I shoved my chair away from the table and stood up.

  “But you can’t wriggle out of this one, Kate.”

  I said nothing, standing still as stone, anger bubbling from every pore.

  “Your career, your home, your whole world is resting on this little chunk of land in the Pacific, isn’t it? Wynter Island, British Columbia. CWYN. If this station goes under, you’re done.”

  “What do you know about what’s going on at CWYN!” I shouted, uncaring that the few patrons in the bakery had turned to stare.

  “Everything, Kate. Who do you think convinced your philanthropist to reconsider funding a station that would only bring him and his business bad press?’

  My hand slammed the table so hard my empty coffee mug smashed over on its side, tiny chunks of cream porcelain flaking my fingers.

  “You bastard!”

  He stood and brushed a few broken fragments off the table. “Yes, I am. I take great pleasure in it. I only wish I’d dared to be one twelve years ago.”

  He turned and left the bakery, leaving me standing beside the shattered crockery, torn between tears and fury.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Michael’s Subaru Forester crunched down the gravel road toward the cottage. There was no point in going outside to greet him. Even though the rain had stopped, the threatening cement-grey clouds looked like they might open up again.

  It had been a difficult twenty-four hours. I had returned home from the bakery so overwhelmed with fury that I needed to grip the wheel tightly to ensure I didn’t accidentally smash the truck into a tree. And what made it worse, I couldn’t talk about it. How could I tell Gwen or Shea that CWYN’s downfall might be linked to a feckless decision I’d made when I was twenty-two?

  Was what Jack had said true? Had I thoughtlessly taken someone else’s story?

  That didn’t feel like me. I wasn’t perfect, but I prided myself on being kind to others. But that final year of university had been so crazy. Our professor had told me about the story and asked me to write it up, and…I had. Jack was right. I hadn’t stopped to ask any difficult questions. I had just pushed forward because…I wanted to succeed. I wanted to be a star.

  Star. The word settled in the pit of my stomach like a piece of lead. And what had that success brought me? A kidnapping in Afghanistan, a murdered ex-boyfriend, and my present job on Wynter Island. He was right. Going from a well-respected television network to a small community TV station in the middle of nowhere was a step down career-wise—a big step down.

  Michael jumped out of his SUV and grabbed his toolbox before heading to the house.

  “Lovely weather again, Kate,” he said as he stood in my small foyer, taking off his jacket and hanging it on a hook beside the door. His wet hair, tinged with grey, glistened in the glow of my hall light. “At least it’s not raining.”

  “For the moment.” I waved him into the living room and pointed through to the kitchen. “But now we’ve got other water problems to deal with.”

  “I was thinking of making an ‘if it rains, it pours joke,’ but it’s too painful.” He placed the toolbox on the linoleum floor and bent down to open the cupboard underneath the sink. “So you woke up this morning—”

  “And came out to find a puddle of water on the floor.”

  “Which you checked to make sure wasn’t dog pee, and then mopped up and called me.”

  “Yes, my handy-dandy property manager.”

  He looked back at me, grinning. " I don’t know about that, but I’ll see if it’s an easy fix. If it’s too complicated, I’ll have to call in a plumber.”

  “Dougie?”

  He laughed. “No, plumbing’s a specialized trade. That and electrical work are the two things that Dougie can’t do. Can you get me a towel or blanket that I can lie down on?”

  I walked into the bathroom and returned with an oversized beach towel.

  “Great. That’ll do.” He spread it out on the floor before laying down on his back and reaching his hands inside the cupboard. “It’s been a while since we’ve had a chance to chat. How are things going?”

  I grimaced. “Do you mean outside of Rosalie Morgann’s death during our first live TV broadcast?”

  He glanced up at me sitting on the countertop. “I suppose that’s the most obvious place to start. That and this Noah’s flood we’re dealing with. Any idea yet what happened to Rose?”

  I sighed. “The coroner says it’s poisoning. Remember Staff Sergeant Singh?”

  “Yes, the officer who came to help with Daniel’s case.”

