Page 17 of Tide and Seek (Dr. Maxwell Thornton Murder Mysteries #8)
Royce
Getting hold of Deputy Gonzalez to see if he’d let us see the security footage was easier said than done. He was no doubt busy with the murder on the beach and countless other crimes, but that didn’t make it any less frustrating.
Since Max and I had decided to stay home tonight, I offered to grill some salmon.
I made that offer before I saw the grill.
Seeing it up close, it looked more like a spaceship than a BBQ.
I should have known it would be fancy when Max had mentioned the word “infrared” in the name.
Back home, my barbecue was a rusted barrel with a propane tank that hissed like a pissed-off rattler.
This thing? It was sleek, stainless steel, and intimidating as hell.
I’d never seen a grill with a damn touchscreen. It was chrome with glowing buttons and knobs that didn’t click the way they were supposed to. My grill back in Rainy Dale had two settings: hot and hotter. You turned the knob, heard the gas hiss, and hit the igniter button.
Simple.
This contraption was a whole other situation.
I squinted at the little digital panel. It wanted me to select a “mode.” What the hell did that mean?
Was I supposed to bake the salmon? Roast it?
There didn’t appear to be a grill mode, which only confused me more.
One of the buttons said sear zone, and I figured that sounded aggressive enough for what I was trying to do.
I tapped it. Nothing happened.
There was a moment where I considered calling Max, but pride’s a powerful thing.
James probably knew how to use this grill like a pro, and I was damned if I was going to fail at this.
I opened the lid and poked around underneath.
Rebuilding an engine probably would have been simpler than turning this thing on.
There was no igniter button in sight, just this smooth steel surface and what looked like a USB port, which I hoped wasn’t necessary for cooking.
Was I actually supposed to hook up a computer to this thing, just so we could cook a few pieces of fish? That couldn’t be right.
After a solid minute of pressing every button like I was trying to reboot the space shuttle, the burners finally kicked on with a low, even whoosh.
I didn’t even know what I’d done right. The screen flashed “Preheat in progress,” which seemed excessive, but I was too relieved to care.
Heat shimmered across the grates, and I could smell the faint scent of metal warming.
Max was inside making a salad, which I was grateful for.
I didn’t want to look foolish in front of him.
After all, I’d volunteered to do the grilling and I was damn well going to grill something.
I waited a few minutes, shifting uneasily, but it seemed like things were now working smoothly.
Once the grill was hot, I brushed a little oil on the grates—something I did know how to do—and laid out the salmon fillets.
The fish sizzled on contact, and I stepped back, satisfied. Maybe I had a handle on this after all.
The breeze carried the scent of saltwater and smoke. The ocean rolled out in front of me like a painting come to life, and I let myself breathe for the first time since I’d stepped onto the patio. The point of this trip was relaxation, but so far, that had eluded me.
I was flipping the salmon, trying to look like I knew what I was doing, when the sliding glass door whispered open behind me.
Max stepped out barefoot, a wine glass in each hand, the hem of his linen shirt catching the breeze.
He looked like he belonged here, relaxed, sophisticated.
The golden light kissed his skin, polishing out any rough edges.
He handed me one of the glasses without a word, but he had a little smile at the corner of his mouth.
He looked content, and that wasn’t something I saw on his face too often.
I took the white wine, leaning in for a kiss, needing to feel his full lips against mine.
He responded and there was obvious hunger there.
Despite how different we were, this sophisticated, gorgeous, accomplished man truly seemed to love me.
When the kiss ended, I pulled back and took a sip of the cool, citrusy white wine.
It was delicious, but dry enough to make my mouth tighten for a second before the flavor settled.
Max had told me the name of it earlier, some French label I couldn’t pronounce.
It probably cost a fortune, but that wouldn’t bother Max.
“Smells good,” he said, nodding toward the grill. “I see you figured out how to work that monstrosity.”
“Took me a minute,” I confessed.
He smiled and leaned against the patio railing, one ankle crossed over the other.
“That grill is ridiculously complicated. It’s a nice grill and all, but I think it’s overkill.
How many buttons does a grill really need?
The one we have back home is more practical.
You don’t need an engineering degree to turn it on. ”
I laughed, pleased to hear he also thought the grill was ostentatious. I also noticed, and liked, that he’d referred to Rainy Dale as home. That meant a lot to me. “Why’d you buy it if you didn’t want anything this fancy?”
