Maritime Caper (Coastal Fury Book 12) - Matt Lincoln (have you read this book TXT) 📗

“You southerners never get it right. You’d have to listen to me complain about it through the whole meal.”

“I wouldn’t mind that,” I said, noticing the familiar twinkle in her eye as she teased me.

“You say that, but I think you would,” she said dryly as she took a bite out of one of the breadsticks.

“Do you want a bite to find out?” I asked, offering my spoon to her.

She eyed it with something between distaste and curiosity.

“I don’t know…” she said slowly before ripping her eyes away from my spoon and turning her gaze on the ocean. “I think it’s safer if I don’t.”

“It’s good,” I teased, bringing the spoon to my own mouth instead when she refused it.

It was good, actually. It was more buttery than a traditional clam chowder, and I had no doubt that she was right that she would complain about it. But as far as I was concerned, she could complain all she wanted, as long as I got to listen.

“As long as you’re enjoying it, that’s enough for me,” Tessa quipped, turning back to face me and making a point to scowl down at my bowl as if it was full of slime. “Anyway, why don’t you tell me about what the police told you? Are there any new leads?”

I had almost forgotten that Tessa hadn’t been with me when I spoke with Sergeant Wallace and Officers Bauer and Collins. She had been such a staple at my side on this whole trip that I practically remembered her being there beside me, even though I knew that she wasn’t actually there.

So as I ate my apparently disgusting and very wrong clam chowder, I told Tessa everything that the officers had told me, as well as the tip Paulina had given me while I was waiting for her to freshen up back at the bed-and-breakfast.

“Fascinating…” Tessa mused when I was finished, pressing the tip of her fork against her lips as she spoke. “An old pirate’s ghost… You don’t think…?”

Her voice trailed off as she met my eyes again with more than a little interest. I knew exactly what she was thinking. I had been thinking it myself, after all.

“I don’t know,” I said quickly, not wanting to jinx it. “I mean, what are the odds that Grendel actually spent time here?”

“I don’t know either, but I’d wager a guess and say they’re not bad,” Tessa said, excitement brimming in her green eyes, an almost perfect match for the sea below us. “I mean, he was in America. We know that much. And we don’t actually know how his journal ended up here. It may have already been in the region, and that’s why the museum got their hands on it in the first place.”

“I don’t know…” I repeated cautiously. “George seemed pretty impressed with Henry’s sleuthing skills. It wouldn’t surprise me if he tracked it down a half a world away.”

“But why, though, even if he did?” Tessa asked. “Why was he so keen to get his hands on it?”

“I mean, it was his job,” I pointed out, gnawing on the corner of a breadstick myself now. “And it’s a pretty cool artifact.”

“How many people have you run into who actually know about the Dragon’s Rogue, though?” Tessa asked me. “It seems like it was a pretty unique obsession for you and your grandfather to have. And besides, most of these nautical types are more obsessed with stuff like Lafitte’s ship, right?”

I had to admit that she had a point there. Lafitte’s fate and his long lost pirate ship had flummoxed nautical enthusiasts for a long time, to the point that I could hardly believe it when Holm and I found the ship in the New Orleans bayou on our mission there.

But still, what I really wanted to find was the Dragon’s Rogue. That was a unique position, however. She was right about that. Most people would consider their nautical career as reaching its peak with the Lafitte find.

“No,” I said, pushing away these hopeful thoughts and shaking my head, more not to jinx it than anything else. “Henry’s not just any old nautical enthusiast. This is his job, his life’s work. He would’ve known about Grendel and the Dragon’s Rogue.”

“Maybe,” Tessa admitted, though she didn’t sound convinced as she pursed her lips. “But still, you can’t deny the possibility that there’s a connection. Maybe Grendel docked his ship here for a while and stayed in that old house. Maybe he even died there, and that’s why everyone here says the place is haunted.”

“I don’t know,” I said for what felt like the hundredth time in this conversation. “Let’s just play it by ear. The main issue is these people who attacked us at the museum.”

“Another good point,” Tessa said, pointing her fork at me now as she seemed determined not to drop this subject. “We’ve said over and over again how unlikely it is that someone else tracked down the journal at exactly the same time you did. And we know they didn’t use the same methods. Otherwise, my friend George would’ve known about it. Maybe some other clue drew them here. Like the house. They bought it, after all.”

“We don’t know that they bought it,” I pointed out, just as determined as she was to dodge this line of reasoning for fear of getting my own hopes up, though, to be honest, they already were. “We have no idea if the Hawthorne house is in any way related to what we’re doing here. It could just be an old house that some random people bought to refurbish as a tourist attraction. That’s the most likely explanation.”

“At the same time that all this is going down?” Tessa asked, arching a skeptical eyebrow at me as she returned her attention to what was left of her salad. “Paired with legends of an old pirate who stayed there? Please. If this isn’t in any way related to Grendel, I’d be shocked.”

“Maybe you’re right,” I