  My heart twisted painfully at the sound of Daniel’s name. “Yes, that’s him. He’s leading the murder investigation into Rosalie’s death.”

  “Oh, good. He seemed like a nice guy.”

  “Yeah, he is. But it means we’re looking at another murder case.”

  “Holy Christ, that’s two in one year! We’re going to become the murder capital of British Columbia!”

  I smiled. “I don’t think we’re quite there yet.”

  “Still. Who do you think did it?”

  I paused to run over the scenarios. “Jason? The boyfriend-manager? If he’s the beneficiary of her will, I’m guessing he could return to LA with a nice chunk of change.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “The islanders who threatened to murder her, with Selesia and Doreen topping the list. But that’s not our only problem.”

  “Something worse than murder?”

  “Not worse, just not great. Our mysterious benefactor, the guy anonymously funding CWYN, has let Gwen know that he is considering pulling his money.”

  “Why? Who is it?”

  I raised my hands in confusion. “No idea. You wouldn’t happen to know, would you?”

  He considered this for a moment. “I’m guessing it would have to be someone with some connection to the island. If not, why would they bother to fund CWYN? There are only a handful of millionaires with those kinds of ties.”

  “Like who?”

  “Well, there’s Robin Clatterey. He owns that sandwich shop chain that’s gone international. And the Botowskis. Made a fortune in property development. Also, Frederick Stern, the pulp and paper billionaire.”

  I squirreled those names away into my memory for later examination.

  “But why would he pull the funding?”

  “Because he doesn’t want the blowback of negative publicity if the station gets any more entangled in this.”

  “But how can he blame the station for this?” he asked as he thumped on a plastic pipe.

  “You can if it was staff or a volunteer behind it. Or at least the media can.”

  Michael tapped on another pipe and peered up at it with his flashlight. “If it’s not one thing, it’s another.”

  I hesitated before asking, “How are you and Anna doing?”

  He stopped tapping and stared up at the underside of the sink for a moment. “There’s no way to keep something like that quiet on a small island, is there?”

  “Not really, no. Perhaps I shouldn’t have asked.”

  He sighed and moved the flashlight to examine another location under the sink. “It’s okay. We’re,” he paused to mull over the right word, “co-existing.”

  “That doesn’t sound great.”

  “It isn’t. We go to Victoria once a week to see a therapist, talk things out, and then go and have dinner.”

  “Dinner in Victoria sounds nice.”

  “Yes, nothing like a cheeky bottle of chardonnay after your heart’s been ripped out of your chest for 55 minutes.” He put the flashlight down and peered out from under the sink to where I was sitting. “It’s not just her. I’m at fault, too.”

  “Well, I don’t know if you should blame yourself…” I started, but he cut me off.

  “Yes, I should blame myself. She may have cheated, but I set the stage for it.”

  “What on earth does that mean?”

  He slid out from underneath the sink and leaned against one of the cabinets. “I loved Wynter Island from the first moment I saw it. Anna didn’t. She thought it was beautiful but never wanted to leave Vancouver. That was all my doing. Moving here was all about what I wanted. And I knew it.”

  “Nothing is ever 50/50 in any relationship, Michael.”

  “That’s true, but I pushed aside her concerns. I said she wouldn’t be lonely and isolated. And to start, she wasn’t. Nate was a baby, and everyone was busy. But as Nate got older and more independent, time began to weigh on her. I encouraged her to volunteer for the Green Party so she wouldn’t have an excuse to leave the island.”

  “That hardly makes you a horrible husband.”

  He paused. “I was fine with her spending nights and weekends at events in Victoria. I thought she was having fun.”

  “That’s not the same as condoning an affair.”

  He said nothing, just stared off into the living room.

  “Is it over? With the guy?” I tentatively asked.

  He nodded his head. “She says it is. I believe her. I don’t see why she would lie about it. If she wasn’t serious about saving our marriage, why would she bother to stay with me and go to all this trouble?”

  “See, that’s a start.”

