Page 49 of Beachcomber Enemy

“Maybe,” he said. “Maybe not. You might not want to be married to a convict.”

They hadn’t talked much about the impending trial, but she knew it weighed on him more because Cap would be testifying against him than anything else. She felt a stabbing need to reassure him.

“You know I would marry you no matter what.”

“Don’t lie to me Shana.”

“Hey now—remember you have a cook in the room,” Sassy said from not more than ten feet away. Damn this small space.

“Besides,” Shana spoke louder and brighter, “your attorney said there’s no way they’ll convict you. Because you have me for a witness.”

It was an exaggeration of what Kimble had said. But he smiled then, a sad smile. It was better than his deadly shark stare and God knew she’d seen her share of those from him. Like every time she mentioned Cap’s name.

“Speaking of the trial,” Sassy said. She came around the corner of the counter into the living area and picking up the remote with her good hand, the one not in a cast, she flicked up the volume of the television that hung from the wall opposite her. “They’re covering it on the news now.”

“In today’s top story, the district attorney has announced that they will not reduce the charges against Dane Blaise, local private investigator and principal in Beachcomber Investigations from the second-degree murder of Whitey Nash. His attorney sought to have the charges dropped or reduced to manslaughter. After the recent hearing where the judge found probable cause, refusing to have the charges dropped, the DA reneged on the previously agreed-to manslaughter charges. The DA insist they have a solid case for second-degree murder based on the very solid testimony of State Police Captain Colin Lynch.”

“Damn you, Cap,” Shana said.

She snatched the remote from Sassy’s hand and muted the television as the reporter droned on, repeating the highlights of the story, showing footage of the burning beach shack, the funeral, the bomb at the school, then the aftermath of Whitey’s murder in the hospital room.

* * *

Dane wondered how the hell they’d got hold of crime scene photos, but figured it had the handprints of one of his enemies at work.

Dane congratulated himself on not flinching at the news. Though he’d already heard about it from his attorney, the betrayal was still like an open wound, likely would be for a long time.

“Forget about Cap,” he said. His eyes met hers and he saw that she knew all that his words meant, knew the cutting out of Cap went deep and as painful as any knife wound for them both.

“He’s only going to tell the truth, right?” Sassy said. “It’s the DA who’s making a case out of it and the jury will surely agree with you and Ms. Kimble that it was all to prevent Whitey murdering Shana, right?”

“Right.” Dane knew better than to parse out the meaning of the word truth and how there were many different truths to this matter. Even if Dane had murdered Whitey Nash unarmed and in cold blood after what he’d done, Cap shouldn’t have arrested him and shouldn’t testify against him. It was a betrayal, plain and simple. And devastating.

That’s how it felt to Dane no matter how he looked at it, no matter how his mind tried to reason with his gut.

Ms. Kimble had forbidden him from speaking to Cap, not that he wanted to, but Peter thought it would help, that maybe after the trial he ought to. Dane had told Peter that whether it was a good idea or not to talk to Cap after the trial depended entirely on the outcome of the trial. He’d been only half joking. Peter hadn’t laughed.

He still held Shana’s eyes with his and felt a need for more.

“Sassy, you want to take a step outside.” Dane wasn’t asking.

Sassy looked blank for a beat, then she turned pink and fled out the front door, letting it slam behind her with a dull metallic thud. It didn’t have the same spring and bang as the old wood-frame screen door of his beach shack. Their beach shack. He leaned in to whisper in Shana’s ears what he knew to be true.

“We are getting married. I will be found innocent. And you will be my wife forever.”

* * *

There was that finality, that sureness and ridiculous confidence in the way he spoke. It was one of those things she couldn’t resist about him. One of the things she loved dearly.

“I know, Dane. We will.”

“I hear a but.” His face was implacable, giving no hint at his emotional response. She was used to it, but it wasn’t exactly her favorite thing about him, at least not at times like this, when they were alone, when they were talking about their relationship and not about some crime or criminal to catch or wrong to be righted.

“But,” she paused because this was as hard for her to talk about as it would be for him to hear. His face was close to hers. He waited for her to continue without moving a muscle, not even a tic in his jaw.

“But we need to consider whether we are going to continue with Beachcomber Investigations.”

“You don’t want to be my partner anymore?” For once he didn’t hide his incredulousness. She must have really surprised him.