,” as we approach.
“This is Ryan, Ethan, and Aaron. This is Alex Fisher, Granite Harbor’s newest tourist.”
Ryan tilts his head. “Like the baseball player?”
“Unless the MLB has somehow renamed A-Fish, then yes.”
Ryan smirks. I know he wants to high-five her right now, but he won’t because he just met her.
“What are you boys doing out and about tonight?” Clay leans forward.
“Just here for a drink.” I shove my hands in my pockets because they begin to sweat. This was a bad idea. I shouldn’t have brought them over here to meet Alex. “All right, well, we just wanted to say hello. Have yourselves a good evening.” Awkward, I tell myself. The conversation is over quicker than it started.
We walk back over to the bar and each grab a stool, order our drinks, and wait for Felix, the bartender, to walk away.
Ryan’s eyes burn a hole in the side of my head. “Dude, she’s fucking hot. Bagging her is not something you would do. Me, yes. You, no. She’s married.”
“I took you over there to meet her, not because I want to bag her, Ryan.”
Ryan deadpans. “You don’t take us over to meet anyone, Eli.” He tries to stifle a laugh. “The last person you introduced us to was when we were sixteen. That reminds me, have you called Grace back yet?”
“No.” I look over to Ethan and Aaron, who are in their own conversation about the upcoming moose hunt.
Ryan turns his head to look at Alex again. “Is that why you wanted to come here tonight?”
“No. I didn’t know she would be here.” I stall. “I just needed to get out of the house.” I take a swig of my beer.
Ryan pulls his beer bottle away from his mouth. “You just need to fucking tell Grace that the marriage is over.”
I don’t say anything. I just peel away the bottle label.
Ryan throws a five-dollar bill on the counter. “Early day tomorrow.” He slaps me on the back. “Plus, I’m going to see if Sadie needs a break from her boyfriend.”
I shake my head. “Are you ever going to learn?”
“Afraid not, my friend,” he calls behind his shoulder as he slaps Ethan and Aaron on the shoulders, too, before making his way to the door.
Ryan, Ethan, Aaron, and I grew up in Granite Harbor. We’ve been friends since the first grade. Since we toured the game warden station in the fourth grade, we always knew what we wanted to be. Like a call to duty. Ethan went to the military first, serving seventeen years, and then came home and went through the warden academy. His twin brother, Aaron, and I went to college at the University of Maine and both got degrees in criminal justice. We finished the warden academy, and we’ve been game wardens for the past eleven years. Ryan though finished high school, went straight to the warden academy, and hasn’t looked back. He’s a damn good warden despite the fact that he’s bagged every girl in Granite Harbor.
Except my sister, of course.
Merit, Ryan, and I have had a pact since we were eight. A pact to protect Ryan from his dad even if it meant we had to lie. Ryan’s had a tougher upbringing than all of us. Mom split before Ryan could walk. Dubbs, his dad, is a commercial fisherman, originally from Massachusetts. Every other word he uses is fuck or whore. I think he’s still got some stifled resentment from Ryan’s mom leaving. Plus, he’s a total asshole.
“Isn’t that right, Eli?” Aaron asks. “Larry McDonald got drawn twice in the last ten years. Lucky fucking bastard.”
Ethan and Aaron are avid hunters. Avid might be the wrong word. Hard core might be better. That’s probably why they’re both still single.
Their dad and my dad are best friends, too, which made it easier for Merit and me. Gave our dad someone to lean on after my mom died when Merit was eleven and I was ten.
“Believe so.”
“See, I told you.” Aaron flicks his brother and pauses, looking up. “Oh, hello.” I hear Aaron say.
A tap on my shoulder.
I turn.
Shit.
It’s Alex.
“Eli”—Aaron and Ethan stand—“we’re going to go.” They both nod to Alex. “Nice to meet you.”
My eyes fall back to her, her pale skin and the way it lays against her body.
“Can I sit?” she asks.
Fuck yes. “Sure.” Don’t stare, Eli.
She sets her drink down. “I have a proposition for you.”
My heart starts to hammer against my chest. I put my beer to my lips and try to play it cool. I take a sip and set the bottle down. Pray. And I lock my bottom lip under my top teeth as I look at her. “Yeah? What’s that?”
Her eyes move from the counter where she set her drink down, then to me, and back to the counter. She grabs her glass, takes another swig, swallows, and stands. “Never mind.”
Alex turns and walks out of the bar, Clay and Randall not far behind her.
Clay whispers as he walks by, “She had one drink, and she’s tipsy. Hope she survives our winter.”
My heart is still hammering against my chest. Her scent is still in my nose. Peonies. Why does she do this to me? For fuck’s sake, I just met her this morning. She’s beautiful, yes. But why am I acting like I’m fifteen again?
I throw a ten down for Felix. “Thanks, man.”
Felix walks to the counter, wiping a glass down. “Still haven’t found the guy?”
I shake my head in frustration. Our community is scared.
“Not yet.” Though I can’t discuss the details of the case with anyone. “Make sure the place is secure before you guys leave tonight, Felix. Make sure Bitty gets to her car safely.”
Felix stops and tilts his head. “Is it that serious?”
I try to play it off. Headless animals aren’t normal. Leaving them on people’s porches is morbid.
“Just be cautious.”
One woman, a local engineer who lives in Camden—not even a mile away from Granite Harbor—found a dead cat on her porch with a note that said: With practice comes perfection.
