Children of the Sea 01 - Sea Witch

babbling voices, clattering dishes, the hiss of the grill. The smell of fish and onions, fries and coffee, floated on the air.
     
    Caleb scanned the packed booths, the line snaking between the tables, the weathered faces around the room. New England faces, most of them, with Viking eyes and Puritan mouths.
     
    Where was Maggie?
     
    Regina slapped two plates from the pass-through on top of the counter. “One chowder, tuna on wheat, lobster roll with fries. Come get your order or I’m giving it away to the next person in line.”
     
    No waitress, then. No Maggie. Caleb’s gut cramped. Couldn’t she stay put just once?
     
    Eight-year-old Nick scuttled among the pushed-back chairs and denim-clad legs, clearing tables.
     
    Where the hell was she?
     
    Regina caught his eye and jerked her head toward the kitchen. The knot in Caleb’s stomach eased.
     
    He took one stride, quickly checked as some asshole slid out of a booth and into his path. White male, mid-thirties, blow-dried hair,
    237
    bleached smile. Not an islander, despite the vaguely familiar face. Caleb made him for the Channel Six reporter before he opened his mouth.
     
    “Chief Hunter?”
     
    Caleb nodded warily.
     
    That raised a stir and a flurry of questions. Somebody thrust a long black microphone under his chin like the muzzle of a gun. Caleb’s jaw set, but he didn’t reach for his weapon. Veteran makes progress in adapting to civilian life .
     
    “Do you think World’s End is still safe for tourists?” the reporter asked.
     
    Loaded question. Caleb would have preferred the gun. Conversations stopped all over the restaurant as locals and summer people waited for his reply. Counted on his reply for their safety and their livelihoods. Caleb ground his teeth together. He wasn’t sacrificing either one to some asshole reporter.
     
    “People need to be aware of their surroundings and take precautions wherever they are,” he said carefully. “Excuse me.”
     
    The microphone bobbed in his face. “What about the vicious attacks on two women on your beaches?”
     
    “CID is investigating both crimes,” Caleb said. “Lieutenant Jenkins can give you a statement.”
     
    Sidestepping the reporter, he shouldered past the guy with the mike.
     
    “What do you know about the deceased?” the reporter called after him.
     
    Her name was Gwyneth. She had webbed toes. She was an immortal sea creature who had been murdered by a demon.
     
    Now that would make headlines.
     
    “No comment,” Caleb said, and pushed through the door to the kitchen.
     
    238
    Maggie stood at the big double sink, up to her elbows in greasy pots and foam. She looked messy, hot, and human, her ivory cheeks flushed, her hair curling in the steam.
     
    The sight of her lodged in his chest like shrapnel. He bled internally.
     
    Antonia slapped a row of frozen patties down on the grill. “Go away.
    She can’t leave.”
     
    “I know,” Caleb said quietly.
     
    If you had your sealskin, if you could return to the sea, would you stay here with me ?
     
    His hands clenched at his sides.
     
    Maggie raised one damp wrist to push her hair back from her forehead. Her gaze sought his. “My shift ends at two,” she offered.
     
    Her tentative overture made his heart beat faster. His nerve endings flared to life.
     
    Pathetic.
     
    Caleb hooked his thumbs in his belt loops, awkward as a boy hanging around the locker of his high school crush. “I’ll be back then. I just stopped by to see how you were doing. ”
     
    She shrugged, the gesture somehow encompassing every damn thing that was wrong with this day. “As you see.” Her crooked smile cracked his heart. “And you?”
     
    If she could lie, so could he. “Fine.”
     
    “Those detectives . . .” Her eyes searched his. “Are you still a—what did you call it?—a person of interest to them?”
     
    Her concern was almost enough to make him hope she might stay.
    But he wasn’t focusing on his problems while her life was at stake. “I’m fine,” he repeated. “I’m here.”
     
    Maggie crossed her arms over her apron. “I can see for myself they did not lock you up. What did they say to you?”
     
    239
    She was made of tougher stuff than Sherilee. His ex-wife had never demanded he talk about his job. Had never wanted him to. Her lack of interest in something as basic as his work had driven them apart.
     
    Or was it his inability to share himself with her that had driven her