By a Thread

3

We walked to the convertible in silence, and Bria drove us back out toward the edge of the island. I’d thought we’d go straight to the hotel, but she surprised me by turning into a sandy lot that faced the ocean about a mile from the Blue Sands resort.

The unpaved lot fronted a restaurant made out of weathered boards. The wood might have been a soft blue at one time, but the wind had blasted it with so much sand over the years that the building was now a pale, washed-out gray. Several fiberglass picnic tables done in bright shades of electric blue squatted in the sand outside the ramshackle structure, while a neon sign the same color burned above the screen door. One by one, the letters lit up to form the restaurant’s name—The Sea Breeze—before a tube lit up around them all, forming a clamshell.

I eyed the blue clamshell. The sign reminded me of the heart-and-arrow rune that glowed outside Northern Aggression, my friend Roslyn’s nightclub in Ashland.

“Does an elemental run this place?” I asked. “Because that’s a rune if I ever saw one. That clamshell. It’s a symbol for hidden treasure.”

Dwarves, vampires, giants. Most magic types used a rune to identify themselves, their power, their business connections, and even their family alliances. Humans used runes too, but the practice seemed to be the most common among elementals.

For the first time since we’d left the cemetery, a smile creased Bria’s face. “Nah, she’s not an elemental, but Callie owns this place. The clamshell is her idea of a joke, of saying that her restaurant is a buried treasure just waiting to be discovered, like a pearl inside an oyster, although everyone on Blue Marsh already knows just how good the food is. C’mon, I told her that I’d swing by for dinner tonight, and I’m dying for some of her hush puppies. They’re amazing.”

My sister got out of the car, and I followed her. It was after six now, and the dinner rush was on. Lots of folks must have had the same opinion Bria did about the food because cars filled the sandy lot. I could see a dozen people eating outside at the picnic tables and even more crammed inside through the porthole-shaped windows. Waitresses bustled back and forth from the restaurant, through the rows of tables, and inside again, each one carrying white platters filled with shrimp as big as the palm of my hand and lobsters as long as my arm.

As much as I liked cooking, seafood wasn’t really my thing. I supposed because shrimp and the like reminded me too much of the crawdads I used to catch as a kid in the creeks in the woods that surrounded Fletcher’s house. Crawdads were slimy little suckers with sharp, nasty pinchers, and they’d made my fingers bleed more than once over the years. Deep-fried or not, I had no desire to stuff one into my mouth.

Bria wove through the crowd before pulling open the screen door and stepping inside the restaurant. I followed her and stood by the door a moment, taking in the scene before me.

The Sea Breeze was just what its name implied—a seaside joint with the island decor to match. Sand dollars, starfish, and spiked sea urchins preserved and mounted inside glass cases hung on the walls, along with thick fishing nets, spears, and even a few cracked oars. A wooden counter with polished brass railing ran along one wall, but what caught my eye was that a long, skinny boat had been placed on top of the counter, its hull sinking into the wood like it was bobbing along on top of the ocean. The boat then formed a bar where people could sit, eat, and drink. Clever. It matched the rest of the weathered interior and looked like something right out of The Old Man and the Sea, which was the latest book I was reading for a summer literature class that I planned on taking at Ashland Community College.

The inside of the restaurant was just as crowded as the outside, and we had to wait several minutes before two seats opened up at the end of the bar. The bartender came over, took our food orders, and mixed up a couple of drinks for us—a mojito for Bria and a gin and tonic with a twist of lime for me.

Bria put down her menu and looked at the bartender. “Tell Callie that Bria’s finally here and to come say hi when she has a minute, okay?”

He nodded and pushed through a set of double doors, stepping into the back of the restaurant. Bria swiveled around on her stool so that she could look at all the folks enjoying their food. A smile curved her lips, and her blue eyes misted over with memories. It was obvious that she loved the restaurant and felt at home here.

I didn’t begrudge Bria her trip down memory lane, but I couldn’t help but be a little hurt by it. My sister had never looked so happy and relaxed at the Pork Pit—not once.

“Callie and I grew up together in Blue Marsh, and we were inseparable as kids,” Bria said. “Her family’s owned this restaurant for three generations now. I probably spent more time here as a kid and playing on the beach outside than I did at my own house. I think I told you about her once, about how you reminded me of her.”

Bria had talked pretty much nonstop about Callie Reyes the last few days, ever since we’d decided to come here for a vacation. From everything Bria had said, I knew that Callie was more than just her friend, that Callie was like a sister to her—the sister I wasn’t.

Callie was the one Bria had grown up with, the one she’d laughed and giggled and gossiped with. Callie was the one who’d held Bria when she’d cried over the deaths of her parents. Callie was the one who’d seen to the funeral arrangements and made sure that Bria was okay afterward. Callie was the one who’d always been around when I hadn’t.

I respected Callie’s role in my sister’s life, was glad that she’d always been there for Bria, but part of me couldn’t help but be jealous of the other woman as well. Of course, I couldn’t tell Bria that, not without making things worse between us than they already were—especially not now when I was in the other woman’s restaurant, in her gin joint.

