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Zach planted the seed, and it sprouted, growing roots and unfurling toward the sun with every passing minute. Had Vi’s gift certificate for yoga been a gentle nudge, or a sisterly joke?

I patted my Bigfoot hood ornament on Briny, my salt truck, waiting for the tank to fill so I could transfer the 1600 gallons of salt water to the evaporation house for my next batch of sea salt. We ran sixteen evaporation houses on the farm, so I was always busy. It took a month and a half to take the brine from seawater to salt crystals before finally processing it into batches of custom salt blends.

I loved my job, but it gave me plenty of time to think andoverthinkabout things, like whether or not I should ask Violet if she’d mind me asking Anya out. Once my brain settled on an idea, I had a hard time shaking it.

Something about Anya drew me. She was kind, but Vi tended to surround herself with good people. All of her friends were pretty easygoing. Anya was beautiful, but looks had never beenenough to make me step outside my comfort zone. Something else pulled me toward her, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. She’d awakened my protective instincts. And my possessive ones. Anya’s role in my sister’s life was the only thing holding me back.

Drew: Got a few minutes for me if I swing by at lunch?

Vi: Sure.

Taking action allowed me to focus on work. Stowing my hose, I scanned the horizon. Gentle waves rolled in on the private beach we used for harvesting. It was peaceful. Only the wind whispered in my ears.

Something black caught my eye. Rectangular and plastic, it looked like a small suitcase. Each wave pushed it closer to shore, until it tossed against the rocks, scraping gently. I picked my way across the stones and sand, wary of slippery moss.

Frowning, I examined my find. It was a black plastic equipment case. The waterproof kind used on boats for storing valuables or documents that you didn’t want wet or at the bottom of the ocean.

I scooped it up by the handle. The case was intact and heavy enough to suggest something inside. I tried the clasp, but, predictably, whoever it belonged to had locked it. Turning it over, I looked for markings or a name. J.D. was etched in the black plastic. For Jordan Dawkins?

My gut churned. Maybe it would offer his widow answers.

I carried the case back to my truck and reached for my SAR radio. It was probably nothing, but given that the cove where Violet and her friends found Jordan’s body was only a quarter mile away, the sheriff might not want me to post it onWhat’s New, Friday Harborfor pickup as a lost and found.

“Dispatch, this is Drew Fenwick. I just found a Pelican case on Orca Beach. Can you please check with Sheriff Walker? I’m wondering if he wants me to bring it in.”

My radio crackled with static.

“Hey, Drew. Sue here. I’ll check with him. Are you headed into town?”

“Yeah, later. I’m going to meet Vi for lunch.”

“He’s in a meeting. I’ll talk to him and let you know. He’ll probably want you to drop it off after lunch. Over.”

“Out.”

It took another two hours to transfer the sea water to my evaporation house. I listened to an audiobook of Lee’s latest release to pass the time. His thrillers were often set in seaside towns, and my current read featured a couple finding a body on their beach walk. A little on the nose, but he had no way of knowing reality would match fiction.

I found parking in front of The Salty Pantry easily, a sure sign that tourist season hadn’t begun. Another couple of months, and the streets would fill with mopeds, pedestrians, and all the cars that could fit on a ferry.

The boutique was Vi’s baby. She’d taken over a small storefront just off Main Street in a white house with black trim. The inside echoed the exterior’s color motif, mostly white walls with black accents and artsy photos of the salt evaporation process.

She carried an eclectic mix of spices, tea, and specialty items from other craftspeople on the island. As a bonus, she offered hot tea and scones for sale. Her pastries drew a steady stream of tourists and locals.

Violet waved from behind the counter. She wore her typical shop uniform, a Salty Pantry t-shirt and jeans. Her hair was secured in a long braid down her back, but a few curly strands had escaped to frame her face and her glasses.

“Hey, Drew.”

“Hey. How’s business today?”

“Steady.” She grinned. “What did you bring me?”

I rolled my eyes. “Who says I brought you anything?”

“You don’t invite me to lunch and show up empty-handed.”

“Just because I don’t think a protein bar is enough to make a meal doesn’t mean I brought anything.”

“But did you?” she asked.