Page 15 of Light of Day (Sea Smoke Island #1)

Luke did what the rules said and called the Harbortown police.

“You’re sure it’s a murder case?” asked the chief of police, sounding harried and annoyed. That carjacking spree must still be kicking their asses.

“No. I can’t be sure. Our doctor out here thought it was a possibility, so I thought I should loop you guys in.”

Dealing with the Harbortown police was a big part of his job. Either they didn’t want to be bothered, or they wanted to take charge of everything. There never seemed to be a middle ground.

“Well fuck me.” The police chief put him on hold, made him wait an absurdly long time, then came back to inform him that they could only take on the case if they had more definitive proof it was murder.

“We’re slammed here. I can’t spare anyone to go out there. Just give me something more, that’s all. You got motive, means, opportunity?”

“All I have is what might be a bruise on his neck, meaning he could have been strangled before he was dumped in the ocean. It could also be a hickey. His wife is dead, so that’s not likely. The only doctor on the island is an orthopedic surgeon. It would help to get a real autopsy.”

“All right.” Long sigh from the police chief. “Bring the body in, the coroner’s office will pick him up at the dock. I’ll text you the number.”

Luke had the number somewhere, but thanked him anyway.

He called on Jimmy to make the official identification.

The poor man couldn’t stop weeping. Through his tears, he signed off on the transfer of his brother’s body to the coroner’s office.

It took the help of several volunteer firefighters to get Denton into a body bag—he’d had to dig one out of the storage room—and onto his boat.

As he steered the Izzy C into the channel, he texted Heather that he’d be gone until later that day, then added a warning to stay away from Denton’s house as it might be a crime scene.

He knew her well enough by now that he figured that would be her first thought. Heather was a determined person. He liked that about her, although it could complicate any investigation he or the Harbortown police undertook.

She texted back almost immediately.

Can I search the house WITH YOU when you get back?

He smiled to himself. Called it. Sure.

I actually have other plans right now. I should probably run this by you too.

Uh-oh. That sounded like trouble. What now?

Do you know of any reason your father would have texted Gabby?

He had to wipe sea spray off his phone and read that text again before he answered. His father rarely interacted with the guests, except to invite the most loyal third-generation visitors to his private lounge for brandy and cigars. Not that I know of, he finally answered. Why?

Do you mind if I try to interview him? Just about Gabby, nothing about Denton. I promise I won’t interfere with that investigation.

What could he say about that? He wasn’t his father’s gatekeeper.

John Carmichael barely acknowledged his existence these days.

The rift had started when he’d gone against his father’s wishes and married Carrie, then doubled down and moved to the west side to live with her.

And then there was that terrible showdown after the divorce, when his father had used the phrase “I told you so” about fifty times before ordering him to come back home.

Why was it that some parents saw their children as chess pieces? He himself had made a private vow to never treat Izzy that way—except as the queen who needed to be protected at all costs.

I have no say in that. Good luck to you.

Any tips on how to get him to talk?

He’ll talk. A lot. But he won’t answer questions and he’ll only tell you what he wants to share.

His phone rang, and he saw it was Heather. He set it into the holder fastened the dashboard of his boat and inserted his earbuds.

“Constable Carmichael speaking.”

“Hello, Constable. Can I please speak to my buddy Luke?”

Buddy? He frowned at the phone, then told himself to get over it. “What’s up?”

“I’m terrified of your father. I need a pep talk.”

“From me? He doesn’t even speak to me anymore. I’m the last person to give you advice. If I did, it would be ‘don’t bother,’ because he won’t be helpful and it’s not worth the stress. On the other hand?—”

“What?”

“He does like a pretty girl. His current wife is only five years older than me. So I guess that’s my advice. Be a pretty girl. You have that covered.”

“Awww, you really think so? I feel like you just gave me a compliment.” Her teasing tone made him smile.

“I may have. Is that a problem?”

“No problem at all. But when you say ‘pretty’…”

“My father is old-school. Smile a lot, show a little cleavage, play dumb, and you never know, he may even propose to you.”

She laughed. “Thanks for the warning. I’ll wear a turtleneck.”

He liked Heather McPhee, he realized. A lot. “I should be back in a few hours. If it’s not too late we can search Denton’s house. But I’m keeping my fingers crossed that Gabby will have turned up by then.”

“Let’s hope. It’s been three days now.” The worry in her voice deepened. “By the way, I heard that Jimmy and Denton had a big fight a couple of weeks ago. That might be worth pursuing.”

“Jimmy didn’t do it.” If there was one thing he knew, it was that Jimmy was genuinely devastated.

“Do what? Are you thinking someone pushed him off a boat or something?”

He cursed himself for how he’d phrased that. It wouldn’t take much to get misinformation flying around the island. In fact, it probably already was. “No theories yet. We’re just getting the facts. Please don’t spread?—”

“Rumors? Of course not. But they’re already out there. I heard someone talking about Denton being a member of the Lobster Illuminati, whatever that is.”

“It was originally a horseshoes team, but once the rumormongers got ahold of it, it’s anything from a brainwashing cult to a sex trafficking ring.”

“The things you have to deal with…”

“You don’t know the half of it.” He spotted the first masts bristling from the Harbortown Marina up ahead. “Gotta go. Talk later.”

“Be safe out there. Apparently there’s some super-dark things going on in Lightkeeper Bay.”

Chuckling, he ended the call and focused all his attention on guiding his boat to the wharf, where he could already see a gurney being wheeled out of the coroner’s van.

“Okay, Denton,” he said out loud as he reduced his speed to a near idle. “Onto the mainland we go. Say goodbye to the ocean.”

“Are you talking to a dead person?”

He startled, realizing that when he’d poked the “end call” button, he’d missed and Heather was still on the line.

“Goodbye,” he said pointedly, and made sure the call was over this time. Smiling to himself, he tossed a bumper over the side of his boat to cushion the impact, then jumped off to tie a line to the cleat.

When he saw the paramedic crew eyeing him suspiciously, he wiped the smile off his face. He was delivering a dead body, not the time to be grinning about how much fun it was talking to Heather McPhee.