He grimaced. “It was a gift from James. He said every deck needs a grill.”
I nodded, making sure I didn’t react to his mention of James. “Well, now that I have it figured out, sort of, we can use it more while we’re here.”
“Sure. I also want to take you out, though,” he said quietly. “I want to take you to some of my favorite spots. I want to share those experiences with you. Then those places will be our places.” His cheeks tinted pink and he looked away.
“I’d love that.” After our conversation about my embarrassing insecurities, Max had made an effort to show his feelings more throughout the day. I suppose that made spilling my guts worth it, at least.
I moved closer to him, and he gave a knowing smile. The slanted rays of late afternoon sun made his eyes appear almost navy, the blue darkening to match the deeper waters beyond the breakers. I lowered my head, capturing his mouth in a tender kiss.
His response was searching, gentle. Moments like these reminded me of the real Max.
The Max I loved. They reassured me that what I felt for Max was reciprocated, and that even if we were different people, we fit together beautifully.
What did it matter that he liked fancy wines with names I couldn’t pronounce, while I preferred whatever beer was on sale, so long as it was ice cold?
When the kiss ended, he sighed contentedly and looked out at the water. The sun was low in the sky, bleeding orange and pink across the horizon. The ocean caught the light and threw it back, glinting across the waves in rose-gold shimmers.
The scent of grilling fish reminded me I needed to check on the food. As I lifted the lid of the grill, my phone rang. Tugging it out of my pocket, I recognized Deputy Gonzalez’s number flashing.
Not wanting to miss his call, I answered quickly. “Hello?”
“Sheriff Callum, sorry it took me so long to return your call.” Gonzalez sounded tired. “It’s been a cluster—you know what—of a day.”
“No worries. I understand you’re a busy man.”
“I appreciate that you get it.” He sighed. “I got your message. Sure, if you and Mr. Thornton want to come peek at the security video tomorrow, that’s fine by me. Just let me know approximately when you’ll be by and I’ll see that one of my people can accommodate your request.”
“That’s great. I appreciate it greatly,” I said, grateful Gonzalez hadn’t been a jerk about it.
“Not a problem. Have a good evening.” He hung up.
I tucked my phone away and smiled at Max. “We got the okay to see the security footage.”
Max lifted his dark brows. “Yeah? That’s fantastic.”
“It may not shed any light on anything, but it’s certainly worth a try.” I opened the hood of the grill and gently scooped the fillets onto a plate. I carried the grilled fish to the table where Max had set dishes and silverware. “When would you want to go to the station tomorrow?”
“Maybe around noon? Detective Hartley is coming in the morning to interview us.” Max’s face was pinched. “I hope he doesn’t stay too long. I’d really like to do something fun with you tomorrow. I feel like the entire trip so far has been spent with law enforcement.”
“I know.”
He brightened. “Would you want to visit the Getty Villa Museum one of the days we’re here?”
“The Getty?” I took my seat across from him.
“Yes, it’s a cool place. It was modeled after the Villa dei Papiri, an ancient Roman villa in Herculaneum. You’ve probably heard of it. Herculaneum was buried by the eruption of Mount Vesuvius in 79 AD, the same eruption that destroyed Pompeii.”
“Sure, I’ve heard of it.” I nodded and set my napkin on my lap. “I’m fine going there.”
“Do you like museums?” He studied me. “I don’t think we’ve ever discussed whether you like things like that or not.”
“I enjoy them, yeah.” I grinned. “I mean, there aren’t many museums in Rainy Dale, unless you’re going to count Joe Jameson’s rusty cars piled up in his yard.”
“Yes, the Getty is a little more interesting than Joe’s yard.”
“Although, rumor has it he has an M29 Weasel hidden somewhere on his property.”
Max widened his eyes. “Seriously?”
I nodded. “Yep. He supposedly bought it at a government auction.”
“Is that allowed? I mean, isn’t that some kind of tank or something from World War II?”
“I think of it more as a tank crossed with a sled, but yes, civilians can legally own certain decommissioned military vehicles. I believe most of the vehicles are stripped of weapons and sensitive components before sale. So, odds are Joe won’t shell Rainy Dale anytime soon.”
Smirking, Max said, “Aww, that’s too bad.”
“Maaxx,” I drawled, fake scowling. “That’s not nice.”