“Oh.” Ellery didn’t bother to hide his disappointment. He and Jack had lunch together about once a week. Jack had also twice come out to Captain’s Seat, the falling-down 18th Century mansion Ellery had inherited, to help with renovations. “That’s too bad. What’s the emergency?”
“The lack of any game plan to handle the media once they arrive for the trial.”
“Ugh. Right.”
Ellery’s recent experience with the editor of the Scuttlebutt Weekly had left him with a sour taste in his mouth for members of the media.
“Yeah, anyway, I was wondering—” Jack broke off as Watson, the black spaniel-mix puppy Ellery had adopted, wandered out of his crate behind the counter to say hello. Jack squatted down. “Hey, you little rascal.”
Watson threw himself on his back, wriggling in delight—which was the typical reaction of most Pirate’s Cove citizens when Jack Carson appeared.
Sure enough…
“Oh! Chief Carson. I thought I recognized your voice.” Mrs. Nelson came around the corner of tall bookshelves.
Jack rose. “Mrs. Nelson. How are you?”
Mrs. Nelson proceeded to tell him in detail.
Mrs. Smith—small and slender, with thinning sandy hair—appeared at the counter, a stack of used paperbacks from the bargain bin in hand, and beamed at Ellery. “Ring these up, dear.” She turned immediately to Jack. “Chief Carson, how is the Maples case coming along?” Mrs. Smith was a devoted viewer of the Investigation Discovery channel and believed herself to be an expert in criminal investigations.
“We’re gathering evidence and building our case, Mrs. Smith,” Jack said politely.
“The circumstantial evidence alone ought to be enough to secure a conviction.”
“I prefer direct evidence.” Jack glanced at Ellery, and Ellery grimaced. There had been plenty of circumstantial evidence against him in the Maples case, but luckily Jack had dug deeper.
Mrs. Nelson, who had not finished detailing the delights of her gallbladder surgery, cut in. “Call me old-fashioned, but I don’t trust a doctor younger than my grandchildren.”
“Isn’t your youngest grandchild around eight years old?” Jack inquired.
Mrs. Nelson ignored that.
“I always suspected there was something up with that man,” said Mrs. Ferris, materializing out of the brand-new True Crime section, to join in the conversation. “His taste in sports coats was a clear indicator of a deranged psyche.”
“Juries like circumstantial evidence,” Mrs. Smith insisted.
Watson, wearying of so many conversations that had nothing to do with how adorable he was, waddled toward the front door. Ellery dashed around the counter to scoop him up as two young women opened the door, saw the crowd at the counter, and ducked back out.
He sighed, glanced back at the huddle in front of the cash register, and caught Jack’s gaze. Jack looked resigned, as well as…something else. Ellery didn’t know him well enough to interpret his every expression, but he had the impression Jack had been about to ask him something.
Well, whatever it was, it would have to wait. Jack’s fan club was not going anywhere soon.
Ellery returned Watson to his crate, gave him a chew toy, and began to ring up Mrs. Smith’s books. He listened with half an ear to the conversation around him. He was surprised Jack had not already extricated himself and escaped, something he was very good at in such situations.
He looked up, feeling Jack’s gaze, and they smiled at each other again. It warmed Ellery. He really did like Jack. He liked his easy, straightforward manner. Nothing ever seemed to fluster Jack. He liked the way he was with Watson. He liked how Jack looked—broad shoulders and narrow hips, muscular arms and long legs—in his trim navy-blue uniform. He liked the way Jack’s smile formed little crinkles around the corners of his eyes.
Jack started to speak, but Mr. Starling appeared at the counter with Lee Child’s latest. “Ellery, my boy, could you tell me the price of this book?”
Ellery was about to rattle off the price, which happened to be clearly labeled on a sticker on the back of the book, when Mr. Starling turned to Jack.
“Chief Carson, I didn’t see you there!”
Ellery resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
“Morning, Mr. Starling.” Jack glanced instinctively at the door, and Ellery bit back a grin. Everyone had their breaking point, and Mr. Starling was usually it.
“Nice day today, eh, Chief?”
“Yep.”
Ellery handed the receipt with the stack of paperbacks to Mrs. Smith, who dumped everything in her canvas shopping bag. She turned to Mr. Starling. “How’s your wife, Stanley?”
Mr. Starling waved dismissively. “Doing fine, I suppose. Spends her days staring at the boob tube.”
Mrs. Nelson began, “I don’t believe televisions still have tubes—”
Mr. Starling ignored her. “Chief, I’ve meaning to talk to you about those young hooligans hanging out on the beach every evening. It wouldn’t surprise me if they were doing drugs and whatnot.”
“Sure,” Jack said, edging toward the door. “Why don’t you come down to the station later and have a chat with Officer Martin.”
“I’m not sure young Martin is old enough to know what’s what.”
Mrs. Smith was also angling toward the door with Jack and Mr. Starling. “Lovely visiting with you all, but I must pick up some scallops from Finn’s.”
Ellery opened his mouth, but Mrs. Nelson was there before him.
“You’ve forgotten to pay, Jane.”
Mrs. Smith looked startled and then laughed gaily. “Oh dear. I’m always doing that!”
Yes, she was, but Ellery chuckled too. Politely.
Jack said mildly, “Uh-oh, Mrs. Smith. Should I save space for your mug shot on the station bulletin board?”
Mrs. Smith turned red. Her laugh sounded a little hysterical that time. The others joined in. She hurriedly dug her pocketbook out and handed over a twenty-dollar bill. “Keep the change, dear.”
In fact, she was twenty-three cents short, but Ellery knew to choose his battles. “Thanks, Mrs. Smith.”
The shop door flew open, the bell clanging wildly, and Nora Sweeny rushed in, narrowly missing colliding with Jack and his entourage.
“Ellery, dearie! So sorry I’m late, but you won’t believe what’s happened!”
Nora was Ellery’s shop assistant. She was about seventy, small but mighty. In spirit, at least. Her hair was gray, her eyes were gray, but her personality was bright and cheerful as the gold and blue city flag she had helped design. Once upon a time, Nora had been president of the Pirate’s Cove Historical Society, and it was her life’s ambition to bring that now defunct organization back to life.
“What’s happened?” Ellery and everyone else in the Crow’s Nest chorused.
Nora skidded to a stop, looking nonplussed. “I didn’t realize—well, the news is bound to be all over the village by now. I still can’t believe it. It’s a…a calamity.”
“What’s a calamity?” Jack, being in the calamity business, was frowning.
“Skull House has been sold!”
“Isn’t that good news?” Ellery was confused. “I thought the historical society was planning to buy it for their new home base.” It was pretty much all Nora had been talking about for the last two weeks, ever since the news broke that Skull House was going on the market.