from the broken window. A lot of guys would consider that women’s work.”
“A lot of guys don’t live for days at a time on a boat. Efficient maintenance is important.”
“I guess so.” She cocked her head. Curious again. “I never even knew you were interested in boats. How did you become a charter captain?”
“I guess it was a natural transition after being in the navy.”
“You were in the navy?” She rolled her eyes. “Jeez, Michael, I don’t know anything about you at all.”
“Does it matter?”
“Well, yes. If we’re supposed to be engaged, I ought to have some vague idea of what you’ve been doing with your life.” She flicked the light switch off, and a soft darkness fell over them. “What should I say to people?”
“We’ll tell anybody who asks that our relationship is based purely on sex and we don’t have time to talk.”
She punched his arm. It was a friendly boyish gesture. From years of hanging around with the football teams her grandpa coached, Annie had learned to act like one of the guys. But Michael knew better. Earlier, when he’d kissed her, she’d responded with the passion of a mature woman. She was hot.
“Jeez, Michael. Didn’t you promise not to talk about sex?”
“As a matter of fact, I didn’t.”
“So you can’t stop yourself from behaving like a pig?”
“Oink.”
She pushed open the front door and stepped onto the veranda that stretched all the way across the front of the house and halfway around the south side. The floorboards were painted slate-blue, like the house. The surrounding rail matched the white trim, some of which was peeling badly.
The beam from her flashlight flickered across the porch swing and two wicker rocking chairs. Then she focused the circle of light on the area leading to the door.
“Too bad the ground is dry,” he said. “We won’t find footprints.”
“Wouldn’t do much good as evidence. Bateman was wearing steel-toed work boots, like most of the loggers in town.”
Nonetheless, she bent low to inspect the flower beds. Though no one had been at the house to tend them, yellow jonquils and white irises bloomed in the fertile Oregon soil. At the corner of the veranda, wild red roses climbed the railing.
She raised the light and slowly swept it back and forth. “I doubt he walked up the sidewalk, aimed at the door and threw a brick. He had to sneak across the yard, staying in the shadows to avoid being seen.”
He agreed with her reconstruction of the crime. “Tomorrow we should talk with your neighbors. Maybe somebody noticed him.”
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