“We needed to check the cabin,” Meg told her. “We’ve got somebody coming in over the weekend.”
“Uh-huh.” She didn’t buy that for a minute. “Meg and Chuck have a pretty cabin in Moran State Park they rent out.”
“Since we were so close, we just came by to see if we could talk you into meeting us for lunch. We thought we’d grab an early one at the Rosario.”
“Meg.”
“And we’re entitled to look after you.”
“Thanks, but I’m going to stick close to home today. You can pass that on to the next shift.”
“Where’s your cell phone?” Chuck asked her.
“Inside.”
“I want you to start carrying it with you.” The tap he gave her nose spoke of affection, and authority. “I don’t think you’ve got a thing to worry about, but use that common sense you’ve got so much of. Carry your phone.”
“All right.”
“Are you spending any nights here?” Chuck asked Simon.
“Chuck!”
“I’m not talking to you,” he said to Fiona.
“Not yet.”
“Wouldn’t hurt. You do custom work, don’t you?”
“Are you talking about sex or wood?”
There was a beat of silence before Chuck roared out his big laugh, then slapped Simon on the back. “Maybe we’ll talk sex over a beer sometime. On the wood, Meg’s been after a new china cabinet. Can’t find anything that suits her. This one’s too big, that one’s too small, the other one’s not the right wood. If she could tell you what the hell it is she wants and you make it, I’d stop hearing about it.”
“We can talk about that. You’d want to show me the space.”
“If you’ve got time this afternoon, after three.” Chuck reached in his wallet and pulled out a business card. “Home address is on there.”
“Okay. More like four.”
“That’ll work. Well, come on, Meg, let’s get this party started. You?” He pointed at Fiona, then kissed her cheek. “Put your phone in your pocket.”
“Yes, sir, Sergeant Greene.”
“You take care, Fee. We’ll see you this afternoon, Simon.”
They walked back to their car as they’d walked from it. Hand in hand.
“They’ve been married over thirty years, and they still hold hands,” Fiona murmured. “He was a cop for twenty-five, down in San Francisco.” She waved as they drove out. “They moved here about ten years ago, and he runs a tackle shop. He loves to fish. She does real estate and some family law.”
“Did they get married when she was twelve?”
“Oh, boy, she’d love that. She’s in her late fifties, he had his sixty-third birthday in January. And yeah, they both look easily ten years younger. I think it’s love and happiness. Or just lucky genes.”
She picked up the ball one of the dogs had dropped hopefully at her feet, threw it again. “I’m telling you because I always want to know about people, so I tend to give backgrounds, but also because it might help you with the design.” She tilted her head. “Since you’re so strict about it. Anyway, Chuck figures everybody can find every place on the island. I can give you directions.”
“I’ll find it.”
“All right. I’ve got to go clean my house, do some laundry and other exciting domestic chores before my afternoon session.”
“I’ll see you later, then.”
He called the dog, headed for his truck.
He didn’t kiss her good-bye, Fiona thought, and sighed a little, thinking of the Greenes holding hands.
He boosted the dog in, hesitated, then shut the truck door and strode back to her. He gripped her shoulders, drew her up and into a kiss that was hard and brief and satisfyingly hot.
“Put your phone in your pocket.”
When he went back to the truck, drove off without another word, she smiled after him.
Part Two
The great pleasure of a dog is that you may make a fool of yourself with him and not only will he not scold you, but he will make a fool of himself too.
Eleven
Two days later, Fiona started her day with a call on a missing elderly man who’d wandered out of his daughter’s home on San Juan Island.
She alerted her unit, checked her pack, added the necessary maps and, choosing Newman, was on her way to Deer Harbor and Chuck’s boat. With Chuck at the helm she briefed the unit while they carved through the passage.
“The subject is Walter Deets, eighty-four. He has early-onset Alzheimer’s and lives with his daughter and her family on Trout Lake. They don’t know what time he left the house. The last time anyone saw him was before he went to bed at about ten last night.”
“There’s a lot of wooded area around the lake,” James put in.
“Do we have any information on what he’s wearing?” Lori rubbed Pip’s head. “It’s pretty chilly out.”
“Not yet. I’ll talk to the family when we get there. Mai, you’ll be working with Sheriff Tyson.”
“Yeah. We’ve worked with him before. Is this the first time he’s wandered off ?”
“Don’t know yet. We’ll get all that. The search began just after six, and the family notified the authorities by six-thirty. So they’ve been searching for about ninety minutes.”
Mai nodded. “Tyson doesn’t waste time. I remember from before.”
“They’ve got a couple of volunteers picking us up, driving us to the location.”
By the time they got to the lake, the sun had burned away the mist. Tyson, brisk and efficient, greeted them.
“Thanks for the quick response. Dr. Funaki, right? You’re base?”
“Yes.”
“Sal, show Dr. Funaki where she can set up. The son-in-law and his boy are out on the search. I’ve got the daughter inside. He got dressed—brown pants, blue shirt, red cotton jacket, navy Adidas sneakers, size ten. She says he’s wandered once or twice, but hasn’t gone far. He gets confused.”
“Is he on any meds?” Fiona asked him.
“I had her make a list for you. Physically, he’s in good shape. He’s a nice guy, used to be sharp as a tack. Taught my father in high school. History. He’s five-ten, about a hundred and sixty-five pounds, full head of white hair, blue eyes.”
He led her inside a spacious, open-floor-plan house with killer views of the lake.
“Mary Ann, this is Fiona Bristow. She’s with Canine Search and Rescue.”
“Ben—Sheriff Tyson—said you’d need some things of Dad’s—for the dogs to smell. I got his socks, and his pajamas from last night.”
“That’s good. How was he feeling when he went to bed last night?”
“Fine. Really fine.” Her hand fluttered to her throat and away again. Fiona could hear barely controlled tears in her voice. “He’d had a good day. I just don’t know when he left. He forgets, and gets confused sometimes. I don’t know how long he’s been gone. He likes to take walks. Keep fit, he says. He and my mother walked miles every day before she died last year.”
“Where did they like to walk?”
“Around the lake, some light hiking in the woods. Sometimes they’d walk over to see us. This was their house, and after Mom died and when Dad started having trouble, we moved here. It’s bigger than our house, and he loves it so much. We didn’t want him to have to leave his home.”
“Where was your house?”
“Oh, it’s about three miles from here.”
“Could he have gotten confused? Tried to walk there to find you?”
“I don’t know.” She pressed her knuckles to her lips. “We’ve lived here for nearly a year now.”
“We checked Mary Ann’s old place,” Tyson added.
“Maybe he and your mother had a favorite spot, or route.”
“They had so many. Even five years ago he’d have been able to find his way through the woods around here in the dark, blindfolded.” Her eyes teared up. “He taught Jarret—our son—how to hike and camp and fish. He’d declare Hook and Line Day—hook school and drop a line so he and Jarret could—Oh God, wait.”