“Of course, I remember,” I said, my voice a little colder than I would have liked. “You told me all about how you lived in Savannah awhile before your foster parents moved out to Blue Marsh when you were ten. I remember everything you tell me about your life down here.”

Bria eyed me, picking up on my hostile tone, but before she could call me on it, a waitress came over with our food—a steamy plate of shrimp scampi with a basket of deep-fried hush puppies for Bria and a Jamaican jerk chicken sandwich with thin, crispy sweet potato fries for me.

“Consider this meal on the house, Detective,” a soft, feminine voice said. “Although maybe I should make you wash dishes for your dinner.”

Bria’s eyes lit up at the sound of the other woman’s voice, and she swiveled back around on her stool. “Callie! It’s so good to see you!”

Not just a waitress, then. Bria hopped off her stool, and the two women shared a long, tight hug. Callie drew back, holding Bria at arm’s length, and I got my first good look at my sister’s best friend.

Callie Reyes was a petite woman with a curvy body that looked strong and sexy at the same time. Her hair was pulled back into a sleek French braid and was such a dark brown that it almost looked black underneath the lights. Her skin had a lovely golden tint to it, while her gray-green eyes glittered with warmth, confidence, and intelligence. All put together, she was a beautiful woman, despite the simple white T-shirt and khaki cargo pants that she wore underneath a long blue work apron. I eyed the well-worn cotton. It could have been a twin to the aprons that I always wore at the Pork Pit, right down to the grease stains that covered the front of it.

Bria gave her friend a critical once-over, then sighed and shook her head. “You’re just as gorgeous as ever.”

Callie smiled and crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re one to talk, blondie. I remember how crazy you used to make the boys back in high school and then in college too.”

The two friends started talking, their words mixing and overlapping as they gossiped about all the boys they had dated and all the other people they knew in Blue Marsh and beyond. It only took a second for me to see just how much the two of them cared about each other, just how close they were. Hell, they even finished each other’s sentences.

“Do you remember that time that the Loudon twins—” Callie started.

“Asked us to go to the senior prom with them?” Bria chimed in. “Of course! Best double date of my life, despite the fact that they wore those awful powder blue tuxedos.”

They looked at each other, smiled, and laughed.

I sat on my stool feeling awkward and out of place. Three really was a crowd in this case.

“Wait a minute. Wait a minute. I almost forgot. Let me see that rock on your ring finger,” Bria said, grabbing Callie’s hand and holding it up to the light. “It’s massive!”

Callie laughed and fluttered her fingers, making the not-so-small square-cut diamond on her left hand sparkle. “I told you that I’ve been busy since you left town. You were the first person I called after I got engaged last week.”

“You know that I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Bria squeezed her friend’s hand. “I’m so thrilled for you.”

“Thanks. I’ve never been happier.”

Callie finally noticed me watching them, and her eyes flicked from me to Bria and back again. “Hey, who’s your friend?”

Friend? Bria and Callie talked all the time, from what my sister said. Surely, Bria had told her about me—right?

Bria hesitated. She sat back down on her stool to buy herself a few more seconds to answer, and I could almost see the wheels turning in her mind as she decided exactly what to say about me. “This is Gin, my . . . sister.”

Callie frowned. “But I thought that all your family was dead. Your foster parents and your birth family.”

Bria gave her a tight smile. “I did too, until a few months ago. Things have . . . changed since then.”

Well, I supposed that was one way of putting it. I stared at Bria, but she wouldn’t meet my eyes.

The seconds ticked by, with only the conversation of the other diners and the clatter of their dishes to fill in the silence. When it became obvious that Bria wasn’t going to offer any more explanation about who I was and where I’d come from, Callie cleared her throat and held out her hand to me.

“Please forgive me for being rude and not introducing myself. Callie Reyes.”

“Gin Blanco.” I shook her hand. She had a strong grip, and her fingers were warm from the heat of the kitchen.

“Gin?” she asked.

I held up my gin and tonic and shook the glass, rattling the ice cubes and slice of lime inside. “Gin. Like the liquor.”

“I see. So what do you do, Gin? Are you a cop like Bria is?”

Bria gasped and choked on the hush puppy that she’d just popped into her mouth. She made a few strangled sounds before she was able to swallow. Looked like my nighttime activities were something else Bria hadn’t told her best friend about.

Callie frowned. “Are you okay? Do you need some water?”

“No, I’m fine,” Bria wheezed, taking a sip of her mojito. “Just fine.”

Her lips tightened, and she sat up straight on her stool, tension gathering in her shoulders. She didn’t look at me, even though I was right next to her.

For the first time, I realized that my sister was actually embarrassed by me—ashamed, even. Well, not by me exactly, but by the fact that I was the Spider. That I was an assassin. That I’d killed as many people as she’d arrested as a cop. Sure, I still killed people, but usually only to protect my friends, family, or myself. I didn’t slice and dice for money anymore. No, these days, the only jobs I occasionally took on were for good, decent folks who had problems that no one else could solve. With Mab’s death, I thought that Bria and I had finally moved beyond my bloody past.

