Page 57 of Smuggler's Cove
Lincoln debated whether the conversation should be at home, in private, or in a public space. He decided on takeout. “How about that Lebanese place down the street from you?”
“Okay with me.”
“I’ll stop there on my way to your place. Text me what you want.”
“Get the usual.” She looked at Olivia. “Rice pilaf, sfeeha, manakish, kafta, and hummus.” She loved their meat pies and meatballs.
“Sounds good to me. What time?”
Madison checked her planner. “I have a meeting at four. Should go about an hour. Say six?”
“Got it. I’ll phone the restaurant and let them know I’ll pick it up at six o’clock and be at your place by ten after.”
“I’m getting hungry thinking about it,” Madison said, and ended the call.
Madison was still ruminating over how she could get back to Smuggler’s Cove without appearing desperate. Or was it anxious? Or artless? Insecure, perhaps? Her reverie was broken by the sound of her cell phone.
“Hello, this is Madison.”
“Ms. Wainwright, this is Detective Burton. Did Captain Eriksson have an opportunity to speak with you today?”
“Yes. He said you were able to identify the man. Dennis Farrell?”
“Correct. I wanted to reassure you that we are diligently working on this matter.”
“I have no doubt.” Madison’s words were chipper.
“As soon as we get the coroner’s report, we will be in touch.”
“Thank you, Detective.”
“You’re very welcome. Just one other thing. Every year. Smuggler’s Cove has a seafood festival, and we would like to honor your uncle. The town has a fund that helps families when they lose a loved one as a result of an accident while working the waters. We hold a fifty-fifty raffle.”
“That is a lovely idea. What can we do to help?”
“You can be in attendance when we give the check to the committee’s fund.” He hesitated when he realized he was pitching a small-town activity to a highbrow New Yorker. “It won’t take up much of your time.”
“That will not be an issue.” She wondered if the Coast Guard was invited. “Just text me the information, and we will be there.”
“It’s held over Memorial Day weekend. A kickoff for the summer, as if we don’t have enough going on.” He snorted. “I know everyone will appreciate the opportunity to celebrate your uncle’s life here.”
“Sounds wonderful.” Madison was quite sincere. The response and support she had witnessed regarding her uncle was heartwarming. “We would be honored. Thank you.”
“I’m sure you will enjoy the festivities. It’s not the Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade, but it’s good fun.”
“That is a relief! As much as I enjoy watching the parade on television, I will skip the crushing crowd.”
“No crushing involved, except for crushed ice with lots of syrupy flavors. We call them ‘snow cones.’ ”
“So do we, Detective.” Madison chuckled. “Wedolive on the same planet.”
Burton laughed. Maybe he was being a little too biased. “Yes. Yes, we do. I will send you the details this afternoon. Have a good day.”
Madison was sure to have a good day. She now had plans for Memorial weekend. She snapped her fingers. She was going to help the committee with the planning. After all, Kirby was her uncle, and she had always been fond of him. This was her opportunity to make up for the time lost, if that is ever possible. At least the good intentions and positive energy would be there.
“What was that about?” Olivia asked. “You’re smiling like the cat who ate the canary.”
Madison snapped herself out of her reverie and told Olivia about the seafood festival and honoring Uncle Kirby.
