She'd already downloaded email and taken care of any outstanding issues from the San Francisco office. That had taken less than an hour—her partner had things well under control. It seemed to be working out fine to telecommute--at least, for now. Which had her thinking about the possibility of a more permanent, commuting-type setup. Of letting her partner handle more of the day-to-day responsibilities.
Though it would've been nice if there'd been enough work this morning to keep her from going stir-crazy.
"Stay put," she muttered, stacking a pile of books in the bookshelf, then adjusting them so that they lay on their sides, then moving them to a different shelf altogether. Like she could just sit around, doing nothing. Another hour of this and she'd need horse tranquilizers.
She couldn't see the mooring basin from this end of town, but she hoped none of the fishermen had gone out before the storm hit. Worry for them had been nagging at her since she'd awakened. Most likely, though, they were camped out in the Workman's Café on the waterfront, waiting to see if the weather let up. Or on their boats, killing the time by knocking out some of the items on their ever-present repair lists.
But her concern for the fishermen was nothing next to the hysteria that threatened to bubble up whenever she thought about Gary. He was out there, somewhere close by, trying to catch people who were capable of murder. And trying to evade the cops who, with the exception of Lucy and Ivar, wanted his head served up on a platter.
A nervous widow, fishermen who were too scared to talk, and something that people wanted. What did it all mean? Was it drug-related, as Michael seemed to think? Were some of the fishermen running drugs? Could that have been what Bjorn had been alluding to when he'd said that some of them were involved?
But if so, how had Ken gotten mixed up in it? It didn't make sense—he was a family man, not a drug runner. She couldn't imagine him taking those kinds of chances, not with his wife and kids. Then again, Bobby had been horribly sick, and Ken would do anything for him. But Kaz knew beyond a doubt that Gary wouldn't touch drugs, not for any reason.
She stopped fiddling with the books and blew out a breath. To hell with it. The least she could do was check up on the fishermen. And maybe one of them would let something slip, provide some small bit of information she could use to figure out what to do next.
Snagging her sou'wester off the hook by the back door, she headed out into the storm.
#
Halfway to the mooring basin, she changed her mind and pulled a U-turn, heading back toward Uniontown. At this time of the day, the Redemption was mostly deserted. She figured Steve would have time to talk to her and could perhaps shed some light on what had happened two nights ago. Pulling into the parking lot, she set the brake on the Jeep and hopped out, jogging across the gravel to the door.
She paused inside the door, shaking off the rain and letting her eyes adjust to the dimness of the room.
Steve was behind the bar, totaling up last night's receipts. "Hey, Kaz." He smiled, his expression friendly.
Like most of the people in town her age, Steve had gone through school with her. Although they hadn't run with the same crowd, she remembered Steve as being one of the good guys. She'd heard some rumors that he'd gone a little crazy after his divorce a few years back, but the divorce had been particularly acrimonious, so he'd probably had good reason.
If Steve looked the other way sometimes when it came to what went on in his tavern, it was understandable. A bartender heard a lot, knew a lot. And if he made a habit of repeating what he knew, he'd be out of business in a hurry.
Astoria had a healthy rumor mill, but there were unspoken rules about who you should talk to, and about how much you could reveal. Right now, Kaz was counting on those rules, because as the sister of someone who was involved, she was on the list of people Steve could talk to, if he so chose. She also wanted to find out why Gary had felt that Steve had no cause to criticize him that evening.
"I need to know what Gary and Ken were arguing about two nights ago," she said without preamble.
Steve shook his head, his expression turning wary. "It was pretty busy, Kaz. And you know I make a habit of tuning out."
"You were standing right here the whole time—you could hardly miss what they said."
He didn't reply, busying himself with rinsing out glasses.
Her heart sank. She slipped onto one of the barstools and leaned her elbows on the bar. "They've charged Gary with arson and murder. Steve, if you know something…"
He sighed. "I'll tell you exactly what I told Lucy and Ivar, and that new fire chief guy: I didn't hear anything important."
So Michael had already questioned Steve. He was conducting an investigation, she reminded herself--he wasn't obligated to keep her informed. But still, it bothered her that he wasn't being entirely straight with her. "Okay. What did Gary and Ken say that night that isn't important?"
Steve shrugged, then glanced around the mostly empty room before answering. "They were arguing about something to do with the crab pots."
She stared at the bartender, perplexed. "That doesn't make any sense. They drag-fish—I'm doing the crabbing."
Shooting her an exasperated look, Steve said, "I don't try to reason through what I overhear, Kaz. All I know is that Gary told Ken to shape up or else."
"Was Gary threatening to fire Ken?"
"Not as far as I could tell. It sounded more like a disagreement about how they were handling something."
"Was Ken upset? Or nervous?"
Steve paused and thought about it. "It's kind of hard to tell, with him being so laid back most of the time. But yeah, he did seem to be kind of edgy."
"Who was standing next to them at the bar?"
Steve's face pokered up. "I already answered these questions for the authorities. You're wasting your time, to say nothing of sticking your nose in where it doesn't belong."
"Who was standing there, dammit!" she snapped.
"Karl Svensen, okay?" Steve answered, just as angry. "Now either order something from the kitchen, or get the hell out of here and let me get back to my work."
So she'd been right about Karl. "Was he part of the argument?" she pressed.
"I didn't notice."
She was certain he had but wasn't going to tell her. "Why was Gary so angry with you that night?"
"I wouldn't have a clue." Her disbelief must have shown, because he shrugged. "It was just some crackpot remark your brother made because he was pissed. I'm sure he resented my interference."
He was lying, but for the life of her, she couldn't figure out why. She stood up. "If you think of anything else, please call me, okay?"
He picked up the pile of receipts and put a rubber band around it, then met her gaze, his expression remote. "There's nothing else to say."
"Well, thanks anyway."
He shook his head. "Don't thank me, Kaz. Just mind your own business."
"Why does everyone keep saying that to me?" she wondered out loud.
"Because there are things going on around here that you don't need to know about."
She stared at him, experiencing the same sense of unreality as she'd had the day before when she'd talked to Chuck. Steve looked worried, maybe even afraid. But he'd said all he was going to. She blew out a breath. "I'm beginning to think I have no clue what is going on in my own home town."