“That’s right,” Maris said. “I was at the premiere Far East holding of Luguan Imperial Resorts. That was my last big city as well.” He looked at her quizzically. “I was their chief trouble-shooter. For a while, it was a resort a month.” She grimaced at the memory. “Talk about burnout.”
“You too?” he said, and sipped his coffee.
She nodded and recounted her many years in the hospitality industry, globe trotting and living out of a suitcase. The pay got better but the stress was insurmountable. The pace was grueling.
“It ultimately cost me a marriage,” she finished.
Mac sat back in his chair as he nodded. “Me too,” he said quietly.
She’d already known this about him, though he’d never told her.
“And now,” she said, gesturing out to the water, “here we are in Pixie Point Bay.”
He grinned. “Here we are,” he echoed.
The chef reappeared, with their server in tow. “The sorrel salmon,” he announced, taking a plate from the large silver tray that the young man held. He placed the dish in front of Maris. “Finished with a white wine and shallot sauce, and pomme puree on the side.”
“It smells wonderful,” she gushed, as the mild aroma of the fish wafted over her, accompanied by the tang of sorrel, almost like wild strawberries.
Etienne placed the other plate in front of Mac, as the server cleared the hors d’oeuvres plate.
“Those appetizers were as magnificent,” Mac said to the chef, “as this view.”
“Yes,” Maris agreed. “What a wonderful selection. Thank you.”
Though the chef smiled a little and bowed to accept the compliment, when he rose, his brow was furrowed. “Of course, both may vanish if we cannot stop this insanity of an oil well.” He nodded to the bay. “Can you imagine this view with an oil derrick there?” He glanced at the table. “Or this meal without seafood?” He shook his head so fast that his chef’s hat quivered. “Impossible.”
“It won’t happen,” Maris told him. “We won’t let it.”
“I wish I could be so sure.” He tossed his hands in the air. “And now with the death of that poor, unfortunate girl, we are the villains.”
“The last word on that,” Mac said, “hasn’t been spoken. But the one thing I know is that we’re going to get to the bottom of it.”
The chef seemed to relax a little. “Of course,” he said. “Of course. Please do not let me keep you from your food. Bon appetit.”
During the rest of lunch they enjoyed their food enormously and Maris recounted how she’d spent time in Pixie Point Bay with Aunt Glenda when she’d been younger. Mac asked about Mojo, and they laughed at some of his antics. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that Etienne might be right. Suddenly, after all this time, Pixie Point Bay seemed like a fragile dream.
As though Mac had heard her thoughts, he said, “I know.” She looked into his eyes and saw the same concern that she felt. “We can’t let this end—and we won’t.”
She hadn’t realized she’d stopped eating while she’d been staring out at the sparkling water, watching a pair of gulls swooping along the rocks. Now she saw that Mac hadn’t finished his plate either.
With a little smile, she nodded. “Agreed.”
He glanced at her dish. “Shall I get these to go?”
“That’d be great. Thank you, Mac.”
As he signaled to the server for the check, she looked out at the bay again. He was right. It was unthinkable that this would end—so they simply would not let it.
19
Having managed to exit Mac’s truck without causing bodily harm to anyone in the vicinity, Maris gave him a goodbye wave as he pulled away. It’d been a wonderful lunch, and he seemed to enjoy it just as much as her. As she went back into the B&B with her leftovers, she was already thinking that it’d be nice if she asked for a date next time—maybe pick him up at his place.
In the hallway, as she headed back to the kitchen, she heard a noise from the utility room. Bear’s truck had been parked in front and she hoped that was him looking at the fuse. She stowed the salmon and potatoes in the fridge, went through her room, and into the utility room.
“Bear,” she said. “It’s good to see you.”
Mojo was laying on top of his canvas tool bag, watching the big man. William “Bear” Orsino was what Maris would have pictured for a mountain man from a different era. With his full beard and outsized form, he was easily two heads taller than her. As usual he was dressed in a plain white t-shirt and blue bib overalls. Like many of the other people of Pixie Point Bay, Bear was one of the magic folk—a shifter—and he liked to be home before dark. But no matter what the B&B or lighthouse seemed to need, he was always up to the task.
“Hello, Maris,” he said, turning to her but noticing Mojo.
“Let me get him out of there,” Maris said, starting for him.
“Mojo is fine,” he said, stopping her. “He looks so comfortable.”
With his front paws tucked up under his chest and his eyelids half-closed, he looked like he’d made himself right at home.
Hands on hips, Maris gave her fluffy cat a disapproving look but left him where he was. She shifted her gaze to the fuse box. “Any progress?”
Bear nodded his big head. “Bad fuse.” He tapped on it with the plastic handle of his screwdriver. “Right here.”
She blinked at him. “You’re kidding.” Then she thought of the new appliance. “Had to have been my new hair dryer. It must have fried it.” She was going to have to get a different one, maybe not so fancy and powerful. “So we’ll need a new one?”
“Yes,” he said. “I can pick it up at the hardware store in Cheeseman Village.” He glanced at her, then at the ground, with a bit of a sheepish look on
