Copper Beach

25

THE COPPER BEACH DINER WAS NEARLY EMPTY WHEN ABBY arrived. By the time the young waitress brought the coffee to the booth, the place was half full, and more of the locals were ambling in every minute.

“You’re good for business,” the waitress said in low tones. “Between you and me, the boss is thrilled. Problem is, the only things people are ordering are coffee and doughnuts.”

The server looked to be about nineteen. She was cheerful, friendly and unabashedly curious. Her blond hair was secured in a tight ponytail. Her uniform consisted of a pair of jeans and a T–shirt. She was not wearing a name tag. In a town the size of Copper Beach, there was probably no need for one, Abby reflected. She had heard some of the other customers greet the waitress as Brenda.

“Don’t knock the coffee and doughnuts,” Abby said, in an equally soft voice. “­High-profit items.”

“Sure, for the boss. But people who only order coffee and doughnuts don’t leave much in the way of a tip.”

“Yes, I know. I’ve done this kind of work. Sorry about that. Maybe I should put up a sign that says minimum order of a hamburger required if you’re here to see the stranger in town. And there will be an extra charge for viewing the dog out front.”

Brenda snickered. Abby glanced around the crowded restaurant. Several pairs of eyes quickly slid away. The buzz of artificial conversation got louder. Most of it revolved around fishing and the state of the weather.

“I realize you don’t get a lot of tourists here on the island,” she said to Brenda, “but are they such a rare species that everyone in town turns out to view a specimen?”

Brenda giggled and leaned closer, on the pretext of collecting the menu. “It’s true, we aren’t exactly a destination stop in the San Juans. We’re not Friday Harbor, that’s for sure. Most folks don’t even know that Legacy exists, and that’s the way people around here like it. The biggest event here all year is coming up next week, that’s the an­­nual Coppersmith technical summit. The employees of the R-and-D lab and their families fill up the lodge and the bed-and-breakfast places. There is always a big barbecue on the last night. The whole town is invited.”

“What makes me so interesting?”

Brenda winked. “The fact that you’re staying out at Sam Coppersmith’s place, of course.”

“He doesn’t have a lot of guests, I take it.”

“Are you kidding?” Brenda straightened and did an eye roll. “He hasn’t brought a lady friend here since his fiancée was murdered.”

“The way I heard it, they were not engaged.”

“Well, they weren’t. She got killed before they could make it official. But everyone on the island knew that Sam was going to marry her. Losing her like that just about broke his heart.”

“I see.”

“There was a lot of nasty talk after he found the body. Online, they were calling him Blackbeard. They said any smart woman should be scared to death of him.”

“Bluebeard,” Abby said.

“Huh?”

“Bluebeard was the name of the seventeenth-century nobleman who was in the habit of murdering his wives, not Blackbeard.”

“Oh, yeah. Whatever. Anyhow, the fact that he brought you here is a very big deal. Means his broken heart is mending.”

Abby watched Sam walk down the street toward the diner. He had just come out of the post office, but he wasn’t carrying any mail. He nodded at the people he passed. They greeted him in a comfortable, relaxed manner.

Newton, secured to a post by his leash, spotted Sam approaching and got to his feet to greet him.

“No one from around here believed for a single minute that Sam had anything to do with that poor woman’s murder, you know,” Brenda whispered earnestly.

Abby watched Sam pause to scratch Newton behind the ears. “I understand. They believed he was innocent because they knew him and knew the family. They couldn’t imagine him committing murder.”

“Well, sure, everyone knows the Coppersmiths. They own most of the island. But that’s not the reason we all figured Sam didn’t kill his fiancée.”

“What was the reason?” Abby asked politely. She braced for the answer she knew was coming.

“Simple,” Brenda said, with an air of triumph. “Like my dad says, if one of the Coppersmith men decided to murder someone, you can bet there wouldn’t be anything left behind to tie him to the scene. Either it would look like an accident or else the body would just disappear. Not that hard to make that happen around here.” Brenda nodded in the direction of the small bay. “Lotta deep water out there.”

“I’ve heard that theory,” Abby said.

“Yeah, well, obviously you don’t think he killed that poor woman. You wouldn’t be here if you did, right? Oops, gotta go.” Brenda grimaced. “The boss is giving me one of his get-back–to–work looks.”

She whisked herself off in the direction of the coffee machine.

Sam opened the door and walked into the diner. Every head in the room swiveled in his direction. There were several rounds of cheerful greetings. Sam responded to the friendly gauntlet with the easy familiarity of someone who knows everyone in the room.

He made his way to the booth where Abby sat alone with her coffee, and lowered himself down onto the vinyl seat on the other side of the table.

Brenda materialized instantly, a thick mug and a pot of coffee in her hands.

“Morning, Sam,” she said, her cheeks pink with excitement. “Coffee?”

“Yes, thanks, Brenda. How’s your grandmother? Heard she was having some problems.”

“She went to see that specialist in Seattle, like your mom suggested. They ran some tests, and he put her on some new meds. They seem to be working. Her blood pressure is under control again.”

“Good. Glad to hear it.”

Brenda poured the coffee and gave him a dazzling smile. “Can I get you anything else?”

“No, coffee is fine for now. We’re waiting for my folks. Dixon is bringing them over from Anacortes. Should be here in a few minutes.”

