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He’d heard enough stories from the coast guard, as well as his grandpa—mostly about illegal fishing and occasionally drug running—and he knew it could get dicey fast out on the water.
As Garret walked past the marina, he noticed that the sliding door to the mechanic shop was partly open. And he knew that he’d locked it yesterday morning, after moving Rory’s Jeep into it for safe-keeping.
Through his thick flannel shirt, Garret touched the holster that he’d strapped around his waist as he dashed out to check on Megan and Rocky. His grandpa had taught him to use and respect firearms as a youth, explaining that running a marina in a rural Oregon coastal town could sometimes get rough. He needed to be prepared.
Thankfully, Garret had never had to use a gun at the marina. In fact, the incident at Rory’s house last night was the first time he’d ever shot a firearm at a human. And it was not something he cared to do again. Despite what some of the gun experts said—like “shoot to kill”—Garret preferred the idea of shooting to stop someone. A way to bring them to justice. Especially someone dangerous, like the thug who had nearly killed Megan last night. He’d love to put that guy behind bars.
Was it possible that same thug was here at the marina now? And if so, why? And how had he figured out that Megan was here? Or was this even related to Megan? Perhaps she had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Garret slowly crept up to the shop, trying to put together a plan and, at the same time, trying to figure this puzzle out.
He suspected that the guy in the black pants and sweatshirt at the newspaper office hadn’t planned on knocking off Megan. He’d probably been after something else—something that Rory had left behind. And Megan had simply gotten in his way. That was Garret’s theory. Something he’d tried to share with Michael earlier, but it had sounded so far-fetched that Garret even had a problem believing it. Maybe when the coroner finished his autopsy on Rory’s body they would know more.
With his revolver in his right hand, Garret patted the chest pocket of his flannel shirt with his left hand, making sure his phone was still there. Then he pressed his back against the side of the shop, attempting to peek inside the cracked door. It was too dark inside to see a thing, but he could see that the lock had been forced. Someone had definitely broken in. Probably what Rocky had been barking about.
Garret’s heart was pounding hard as he reached inside the opening, feeling the interior wall for the light switch that he knew was next to the door. His plan was to turn it on, slide open the door and jump inside—all at the same time. The surprise effect.
Taking in a deep breath, he did it, leaping into the shop just as the overhead fluorescent lights flickered on. With his gun drawn and ready, he braced himself for whatever came next. But he saw and heard no one. Still, he ducked behind a cabin cruiser that was in for repairs. Hunkered down by the trailer wheels, he just listened. Still nothing.
Knowing someone had been there, was maybe still in there, he decided to work his way around the perimeter of the shop—no small task since there were tools and cans and all sorts of nautical stuff strewn about. Note to self, he thought ironically, tell his newest and not most reliable employee to clean this place up. If Kent was even coming back.
By the time he’d crept around the perimeter of the shop, he felt certain that whoever had broken in was gone. Probably on that stealth boat that he’d spotted heading out to sea. He went over to where he’d parked Rory’s dark green Jeep Wrangler yesterday. Just seeing the vehicle sent a wave of sadness through him. Megan was right. Rory had been too young to die. He’d been in great health and had been looking forward to decades more of fishing. Such a shame.
Garret ran his hand over the cloth roof of the Jeep but stopped when he reached what felt like a slit on the driver’s side. He looked more closely and, sure enough, someone had cut through the roof. And the door on the driver’s side was unlocked. Someone had gotten into Rory’s Jeep.
Garret opened the driver’s-side door, looking inside. The compartments were both opened and their contents were strewn around. Someone had obviously been looking for something.
“Hello?”
Garret jumped, hitting his head on the roofline bar. He recognized her voice and felt embarrassed for being so jumpy. “Megan?” he called back, rubbing his head.
“Is everything okay? We were getting worried.”
Rocky came bounding over to him, and Garret leaned down to stroke his smooth coat. “Hey, there, buddy. Did you keep Megan safe?”
“He was an excellent guard,” Megan said as she joined him. She frowned at the Jeep. “Is this my dad’s?”
“Yeah.” He pointed to the slit in the roof. “Someone broke into my shop...and they broke into Rory’s Jeep, too.” He pulled out his phone. “I was just about to call someone about it.”
“911 again?”
“Nah, I’ll just call Michael this time. Put it on his radar.”
As he explained to the lieutenant about the break-in, Megan bent down to look inside the Jeep. She gathered up the scattered papers, stacking the vehicle manual, insurance information and registration together. With a deep sigh, she held them to her chest and then, almost reverently, she slid them back into the glove compartment. Garret knew she was in pain over the loss of her dad, but it would be hard for her to deal with her grief if this madness continued. He knew she was strong, but he wondered how much she could take.
He finished his conversation with Michael, slipping his phone back into his pocket, just as Megan stood up from straightening the Jeep. She looked at him with an uneasy expression. “I just don’t understand it, Garret. Something is going on here. But what is it? And why?”
“I have some ideas.” Garret glanced at his watch. “Maybe we can discuss it over breakfast. I’m starved. How about you?”
She nodded. “I’m hungry, too.”
“Well, I’ve been told I make a pretty mean omelet,” he said as he led her out of the shop, sliding the door closed. “Care to give it a try?”
“Sounds good to me.”
As they walked over to his cabin, he noticed that she’d changed into jeans, a plaid shirt and a sturdy-looking pair of walking boots. She looked much less like a city girl now. More suited to Cape Perpetua. And she looked pretty, too. She looked like the kind of girl he’d dreamed of meeting someday. Although he’d dreamed of different circumstances.
“Welcome,” he said as he opened the door to the largest cabin, the one that had belonged to his grandparents.
“Wow, this is nice,” she said as she went inside.
“Thanks. My grandma had some renovations made, back in the nineties. There are some things I’d still like to change, but I’ve been focusing my efforts—and budget—on the fishing cabins, instead.”
“For fishing cabins, they seem pretty nice.” She went over to the big picture window that faced the river. “Wow, what a view.”
“Yeah, I like it. Feel free to look around while I start on breakfast.”
She went to the oversize fireplace. “I love these river stones.” She ran her hand over the wood mantel, without mentioning the dust he knew was there. His housekeeping skills weren’t the greatest.
“Let’s see.” He opened the fridge, looking to see what kind of options he might have to fill an omelet. “I’ve got mushrooms and spinach and onions and cheese and—”
“Those all sound good,” she said with enthusiasm.
“Okay.” He started setting the ingredients out on the counter by the stove.
“Need any help?”
“Do you like coffee?”
“Love it.”
“Know how to make it?”
“I think I can figure it out,” she said with a trace of sarcasm as she went over to where the coffeemaker was next to the sink, making herself busy.
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