Page 33 of Dead Men Tell No Shells

I stared at the phone for a moment. Everyone in Hartwell Cove knew Harvey Sinclair. He'd managed the only bank in town for twenty-five years, and most of us had an opinion about him. He could be abrasive in public, and he had a reputation for being rude to ordinary customers unless they were among the select few whose business he considered worth cultivating. He was hardly a beloved local institution, but he was a familiar one.

“I knew who he was, of course. Everyone did. I'd dealt with him at the bank, and I'd seen him around town for years. I saw him arguing with Owen Price at the festival on Friday, too.”

“Owen Price? Isn't he the one with the marina business?”

“Yes. They were arguing in public, quite heatedly, but I don't know what it was about.”

“And the sheriff is handling it?”

“Yes, Dad.”

“Good. You let him do his job, then. Don't go sticking your nose into anything dangerous.”

I stared at the phone, my jaw tightening. “I'm not planning to go charging around interrogating suspects.”

“That's what you said about that incident with the raccoons when you were twelve.”

“That was a very different situation.”

“You were trying to find out who'd been stealing the feed from the neighbors' chickens.”

“And I did find out. It was the raccoons.”

“After you got yourself stuck in a shed.”

“I was not stuck. The door jammed.”

Mom's voice came closer. “Give him a break. He's had a dreadful evening.”

“I'm giving him a break. I'm also reminding him that curiosity can get him into trouble.”

I was about to tell Dad I was thirty-six years old and perfectly capable of minding my own business when I made the mistake of adding, “Besides, Josiah drove me home last night, so I'm not exactly wandering around on my own in the dark.”

The silence on the other end of the line was so complete that I checked to make sure the call hadn't dropped. My stomach sank as I realized what I'd just handed them.

Then Dad said, with exaggerated casualness, “Josiah drove you home?”

I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose again. I'd stepped directly into the trap, and I hadn't even needed to be lured in with bait.

“Yes, Dad. My car was left at the festival, and it was late. Josiah made sure I got home safely.”

“That's very considerate of him.”

“Dad.”

“What? It is.”

I could practically hear the wheels turning in his head. Then came the unmistakable sound of the phone being moved.

“Your mother wants to talk to you.”

“I do not—don't you dare put me on speaker!”

A click sounded.

“Max, darling?” Mom's voice came through clearly. “Your father tells me Josiah drove you home last night.”

I dropped my head back against the chair and stared at the ceiling. “Dad was telling you about the murder.”