“Oh, I’d take a boat,” the gardener replied matter-of-factly. “Nevertheless, I find it difficult to leave.”
Jordan turned back in the direction of the ship, which was very close now. The wisps of fog in its path near the water’s surface dispersed, making the air around the ship seem brighter. “It must be quite expensive to maintain a ship of that size. Are you familiar with this one?”
The woman pursed her lips. “I believe she was originally built in the mid-1800s and used as a passenger ship between China and the West Coast. For a short time until the steamers came along, clipper ships were the fastest vessels on the ocean. They had wonderfully plush accommodations for their passengers.”
“You seem to know a lot about them,” Jordan noted, curious.
“Yes, it’s an interest of mine. The ship ran aground not far from here in 1893,” the woman continued. “Most of the crew and passengers died in the wreck.”
“How tragic.” Jordan winced at the vision of such a beautiful ship breaking up in the surf, then paused, confused. “But she couldn’t have been completely destroyed if someone restored her, right?”
“No, I guess not,” the woman murmured, her gaze distant.
The ship really was coming quite close to shore, almost bearing down on them. “She’s not going to repeat history, is she?” Jordan asked worriedly.
The woman gave her an odd look. “She’ll turn at the last minute, running along the tip of the spit. I’ve seen her do this dozens of times. It’s beautiful to watch.”
The ship did indeed change course and sail past to the north. It was so close that Jordan could hear the clanking of its rigging and the swish of water as it cut through the waves. Someone out of sight, perhaps one of the crew, was singing a song. Jordan caught a phrase here and there in a deep, lilting baritone, but she didn’t recognize the tune. It must have been the misty air, or perhaps the angle, but she couldn’t quite make out the name painted on the stern. “Do you know what she’s called?”
“She was renamed the Henrietta Dale by her new owner in 1893.” The woman drew on her gardening gloves and began to turn away. “Supposedly, he had her completely rebuilt for the purpose of making trips between here and Canada. Not that he ever had the chance.”
“Why’s that?”
“She ran aground the night of her maiden voyage.” When she looked back over her shoulder, the woman’s expression had become grim. “Some say she was deliberately lured onto the rocks.”
Chapter 3
ANOTHER hour passed. Jordan soaked up the sun, hoping to offset the chill that had settled deep inside her after learning the story of the Henrietta Dale. She’d heard that drowning was a particularly horrible way to die.
There had to have been numerous local shipwrecks over the past 150 years. After all, the area had thriving ports that had harbored substantial criminal activity. And the local waters were known for their dangerous currents, dense fog, and unpredictable weather. But how many of the ships that had gone down had been deliberately sunk? It was a terrible thought.
She watched Coast Guard lifeboats arrive and anchor offshore from Darcy’s crime scene. A helicopter hovered for a time. Jordan could just make out the tiny shapes of a number of law-enforcement types working the area, probably gathering evidence and preparing Holt’s body for transport to the morgue. At least, that’s what she assumed from her limited knowledge of crime-scene processing. Even from where she sat, she could see that the waves were breaking farther up the beach—the techs had to be racing against time.
“Hey.”
Jordan looked back over her shoulder. Jase strolled toward her, Malachi at his side. Spying her, the huge dog broke into a lumbering gallop, leaving Jase to follow at a more leisurely pace.
She braced for Malachi’s greeting, but he still managed to almost knock her off the picnic bench. A mix of several large breeds, Malachi embodied the classic adorable mutt, complete with shaggy fur and soulful brown eyes. Adorable, that is, until Jordan remembered the dent he put in her food budget by wolfing down several cans of organic dog food each day.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a hug, receiving a thorough slobbering in return. “You’re not supposed to be out here, fella. If they find you, they might haul you off to doggie jail.”
“He looked so lonely on your front porch that I didn’t have the heart to leave him behind,” Jase explained, coming to a stop in front of her. “Did you know he loves boat rides?”
“I haven’t had the opportunity to take him out yet.” After telling Malachi to stay inside the fence and away from the nesting grounds in the off-limits areas, she rose stiffly, wincing as a chorus of aches and pains made their presence known. Sitting that long without stretching had been a mistake.
Jase cocked his head, silently studying her, his blue eyes reflecting concern. As always when she was around him, Jordan experienced a confusing mix of strong attraction laced with caution. Attraction, because Jase was the sexiest man she’d come across in a very long time. Caution, because between adjustments to her divorce and Ryland’s murder, she knew she had no business contemplating a new relationship with anyone.
Ruggedly attractive with a lean build, Jase had a friendly, deceptively laid-back manner that hid a razor-sharp mind and gentle wit. He was also an accomplished jazz piano player—a strong point in his favor. But he came with the baggage of a high-profile celebrity past—a point not in his favor. Given her recent experience of being front-page fodder in connection to her deceased husband’s sexcapades with Hollywood starlets, Jordan was wary of anyone who had been touted as a celebrity by the press.
“You’ve had a stressful day,” Jase observed.
She gave him a weak smile. “An understatement.” She took a couple of steps then stopped, grimacing.
He reached out to grip her elbow. “You okay?”
“Just blisters.”
“Ah.”
“I’m worried about Darcy. She wasn’t looking all that great when I left. I don’t think she should be taking on this much, this soon.”
“Darcy’s tough—she’ll be okay.” He stared down the beach at the distant crime scene, his expression pensive. “Holt’s death is already all over town. This kind of thing doesn’t happen very often around here, even if it is an accidental death.”
Jordan realized she hadn’t been clear when she spoke with Jase earlier on the phone. “Holt’s death wasn’t accidental—he was murdered.”
Jase’s head whipped around. “You sure?”
She nodded. “I saw the bullet hole …” She paused to swallow. “I don’t know how Darcy deals with this type of thing.”
“When you’ve seen as many crime scenes as she has, you grow a pretty thick hide.”
“I suppose.” Jordan didn’t think her hide would ever be that thick. “Were you frequently exposed to crime scenes? You know—before?”
Jase had been a sought-after criminal-defense attorney. To be fair, his skills had come in handy when she’d had the LAPD breathing down her neck—only his legal maneuvering had kept her out of jail.
“Yeah, I’ve seen my share of corpses,” he replied, “and I don’t care to repeat the experience. You found Holt?”
“Floating in the water just off the beach,” she confirmed. “Someone … shot him in the forehead.”
“Execution style, then.” Jase was silent for a moment. “It’s not like we have any professional hit men hanging around town. And it’s odd that Holt was all the way out here—I’ve never known him to take an interest in hiking.”
“He wasn’t hiking—he had on a dive suit.”
Jase frowned. “That really doesn’t make sense—Holt was deathly afraid of the water.”