Page 79 of Water's Edge

I return to Jimmy and finish my coffee.

Within minutes my phone pings. Sheriff Gray sent a copy of the court order and one to the hospital. Within fifteen more minutes I have the records and the video on a thumb drive.

I have probably burned the Clay Osborne bridge. Clay is unhappy that I went around him, but sorry/not sorry. If I hadn’t, I’d have had to go through him. And Jimmy from Little Italy. No problem.

I drive back to Port Hadlock, the rain pelting my windshield and smearing the scenery. I’m pretty sure now that Jimmy didn’t look for Robbie Boyd all that hard. He claimed he was getting the hospital records, but when I approached him, he was just chatting up the receptionist.

The last piece in the puzzle is Margie Benton. The hospital had no record of her.

I’m twenty minutes away from the office when the sheriff calls.

“Megan, I’ve got bad news.”

My heart jumps. His tone is uneasy.

“We’ve located Robbie Boyd.”

I’m confused. That’s good news.

“And?” I ask.

“He’s dead. But that’s not all. There’s another body.”

Thirty-Nine

The pelting rain slacks off to a fine marine mist when I find Sheriff Gray waiting for me where South Water Street dead-ends. I survey the area as I park and make my way over to him. A spit of land juts out into the water between Port Hadlock and Skunk Island, creating a barrier. Near the tip of this little sandy, rocky stretch, a jetty runs like a pointing finger toward Lower Hadlock Road. This area is technically part of Port Hadlock.

Ronnie is there too.

She’s wearing a white button-down shirt, brown slacks, and sensible shoes. She has her leather basket-weave gun belt hitched around her improbably narrow waist. She must have come with the sheriff because I don’t see her Smart car nearby. She is focusing a pair of binoculars on one of our Marine Patrol boats heading toward us from the southern tip of Skunk Island. I can make out the form of Captain Marvel posing on the bow.

Actually, he is talking to the sheriff on his cell phone.

“There’s no need to fear: Captain Marvel’s here,” I say when the sheriff disconnects.

“Be nice, Megan,” he says. “You and Ronnie are going to need a ride over there.”

I don’t like boats. I don’t even like ferries. A ferry—any boat, for that matter—is like the color red, a trigger. It brings back best-forgotten memories. The Sheriff’s Office has two boats, but I don’t know the names, nor have I been on one. Ronnie sits on a rock and pulls on rubber boots. I’m wearing my work boots.

Sheriff Gray leans in and says in a low voice, “I loaned her my waders. I didn’t want her to get her designer shoes ruined.” He gives me a knowing smile.

Not for the first time, I wonder what Ronnie is doing in the sheriff reserves. She obviously has enough money to be going to some Ivy League college or live independently. The clothes I’ve seen her in over the last couple of days cost more than everything I own. And Smart cars aren’t cheap.

The boat makes its way around to the jetty. I grab my phone and a notebook from my car. Ronnie is already on the dock. She looks down at my leather boots but, to her credit, says nothing snarky. Or maybe she thinks I would shove her in the water if she did.

She’d be right about that.

The captain carefully backs the big boat close to the dock. He leaves the wheelhouse and tosses some bumpers over the portside. He throws a mooring rope to Ronnie. She giggles as she catches it and ties it to one of the cleats. She expertly hops aboard, and I ease my way across the open space between the deck and the dock.

Sheriff Gray unties the mooring line and pitches it to me. I miss it but it lands in the boat, so big deal.

Captain Marvel pulls the bumpers back aboard and turns to Ronnie.

“You know your knots, sailor.”

He takes a smiling Ronnie’s hand and leads her to the cabin. I am left to fend for myself. Perfect. Just perfect.

“You’d better come inside,” he says. “This sleek lady has some powerful moves.”

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