Page 19 of Colton's Secret Weapon
Blinking a couple of times, Dove sniffled. Wiped her face and said, “Any of his crew. They were still here when I left yesterday. The police had the vandalism report ready for me and had questions to ask as well, so as soon as the contract was signed, I left with Detective Welding…” She paused. Seemed to go inside herself, and he suspected he was losing her again until she said, “Oh! And Oscar Earnhardt. They meet for beers every Saturday afternoon. Always have for as long as I can remember.”
Frowning, he stared down at her. “Oscar Earnhardt who he fired for driving a boat while drunk and then crashing it?” He’d gleaned the further information about the incident when going through Whaler’s jotted notes in his friend’s file. And he and Dove were getting further and further apart from each other with each contribution to the current conversation.
She nodded, and he used his own body-language-reading skills to try to assess her current reliability. Her shoulders were back. She was looking him in the eye. And her voice was stable as she said, “They’ve been drinking buddies for years. It’s howOscar came to work for Dad in the first place. They’d met at the bar. Back then, the whole time Mom was alive, actually, he only went to the bar on Saturday afternoons because Clint has always had a sailors’ happy hour. Oscar enlisted in the navy right out of high school but blew out his knee during his first year at sea and was put on permanent desk duty. He got out as soon as his tour was up, came here, and my dad took him under his wing. Oscar understood that my dad had to fire him or risk losing the business to potential lawsuits…”
Mitchell was leading her out the door by the time she got to that part. He’d heard enough to know that they had to find Oscar Earnhardt. It sounded as though if anyone would know where Whaler might be, it would be his drinking buddy.
It wasn’t the first time he’d heard the story of the bottle being a stronger bond than career or money.
“Where does Oscar live?” he asked when Dove shot a questioning glance up at him. It didn’t make good business sense for Brad Fletcher to have harmed Whaler, but the way facts were suddenly lining up, Mitchell could see possibility in the theory.
Most particularly if Fletcher somehow got word about the contract Bob St. James had signed the day before, giving his daughter legal right to make decisions for the company. With Whaler out of the way, the uptick in pressure Fletcher had put on Dove that morning made more sense.
The sailors’ happy hour—something Whaler had been participating in for years—would have been easy for Fletcher to find out about. A few questions in town or at the docks could easily have provided the information. Everyone knew Whaler. And if someone working for Fletcher posed as an old friend…
“Last I heard, Oscar’s got a room at the Shelby Inn,” Dove’s response to his question interrupted the thought. “But it’s up for sale,” she continued, “so I’m not sure if he’s still there. He’s inthe process of going through a divorce. His wife and son are still living in their small home not far from the docks.”
She’d wrapped her arms around herself as she spoke and slid out the door he held open. A sign that she was holding back? Or just giving herself a much-needed hug?
Activity down at the dock looked much as it had the day before. Customers waiting for boats to be readied for them to climb aboard for a day of fishing. Whaler’s two current employees making the work look easy. For a second there, Mitchell envied them both. Spending their days at or on the water. The condition of the boats their main responsibility. But only for a second. He’d be missing his job, his clients, by end of day one. The idea of having a boat waiting for him at the end of the day was a good one, though.
Something to think about as he had Dove climb into the passenger seat of his expensive sedan to head out to the renovated hotel. Better that than give any brain time to the warm soft touch of her skin he’d felt when his hand had brushed her bare side above the waistband of her skirt thing and the bottom edge of the long-sleeved crop top as he’d led her out of the office.
What was he doing? Escorting the flighty woman around town searching for her drunk father when he should be on his way to the glaciers to test out his new footwear.
His current behavior was so out of character, he almost told Dove she’d need to go alone as he climbed behind the wheel and smelled lavender coming from the seat beside him. But how could he just walk away?
Most particularly with her thinking that he was going to be taking on St. James Boats as a client.
The thought calmed him. Going the extra mile for a client was not new to him. On the contrary, it was completely ordinary. Almost predictable.
He’d just never had a client like Dove St. James. It wasn’t him that was out of character. It was her lifestyle, requiring him to meet different needs, that had his normal routine in flux. As soon as they found Whaler—and had a business conversation that would go along the lines of letting the police get a handle on Fletcher before contemplating any business moves they could make—he’d be free to get to his own Sunday pursuits.
Down the road, if Whaler was willing to listen to any of Mitchell’s suggestions to generate cash flow for his business, the sea captain could meet him at Shelby Law Office.
And Dove St. James would be wholly out of his life.
Oscar was still in his room at the inn. And wasn’t at all welcoming when he answered the door with his growl of “What?”
But as soon as Mitchell told the man why they were there, his expression changed from sourpuss to open concern. And for the first time in a long time, Dove’s heart went out to the navy man.
Oscar’s drinking had caused seemingly unending pain for his wife—a client of Namaste—and had endangered Whaler’s business as well. But Dove was beginning to understand that while raising a glass to your mouth was a choice, it wasn’t always a logical mind that drove a person’s choices. Sometimes overwrought emotions were in control. Impulses. Physical addictions.
Something she’d been blind to for too long. Because she wanted to believe that her father could be well by just not raising that glass. Cured from one minute to the next.
But with the thought of losing him taking over her mind, she knew that the only way to save him was to see him as he really was.
Which meant she had to see Oscar in that new light as well. Rather than through the many layers of pain she’d helped his wife clear from her spirit.
Not trusting herself to be as efficient as Mitchell would be in the current situation, she stood outside the doorway with the lawyer, and listened silently to the conversation taking place.
Oscar had seen Whaler the afternoon before, briefly. The former St. James Boats employee had had a job interview in the next town and had had to leave the bar shortly after Whaler had arrived. Whaler had walked out with him to wish him luck, and Oscar had assumed the older man had gone back into the bar. But he hadn’t looked back to confirm that. Or couldn’t remember having done so, at any rate.
He also hadn’t been offered the job he’d applied for. But he had another really good possibility on the table. The news drew out a genuine smile from Dove as she told the man thank-you and followed the expression of gratitude with “And good luck with the next interview. Just be yourself, and you’re sure to get it.”
As long as he didn’t show up drunk. Oscar, sober, was an excellent seaman. Was a walking encyclopedia of southern Alaska and most particularly glacier facts. And was a people person, too. As critical as it had been to get him away from St. James Boats after the accident, the business had also suffered for Oscar’s leaving.
Tension filled her space, encased her, as she hurried with Mitchell back to his car. She couldn’t move fast enough to escape it.
