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  What if it was something other than the produce itself? What if my fantasy about smuggling wasn't as foolish as I'd originally thought, and there was something illegal hidden inside the peppers?

  It wouldn't be the first time a criminal used a seemingly wholesome venue like a farmer's market to do his unsavory deeds. I'd heard about one example a few years ago, when one of my clients had ignored the time-honored advice that any investment opportunity that looked too good to be true, probably was. He'd had a friend, who knew a guy, who knew another guy, who had a can't-fail proposition. My client had handed over a good chunk of his savings to invest in something called "The Farmer's Market." A few months later, he'd confessed to me that he'd made a big mistake and had been lucky to only lose all of his money and not end up in jail. What had seemed so wholesome—a farmer's market where customers could place their orders online and get a fresh product delivered to their door—had turned out to be a front for a huge online market for illegal drugs, eventually shut down by the Drug Enforcement Administration.

  What if someone had decided to go into business for himself on a smaller scale, taking advantage of a literal farmer's market for his distribution?

  "It's not polite to stare," Merle said, startling me. "Didn't your mama teach you that?"

  "My mother's a free spirit. She didn't believe in rules, and she certainly didn't teach me any." I, on the other hand, loved rules and had quickly created my own set, which I'd then imposed on my four unappreciative siblings.

  One of my rules did generally preclude gawking at anyone, but I just couldn't help trying to figure out if Kline really was carrying on the Danger Cove smuggling tradition or if all this fresh air and small-town life had somehow unhinged me. "Sometimes it's impossible to look away from something, even when you want to."

  "But why Kline?" Merle said in an irritable tone. "I mean, I've been hitting on you all weekend, and you haven't noticed."

  Even someone as solid and unflappable as me couldn't resist the involuntary thrill that ran through me at Merle's acknowledgment of his jealousy. It only took a moment for my common sense to assert itself. He had no reason to be jealous, and I had no reason to revel in it.

  "It's nothing like that." Kline was fifteen years younger than me, and not at all my type. Of course, I would have said Merle wasn't my type either. I'd always been attracted to men with strong minds, wearing pristine suits and ties, rather than those with strong backs, wearing worn jeans. And yet, there was something about him that made me wish he didn't live quite so far away. Clothes didn't make the man, after all. Neither did the place where he worked. Unfortunately, he was married, and I shouldn't have to explain why that meant I had to ignore his interest in me. "It's just that there's something wrong about Kline's whole setup. I can't help thinking it's tied to Randy's death."

  He paused for a moment, searching my face as if for an answer to why I hadn't responded to his flirting. I thought he might pursue the issue, but then someone bumped into him from behind, and he looked away, taking in all the people around us. "We shouldn't be talking about this out here. No expectation of privacy." Merle nodded at his stall. "We can talk in the back. Not really ideal for confidential conversations, but better than out here."

  Merle's stall had canvas sides, which did offer a tiny bit of privacy. It wouldn't have been difficult to eavesdrop on us, but at least we were out of Kline's line of sight, and he was too busy to be pressing his ear against the flimsy barrier between the two stalls.

  I followed Merle past the stacked crates of pears and into the back where he had a couple of folding chairs with a large cooler between them to serve as a side table. He grabbed two bottles of pear cider—fresh, not hard, unlike the version I'd had at the Smugglers' Tavern yesterday—opened them and handed me one.

  "You aren't planning to go ask Kline if he killed Randy, are you?" he asked.

  "Not in so many words."

  "Then what's your plan?"

  "I don't have one yet." I took a swig of the cider, washing away some of the dryness of the day. "You know how a farmer's market works better than I do, so tell me something. A lot of Kline's customers were asking for Cyclone hot peppers. Is it normal for people to ask for hot peppers by name?"

  "Sometimes," he said. "The customers of a farmer's market tend to be more aware of their food options than those at a grocery store. But you're right. I heard it, and it seemed odd to me too."

