Chapter 8: Called Off

Eli made eggs at six and did not ask why I had not slept.

I did not ask him about the photograph.

I ate, I kissed him at the top of the stairs, and I walked down to Winnie's window with D and R still going around in my head.

It was ten past ten when the two SUVs came down the harbor road.

They were black, with tinted windows and out-of-state plates, and they parked across the head of the ferry slip so nothing could pass.

Six men got out.

Five of them stood with their hands clasped in front of them.

The sixth was lean and tan, in sunglasses, and he walked straight to my window.

"Miss Colby."

"We're not open for another minute."

"Mr. Carmine Sarno sends his regards." He smiled without any teeth. "He would like the pleasure of your company at home. A car is ready."

"Tell Mr. Sarno thank you," I said. "No."

"It isn't a request."

"Then he picked the wrong word."

The fishermen in my line had gone very still.

He reached over the sill and put his hand around my wrist.

It was not tight.

It was only there, a hand that expected me to come along.

I looked at it and did not pull away.

I said, loudly enough for the whole pier, "Take your hand off me."

Behind him, a crate hit the planks.

Then another one.

The fishermen were setting down whatever they were carrying, one after another, and turning around.

There were nine of them, and they were not young.

Winnie came out of the kitchen door with a cast-iron skillet, and she held it down at her side.

"This is a small town," she said pleasantly. "We have a sheriff, and he is my nephew."

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