Breakwater by Carla Neggers

to catch her off guard? She noticed her quilt on the couch, her running shoes under the coffee table, her bowl of cold crab stew, but stayed focused on what he’d just told her. “When did you get this anonymous tip?”
    “I didn’t. The local police did, maybe an hour ago.”
    An hour. Had Diego Clemente recognized her description of Alicia’s car and phoned in the information anonymously, not wanting to use his name and have to answer questions?
    “Quinn?”
    “If Alicia had her head together enough to drive out to the boathouse to launch, don’t you think she’d have checked the weather? At least worn a life vest?”
    “Happens all the time. People don’t pay attention.”
    “But she must have just arrived back from Washington -”
    “If she’d been agitated, then stuck in a car for three or four hours, she could have cut corners in her rush to get out on the water,” Kowalski reasoned.
    Quinn sat on a 1950s wooden-armed chair, its cushions covered in a flowered fabric that went with the plaid on the couch. Alicia had helped her pick it out. “Alicia always wore a life vest. I insist anyone using one of my kayaks wear one. I keep several sizes in the shed. It’s not like her to go without.”
    Kowalski didn’t respond right away. “Have you had anything to eat?”
    His question took her by surprise. “Crab stew-”
    “Uh-uh.” He pointed to her bowl, still on the side table. “You’ve had, what, three bites?”
    Not even that much. She didn’t answer him. “Does Huck Boone know you found Alicia’s car? He was with me this morning-”
    “I know. I can’t discuss the details of an ongoing investigation with you.”
    “The black sedan that picked Alicia up in Washington -it hasn’t turned up?”
    Kowalski sighed at Quinn. “You are tenacious, aren’t you? Why didn’t you sign up for the FBI? What are you now-thirty?”
    “Thirty-two.”
    “You still could. You’ve got four years. Then you can run an investigation and ask people questions.”
    “If I weren’t a former Justice Department employee-”
    “I treat everyone the same.”
    She snorted. “Ha.”
    “I know a couple guys planning to sit in on your workshop at the academy.”
    “If you tell me things you’re not supposed to, I’ll give them A’s.”
    That got him to crack a smile. “Good to see you have your sense of humor. It’ll help you in the coming days.”
    But she sensed he was trying to tell her something more. “And?”
    “And leave the investigation into your friend’s death to law enforcement. Don’t meddle.”
    “What makes you think I’ve meddled?”
    “Good night, Miss Harlowe.”
    “A minute ago it was Quinn.”
    He leaned toward her. “Eat. Get some sleep. Go back to Washington in the morning and make up a hard test for my friends.” But he sighed, shaking his head. “I know it’s been a rough day for you. I’m truly sorry about your loss.”
    “Thank you.”
    After Kowalski left, Quinn took her crab stew to the kitchen and popped the bowl in her ancient microwave. If she had something to eat, she thought, she might be able to figure out how T.J. Kowalski had discovered that his anonymous tipster was Diego Clemente and she’d asked him about Alicia’s car, because obviously he had. Otherwise why read her the riot act about minding her own business?
    Kowalski must have gone to the waterfront motel himself and asked people hanging around if they saw anything. Ordinary legwork. He’d talked to Clemente and figured out he’d provided the tip about Alicia’s car. Had Clemente actually told him that Quinn had been asking questions?
    The microwave dinged. The stew was bubbling hot, but she didn’t think it had come to a boil. She opened another sleeve of saltines and sat at the table, and after three spoonfuls of the rich, flavorful stew, she knew what she was doing and why Kowalski had warned her off. She was grasping at straws and looking for distractions-meddling in a law enforcement