Page 30 of Smuggler’s Cove (Twin Lights #1)

Madison finally had the opportunity to drink in the atmosphere.

The scenery was magnificent. A large, winding river was surrounded by lush vegetation, high hills toward the south, and the water gently lapping against the shoreline.

It reminded her of the Renoir painting, The Skiff .

The difference was that the two women in the painting were fashionably dressed, and tranquil.

Neither of them was fishing or clamming.

She glanced at the group gathered by the food truck.

Another painting came to mind. It was Luncheon of the Boating Party .

Again, in the painting, the women were fashionably dressed for an afternoon soiree, but the two men were clad in sleeveless shirts and straw hats and looked more like her immediate circle of characters.

Yes, the people she had encountered over the past twenty-four hours were an interesting lot.

There was the button-down Detective, who Madison would bet did not smoke.

Then there were the crusty dock people, who smoked, dried their skin to leather, and ate fried food every day.

True, they were quirky, but there was a fellowship among them. They looked out for one another.

Madison noticed an exceptionally large bird with a fish in its beak, gliding over the water, when someone from behind said, “It’s an osprey.” Madison blinked. She hadn’t heard the person approach and turned toward the voice.

“Good afternoon. I am Captain Viggo Eriksson, U.S. Coast Guard. You’re the Taylor family?”

“It’s Wainwright.” Madison stiffened.

“Apologies. But you are, were, related to Kirby Taylor?”

Madison held her hand above her eyes to shield them from the sun. The officer stepped up to create a shadow. “Yes. He was our uncle.”

“Sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” Madison replied.

Lincoln stood and shook the captain’s hand.

“I’m working with the town’s local police and the State Police Marine Services in the investigation.”

Madison was hopeful that having the Coast Guard involved would hurry along the process.

“Looks like we are keeping you busy.” She smiled.

The officer was quite handsome, with classic Norse looks.

A full head of wavy light brown hair with streaks of blond from the sun, steel-blue eyes, light skin but slightly tanned, straight nose, high angular cheekbones, with a closely cropped well-trimmed beard.

From where she was sitting, she thought he might be five feet ten, maybe eleven inches tall, with a trim, athletic build.

Her eyes darted to his left hand. No wedding band.

Now why did she do that? she wondered. His raw manliness reminded her of what it would be like to be with one. It had been such a long time.

“Normally we don’t get involved in local situations. We mostly concentrate on smuggling, search, and rescue. That sort of thing.”

“What brings you to Smuggler’s Cove?” Madison laughed nervously. She realized he had already told her. “Sorry. All this fresh air. And the”—she paused—“situation.”

He snickered. “Understandable. Just doing some investigative work. We need to make sure that he was not involved in anything that fell within our authority. But we still don’t know who he was and what he was doing here.”

For the first time, Madison wasn’t in such a hurry to get answers, but she decided to ask a question anyway, even if it was to keep the conversation flowing. “Tell, me Captain Eriksson, do you really get a lot of smugglers here?”

“You would be surprised. Drugs. Contraband.”

“I guess I was thinking more about pirates,” she said, suppressing a giggle.

“We have them, too. But they don’t wear bandanas and patches over their eye anymore.” He smiled. “This area is steeped in pirate and privateer history.”

“What’s the difference?” Madison knew the answer but asked anyway. She simply wanted to hear the man’s deep, sultry voice again.

“Pirates are considered bandits and live outside the bounds of the law. Privateers are commissioned by the government or sovereign power to legally do their pilfering.” He shifted his weight to keep the sun out of Madison’s eyes.

“Interesting.” She gave him a wry smile. “Sounds like insurance companies.” She giggled. Was she flirting? Her best friend Olivia seemed to think so by the little nudge she gave Madison under the table.

Captain Eriksson laughed. “You have a point, Ms. Wainwright.”

“Please. Call me Madison.”

“Certainly, Madison.” He nodded.

