The Solace of Bay Leaves

expanding and my parents planning a return, I had living space on the brain. Though this space did seem to work rather well. By the time Nate went back to Alaska in the spring, we’d know.
We’d know if the loft worked for the two of us. But more importantly, we’d know if we worked.
Patience, Pep. Patience.
In between bites and at-bats, we talked about our days. I filled him in on Maddie. Kristen had talked to Tim, who said they were beginning to see signs of responsiveness—a twitch of a hand, movement behind the closed eyelids—but they still didn’t know when she’d come around.
“The grapevine’s buzzing—I’ve gotten oodles of texts and emails from our old classmates. I keep saying, ‘I know Maddie. It will take more than a bullet to the brain to stop her.’ But I still can’t believe this has happened.” My eyes watered, and my jaw tightened, my lips pressing together.
Nate took my hand. “I’m sorry I’ve never met her. Not that we don’t both have friends the other hasn’t met yet.”
Thinking of Maddie plunged me into a tangle of emotions I didn’t want to deal with right now. As if her success made me a failure because she had everything a woman was supposed to have, and I didn’t. Which wasn’t a fair assessment of my life and I knew it. Cadfael, my patron saint of investigation, would visit the Abbey chapel and contemplate his unworthy thoughts, confess if he needed to, and move on, taking solace in his balms and tinctures and the good his herbs did in the world.
Me, I changed the subject, telling Nate about Edgar and the copycat spice blend.
“Can he do that? The other chef, I mean.”
“Sure. You can’t copyright a list of ingredients. That’s why McDonald’s keeps its secret sauce secret and Kentucky Fried locks its recipe in a vault. Or at least, they say they do. Could be a ruse, to make us think it’s something special.”
“So you could make your own version of Old Bay and change the name and become a millionaire?”
“Just because it’s legal doesn’t make it smart.”
“Like intentional walks,” Nate said, his eyes back on the ball game. “I hate when the pitcher intentionally walks the hitter.”
We put our feet on the packing crate that serves as my coffee table and he slipped an arm around my shoulder.
“We’re heading out at the crack of dawn,” he said when the game broke for the seventh inning stretch, “so I need to go back to the boat tonight. I hate to leave you. But I’ll be home Friday or Saturday, depending on the catch.”
“It’s what you do,” I said. “You go out on boats and catch fish. That’s part of the deal.”
Home. Had he meant the loft, or his slip at Fisherman’s Terminal? Or just Seattle?
“Besides, I won’t be alone,” I continued. “I’ve got Arf.”
“And the FBI might be watching you. Although you didn’t sound sure he’s FBI.”
I hadn’t seen Agent Greer or Smoking Man all day. Kristen hadn’t mentioned seeing anyone. And Laurel had texted the all clear when she left the deli midafternoon.
“Honestly, I think I was overreacting, because I was upset about Maddie. If the guy we saw at the hospital is the same guy Laurel saw Friday, then he’s FBI and we should feel better.”
“Wouldn’t that Agent Green have given you a heads-up?”
“Greer.” I swung my feet up on the couch, cradling my knees, and met his gaze. “Good point. If the two shootings are connected, and they need to guard Maddie, it makes sense to guard Laurel, too. But why not tell her?”
“Unless they suspect her.”
“Doubtful. Dozens of people saw her at the soccer tournament in Vancouver the night Patrick was killed. And Thursday when Maddie was shot, Laurel never left the deli. Besides, Maddie didn’t own the building back when Pat was protesting the project. Laurel barely knew her—saw her at the public meetings, but that was it.”
The commercial break ended and the game resumed. As a Seattle native, I’m an American League fan. Nate claims to favor the Nationals, but I’ve caught him urging my guys to throw a strike or make a double play. Either he’s been playing opposites to get my goat, or my tastes were rubbing off on him.
This was our last evening together this week, and I tried to squelch all thoughts of crime and investigation. But as the center fielder raced to the wall to rob the lead-off hitter of a home run that would have tied the game, my mind was racing, too.
The women in the salon had been skeptical of Maddie’s promises, but I hadn’t heard them describe anything Maddie herself had done to warrant their distrust. Still, the salon owner wasn’t convinced.
No, it had to be that the previous would-be developer, this Byrd, had poisoned the well.
Lindy Harmon said Maddie had been trying to buy the corner grocery for ages, but she hadn’t mentioned the rest of the block. Though Frank Thomas trusted Maddie, the women in the salon had asked a good question: Why buy the other buildings, if all she wanted to do was redevelop the one lot? To protect the block from the kind of development the neighbors despised? An insurance policy, of sorts. A very expensive one.
I might need to talk with Lindy’s husband, or track down other Neighbors United stalwarts.
The game ended, the National League team the winner. But the Series is best of seven, so I wasn’t worried. About baseball, anyway.
I hooked up the dog’s leash and the three of us walked a few blocks before we returned to the parking garage beneath the building, where Nate had stashed the old pickup he bought when he came back from Alaska.
“Stay safe,” he said as he took me in his arms.
“Always,” I said. “You