“Oh, shut up,” she grumbled. “I mean, unless someone is sporting a pierced earring or dreadlocks, how am I supposed to know?”
“Actually, dreadlocks have been worn since ancient times, so they aren’t a good indicator.”
Jordan just shook her head.
“I’m not running anyone down, am I?” he asked, looking worried about what he couldn’t see.
“I’ll let you know.”
He slowed as they neared her street. “Pub or home?”
She considered. If she went home, she’d avoid having to talk about Holt. But she hadn’t gotten around to grocery shopping this week, and Jase had a killer wine selection. “Pub,” she decided.
“You need to stop by the house for dry shoes?”
“Not unless you mind me wandering around in socks. Thanks for coming out to fetch me, by the way.”
He shot her a look that clearly said it hadn’t been a hardship. “I enjoy being out on the water now and again.” He pulled the truck into the parking lot behind All That Jazz, his pub that was located in the small, gentrified business district at the crest of the hill. “Want to help mix drinks this evening?”
“You do realize the last person for whom I mixed a dry martini never stepped foot back in my house, right?”
“You sure the martini was the reason?”
“Humor. Ha.”
He reached over to tug on a lock of her hair, his blue eyes twinkling. “Relax. The job mostly entails pulling pints of beer, pouring the occasional shot of hard liquor, and washing glasses. I can help you with anything exotic.”
“Okay by me,” she said, opening her door. “But if you lose customers, it’s your fault.”
She roused Malachi, who had settled in for a snooze on the backseat of the king cab. Once he realized where they were, he scrambled to his feet and pushed his way out the passenger door. Organic hamburger patties, cooked medium-rare by Kathleen, the pub’s cranky chef, had become the nightly treat.
Jase offered to carry Jordan inside, but she refused—there was no way she trusted her hormones to behave while being held in his arms. Instead, she picked her way gingerly across the gravel parking lot.
He held open the rear door to the pub, his amusement plain. She hadn’t fooled him in the least.
They walked down the back hall past the kitchen. The pub was housed in a building that was a historic landmark in its own right. Jase had done a marvelous job of restoring the distressed brick walls and huge timber beams that crisscrossed the arched brick ceiling. A local stone artisan had used rugged slabs of granite to build a freestanding fireplace, which Jase kept lit with a cheerful fire most evenings. Oak tables with captain’s chairs created casual groupings throughout the spacious room, while more private leather booths lined one wall. An old-fashioned bar, built of ornately carved mahogany, stretched the length of the opposite wall.
For Jordan, the pub had already become a home away from home, where she could count on finding friendly conversation, live jazz most evenings, and excellent food. The fact that dogs were welcome was also a plus.
The room was already crowded, and since the majority of the patrons appeared to be drinking, Jordan decided that they were most likely still on this side of the veil. Jase took her jacket and hung it along with his own on the coat tree in the entrance.
Jase’s full-time bartender, Bill, a slender man with a long silver ponytail who was rumored to have once been a Wall Street broker, moved from table to table, taking drink orders. Though Bill remained somewhat distant with Jordan, she’d felt nothing but affection for him since he’d shown up at her house with his chain saw to help remove the wisteria vine from her attic. As far as she was concerned, Bill walked on water.
As Jase sorted through a stack of drink orders, Jordan surreptitiously studied the people sitting on barstools.
“How many people do you see sitting at the bar?” she asked in a low voice.
“Eleven. How many do you see?”
She released a breath. “The same.”
Jase raised his voice. “Yo, Bob?” A big-boned, sandy-haired man sitting at one of the tables near the fireplace cocked his head in their direction. “Jordan has some questions for you.”
Bob pushed away from the table and walked up to the bar. He was well over six feet tall, yet his hands and feet still looked too large for the rest of his body. And with his shambling gait, it was a miracle he didn’t trip and fall on his face. He gave Jordan a friendly grin as he slid onto the stool across from her.
“Jordan Marsh, the lady who sees and talks to ghosts.” He stuck out a huge paw to engulf her hand, then shook it so vigorously Jordan feared for the health of her shoulder socket. “Real pleased to meet you. You should come down to the wharf sometime—I’ll take you on a personal tour of our haunted ships.”
“You have haunted ships?” She took the drink list Jase held out, idly wondering what ships’ captains looked like in ghostly form.
“Hell yes we do. It only stands to reason that a lot of the older boats in the harbor would have a past skipper or two hanging around, right?”
“Right.” She shook her head as she drew the first pint. “Something to look forward to.”
Foam overflowed, spilling down the side of the glass and over her hand. She poured it down the sink drain.
“Tip the glass like this.” Jase moved in close, showing her how to run the beer gently down the side, minimizing head. He handed the full pint to her, then told Bob, “She saw the gardener around three this afternoon.”
“Damn.” At Bob’s response, a collective groan rose from around the room and money started changing hands.
“She was just a gardener,” Jordan said firmly. “The lighthouse association has volunteer keepers out there every week.”
“Nice try, but the original lightkeeper’s wife was a gardener.” Tom Greeley wandered over, beer in hand, and snagged a stool two down from Bob. “That means Jase wins, lucky dog.”
“Juvenile, very juvenile.” Jordan gave them a chiding look. “Even if she was who you say, what if I hadn’t seen her?”
“Then Kathleen would have won.” Tom grinned, slouching comfortably with his elbows on the bar. “She’s a nonbeliever, so she bet against the rest of us.”
“Smart woman,” Jordan muttered.
“We’ve all been talking about Holt,” Tom said, sobering. “You found him?”
“Yeah.” Jordan gathered clean glasses.
“You seem to be a magnet for dead bodies,” Bob noted. At her cool stare, he held up both hands. “Hey—just saying.”
She related what she knew so far. While Holt’s death was widely known, everyone was shocked by the news that he’d been murdered. “Is it true what Jase told me, that Holt didn’t like the water?” she asked Tom, who had probably known him the best since they’d been competitors in the same business, custom house painting.
“Yeah,” Tom replied, clearly shaken. “Holt had a bad experience as a kid, almost drowning. Ever since, he hasn’t been interested in getting anywhere near a body of water larger than a bathtub.”
“Well, he must have gotten over his fears, because we found him in a dive suit.”
“What about dive gear?” Jase asked.
Jordan shook her head. “I pointed out to Darcy that even if he’d been diving in shallow water, he should’ve at least had some gear on him.”
“Not if someone killed him on a boat, then dumped him in the water,” Bob said.
“Good point. Maybe Darcy can tell us more when she gets here.” Jordan suddenly realized how hungry she was. “Food.”