Apparently not.

“Actually, I run a restaurant just like you do,” I said, finally answering Callie’s question. “The Pork Pit, serving up the best barbecue in Ashland.”

The other woman grinned at me. “Well, it’s not barbecue, but I hope that you’ll find the food here to your liking.”

My smile was as cold and brittle as hers was warm and friendly. “Oh, I always like to see what the competition’s up to.”

Callie knew a half-assed insult when she heard one, and the grin slowly faded from her face. I had to stop myself from wincing. I didn’t often let my emotions get the best of me, but I sounded like a petty, jealous bitch, and I was acting like one too.

“Well, I hope you enjoy your meal,” Callie said in a fainter voice. “I’ve got to get back to the kitchen. You know how it is. Bria, I’ll be back just as soon as I get a break. Don’t even think about leaving until we catch up on everything that you’ve been up to in Ashland—and I do mean everything.”

Callie stared at me once more before turning, pushing through the swinging doors, and disappearing into the kitchen. As soon as she was out of sight, Bria glared at me.

“What is wrong with you?” she hissed. “That was my friend, my very best friend, and you were rude to her, Gin. Extremely rude. You know how much Callie means to me, how she’s like a sister to me.”

Yeah, the sweet, perfect sister that I’m not, I thought. The sister that you wish I was. But I didn’t say the words or tell Bria how much it hurt to see them together, how much it hurt to hear her defend Callie in a way that she had never defended me.

“Sorry,” I muttered.

Bria glared at me another second before picking up her fork. Her hands tightened around the silverware as if she wanted to use it to stab me instead of her shrimp scampi. It took her a moment to unclench her fingers enough to start eating.

I just sighed, wondering if everyone had as much fun on vacation as we were having.

All around us, the other diners laughed and talked and joked over their meals, but Bria and I ate in silence, with only the scrape of our forks and knives on the plates to break the ugly, icy quiet between us.

At least the food was excellent, just like my sister had claimed it would be. The perfectly grilled Jamaican chicken had a wonderful jerk seasoning that was just the right blend of spicy and savory and was topped with a kiwi-mango salsa sweetened with honey. The poppyseed bun was homemade and still warm from the oven, while the sweet potato fries were crispy on the outside and soft on the inside. It was one of the best meals I’d ever had that I hadn’t cooked myself.

Callie dropped by our end of the bar as often as she could, as well as moving through the whole restaurant, serving food, stopping at the tables to see if folks needed anything, and asking after the friends and families of her regulars. Not only was she beautiful and a great cook, but Callie Reyes knew how to work a crowd too. I could see why the Sea Breeze was such a success. Hidden treasure, indeed.

Not only was I jealous of Callie’s relationship with Bria, but I also envied the easy camaraderie Callie had with her customers. If I tried to do the same thing at the Pork Pit, I’d wind up fighting for my life against whatever hoodlum had come by determined to take me out—after he’d eaten my barbecue, of course. No use dying on an empty stomach.

Eventually, the dinner crowd came and went, and the picnic tables outside were deserted for another evening. Only a few folks remained inside the restaurant, lingering over their food. Bria had ordered a slice of key lime pie for dessert, while I had a pineapple pudding that was just as good as everything else had been. I took another bite of the pudding, relishing the sweet tang of the pineapple in my mouth mixed with the creamy filling and graham cracker crust. Yep, I was definitely jealous now.

“Whew!” Callie said, plopping down on the stool on the other side of Bria. “I always forget how crazy things get in the spring. Won’t be long now before the tourists start showing up, and we’ll be slammed with customers all day long. It’s a lot of work, but I would miss it.”

She stared out at the restaurant, her eyes tracing over the furnishings like she was memorizing them, like they wouldn’t be around for much longer.

“Why?” Bria asked, picking up on her friend’s sad, wistful mood. “I know how much you love running the restaurant. You’re not thinking about selling out, are you?”

Callie’s eyes darkened. “Something like that, I guess you could say.”

Bria started to ask her friend another question, but she never got the chance. The screen door banged open, and two men stepped into the restaurant. For a moment, it was like being back at the Pork Pit—everybody froze. The few diners, the two waitresses still on duty, the bartender, even Callie. They all stopped what they were doing to stare at the two men, and the mood immediately changed from one of easygoing dining to tight, nervous tension.

One of the men was a giant, topping out at seven feet tall. His skin, hair, and eyes were all the color of straight black coffee, and the loose white linen shirt and pants that he wore made him look even larger than he really was. The other guy was a much shorter human who was wearing a red shirt covered with green parrots over khaki cargo pants and plastic red flip-flops. His sandy blond hair, his sun-roasted complexion, and the small gold hoop glinting in his ear made him look like a wannabe pirate.

I might not be in Ashland anymore, but I recognized their type—low-level muscle that someone had dispatched to deal with a certain kind of problem. From the way Callie’s face hardened at the sight of the two men, I was willing to bet she was that problem—and that things were about to get ugly.