  "So, what if it's actually a password and he's selling something else inside the peppers, but only to the people who ask for it by name?"

  "Except I looked it up, and Cyclone is a real variety of peppers," Merle said. "What if someone actually wanted that specific type?"

  "Kline would have a method for separating out the pepper aficionados from the ones who wanted whatever else he was selling," I said. "If he's selling something illegal, he must be charging more than the going rate for vegetables, even a specialty variety. As soon as he quotes a price, anyone who really wanted the peppers and nothing else would change his mind about buying."

  Merle leaned back and drank his cider thoughtfully.

  "I know it sounds a bit far-fetched, but it's the only thing that makes sense," I said. "There just isn't any other money trail that I can see that might lead to Randy's killer. But if Kline is selling drugs camouflaged inside peppers, that would give him a real motive to kill the person who was threatening to evict him from the market. And Randy had grounds to evict him over the 'locally grown only' rule. Especially after his crazy customer disrupted the play, so Randy couldn't ignore what was going on."

  Merle finished his cider and set the bottle on the cooler between us. "It's not that far-fetched. I'd been thinking something along the same lines almost from the minute the market opened yesterday. No one gets that many customers his first time at a market, and I've never seen Kline at any of the other local events. I mentioned my concerns to Randy and suggested he should get the police to keep an eye on Kline."

  "Let me guess," I said. "Randy didn't believe you. That's why he was yelling at you during the play."

  Merle nodded. "It was a relief to see how angry Randy was. It convinced me that if Kline was involved in something bad, at least Randy wasn't an accessory. I hadn't really thought he was, but I needed to be sure."

  "I could tell Randy was furious even from the stage area."

  "He definitely wasn't part of whatever Kline is up to, but unfortunately Randy was so deep in denial, he wouldn't talk to the cops about my suspicions." Sadness and regret tinged his voice. "I figured I'd have my own little chat with the first officer I saw, but then I got busy with some customers, and the next thing I knew the paramedics were racing up the hill. It made me wonder if maybe Randy had had second thoughts, enough to confront Kline about my suspicions, and that's what got him killed. I probably should have gone straight to the police instead of to him, and then he'd still be alive."

  "It's not your fault, any more than it is mine," I said. "If I'd found him faster, reacted when I heard the first sound he made instead of hesitating, he might still be alive."

  "We're quite the pair," he said with a rueful chuckle and a shake of his head. "Both of us taking responsibility for everything around us. The truth is, there wasn't much we could have done differently, and there isn't much we can do now. Our suspicion isn't even enough for probable cause to search the stall."

  "You seem awfully knowledgeable about police procedure for a simple farmer."

  "I've spent some time in courtrooms." The words came out clipped, as if he was reluctant to say even that much.

  He didn't seem like a criminal, but some of the worst crimes in history had been carried out by people that, until they were caught, seemed like ordinary people. He also didn't seem like the type who would rush to court over every little problem. I didn't know anything about his past, though, and his expression made it clear that he didn't want to talk about it.

  Now wasn't really the time to press the issue, so I kept my response light. "
I bet you've never seen a case involving murder by pepper before. It doesn't seem like a very reliable murder weapon."

  "No," he agreed. "That's a new one. But people do all sorts of stupid things to each other, and then they're shocked when there are tragic consequences."

  I stared at the remains of my cider and then set the bottle down on the cooler with a decisive thump. "I'm going to see Randy's dying face in my dreams for a good long while. I need to know that if it wasn't an accident, the responsible person is going to be punished."

  I had to do something, and after talking with Merle, I had a plan. I jumped to my feet.

  "Wait," he said. "You agreed that you weren't going to confront him directly."

  "I'm not," I said. "I'm just going to buy a few of the Cyclone peppers I've heard so much about."

  * * *

  I knew Merle would try to stop me, so I raced out of his reach before he had time to digest my words.

