Whiskey Beach by Nora Roberts

wife’s family, who’s always trashing him in the press. I don’t know.”
    “I don’t know either. Let me ask Mike.”
    “Mike? Why?”
    “He deals with lawyers and clients all the time.”
    “Real estate lawyers and clients,” Abra pointed out.
    “A lawyer’s a lawyer, a client’s a client. He might have an idea. He’ll keep it confidential.”
    “I’m not sure that part matters. If this guy hunted me down, who knows who else he’s talking to? It’s all getting stirred up again.”
    “Poor Eli.”
    “You’ve never believed he did it either.”
    “No.”
    “Why do you believe him, Maureen?”
    “Well, as you know, I got my detective’s license from TV. That said, why would a man who never exhibited violent behavior suddenly bash his wife in the head with a fireplace poker? She cheated on him, and that pissed him off. It also made her look bad as they moved forward with the divorce. Sometimes I want to bash Mike’s head in with a poker.”
    “You do not.”
    “Not literally, but my point is I really love Mike. I think you have to really love or really hate somebody to want to bash their brains in. Unless it’s about something else. Money, fear, revenge. I don’t know.”
    “So who did it?”
    “If I knew that and could prove it, I’d be promoted from detective to lieutenant. Or captain. I’d like to be captain.”
    “You already are. Captain of the good ship O’Malley.”
    “That’s true. You can be captain of the made-for-TV police department in charge of clearing Eli Landon once and for all.”
    At her friend’s silence, Maureen slapped out a hand to hit Abra’s arm. “That was a joke. Don’t even think about getting involved in any of it. It’ll blow over, Abra. Eli will get through it.”
    “What could I do?” And the question, Abra decided, didn’t promise
not
to do something.
    When they turned at the halfway point to jog back, she realized she was glad she’d come out. A good way to think, to shove away a bad mood, to get some perspective. She’d missed running during the cold grip of winter, missed the sound of her own feet slapping against the sand while she gulped in the sea air.
    She wasn’t one to wish time away, not even a minute, but she could, deeply, long for spring and the summer that followed.
    Would Eli still be at Bluff House, she wondered, when the air began to warm and the trees to green? Would spring’s balmy breezes blow away the shadows that dogged him?
    Maybe those shadows needed a little help on their way out the door. She’d think about it.
    Then she saw him, standing at the water’s edge, hands in his pockets, gaze on the far horizon.
    “There’s Eli now.”
    “What? Where? Oh, shit!”
    “What’s the problem?”
    “I didn’t imagine running into him the first time when I’m sweaty and red-faced and huffing. A woman likes to hold a certain standard for chance meetings with her first serious make-out partner. Why did I wear my oldest jogging pants? These make my legs look like tree stumps.”
    “They do not. I’d never let you wear pants that made your legs look like tree stumps. You’re insulting my code of friendship.”
    “You’re right. That was small and selfish of me. I apologize.”
    “Accepted, but watch it. Eli!”
    “Shit,” Maureen grumbled again when he turned. Why hadn’t she at least stuck some lip gloss in her pocket?
    Abra lifted a hand. She couldn’t see his eyes, not when he wore sunglasses. But he didn’t just wave and walk away. He waited, and she took that as a positive sign.
    “Hi.” She stopped, braced her hands on her thighs as she stepped one leg back to stretch. “If I’d seen you earlier, we’d have talked you into a run.”
    “Walking’s more my speed these days.” His head turned a fraction before he took off his sunglasses.
    For the first time Abra saw him smile, all the way through, when his gaze held, and warmed on Maureen’s face.
    “Maureen Bannion. Look at you.”
    “Yeah, look at