“I think he’d be disappointed if he’d ever met Romain. He was a jerk to you. Not only this last over-the-top, jerky thing. He never listened, and it was all about him. You’re better off alone and stranded on a desert island than married to that tool.”
“Seriously, you need to start opening up and telling me how you feel. This holding back is horrible for your health.” Meg grinned at her friend.
Laughing, they turned right and started up the hill.
“Sorry. I guess I am speaking a little too frankly lately. Since I have you in a good mood, what’s going on with you and Dalton?”
“Who?” Meg raised her shoulders, faking incomprehension. “I’m kidding. He’s being nice. Nothing is going on between us. I broke off my engagement to a man I’d been with for two years. I’m not ready to jump into something this quickly again.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” Natasha said as she turned into the walkway leading to the small restaurant. The smell of fried fish must be pumped out into the street to bring in more customers. “So did you see your uncle on television today?”
“Yes, and I also talked to Lilly about what Meade had said on the ferry.” Meg and Natasha stepped up to the restaurant’s window and ordered, and then they found a table in the outdoor area surrounding the small porch. Once they were seated, Meg leaned over and updated Natasha on what she’d learned.
“Interesting. I heard Vi Chin talking to her cameraman today at the bakery. According to her, your boss, Lilly, hired a new agent last week and was supposed to cut ties with Robert the day he died. Maybe he committed suicide over losing his cash cow. Wasn’t she his biggest author? What’s fifteen percent of a boatload of money?”
“A rowboat or a cruise ship?” Meg’s phone beeped, alerting her that she’d received a text. She glanced at the message. “It’s Mom reminding me that I need to be at the bookstore at three today. It’s like she thinks I don’t have a calendar or I’m sleeping my day away.”
“Maybe she thinks you’re depressed. You’ve had a lot going on.”
Before responding, Meg waited for the woman headed their way with a loaded tray to drop off the food. “She and Dad both think Romain is going to come crawling back to me. That I need to wait for him.”
“Seriously? If he did, you should push him into the sound. Maybe off the ferry, so he could swim with the fish. Isn’t thatThe Godfatherline?” Natasha opened her tartar sauce container.
“It’s sleeping with the fishes.” Meg sprinkled malt vinegar over the top of the long strip of fish. “At least that’s what I remember. We should ask Dalton. He and Junior watched those movies over and over.”
“Yeah, but he’ll do it in that bad imitation voice he does . . .” Natasha tried to imitate a character from the movie. Which made them both break out laughing.
As they were finishing up lunch, Meg remembered something else that she’d heard. “What about Lilly’s ex-husband? Was he around the day Meade died? He could have found out that Lilly’s agent was stealing from her.”
“But why would he protect an ex? I don’t think they were looking to get back together. In fact, the last time I remember him being on the island, he left his girlfriend at the bakery to wait for him while he went up to Lilly’s house. She looked like a Miss Georgia or something. Right down to the big hair, Southern twang, and tiny waist. She ordered a muffin, cut it into fourths, and then threw away all but a sliver of the muffin. Before she even ate a bite.” Natasha waved a fry for emphasis as she talked. “My triple chocolate muffin. Most of it wound up in the trash.”
“They are addicting. I don’t think I could have the discipline to eat only a fourth of it.” Meg finished her water.
“That’s what I’m saying. He’s dating a psycho.” Natasha put her napkin over the rest of the fries in the basket. “Maybe I’m jealous of her willpower. Anyway, I need to get back. I’ve got to set up tomorrow morning’s bake schedule for Serena. I’m so glad I found her. Otherwise, I’d be up at three getting the cupcakes ready for the day and in bed by eight.”
“I need to get back to the apartment and make a shopping list. Aunt Melody’s heading over to Poulsbo, to visit a friend and go grocery shopping. Mom bailed on taking me to the store. I’m out of almost everything besides capers, canned crab, and dried pasta. Which gives me something to make tonight for dinner and leftovers. Especially if I raid Aunt Melody’s herb garden.” Meg stood and waited for Natasha to go first. The walkway to the restaurant was wide enough for only one person coming or going.
“I can send you home with more day-old muffins,” her friend offered. “I think we have several apple cinnamon ones. I’ll be closing the shop at three. I’ll drop them off at the bookstore. I’d hate to see you starve.”
“More likely I’m going to eat my troubles away around here. Between your day-old pastries and eating out, I’m not going to fit into any of my clothes. Especially the ones I bought for the trip to Europe.” Meg tapped her hand. “And there I go again, talking about the Romain disaster.”
“What’s with you slapping your hand?” Natasha asked.
Meg felt her face warm. “It’s a habit-breaking technique. Every time I think of the person who must not be named, I slap my hand.”
“Oh, like snapping a rubber band when you want a cigarette. Does that even work?” Natasha paused, and Meg realized they were already back at the bakery.
“I’ll let you know in a few weeks.” Meg hugged her friend. “I guess I’ll see you later at the bookstore?”
“Sounds fun. I’d love to work on the case of the angry agent. Maybe that’s the title of this caper. OrAn Island Killing?” Natasha’s eyes sparkled as she teased Meg.
“Maybe. I’m not writing a novel. I’m writing a ‘how to investigate when you’re not a professional’ book.” She considered what Natasha was saying. “Maybe Lilly’s new agent, whoever that is, will want to help me sell it. After I prove myself to be indispensable as an author’s assistant.”
“You have some lofty goals. Or maybe we should call them dreams.” Natasha held up a finger. “Sorry. Candi’s waving at me. Something must need my skilled hand. The bathroom toilet is probably acting up again.”
“Oh, the joy of owning your own business,” Meg called after her as she headed up the street toward her apartment.
Upon arriving home, she quickly took care of the things she needed to do, including compiling a grocery list and starting a load of laundry. And then she looked at Watson. “You know, at least when we were in Seattle, I had someone to report back to when I got something done. Now, unless it’s about work, you’re the only one who gets my daily reports.”
