Children of the Sea 01 - Sea Witch

kitchen.
     
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    But somehow his house felt more lived in with her there. He liked the way she opened the windows, security risk or not. He liked the way the bathroom smelled after her shower, the bottles she left on his sink, the sugar bowl open on the kitchen table.
     
    Only three days, and already she was making a space for herself in his house. In his life.
     
    His life, Caleb thought, his gut twisting. Not hers.
     
    Before Maggie came to the island, she’d had another life. They had to deal with that, they had to get past that, before they could go on.
     
    How else could he keep her safe?
     
    How else could he be sure she wouldn’t leave?
     
    He opened the door to the outer office. “Edith.”
     
    “Chief.” She swiveled around to hand him a note. “George Wiley says somebody took twenty-five pounds of ice from the cooler out front without paying.”
     
    Caleb raised his eyebrows. “Ice?”
     
    “George is pretty upset about it.”
     
    Caleb rubbed the back of his neck. Community relations, he reminded himself. “Any leads?”
     
    Edith cocked her head, as if listening to the island breeze. “I hear Bobby Kincaid is turning thirty tomorrow. Boys might be planning a party.”
     
    Caleb remembered Bobby. Shaggy hair, flannel shirt, about Regina’s age. He used to sneak beers behind his father’s garage in high school.
    “Fine. I’ll talk to George, see if he’ll take payment instead of pressing charges, before I drop by Bobby’s. I’m headed that way anyway to meet the ferry.”
     
    Edith regarded him over the rim of her glasses. “Planning a trip?”
     
    Caleb forced a smile. “I want to show Maggie’s picture around.”
     
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    Again.
     
    He was grasping at straws. He knew it. But he was running out of options. Circulating Maggie’s description and photograph to the sheriff’s office and the state police had drawn a big fat zero.
     
    “I thought you said the pilot didn’t recognize her,” Edith said.
     
    The pilot hadn’t. The crew didn’t.
     
    “Maybe somebody else will,” Caleb said.
     
    A tourist, a builder hauling lumber, a housewife back from the mainland with her weekly shopping.
     
    Edith shrugged. “That reminds me. Paula Schutte from Island Realty called.”
     
    Caleb waited. He’d already combed through the realty’s rental records. No Margred. No Margaret. No SWF booking an island getaway three weeks or three nights ago. Still, maybe Paula had had better luck.
     
    “She has that list you wanted,” Edith continued. “All the property owners who handle their own rentals?”
     
    Not so lucky, after all. But still helpful. “Great. Tell her I said thanks.”
     
    “You don’t need to thank her,” Edith said tartly. “This is her hit list.
    That woman is going after every unlisted property on the island.”
     
    “That’s her job,” Caleb said. “You can’t blame a person for doing her job.”
     
    Edith gave him another significant look over her glasses. “Some people don’t know when to quit.”
     
    Caleb smiled wryly. “Guess not,” he said, and went to meet the four o’clock ferry.
     
    The birds came while Margred wiped tables after the lunchtime rush.
     
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    She straightened, damp rag in hand, to watch them wheel and dip in sudden numbers over the harbor, brilliant white against the blue. Her heart rose, carried with them on the wind.
     
    She liked working the front of the restaurant. Not only for the view of the sea and to get away from the clatter of pans and Antonia barking in the kitchen. She liked watching Hercules bask on his window ledge like a seal in the sun and Nick, with his tongue between his teeth, coloring in a booth.
     
    She had spent almost seven hundred years alone, living apart even from her mate. The humans’ interactions fascinated her. Their lives were so short and so busy, so varied in their preoccupations and concerns. She liked the fishermen who clomped in, tanned and tired, smelling of sweat and the sea. She liked the older women, easing their soft, comfortable bodies onto the padded seats, and the families standing in line for bottled water and ice cream. She liked the young mothers, exchanging support and advice over salads and iced tea while their babies drooled on crackers and fists.
     
    She watched them, the little ones, and felt a longing, an emptiness in her belly that had nothing to do with hunger or lust.
     
    She had never carried a child. She had scarcely ever seen one in human