Hingham, on his lap a tiny Yorkshire pup, sticking his head out the window.
''He's cute,'' I said, opening the car door. ''Is he yours?'' I sank into Sean's leather seats. He drove an older Mustang, two doors, sleek and black, a manly man's car.
''All three pounds of him.''
''I wouldn't have pegged you as a lapdog kind of guy.''
''The breed wasn't my choice,'' he said, rolling his eyes. ''But the name was. Meet Thoreau.'' The dog bounded over to me, prancing on my lap.
''As in Henry David?'' I asked, my heart swelling for a man I barely knew.
''Is there any other?''
''Awful literary of you.'' I scratched behind the puppy's ears. His fur was soft and shiny. Dark eyes peered up at me from under spiky brown bangs. A small pink tongue dangled from the corner of his mouth, panting slightly.
Sean maneuvered around the parking lot and headed back toward Route 3A. ''I minored in English back in the day.''
''Oh,'' I said, falling that much harder.
In two hours I was supposed to meet Butch at the Hingham Bay Club for dinner, which was conveniently located in the same shipyard as the dock. I'd just have Sean drop me here after we were through. Raphael had somehow managed to get my car from the train station in Cohasset to the shipyard—maybe Maggie was right. He did have superpowers. I was glad—if my date with Butch was awful, then I had means of escape.
Inconveniently, I would have to wear my date clothes to Great Esker. It couldn't be helped. Before I left work, I'd changed into a wraparound dress and heels. It wasn't the ideal outfit to dig up a body, but then again, what was?
If that wasn't enough to worry about, Preston Bailey, the nosy reporter, had been outside the building when I left, snapping pictures of me. She wore a knowing look on her face, doubling my unease that she'd overheard my conversation with Raphael.
I was terrified to see her article.
''Do you have pets?'' Sean asked.
''A three-legged cat and a one-eyed hamster.''
He raised an eyebrow.
''Don't ask.''
''Names?''
I hesitated.
''What? Are they something ridiculous like Fluffy and Muffy?''
I'd told Marisol Fluffy was a terrible name. ''No. The cat is Grendel. The hamster is Odysseus.''
He turned and looked at me. ''You're serious?''
''Back in the day I minored in English, too.''
Something resembling appreciation flashed in his eyes. ''But now you're a matchmaker?''
''For a couple of weeks, at least. While my father recuperates.''
''What did you do before that?''
Since the time change the previous weekend, night settled early in the evening. The setting sun was obscured by sparse clouds, darkness looming on the horizon. ''This and that,'' I hedged. I wanted desperately to change the subject. There was no need for him to know I was a jack of all trades, master of nothing. ''You were a firefighter?''
''Yeah.''
''How long?''
''Nine years. Started right out of college.''
''Suz said you were hurt?''
''Something like that,'' he answered vaguely.
It was obvious he didn't want to talk about it, so I let it drop. I directed him north on 3A, headed toward Great Esker Park. Thoreau turned twice and settled into my lap.
The little fur ball was adorable but not quite the type of dog I'd hoped Sean would bring with him. A big bloodhound would be more likely to ''dig'' up a long-buried body. But the puppy would have to do.
''Where are we going?'' Sean asked.
''Great Esker Park in North Weymouth.''
''Never heard of it.''
''Mostly only locals know of it,'' I said. ''It's hard to find.''
''But you're not local to this area—how do you know of it?''
I looked out the window as we crossed the Hingham Bay Bridge. Boats bobbed in the choppy water. The Weymouthport condos rose up near Webb Park on their narrow peninsula, looking ominous in the murky evening light. ''Through the grapevine.'' The supernatural grapevine, but I kept that to myself.
''That's quite an outfit to go to a park.''
''Don't ask,'' I said, not wanting to explain about Dovie's
''He's cute,'' I said, opening the car door. ''Is he yours?'' I sank into Sean's leather seats. He drove an older Mustang, two doors, sleek and black, a manly man's car.
''All three pounds of him.''
''I wouldn't have pegged you as a lapdog kind of guy.''
''The breed wasn't my choice,'' he said, rolling his eyes. ''But the name was. Meet Thoreau.'' The dog bounded over to me, prancing on my lap.
''As in Henry David?'' I asked, my heart swelling for a man I barely knew.
''Is there any other?''
''Awful literary of you.'' I scratched behind the puppy's ears. His fur was soft and shiny. Dark eyes peered up at me from under spiky brown bangs. A small pink tongue dangled from the corner of his mouth, panting slightly.
Sean maneuvered around the parking lot and headed back toward Route 3A. ''I minored in English back in the day.''
''Oh,'' I said, falling that much harder.
In two hours I was supposed to meet Butch at the Hingham Bay Club for dinner, which was conveniently located in the same shipyard as the dock. I'd just have Sean drop me here after we were through. Raphael had somehow managed to get my car from the train station in Cohasset to the shipyard—maybe Maggie was right. He did have superpowers. I was glad—if my date with Butch was awful, then I had means of escape.
Inconveniently, I would have to wear my date clothes to Great Esker. It couldn't be helped. Before I left work, I'd changed into a wraparound dress and heels. It wasn't the ideal outfit to dig up a body, but then again, what was?
If that wasn't enough to worry about, Preston Bailey, the nosy reporter, had been outside the building when I left, snapping pictures of me. She wore a knowing look on her face, doubling my unease that she'd overheard my conversation with Raphael.
I was terrified to see her article.
''Do you have pets?'' Sean asked.
''A three-legged cat and a one-eyed hamster.''
He raised an eyebrow.
''Don't ask.''
''Names?''
I hesitated.
''What? Are they something ridiculous like Fluffy and Muffy?''
I'd told Marisol Fluffy was a terrible name. ''No. The cat is Grendel. The hamster is Odysseus.''
He turned and looked at me. ''You're serious?''
''Back in the day I minored in English, too.''
Something resembling appreciation flashed in his eyes. ''But now you're a matchmaker?''
''For a couple of weeks, at least. While my father recuperates.''
''What did you do before that?''
Since the time change the previous weekend, night settled early in the evening. The setting sun was obscured by sparse clouds, darkness looming on the horizon. ''This and that,'' I hedged. I wanted desperately to change the subject. There was no need for him to know I was a jack of all trades, master of nothing. ''You were a firefighter?''
''Yeah.''
''How long?''
''Nine years. Started right out of college.''
''Suz said you were hurt?''
''Something like that,'' he answered vaguely.
It was obvious he didn't want to talk about it, so I let it drop. I directed him north on 3A, headed toward Great Esker Park. Thoreau turned twice and settled into my lap.
The little fur ball was adorable but not quite the type of dog I'd hoped Sean would bring with him. A big bloodhound would be more likely to ''dig'' up a long-buried body. But the puppy would have to do.
''Where are we going?'' Sean asked.
''Great Esker Park in North Weymouth.''
''Never heard of it.''
''Mostly only locals know of it,'' I said. ''It's hard to find.''
''But you're not local to this area—how do you know of it?''
I looked out the window as we crossed the Hingham Bay Bridge. Boats bobbed in the choppy water. The Weymouthport condos rose up near Webb Park on their narrow peninsula, looking ominous in the murky evening light. ''Through the grapevine.'' The supernatural grapevine, but I kept that to myself.
''That's quite an outfit to go to a park.''
''Don't ask,'' I said, not wanting to explain about Dovie's
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