Free Boiled Over (A Maine Clambake Mystery) by Barbara Ross

assured him. I was less than a block from my house. “Where did you come from?”
    “I’m just headed to my place.”
    “Thank you.” I wanted to hug him again, but didn’t. The first time had been spontaneous, a shared reaction to our mutual brush with death. Now a hug would be awkward and inappropriate. I was his boss. A much older woman in his eyes. But Cabe always had a particular vulnerability about him. Despite his strength, he was slight. His dark blond hair fell in his light blue eyes, except when he worked at the fire pit, where he wore it in a samurai-style top knot that I thought of as “Cabe’s weird hairdo.” His features were regular and still boyish. I wondered how often he had to shave.
    It was that vulnerability that made me want to hug him, and I wasn’t normally a hugger. It was also what had softened Sonny toward him. Despite his bluster, Sonny was really a big ball of mush.
    “It wasn’t nothing,” I said. “If there’s ever anything I can do for you—”
    We left it at that.
     
     
    August
     
    After Binder and Flynn left, I moved to Gus’s lunch counter.
    “Afternoon.” Gus stood in front of me, ready to take my order.
    I’d been hungry when I walked in, but suddenly I couldn’t make a decision.
    “Pie?” Gus offered, as if starting my order with dessert would get me off the dime.
    If you were smart, you ordered your dessert when you placed your meal order, choosing a slice from half dozen kinds of pie Mrs. Gus had made starting at four that morning. For one thing, if you didn’t order while pie was still available, you might be out of luck by the time you made up your mind. Mrs. Gus’s pies always sold out. Also, Gus didn’t like surprises. He wanted to know what you were planning to eat, and by extension, how long you were planning to stay, right up front. Gus ran his establishment for the working men and women of Busman’s Harbor. Tarrying wasn’t encouraged.
    Today’s pies were blueberry, peach, Boston cream, pecan, and peanut butter. I’d sampled every one of those flavors countless times, and each one caused me to swoon. But I considered the upcoming pie-eating contest and said, “Just a BLT and an iced coffee.” Strictly speaking, iced coffee wasn’t on Gus’s limited menu, but sometimes when he was in a good mood, he’d pour some of the coffee sitting in the pot over ice for you.
    He put my bacon on the grill and two slices of Mrs. Gus’s homemade wheat bread in the toaster and returned with my iced coffee. I gulped it down, eager for the caffeine blast before I had to run to the pie-eating contest. When I looked over the rim of my glass, Gus was still firmly planted across from me.
    “The police seem very interested in our boy.”
    “Cabe?” I knew who Gus meant. I nodded, yes they were.
    “What do the cops know? Why would a young man like that want to kill Stevie Noyes?”
    So Gus knew it was Stevie, too. Despite Binder’s efforts at keeping the identity of the body quiet, I doubted there was a person in town who didn’t know. “The cops aren’t obligated to share their theories with me, Gus.” It came across crabbier than I meant it to. I was grateful for how open Binder was being with me, even if Flynn suspected me of harboring Cabe.
    Gus took my bacon off the grill, sliced a ripe, summer tomato, and assembled my sandwich. “You’re going to have to help them.”
    “Binder and Flynn? Don’t be silly. They’re professionals.”
    “They were professionals the last time they were in town when they arrested two innocent people.” Gus put my sandwich in front of me with a thump. “And back then it was two grown people who knew how to handle themselves. This is a nineteen-year-old kid on his own.”
    “Do you know anything about Cabe? Where he’s from? Who his family is?”
    “I got the feeling he didn’t want to talk about that stuff.” The counter was empty except for the two of us, but nonetheless Gus moved closer and spoke softly. “He