Temptation Bay (A Windfall Island Novel) by Anna Sullivan Read Free Book Online Page A

raging miles away.
    Fall had come with a vengeance, not just in the snap on the air, but the beauty of leaves shining red and yellow against that intense blue sky—the color, he couldn’t help but notice, so much like Maggie Solomon’s eyes. And wasn’t she just like the morning, he mused, placid on the surface, all her emotions pent up and seething just under the surface.
    He’d seen the depth of her generosity when it came to her friends, but something about him rubbed her the wrong way. It probably hadn’t helped when he’d put her up against the helicopter. But he’d do it again. Hell, given the chance, he’d do more, push her past that iron control she seemed to wield over herself as automatically as she drew breath.
    It would probably be glorious, but it wouldn’t gain him her trust, and he needed her trust.
    Even though he’d already betrayed it.
    And if that didn’t set well with his conscience, well, it was too late to turn back now, with the deal struck and the down payment already spent. And he wasn’t a man who dealt in regrets, he reminded himself, turning his attention back to the case as he set off through the village.
    The single road Maggie had taken from the airport at Temptation Bay contorted itself around rocks and hopped over small streams in a seeming race to make it to the village, but there it meandered suddenly, like it had been laid out by a drunken sailor—which it probably had. Businesses sat cheek-by-jowl on the inland side of the street, with a scattering of houses nestled in the curve behind them. Shanty-style buildings tottered along the shoreline side, some so old it looked like the next strong breeze might set off a domino effect. Signs were posted on the end walls:
No leaning.
    Each building was unique, some of them painted in garish tones with gaudy striped awnings, others less in-your-face, their colors softened by the sun, salt air, and the harsh weather that spewed off the Atlantic Ocean. Like the Horizon, each business sported a pictograph sign, holdovers from a time when few of the residents could read. None of the narrow lanes had names; the residents likely found it unnecessary. The tourists would find it charming, Dex imagined, and the tourists were very necessary.
    True to Maggie’s word, Dex saw no industry of any kind in the village. A trio of fishing trawlers were moored at the rickety docks, along with two Solomon Charters boats—for the crossing from island to mainland and whale watching, Dex assumed—but tourism was clearly the island’s main source of income. He could use that; merchants who depended on tourism were invariably chatty, open to satisfying the curiosity of strangers.
    He set out with high hopes; Windfall Island dashed them in record time. He hadn’t gone a block before he realized nearly every tourist-centric business was already closed for the season. That left the businesses that catered to residents’ day-to-day needs.
    He chatted up Mr. MacDonald, sole proprietor and, this time of year, stock boy, cashier and bagger of the single grocery store. And by “chatted,” he meant he’d talked and Mr. MacDonald had stared like a basilisk at him. Dex spent a little money at the five and dime, where the only conversation consisted of how much change he got back. Then he visited the hardware store, the pharmacy, and the pizzeria, grabbing lunch in the aromatic heat and fending off questions while the owner and her son revealed absolutely nothing about themselves or the island.
    He’d even poked his head inside the doors of the Clipper Snip, telling himself it was the overwhelming odor of chemicals that made his mind reel rather than the eight pairs of female eyes that had swiveled in his direction then lit with some variation of avarice. They were only after information, Dex assured himself. It didn’t stop him from feeling like he was about to be gobbled up like the last hot dog at a Fourth of July party.
    Still, he loved this part of a case,