  “Either way, it may be a moot point. I think there’s a good chance we may end up leaving Wynter Island anyway. Returning to the city may be the only way to save our marriage.” He looked down at his sneakers. “And what’s tying us to Wynter Island anymore anyway? Nate graduates next year. He’ll attend university on the mainland. If anything, it makes logistical sense for us to move closer to where he’ll be.”

  My heart plummeted directly into my stomach with the speed of a freight elevator headed for the basement. Michael leaving Wynter? He couldn’t! I had no tie to him, but his occasional presence gave my unrequited love something to feed on.

  No. No. No! He can’t go.

  He slid back underneath the sink again. “Can you hand me a wrench, Kate? I need to try and get this drain trap off.”

  I jumped off the counter and grabbed a wrench out of the toolbox. I crawled forward and held it towards his outstretched hand. As his fingers grasped blindly for it, they missed and connected with mine. I almost dropped the wrench as the heat of his skin rolled over the top of my fingers.

  “Oh!” I said involuntarily.

  He looked up from underneath the sink. “Oops, sorry about that. Missed the wrench and got your hand instead.” He released my hand and took the wrench. “I think I might just be able to fix this myself. It looks like the trap needed to be cleaned and fresh plumbers putty put in.”

  His voice droned on about plumbing, but I couldn’t move. His scent, that seawater and cedar cologne he wore, filled my nostrils. He hadn’t even realized I was still on the floor beside him. It would be so easy to reach my hand out and rest it on his chest, letting my fingers stroke down over his stomach. To pull his shocked face over to mine and kiss him, taste him, disappear into him. What if I moved my hand underneath his shirt, trailing my nails ever so lightly over his chest? Would he arch in pleasure? Reach back and pull his shirt over his head. And then what? Push me back onto the damp floor as we wriggled out of our clothing, and he entered me, riding, riding, towards ecstasy.

  “Kate?”

  I shook my head. No, that wasn’t possible. He was trying to save his marriage to Anna. I had no right to get into the middle of that. But….

  “Kate? Are you okay?”

  I stood up and stepped shakily back towards the entry to the kitchen. “Yeah, of course. I’m fine. How’s the leak?”

  He wiped his hands on a piece of paper towel. “I got the new putty in, so it should hold for now.”

  He placed his tools back into the box and got to his feet. “Thanks for listening to me. It was nice to have someone to talk it out with. Sometimes, it feels like my thoughts circle inside my head, like bats trying to find their way out of a cave.”

  I laughed hollowly and moved into the foyer. “That’s me, your friendly neighborhood bat catcher.”

  His somber face split into a smile. “And a friend, too. Let me know if there are more problems with the sink, okay?”

  I nodded my head, unable to speak. I raised my hand to wave goodbye and then shut the door against the rain that had started again before sliding down against it to sit on the floor.

  Jupiter joined me there, licking the salty wetness off my cheeks.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Betty, are you sure you want Vera to produce your new cooking show?”

  It wasn’t the subtlest way of putting it, and from the look of irritation Vera shot me, I could tell she hadn’t missed my rather clumsy hint. But how else to frame it? Did Betty really want a strong-willed senior citizen with no experience telling her what to do?

  I sure as hell wouldn’t. But then again, Vera was as sharp as a block of cheddar, so she might surprise us all.

  “Could you sound a little less doubtful, Kate?” Vera said, her German accent even more robust this morning as she battled a hoarse cough. She must have a cold. She took another sip from her travel cup of herbal tea before speaking again, her voice softened. “Betty and I have figured everything out.”

  Whatever was in that mug had undoubtedly helped.

  Do I want to know what is in that mug? Probably not.

  “Yes, we have,” Betty chimed in. “We talked about it last night during Crafting with Cocktails.”

  “So they’ve roped you into that as well. You’re becoming quite the social gadfly, Betty.”

  She smiled and nodded happily.

  “Was alcohol involved?” I continued.

  “Oh yes, it was Lesley’s turn to bring a new cocktail last night. What was it, Vera? A Lonely Island Lost In…something, something.”