“It’ll be nice to see them again,” Brenda said.

She went back behind the counter and started to pour coffee.

The background noise of conversation that had faded for a bit returned in full force. Sam raised his mug to swallow some coffee. He stopped when he saw that Abby was looking at him.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“No,” Abby said.

“Okay.” Sam shrugged and took a sip.

Abby glared. “Don’t be dense. Do you realize that everyone in this diner, probably everyone in town, assumes that we’re involved in a relationship?”

Sam struggled with that question for a few seconds and then gave up. “We are involved in a relationship.”

“Maybe, but it’s complicated.” She tipped her head slightly, to indicate the crowded restaurant. “Your neighbors here don’t understand the nuances. They think we’re in a more personal relationship.”

“Yeah.” Sam drank some more and lowered the mug. He smiled. “That, too.”

She leaned forward. “I’m concerned that there will be some widespread misunderstanding here, Coppersmith. This is your home, not mine. What about the gossip?”

“What about it? This is a small town and a small island. Gossip is the lifeblood of the community.”

“You’re not taking this seriously, are you?”

“What do you want me to do? Stand up and announce that we’re sleeping together but that we’re not involved in a personal relationship?”

She sat back and drummed her fingers on the table. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Relax. You don’t care what anyone around here thinks. Once this situation is finished, you’ll never see any of these people again, right?”

She did another staccato drumroll and narrowed her eyes. “Right.”

“Good. Glad we got that sorted out.”

She gave him a steely smile. “Like my dad says in his book on modern marriage, communication is the key to a good relationship.”

“Absolutely. Here comes Dixon’s water taxi.” Sam put down his mug, got to his feet and pulled some money out of his wallet. He dropped the bills on the table. “Time for you to meet the parents.”

Abby slipped out from the booth and collected her tote. She walked side by side with Sam, past the curious stares and polite farewells.

Brenda waved a casual good-bye. Abby wiggled her fingers in re­­sponse. Outside, on the sidewalk, Newton greeted her in his customary over-the-top style. She freed him from the post and wrapped the end of his leash around her wrist.

They walked along Bay Street and watched the water taxi ease into the dock. There were only two passengers on board. The resemblance between Sam and the broad-shouldered, silver-haired man was unmistakable. Same fiercely etched features, same fiercely determined eyes, Abby thought. It was not all that hard to imagine Elias Coppersmith surviving a murder attempt and escaping an underground explosion with a cache of dangerous paranormal crystals. Not so hard to envision a man like this going on to found an empire like Coppersmith Inc., either.

A trim, attractive woman with discreetly tinted blond hair stood beside Elias Coppersmith. Her hands were thrust deep into the pockets of her jacket.

Abby looked at Sam. “Are both of your parents strong talents?”

“Dad definitely has some serious sensitivity for the latent energy in crystals. But he isn’t nearly as strong as Judson and Emma and me. He can’t run a little psi through any of the stones the way we can, for example.”

“What about your mother?”

“I’d say Mom has above-average intuition, but what mother doesn’t? And she runs the Coppersmith Foundation like a forensic accountant. But I don’t think her ability could be described as psychic. She’s just very, very good when it comes to following the money.”

“So where did you and your brother and sister get your talent for crystals?”

“Dad says it must have come from farther back on the family tree. Coppersmiths have been involved in mining of one kind or another for generations.”

“Sounds like you don’t buy that explanation.”

“Let’s just say that Judson and Emma and I have our own theory. We worked it out a few years ago, but we never told Mom or Dad, because we didn’t want to upset them.”

“Good grief. Surely you don’t think you aren’t your father’s offspring. You’ve got your father’s eyes, his bone structure…”

Sam grinned. “Not that kind of theory. But forty years ago, when that explosion occurred in the Phoenix, there was a hell of a lot of paranormal radiation released. We know that Dad and Knox must have caught a lot of it.”

“Oh, my gosh.” Abby felt her mouth fall open. She got it closed with an effort. “Are you telling me that you believe that the fallout from the explosion caused some kind of genetic mutation that manifested in you and your brother and sister?”

“Genetics are extremely complicated, even when you’re dealing with the normal kind. We don’t know much at all about the paranormal aspects.”

“True.”

“Promise me you won’t say anything to Mom or Dad about the theory. Emma says they wouldn’t handle it well.”

“Okay,” Abby said.

Sam went along the dock and grabbed the line that Dixon tossed to him. Then he caught the second one. He secured the water taxi with a few efficient, expert moves, straightened and took his mother’s hand. Willow Coppersmith stepped lightly onto the dock. She gave Sam a quick maternal kiss, and then she turned to Abby with a warm smile.

“You must be Abby,” she said.

Abby smiled. “Yes.”

She started to put out her hand, but Elias bounded out of the bobbing water taxi, interrupting the polite greeting. He gave her a head–to–toe survey. Then he grinned, cold satisfaction glittering in his eyes.

“You got her.” He clapped Sam on the shoulder. “Nice work, son. If she’s half as good as Webber thought she was, we’re going to get that damn book at last.”

Abby gave him her best professional smile, the one she reserved for the most eccentric clients. “Nice to meet you, too, Mr. Coppersmith.”