  The line outside Kline's stall had dwindled, as it was almost time for the market to close down for the day. The sooner I got to place my order, the better. Given enough time, I thought Merle would come up with a way to stop me, just as I would have tried to stop a client embarking on an insane investment strategy.

  It only took about a minute to get to the front of the line where I could repeat what I'd heard other customers say. "I heard you have Cyclone hot peppers. How much are they?"

  He rattled off some quantities and prices that were definitely too much to pay for any produce that wasn't covered in gold leaf. I had just enough in my purse for the smallest quantity. I handed over the cash, and he reached under the table for a brown paper bag pre-filled with peppers and, unless I'd just paid for the most expensive salad ingredient on the planet, something much less wholesome inside.

  I took the bag, only then realizing that I didn't know what to do next. I was pretty sure I had just bought a bag filled with some kind of illegal drugs.

  I let the thought sink in. I, Maria Dolores, who'd never so much as had a speeding ticket in my entire life, was holding a bag full of illegal substances that I had knowingly purchased. If I went straight to Detective Ohlsen with them, wouldn't he arrest me first and worry about asking me where I'd gotten them later?

  * * *

  In a daze, I retraced my steps to Merle's stall, operating on an instinct that he would know what to do.

  As soon as I was within his reach, he snagged me by the wrist and dragged me into the back, pushing me into the chair I'd recently vacated. He started pacing and talking to himself, apparently oblivious of my presence. The southern drawl dripped with frustration. "I quit doing this sort of thing five years ago. My D.C. license is inactive, and I never was licensed here. I can't be doing this, but it's going to be worse if I don't. Hell."

  He pulled out a cell phone and, after it was answered, said, "Tell Wolfe I've got something on the Randy Stiles case."

  Merle kept his back to me and lowered his voice, so I only caught a few words. Something about voluntary surrender, and stipulations, and criminal intent, and big fish versus well-meaning but totally insane minnows.

  After another few minutes the call ended, and Merle turned back to me. Gone was the pleasant, easygoing, southern gentleman farmer, and in his place was a drill sergeant with a face that was grimmer than my great-great-great-grandmother's. "We're going for a walk, and then you're leaving Danger Cove and never coming back."

  Had I been wrong to trust him? He had been trying to cheat on the wife he was supposedly madly in love with, after all. What if that wasn't the worst of his sins?

  Merle herded me up the hill toward the crime scene. Beyond it were the lighthouse and the steep, rocky cliff that overlooked the waters of Danger Cove. As we approached the police tape at the end of the market stalls, it struck me that once past that barrier, the path curved to the right, and we'd be as much out of sight as Randy had been when he'd ingested the peppers. If I wanted to escape Merle's control, I had to do it now.

  And then I saw Officer Faria just around the corner, beyond the last farmer's stall. He was making a "hurry up" motion, and a moment later Bud Ohlsen appeared from behind the uniformed officer.

  I ducked under the police tape, and Merle gave me a little push in the direction of the officers. "Give them the bag and don't say a word. They've already been advised by Prosecutor Frank Wolfe that you've been granted immunity for whatever led to your possession of the bag. And they've been told where you obtained it and what you paid for it. Wolfe is on his way here with a search warrant for Kline's stall."

  * * *

  It took about twenty minutes for Wolfe to show up, and then Ohlsen and Faria left with him to go search the pepper stall. Merle and I were under instructions to stay out of sight near the porta-potties while the officers did their job.

  Once they were gone, I rounded on Merle. "You're not a farmer. You're a lawyer."

  "Used to be a lawyer," he said easily. "I'm a farmer now."

  "That explains so much," I said. "Like how you convinced me you were madly in love with your wife even while you were hitting on me. A good lawyer is supposed to be able to argue either side of a case equally well and even be able to present completely inconsistent theories of a case."

  He blinked. "Is that why you froze me out? You thought I was married?"

