Be careful what you wish for.
As much as Jack welcomed the chance to sink his teeth into something more challenging than another domestic disturbance, he really wished his first homicide in Pirate’s Cove had not occurred on the premises of the Crow’s Nest.
Really wished his prime suspect was not Ellery Page.
Page’s demeanor was exactly right. Jack had to give him that. He seemed genuinely sick and shaken. In fact, two hours after finding the body, he still looked a little green around the gills. For sure, he was upset and scared.
But that didn’t mean so much. Jack had once had to question a woman who’d passed out cold after discovering her husband’s body, and yet, as it turned out, she was the one who’d poisoned him. Third try, no less. Plenty of murderers found the experience of homicide nearly as upsetting as their victims. Especially once the police were involved.
“When was the last time you spoke to Maples?” Jack asked again.
He could see the repetition irritated Page, but that was the point. It was when people were tired, irritated, stressed, that their stories started to change. Page was all of those things, but so far, his story had stayed as consistent as if he was reading from a script. Maybe he was, although it was hard to believe that knifing Maples in the Crow’s Nest had been premeditated. If so, it was the stupidest plan ever.
Then again, murder was stupid.
“I told you,” Page said tersely. “This afternoon. He offered to buy the Crow’s Nest again. He told me I could name my price—within reason.”
He had very pretty eyes. Perfectly shaped brows, velvety long lashes; eyes a shade of hazel that reminded Jack of oil-rubbed bronze. Eyes like a spaniel, he thought cynically, and with that same aggrieved look spaniels got when they felt they were being unfairly punished.
“What was your price?”
“I told him I didn’t want to sell.”
This was news. Or, more probably, fake news. “Did he buy that?”
Page seemed confused. “Did he—”
“Did he accept your refusal?”
A hint of color returned to Page’s ghostly face. “Oh. No. I don’t know. I think he thought I was still negotiating for a better price.”
“Were you?”
“No.”
“No?”
Page couldn’t be serious, but he shook his head, insisting, “I like it here. I told him that. I wouldn’t be going to all this trouble of renovating the shop if my plan was just to sell.”
This did not compute. Jack’s brows drew together. “You’re planning to stay in Pirate’s Cove?”
“Well, yes. That was the idea. That was my great-aunt’s idea.”
Say what? Page had abandoned his entire life based on the whim of a woman he’d never met? It wasn’t like he’d inherited a fortune. The opposite. The bookshop was a money pit. And the house was even worse. That house was a money sinkhole, if Jack knew anything about it. And in fact, he did know a few things about construction and renovation. Page’s inheritance was a financial disaster on an isolated island where he didn’t know a single soul. And yet he was pretending he intended to abandon ship on his former life?
No way.
But why lie? Did he think—well, what the hell did he think? Was he running from something? Did he have a rap sheet?
Page’s pretty hazel gaze held Jack’s unwaveringly. His expression was perfectly serious, even earnest.
Yeah, Page’s past would bear looking into. Jack made a couple of notes. He could feel Page’s eyes locked on him. Trying to read what he was writing?
Interestingly, Page kept quiet. Guilty people talked too much. They tried to fill the silence with pointless words, distracting words. As nervous as Page was, he kept his mouth shut. The scratch of Jack’s pencil was the only sound in the small back office.
“How’s the shop doing?” Jack asked when it was clear Page was not going to volunteer anything.
He felt rather than saw Page’s shrug.
Jack studied him. “Could you be more specific?”
“From what everyone tells me, this is the slow season.”
To put it mildly. “But you’re turning a profit?”
“No.”
“You’re breaking even?”
Page made a face. It was kind of cute, kind of charming—which he was no doubt aware of. “No.”
“You’re losing money.” It was not a question.
Page said slowly, “The renovations cost money, but that’s to be expected.”
Sure. It was to be expected. But most people could only absorb that kind of financial hit if they had considerable resources or knew they could count on a big windfall. Jack pushed back in his chair, the better to watch Page’s reaction. He said casually, “I remember your aunt. She was quite a character. And not one to beat about the bush. According to her, the Crow’s Nest had been running in the red for some time. The last time I spoke to her, she was weighing whether to sell up or close the doors for good.”
The deer in the headlights look was back. “Was she going to sell to Trevor Maples?”
“You tell me.”
Page stared into Chief Carson’s eyes. He looked genuinely surprised—and genuinely concerned. But then something changed. A glint of something sparked in his gaze. Defiance? Stubbornness? Maybe just a glimmer of unexpected toughness.
