Page 69 of Water's Edge

He laughs like he’s embarrassed, but the man is an artist with a chain saw and paintbrush. No joke. He doesn’t answer.

“Would you move here?”

His eyes are asking if I’d like that. I turn my head.

“Not necessarily,” he says. “I like working at my place out in Snow Creek. I’m thinking more of a place to sell what I make. Somewhere along the waterfront would be perfect. Of course, it would be seasonal, so I’m taking all that into consideration. And I’d need to hire someone to work the business while I’m busy making things. They’d have to be trustworthy, charming, willing to work long hours.”

“Sounds like you’ve put some thought into this, Dan.”

He laughs.

I love his laugh. It lights up his eyes.

“Mindy told me you have another big case.” He’s learning from me: changing the subject. “Can you talk about it? I won’t tell a soul.”

I need to confide in someone, if only to organize my thoughts. I feel like I can trust Dan, at least about this. I order another round and we talk. He’s easy to talk to and I tell him more than I intend, but he is a good listener. He doesn’t tell me how to do my job. I find that surprising in someone, especially in a man. It’s their nature to point things out.

When I’m talked out, he sits and thinks and looks out over the blackened waters of the bay.

“Sounds like you have a lot on your plate. I understand why you’ve been busy. Thank you for agreeing to see me tonight.”

“Did you say you have some things for sale in town?”

He gives me the name of a little shop where a few of his carvings are on display.

“A bear, an eagle in flight, and a lighthouse,” he says. “The lighthouses go like hotcakes. I’m thinking of doing some diving bell helmets in wood.”

He offered me the bear when I was working on the last case in Snow Creek. I didn’t take it.

“Where is the bear?” I ask.

“Megan, I’m still holding the one I wanted to give you. I can bring it next time we get together.”

Slick.He’s setting me up for another date. He’s probably succeeded.

“I’ll think about it,” I say. “The bear, I mean. It looked so real.”

Lots of things in my life look real.Ilook real. I can be anything anyone wants me to be. That level of deception is in my DNA. A curse put on me by my biological father. He was a cop. Like me. But a bad cop. I would never be a cop like him. But, like him, I took this job so I can get close to my targets. He did it to kill innocent victims. Me, to kill scumbags like him.

The elderly singer begins again, but my Scotch has melted my dislike. I know I’m getting drunk. I switch to coffee.

“Thanks, Dan.”

“For what?”

“For being such a good listener.”

“You mean for not telling you how to run your case? Not a problem. I’m a wood carver, not a detective. You don’t tell me how to make my carvings.”

I look at the time on my phone and he notices.

“I guess we’d better call it a night,” he says.

I nod. “I need to get to work early.”

I wish I could sit here all night. Not talk. Just look at the stars and the water.

I get up and he walks me to my car, opens the door, and holds it for me. “Good night, Megan.”

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