“Detective Burton told me there was a young man who carried my uncle’s papers to New York. He is out on a tuna boat, and we have to wait until he gets back. I do not suppose there’s any chance you could go out and fetch him?” she asked innocently.

Eriksson chuckled. “Sorry. No chance. Unless they get capsized, which doesn’t seem likely. They have good weather predicted.”

It was worth a shot , Madison thought to herself. “Of course. I suppose I am a little anxious about all of this.”

“Understandable,” he replied.

Lincoln noticed a scraggly dude hobbling in their direction.

He was wearing a Grateful Dead T-shirt that had to be as old as the hills behind them.

His shorts were ripped above the knees, and his tanned feet clomped in a pair of flip-flops.

“Howdy! The name is Crusty,” he said, and snickered. “For crustaceans.”

Madison had a different interpretation, then silently admonished herself for having a mean thought. He held three wrapped clam sandwiches in his hands. “Hannah says I should give these to you. You’re Kirby’s kin?”

“Yes. I am Lincoln. This is my sister, Madison, and my wife, Olivia.” He availed himself of the rolls with the crispy seafood.

“Good to meetcha.” Crusty wiped his hands on his shorts. “We was sorry about Kirby. He and I used to fish every morning until my lumbago started acting up. So, I’d wait for the boats to come back and help clean the fish and the traps.”

“I am sure he is going to be missed.” Lincoln was getting a better picture of his uncle and his friends. The opposite from his father. Lincoln wondered if his father ever had any real friends.

“Well, I’ll let you fine folks enjoy your lunch. Hannah makes a mean roll. And her tartar sauce”—he kissed his fingertips—“good stuff.” He turned and began to walk toward the food truck.

“Crusty?” Lincoln stopped him. “If you don’t mind, perhaps one day you can tell me more about my uncle. We hadn’t seen him in an exceptionally long time.”

“Sure thing, young man. You can find me here most any day, except during a nor’easter.” He shuffled his way back to his gang.

Captain Eriksson cleared his throat. “I should be going. Enjoy your lunch.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out two business cards. He handed one to Lincoln and Madison. “I’ll be in touch. In the meantime, if you think of anything, or have any questions, please feel free to reach out.”

Madison quickly rifled through her bag, but before she could dig deeper, Olivia was handing one of Madison’s cards to the captain. He looked at the card and then at Madison. “Editor in Chief.” He tapped the card against his fingers.

“And, if you have any questions . . .” She let her words hang in the air.

He smiled and placed her card in his breast pocket. “Enjoy the rest of this beautiful day.”

Olivia waited for the striking officer to be out of earshot. “Muy caliente!” She raised her eyebrows at her sister-in-law and fanned her face.

Madison smiled. She could not have agreed more.

They took their time enjoying the local cuisine and atmosphere. Lincoln nudged his sister. “Good clams, eh?”

“I must admit it. This is delicious.” She wiped some tartar sauce from the side of her lips. “Not even greasy.” She made favorable noises as she took another bite.

“I think this place is starting to grow on you,” Lincoln noted.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Madison laughed. They finished their lunch and went over to the truck to thank Hannah and Charlie and bid their farewells.

“Thanks again for the clothes. That was mighty sweet of you.” Hannah was grinning from ear to ear. “You need anything, you just give me and Charlie a jingle.” She pulled out a card that said:

CLAMS ON WHEELS & A PINCH OF CRABS by Hannah and Charlie We Bring ’em, Fry ’em, Serve ’em 908-555-2784

Madison chuckled. “Clams on Wheels. That is something people will remember.”

“I hope so. With the dock all locked up by the police, I hope we can get some parties or festivals to make up the difference.”

It had not occurred to Madison how this situation was going to impact other people. She had been caught up in her own drama, which had little, if any, impact on her daily life. Again, she felt a little embarrassed about being selfish.

They said their goodbyes, but Madison secretly hoped she would be back. Not for fish, but for that catch—Viggo Eriksson.