  "You told me you were," I said. "Remember? Love at first sight?"

  He shook his head leaned against the boulder where Ohlsen had been contemplating the sky earlier. "My wife died about five years ago. That was when I quit my legal practice and started looking for a farm where I could slow down and appreciate life. I didn't talk about losing her when I moved here to start over, but somehow the word spread, and I was suddenly the subject of some well-intended but premature matchmaking efforts. I guess I figured it was written on my forehead or something, so I didn't need to explain it to you."

  That changed everything.

  I wasn't the sort to throw myself into a whirlwind relationship with someone I'd only known for forty-eight hours, but now I could stop denying my attraction to Merle and see where the future might take us. I had a feeling that finding out was going to be a lot of fun. Even my great-great-great-grandmother would have looked less grim if she'd had someone like Merle in her life.

  I settled on the boulder beside him, close enough that our thighs touched. "The matchmakers must have fallen all over themselves when you came to town."

  "Yeah." He grinned. "They weren't all that thrilled about my prospects as a farmer—it's a tough life—but they kept reassuring me that I could always fall back on my law degree if the farming didn't work out."

  "I gather that's not going to happen."

  He shook his head. "I put in my time as a lawyer, and I'm done now. It was interesting work, and I'm glad I experienced it, if only to know that it's not what I want to do for the rest of my life. I'd go work in someone else's fields before I went back to a law office."

  "I know what you mean." I felt much the same way about my financial planning career. It had been challenging and rewarding, but I was ready for something else now. Maybe even somewhere else too. I might have to consider careers that could be pursued in a small town like Danger Cove.

  "So," he said, standing to face me. "Now that that's out of the way, what do you say we have dinner tonight at the Smugglers' Tavern before you go back to Seattle?"

  "I'd love that," I said and not just because the food there had been as amazing as the view. "I'm meeting Gil and Debra Kerrigan in a few minutes for a tour of the lighthouse, but I'm free after that."

  "I have to pack up my stall, but it shouldn't take long," Merle said. "How about if I meet you at the lighthouse in about half an hour?"

  "Sounds good."

  Officer Faria trotted into view just then. "You two are free to leave. We've got Kline in custody."

  I couldn't help asking, "So what was he really selling?"

  "Prescription opiates, we think," Faria said. "Vacuum-sealed packets of them insid
e the peppers."

  "So that's the end of it?"

  "For you," Faria said. "Except you might have to come back to testify at Kline's trial, assuming he doesn't plead out. We've got him dead to rights on the drug dealing, and Wolfe is pretty sure he can make a murder one charge stick for Randy's murder."

  Faria took off again, and Merle left to pack up his stall. As I watched them leave, I thought Maria Dolores would have approved of the way I'd stepped in to make sure that law and order were upheld, even if I hadn't been able to save any lives. All in all, the visit to Danger Cove hadn't been anything like what I'd been expecting, mostly in good ways, and it was ending on a high note, with the tour of my ancestors' lighthouse and the prospect of getting to know Merle Curtis better.

  It was early still, about fifteen minutes before Gil was due to meet me at the lighthouse, but I could explore the exterior on my own. I headed up the path to where half a dozen steps had recently been carved into the rocks and a railing firmly planted beside them for the safety of visitors to the lighthouse. I marveled at the thought of my ancestors, who would have had to take a much more challenging path that required them to be rock climbers whenever they traveled between the lighthouse and the kitchen garden that was down closer to the road, near the parking lot.

  The steep and uneven surface leveled out at the top of the steps, forming a sort of natural stone patio about thirty or forty feet wide around the entrance area. It seemed to extend behind the shed-like extension of the lighthouse, and if it did, the unobstructed view of the ocean from the other side had to be spectacular.

  I glanced back at the stairs to look for Gil or Debra Kerrigan, but they weren't anywhere in sight. I had just reached the entrance to the lighthouse when I heard a human voice. Not words, but something more like a sob.