taken out and driven fast with the throttle wide open. It was a marine patrol team’s dream. The three thirty-five-horsepower engines mounted on the back ran over $6,000 each, he knew. Wouldn’t that be nice in the summer months when jackoffs seemed to be everywhere. And it was beautiful. Mat wasn’t much into power boats himself, but this was a gorgeous example.
“Nice boat, isn’t it?”
Mat managed not to jump out of his skin, but it was close. He’d been so focused on the boat he hadn’t heard footsteps behind him.
Looking over his shoulder, Mat watched as Sharleen Dixon drew closer. The dock moved slightly with the water’s current and her added weight.
Sharleen looked like she always did, the rough-draft version of an English professor. Mat thought she was in her early fifties. Her faded red hair was wild from the wind, escaping Sharleen’s efforts to keep it out of her face. She wore wrinkled khakis and a button-down shirt under a thick fleece vest, and the outfit was completed with a pair of thick black rubber boots that had seen better days. Mat noticed Sharleen’s ancient pickup truck now parked next to his cruiser. He shifted his attention back to the Whaler.
“Whose is it? I haven’t seen it out here before,” he asked.
Sharleen shrugged, staring at the boat. “I’m not sure; you’d have to ask Duane. He brought it here a month or so ago, could be longer. It’s been a while, anyway.”
“Do you know anything about WoodlandStar LLC?”
She glanced at him, frowning, something in her expression sharp. “No. Never heard of it.”
“When Birdy was out here the other day, you told her the boat was Duane’s.”
“I meant I assumed it’s Duane’s,” she replied. “He never told me.”
Mat thought that was kind of odd. All the boat owners he knew were chatty about their boats, wanting to compare specs with everyone in listening distance.
And how would Duane afford such a boat? As far as Mat knew, a significant chunk of Duane’s income went to alimony, as his wife of twenty-some years had divorced him a few years after Mat moved back to Piedras.
“Duane’s busy these days,” Mat said, steering the conversation away from the boat. He wondered how well Sharleen knew Duane, if they were friends or if they merely shared the marina office.
Sharleen nodded. “You know how slow it is in the winter, but we’re all starting to gear up. Gotta get the boats ready for summer.”
“This was a tough winter for sure.”
They chatted aimlessly, turning to walk back toward land, the kind of catching up acquaintances do when they haven’t seen each other in a while: the weather, if the summer would bring lots of tourists. They reached the end of the dock, and Mat looked up to see Duane driving in just as he was saying goodbye to Sharleen.
“Here he is; you can ask him about the boat yourself. See you later,” Sharleen called out as she headed to the small shared office tucked to one side of the dock.
Mat waited while Duane climbed out of his truck, which was bigger and newer than Sharleen’s. He hitched up his baggy work pants before slamming his door shut and striding over to where Mat waited. He was a grizzled man; years of exposure to the elements and a lack of sunscreen had created a kind of caricature of a fisherman. His hair had once been blond, but over the years it had thinned and faded to the sort of gray hair blonds often get when they are older. Even his bushy mustache was washed out.
“Duane.” Mat shook Duane’s extended hand. “How’s everything going? I haven’t seen you in a while.”
“Good, busy. Getting ready for spring.”
“Nice, nice.”
Mat looked out over the marina; Sharleen’s shadow moved about on the other side of her office windows—making coffee, maybe. A seagull squatted on one of the pilings, waiting for fish or taking a nap; two crows fought over a piece of something unidentifiable. The ever-present breeze picked up a little, making the boats rock harder and causing the sailboats’ rigging to bang against their masts again, a sort of marine orchestra echoing out over the small bay. Duane began walking toward the boatyard office. Mat followed him, wanting to talk a little more.
“I stopped by to see how you’re doing and if you need any help getting the paperwork together for the reorg. Deputy Flynn can stop by and give you a hand if you need.”
They stopped walking when they reached the