On the remote island of Monhegan, off the coast of Maine, everyone has more than one job. Game warden Diane Pinchino is the only semblance of law enforcement. As a winter storm batters the island, Diane begins to investigate the grisly discovery of a dismembered body.
The body count increases with no clear motive or suspect. Without reinforcements, can Diane solve the case before someone she loves becomes the next victim?
“That's the last of it,” Annette said in a heavy French-Canadian accent. She emptied the carafe of dark roast. “It will take me about fifteen minutes to clean up the kitchen. Then you can walk me home.”
“It would be my pleasure.” Diane hid her smile behind the coffee cup.
“What about me?” Pete leaned against the bakery counter. “I could always walk you home for one of those croissants.”
Annette laughed the way she always did when the four single men in town that still had their teeth flirted with her. It didn't matter that Annette had moved to the tiny year round island off the coast of Maine with Diane or that Annette showed them as much attention as any of her other less available customers. There was just something about the French woman that made men and women fall in love with her. Diane had fallen for her charms as much as Annette's pastries. It was a good thing Diane worked outside or she would have put on twenty pounds of butter by now.
“Here you go.” Annette retrieved the last four croissants from the display case and put them in a paper bag. “Don't say that I never do anything nice for you.”
“I'll have to find some way to return the favor.”
With a wink and a smile, Annette disappeared into the kitchen.
“You're shameless.” Diane would be more upset if she thought Pete was after anything more than Annette's baked goods.
“You really ought to make an honest woman out of her.”
“Believe me, I’ve tried.” Diane said. “Annette’s dead set on a church wedding.”
“So?”
“I’d rather put my faith in what I can see and touch,” Diane said. It was an argument she’d had a million times with Annette who refused a civil ceremony. She would be married under the sanction of the church or not at all. Her belief in some divine supernatural power was equally endearing as it was annoying.
“Better be careful or someone liable to snap her up right out from underneath you.” Pete nudged Diane then pulled out a croissant and stuffed half of it into his mouth. “I'll let Doc Abraham know we’ve got a guest at the inn.”
The ‘inn’ as the refrigeration unit at the local lobster processing plant that doubled as the island morgue on the odd occasion that a body needed keeping before being turned over to the medical examiner or the nearest mainland funeral home. Everything and everyone pulled double and often triple duty on the island. Doc Abraham was the local veterinarian, taxidermist and pilot of a seaplane that ferried locals and visiting officials during the off-season.
“You calling in the Staties?”
“Not unless Doc Abraham finds any evidence of foul play.” Diane had gone through the dance of reporting a low priority death only to get chewed out by the Warden Service’s investigation unit. There was a way things were done in Maine. Even after ten years, she was still like a know-nothing from away. “I’ll see if he can take a look in the morning.”
“Yeah, he’d know for sure.” Pete spoke through a mouthful of half-chewed croissant. “You know his limp comes from a run in with a bear at Baxter? Stuffed the bastard himself. He'd know if it was the Ktci-awa.”