  “The Middle of a Foggy Sea. The stupidest name I’ve ever heard of for a cocktail,” Vera replied, “but tasty.”

  Betty nodded. “Yes, lots of rum and pineapple and—”

  I cut her off. “I don’t need the recipe, Betty.” I turned to where Vera was seated. “Are you sure about this? It’s a lot of work producing a show, Vera. Scheduling shooting locations and volunteers, editing, picking music, yadda, yadda, yadda. Those are a lot of skills for you to learn.”

  “I did build a business from the ground up, Kate. I may not be young, but I’m not quite senile yet,” she said.

  Before I could reply, my phone vibrated with my new ringtone: Hello, Goodbye by the Beatles.

  “You changed your ringtone,” Vera stated.

  “I couldn’t take Alanis Morisette’s Ironic anymore.” I touched the screen and put the phone to my ear. “Hello?”

  Lesley’s voice boomed down the line. “Kate, we’re trying to locate Vera Schmidt. Is she with you at the station? Last night at Crafting with Cocktails, she mentioned stopping by the station.”

  “Yes, she’s here with Betty Wu.”

  “Great. Can you send her down to the Lind? We need to talk to her.”

  “We? As in the official ‘we’?”

  “Uhmm hmm,” she said before disconnecting.

  I placed my cell phone down on the table.

  What on earth is that about? Something to do with Rosalie?

  “Vera, Lesley wants to talk to you. She needs you to head down to the Lind.”

  “Hmm, I wonder what’s going on?” Vera stood and grabbed her huge purse and travel mug off the table. “I hope nothing bad’s happened.”

  I stood as well, an idea suddenly percolating in my brain. “Would you mind if I came along? My guess is that this has something to do with Rosalie’s murder.”

  “I can come, too.” Betty supplied.

  Vera looked at both of us as if we had lost our minds. “Sure, why don’t we invite everyone? Jupiter,” she looked over to where he was nestled in his dog bed, “would you like to come, too? Apparently, this is some kind of social occasion.”

  Jupiter’s ears pricked up at the thought of a car trip, but I quickly dashed his hopes. “You stay here, Jupe. I won’t be that long.”

  * * *

  Stewart, Lesley, and Ian were waiting with Doreen and Bob for our arrival. Lesley ushered us into the General Store, which had the closed sign on the door even though it was almost lunchtime. Bob would not be happy about that.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  “Why are you here, Kate?” Lesley asked. “We just needed Vera, not a whole committee.”

  “Moral support. Good morning, Stewart and Ian. Hi Doreen, Bob.”

  “Are you butting into other people’s business again, Kate?” Bob’s voice rumbled up from where he leaned against the front counter.

  “Yes, Bob. I consider that my second job after managing the TV station.”

  “Okay, enough small talk,” Ian cut in. “I don’t know why you’re here, Kate and Mrs. Wu, but please stay out of the way. Vera, we need to ask you some questions.”

  “I didn’t think I was coming down here to dance the samba, Staff Sergeant. What’s up?”

  “We believe Rosalie Morgann was poisoned by the drink that Jason bought for her here at the Lind General Store.”

  “Yes, I’d heard that.” Vera’s voice had slipped back into the gravelly roughness I had heard earlier this morning. She took a long glug from her travel mug. “Still don’t understand what this has to do with me.”

  “We want to talk to you about Doreen.”

  “Are you accusing Doreen of poisoning Rosalie?” I asked in some surprise. “Is that why we’re here?”

  “Well, actually, Kate,” he retorted angrily, “you two,” He pointed at Betty and me, “were never supposed to be here in the first place.” I started to say something, but he quickly shushed me. “Don’t give me that moral support nonsense. You’re here because of your amateur sleuthing.”

  “Or because she’s nothing but a nosy parker,” Bob threw in.

  “So keep quiet, or you’re out of here,” Ian finished and turned his attention back to Vera.

  “So you think Doreen is the killer?” Vera repeated my words as if she couldn’t quite believe them herself.