Page 15 of Everything You Hate
Jasper Merrick nods, a sharp dip of the chin, and his cold blue eyes hold mine two full seconds past comfortable. He’s big—broad through the shoulders, heavy-featured, iron-gray hair combed back off a face that looks carved out of something that resents being carved. Gold watch. Ring on his right hand that catches the light when he reaches for his whiskey.
“Ms. Crawford.” His voice is gravel wrapped in silk. “Malcolm tells me you’ve got quite the following.”
“Instagram, mostly. It’s been a useful platform for human interest work.”
“Eight million.” He swirls the whiskey and the ice clinks against the crystal tumbler. “That’s a lot of people, for someone who hasn’t been on the air in, what? Two years?”
Theodore shifts in his chair. Corey’s boots come off the rung and hit the floor.
“Jasper,” Malcolm says.
“I’m just curious how she works.” His unnerving gaze continues to hold mine. “You’ve got Malcolm’s materials now. Maps, papers, the family documents. Where does all that live? Cloud, or do you keep hard copies?”
“Both,” I say. “Digital for access, physical for verification.”
“Hm.” He drinks. “And when you write something up. Who sees it first?”
“My editor. When there is one.”
“That’s the thing about a project like this.” He sets the glass down and folds his hands, and every movement is unhurried, a man who has never in his life been rushed by anyone. “There isn’t one. It’s just you, and us. Which means we’re relyingon your judgment about what belongs in the story and what’s just family business.” He tips his head. “You understand the difference, I’d assume.”
“I understand that my job is to report what I find.”
“Your job.” He smiles for the first time, and it doesn’t improve anything. “Your job is the one we’re paying for.”
“Jasper handles business development,” Malcolm says. “He’s very thorough.”
“Thorough.” Jasper gives a short laugh. “That’s a word.”
Theodore asks me, a little too brightly, about the transition from print to broadcast, and the moment breaks, and lunch proceeds like choreography. Malcolm returns, again and again, to my follower demographics, engagement rates, projected tourism lift. He asks how quickly a post travels. He asks whether I’ve considered doing something live from the water. Not once does he ask what I think happened to Evangeline Merrick.
Theodore asks about the stories I’m proudest of, and listens to the answers.
Corey tells me about tourist disasters, about her cousin Abel’s pet rat, Bilge, about the sea lion that took a sandwich out of a man’s hand and then barked at him for objecting. She’s funny, and she’s fast, and every time she gets going, I catch Malcolm watching her.
“Speaking of the harbor,” I say. “I’m booked on a tour this afternoon. With Dean Kinsella?”
Theodore’s eyebrows go up. Corey’s grin comes back. Jasper’s expression doesn’t change, but his fingers tighten on the glass.
“Dean.” Malcolm sets his fork down. “Yes. He’s... quite knowledgeable about the island.”
“He’s also the grumpiest human being on this or any planet,” Corey says. “But he knows every rock, every current, every storyworth knowing. If you want the real Port Haven, he’s your guy. Just don’t expect small talk. Or medium talk. Or really any talk.”
“He was less than thrilled about taking me out.”
“Dean is less than thrilled about everything. It’s his factory setting. Don’t take it personally.” She leans in, conspiratorial. “But I hear he went in the harbor after your suitcase, so he definitely doesn’t hate you.”
Jasper sets his glass down hard enough that whiskey sloshes over the rim. “He did what?”
The room goes quiet.
“It was nothing,” I say. “I tripped getting off the ferry. My bag went in. He got it out.”
Jasper isn’t looking at me. He’s looking down the table at his brother. “She booked her own boat.”
“She arrived a day early,” Malcolm says.
“That’s not what I asked.” Jasper’s voice doesn’t rise. It flattens. “You had one job with this. She shouldn’t have been able to book so much as a parking space on this island without one of us knowing about it, and her first afternoon here she’s on aHavenboat, withhim, getting fished out of the harbor like a stray.”