The Camden PD took that case because it was a domesticated cat. But someone is terrorizing our community, and we’ve got to get to the bottom of it.
I nod to Brad and Adam, two Maine hunting guides.
Adam asks, “Still nothing?”
“Nothing yet.”
“Damn shame.” Brad shakes his head. “You’ll get him, Eli.”
“Doing our best.”
Winter is doing its best to prove its commanding presence, setting in October. What make the leaves so vibrant on our spot of the world are the warm, humid days with the chilly nights, dropping to about thirty degrees.
I hop in my truck and turn the heater on full blast. I pull out my phone and text Clay.
Me: You got Alex home safe, right?
Clay immediately responds.
Clay: Yes, Warden Young. You seem concerned. :)
If it wasn’t for a crazed lunatic running around in our neck of the woods, I probably wouldn’t be concerned. Or would I?
I pull up to my gate, jump out, unlock it, and lock it behind me once I’ve pulled through. The only reason I lock the damn thing is so idiots don’t cruise through my property and tear up my land on their ATVs. Half a mile up the road is my log cabin in the woods. I live on ten heavily wooded acres.
When I set my keys down on the kitchen counter, Rookie, my K9 German Shepherd, whines from his crate.
“Hey, boy.” I open it up and let him out.
He gently gnaws on my hand—his way of saying hello.
“Good boy.” I give him a rub between his shoulder blades.
He goes to the back door, and I let him out.
But, somehow, the stillness, the quietness of the evening, seems eerie. The hairs on my neck stand at attention.
I call Rookie back and hear a rustling in the leaves. I don’t turn on the back porch light because, if there is someone out there, that will give them full advantage, full view of me, without my gun. Rookie comes bounding back, and when he walks past me, I lock the back door, something I never have to do. With a lunatic running amok, it’s a safer bet.
As I settle back into my easy chair, my mind drifts to Alex while Rookie circles in front of the fireplace.
Why would Alex be by herself? Why wouldn’t she have brought her husband? Is she in some kind of trouble? Maybe he was abusing her, and she’s on the run, but she’s terrified to tell anyone. No, she doesn’t act like an abused woman. I’ve seen those before.
My phone rings, and I grab it from the nightstand. “Young.” My voice is groggy.
“Young,” Sergeant Jeff Davis says, “he’s back. This time, five raccoons. Dissected.” Sergeant Davis stops. “One of the raccoon’s was pregnant.” There’s a long pause. “This guy is sick.”
I rub my face with my hand, trying to gain clarity of what he just said. “Yeah, on it.”
He gives me the address to a place not far from Granite Harbor in a town called Spruce Creek.
“I’ll meet you down there,” Davis says and hangs up.
It’s just after 4 a.m. when I load Rookie in his crate in the cab part of my truck. I make my way down my road in the darkness, my headlights providing the only light. I take a sip of coffee and set it between my legs. I get down to my gate, but something is off. Something doesn’t feel right. I crack my window to listen and wait. Nothing but eerie silence. This time in Maine, you can still hear the peepers for a few more weeks before the real cold weather sets in. The word cold doesn’t justify the winter weather here. I listen and hear Rookie whine quietly, as if he, too, knows something is off.
Opening my car door to unlock my gate will put the dome light on, so I reach up and shut it off. Rookie is on full alert. I take one more listen before I jump out of my truck to unlock the gate.
Quietly, I open my truck door, leaving it open so as not to create any more noise. When I
walk to the gate, I realize it’s already unlocked.
I stop.
I breathe out and see remnants of my breath in the cold morning air against my headlights.
Someone’s been up here while I’ve been home.
After pulling the gate open, watching my back, I go back to my truck and hop in, pulling through the gate, Rookie’s head bouncing from side to side, taking in all angles. The only other person who has a key to the gate is my dad. He can’t be up this early, and he wouldn’t have been over late last night. I make a mental note to set up a few trail cams to see if I can get anything. I hop back out and lock the gate behind me.
On the drive to meet my sergeant, Alex pops into my head. Maybe it’s worry. If she is by herself and her husband isn’t here, I feel the need to look out for her. Why isn’t her husband with her?
I begin to rationalize why I should be thinking about her. I’m a game warden. I protect the public. That’s what I do.
I think about texting her, and I realize I don’t have her number. I shouldn’t have her number.
I kick myself for having sex with Grace when she was home last. I think it set a precedent, an expectation that I’m not sure I can keep. It was a need we both needed to fill. A human need.
Two paths, a history since childhood, high school sweethearts, a sense of familiarity. Christ, we were married for ten years. But, after she left, things changed. She needed more than us. Maybe I did, too. People adjust. One thing I know for sure is that we made the right decision. She’s been in Massachusetts. Not sure exactly where. And, at first, I was concerned for Grace. Granite Harbor is all she knows.
Our community has only known Eli and Grace. We were supposed to have children and settle down, but that’s where things got tough. We tried for a while, a long while. It started to become a chore. She wasn’t getting pregnant. I guess women have to be at a particular time in their cycle, and their body temperature has to be right. It has to be a certain day. Who the fuck knows?
She’d fall into a slump or depression or whatever every time she took a pregnancy test that turned up negative. She wouldn’t talk to me for days. I knew it wasn’t me. It was her internal quest. But still, not being able to help my wife killed me. So, I let her be. Let her mend her own heart.
Peony Red (The Granite Harbor Series Book 1) Page 5