The flat bottom dweller had a mottled brown coloring that perfectly mimicked the sand. A young couple that she didn’t recognize occupied the railing in front of the bucket, both bundled up and huddled together. They had also caught a few perch.
“Good for poaching too,” the young woman said, smiling.
“Mmm,” Maris said, as she passed them by. “That sounds good.”
Finally though, she came to Ryan, with his two ten-gallon buckets.
Not only had he caught flounder, perch, and jacksmelt, but also sand dabs. They looked a lot like flounder but without the blotchy look. She gave a low whistle.
“Nice catch,” she said.
As his rod bent downward and he cranked the reel, he grinned at her. “Always.”
As far as Maris could tell, that was true. Ryan had an uncanny ability with the rod and reel. Sometimes it looked as though he could simply lower an empty hook in the water and catch the fish of his choice. If Maris’s guess didn’t miss its mark, the young redhead was one of the magic folk. Unfortunately, Pixie Point Bay etiquette considered direct questions about a person’s magic ability rude.
She smiled at him. “You must eat well at lunch.”
But the thin young man shook his head, even as he reeled in another jacksmelt. “I donate most of mine to the other fishers.” He nodded down the line of buckets she’d just walked past, all heads turned to watch Ryan haul in another fish.
“That’s very nice of you,” she said.
“I’m one of those people that doesn’t fish for the fish,” he said, grabbing the jacksmelt and unhooking it from the artificial lure. “If you know what I mean.”
She leaned back against the railing and crossed her arms. “Then why is it that you fish?”
He smirked at her. “It’s what I have instead of meditation.” He cranked the lure and weight up a bit tighter, leaned back with the rod, and whipped it overhead. Maris turned to watch as the nylon line sailed through the air in a beautiful arc. It landed some twenty yards in the distance with a little plop. He cranked the reel a few times, then set the pole down. “Listen.”
Maris did. Water gently lapped against the pier’s moorings below. Somewhere in the fog a seagull cried. As Maris looked to the south, she saw the steadily revolving beam of her lighthouse in the distance. The sun was just a dim glow, low on the horizon in the east. She heard the crank of fishing reels, and a small exclamation of triumph.
She gazed back at Ryan to see his sea green eyes watching her. “A beautiful meditation,” she agreed, “if ever I’ve heard one.”
“Pixie Point Bay is more than a great place to fish, or a tourist destination.” The young man shrugged. “I don’t really know how to put it into words, but it’s more than the sum of its parts. Way more.” His pole dipped suddenly, and he snatched it up.
As Maris watched him catch yet another fish, she recalled how angry he and Howard had been yesterday. She was just beginning to glimpse how much a part of Ryan’s life the bay was. He unhooked a sand dab this time.
“It’s hard to imagine your meditation with an oil derrick in it,” she said.
He froze, and jerked his gaze up to her face. “Hard to imagine? I can imagine it only too well.” His jaw went tight. “Imagine the sound of the drill right now. Imagine the engines of a tanker. Even in the fog, we’d just be able to make out the rig too. Let’s not even mention all the helicopters that will come and go, and all the damage to the seabed where these fellows live.” He raised the sand dab and then gently slipped it into the bucket. “It would be the end of Pixie Point Bay.”
“Audrey Graisser was killed with a spear from a spear fishing gun,” she said abruptly.
Ryan had been cranking up the lure and weight, but paused. He cast a long sideways glance at her. “Is that right?”
Although Maris didn’t think for one instant that the young fisherman would be capable of murder, it wasn’t exactly the kind of shocked reaction she’d expected.
Clearly he wasn’t shocked.
“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about spear fishing guns, would you, Ryan?”
“I prefer a rod and reel, myself,” he said, not looking at her. He swung the rod behind him and cast the line. “I also prefer dry land.”
“She was killed on dry land,” Maris said.
Again Ryan paused and averted his gaze. “You don’t say.”
“Actually, not me,” she said. “The sheriff.” She waited for that to sink in. “In fact, he’ll be paying you a visit when your shop opens. So you might want to figure out what you’re going to say about spear fishing guns.”
His mouth pressed into a thin line before he finally turned to her. “One was stolen from my shop.”
Maris arched her brows at him. “A spear fishing gun? When?”
He shook his head, and looked away, his jaw tight. “I don’t know. Recently.”
That was a lie. It’d been stolen, all right, and he probably knew exactly when.
He’d fixed his gaze firmly on where the line had landed and continued to hold the pole instead of setting it down. Maris had the distinct impression that their little chat was over.
“Just FYI,” she said, turning to go, “he’ll take your fingerprints, but it’s just routine.”
He looked at her, and nodded a little. “Thanks for the heads-up.” Then his face clouded a little. “I guess I better make sure my fishing license is ready too.”
10
Back at the B&B, Maris shifted into high gear with the usual to-do list. As she was heading upstairs, Cookie was heading downstairs with a load of dirty towels.
“Looks like everyone is out,” Maris said, passing her with an empty trash bag in her hand.
“I didn’t see Julia leave,” the chef said, nodding, “but Joseph left shortly after Ralph and Lydia.”
Upstairs in each of the rooms, Maris made
