Page 27 of Hook, Line and Mystery

“Nope, but I watch a lot of police procedurals. Cops and SEALs are big in romance.”

Kit looked at the poacher. “You heard the lady. Turn around, get on your knees, and put your hands behind your head.”

When the poacher complied, Kit found two zip ties while he was grabbing some of the rubber bands. Once he had the poacher’s hands secured by his wrists, he tipped him over and zip tied his ankles together.

“Keep your eye on him. I need to get out of the cave to get cell coverage.”

“Who are you going to call?” she asked.

“Marine Patrol,” he answered.

Kit stepped out and came back in, chuckling.

“What’s so funny?” Abby asked.

“Marine Patrol should be here in just a few minutes. Apparently, the cops saw a truck parked illegally and when they saw what was sitting in the bed, they called Marine Patrol. They were already on their way to start trying to track down who owned the truck. They diverted to come take this yahoo off our hands.”

“They aren’t going to do anything to me,” declared the poacher confidently.

“I don’t know. Lobster poaching in these parts is frowned upon. In all honesty, you’ll probably fare better with law enforcement than you would with our local fishermen.”

“Yeah, but I can give Marine Patrol the guy behind the operation,” said the poacher smugly.

“You mean Gordon Lowrie?” asked Abby.

Kit and the poacher looked at her.

“The knife isn’t the only thing I picked up but take a look at it.”

Kit did so and started to grin. “Let me guess, you had a chance to look up who owned this trademark.”

“Fascinating history, but in the end, it belongs to Gordon Lowrie.”

A muscle twitched in Kit’s jaw as he took out his camera and snapped pictures. “Lowrie is something of an outsider, but he was able to buy the manor house at the other end of town. He’s turning it into an inn and has managed to charm most everybody by giving locals jobs—all the while stealing the birthright to their livelihood. I wonder what else he has lurking behind that facade?”

Marine Patrol arrived, relieving them of the gun, the poacher, and all the evidence of Lowrie’s poaching activities. Kit and Abby gave their preliminary statements to the Patrol, who also loaded up the live lobsters, the remaining tanks, traps, and the rest of the paraphernalia.

When they left, Kit stared at her before pulling her close and kissing her deeply. “Have I mentioned how sexy you looked holding that gun?”

She grinned. They’d solved their mystery, and it wore a familiar, sinister face. As they left the cave, the gulls cried overhead, their wings cutting through the salty air as they headed for Kit’s truck.

Abby watched the waves crash against the rocks, their relentless energy mirroring the churn of her thoughts. The smell of brine and rotting fish was pungent, mixed with the tang of diesel fuel and seaweed. Abby shivered, pulling her cardigan tighter around her shoulders.

Kit’s phone rang, and upon seeing the ID he answered, speaking only a few words before ending the call. “That was a friend at the Department of Marine Resources. It seems they’ve been tracking poachers all up and down the coast. Those traps were easily identifiable. They were only sold to a limited number of buyers. Gordon Lowrie was one of them.” He showed her the screen, where financial records and email communications unfolded like a yellow brick road, leading them straight to Lowrie’s doorstep.

“His name—it’s tied to everything.” The words felt heavy on her tongue, laden with implications she couldn’t quite process. She stared at the evidence that linked the amicable Mr. Lowrie to the dark network they had uncovered. There was no room for doubt, and yet disbelief gnawed at her.

“Gordon’s the perfect cover,” Kit said, his voice laden with disappointment. “Respected local businessman, access to the shoreline, knowledge of the sea. A seemingly endless supply of money. He’s been using all of it to poach lobsters illegally.”

“Using his position to exploit the trust of the community; what a jerk,” Abby murmured. Her voice quivered not just with the cold that seeped through her clothing, but with the fragility of their revelation. “He’s betrayed everyone.”

“Exactly,” Kit affirmed. “Not to mention he would have sanctioned killing us. The worst part is he’s been doing it right under our noses. All this time, while we searched for answers, he was weaving this web of deception.”

In the shadow of the lighthouse, the stark revelation weighed heavily between them. Abby’s mind raced with thoughts that spun like the beam of light overhead—a beacon in the tumultuous sea of her consciousness. She was aware of Kit’s gaze upon her, seeking a response, but words seemed elusive.

“Who would have thought the culprit was a resident the whole time...” she finally said, her voice trailing off as she grappled with the magnitude of their discovery.

“Nobody,” Kit replied, his tone solemn. “That’s the advantage he had. Nobody suspected the friendly innkeeper.”

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