He looked up at Rawley. “He wants me to take care of this?”

Rawley rolled his eyes as if to say, Right, stupid. What did the note say?

Cooper glanced through the document quickly. He’d assumed that Ben wanted him as executor, but it took about two seconds to see that Ben was leaving this place to him. Looking a little further, it appeared that included the structure and the land. And the beach? The document was four pages of legalese. There was probably something in here that explained special conditions of some kind, but that was going to take a closer, slower look. Meanwhile, he became aware of a key inside the envelope.

“To the bar?” he asked Rawley.

Again Rawley rolled his eyes, saying nothing.

Cooper almost eye-rolled him right back. But he took the key in one hand and the document in the other and walked around the deck to the ocean side, where he slipped it into the lock on a set of double doors that could open wide onto the deck. The seal on the doors was good, probably to protect against heavy storms or tsunamis. He pulled open the door and was immediately assaulted by the foulest smell he’d ever encountered. Hadn’t they said Ben had been buried? Because this smell was worse than a rotting body. It took about three steps into the bar/bait shop to realize they had septic issues, combined with what smelled like rotting fish and maybe garbage. The electricity had been turned off. He yelled, “Rawley!”

The response he got was the sound of a truck. Departing.

* * *

An hour later, Cooper placed a call to Mac’s cell phone. It was late afternoon now and the sun was shining, which did not cheer Cooper. It not only helped cook the smells in the bar/bait shop but also brought people out to the beach, walking dogs, nosing around or jogging. It was too chilly for swimming or picnicking. At the sight of someone opening doors and windows at Ben’s place, a few brave souls came close, curious. By the time they made it to the deck, they covered their noses and retreated. Quickly.

“Mac,” Cooper said into the phone. “Boy, do I have a situation.”

“What’s up?”

“Start with, Rawley brought me what seems to be a will. It’ll have to be verified, but it looks in order. Ben left this place to me.”

“Whoa. Did you see that coming?”

“He never even hinted at such a thing. Second, there was a key and I went inside. Holy mother of God, there are too many rotten things in there to count. The electricity was turned off and his bait tank is full of dead fish, stagnant, moldy water and God knows what all. And I’m pretty sure I smell septic backup. I have the doors and windows open, but the place is impenetrable. Do you know anyone? Like maybe a crime-scene cleanup crew? Or something?”

“There’s a flood and environmental cleanup company up in North Bend. Also a hazardous chemical cleanup crew up there.”

Cooper couldn’t stop a cough. “Oh, yeah, definitely some hazardous chemicals in there. Got a number?”

“Let me call ’em,” Mac said. “I’ll book the first available slot for an estimate. You planning on cleaning it up?”

“It’s not how I planned my week, but someone has to do it. I wouldn’t count on Rawley. He handed me the will and a key and took off like a bat out of hell.”

Mac laughed.

“Come out here and take a deep breath and then laugh, sucker,” Cooper said. “We might need a wrecking crew if the smell can’t be conquered.”

“I think I will come out. I mean, I’m curious. Let me make a couple of calls on the way.”

To keep from inhaling poisonous gases, Cooper took up residence on the dock. Even there, he could smell it. He was not entirely surprised when he caught sight of the Sheriff’s Department SUV coming at him, not from the road but right across the beach.

Mac pulled up to the dock and got out. He was wearing his uniform.

“You working?” Cooper asked.

“I’m pretty much always working, but I don’t drive the company car unless I’m in uniform. It’s for official business only. We have rules.” He looked up the steps to the bar and wrinkled his nose. “Hoo, boy.”

“Tell me about it. I never took Ben for a prankster. ‘Here, I’m leaving you all my worldly goods, but you might have to torch it all.’”

“You think the will is legit?” Mac asked.

Cooper pulled a thick document folded into thirds out of his back pocket and handed it to Mac. “You know Lawrence Carnegie?”

“Yup. He’s a lawyer in town. He takes care of some local stuff. I guess Ben hired him.”

“Appears so. I gotta say, I never expected anything like this. Don’t you tell someone if you’re planning to do something like this?”

Mac shrugged. “I have a will and I haven’t told anyone the details, mainly because I don’t want my kids thinking if they kill me in my sleep they’ll get a car or something. My aunt Lou, who’s in charge anyway, is the executor. And hell, I don’t even have anything worth leaving. Do you have a will?”

“Nothing fancy,” he said. “I have savings. It’ll be divided between my nieces and nephews if there’s anything left when I go—I was thinking it could help with college. And no, I never told anyone.”

Mac was flipping through the few pages. “I think I can explain Ben’s reasoning, or at least the history behind this place. Ben’s father was kind of old when Ben came back to Thunder Point. He was sick, had a stroke. That was right before I was transferred here. He was failing.”

“I remember, Ben got out of the Army ten years ago or so to help his dad,” Cooper said. “I heard something about a store here. Obviously he wasn’t real specific....”

“Well, everything was transferred into Ben’s name so that several years later, when his dad passed, there was no will, no probate, and most important, no tax issues.”

Cooper put his hands in his pockets. “How would you know something like that?”

“Purely gossip, I’m afraid,” Mac said. “The talk is that when the old man passed, there were a lot of interested buyers who assumed these hicks who ran a run-down bait shop and bar hadn’t prepared for the worst. The land is worth some money, Cooper. If there hadn’t been a trust or a transfer, the inheritance tax alone could’ve foreclosed Ben, forced him to sell. You know, there are a bunch of little moth-eaten towns around here, but we also have big resorts, the kind that host PGA tournaments or world-class hunting and draw some big money. And this area, oceanfront and five miles of natural beauty to the freeway, is prime for something like that. Something that could improve local economy. There are lots of people in town who wanted Ben to let it go. And, hey, you coming into the property...that might make people happy, assuming you’ll just sell it.”

Cooper reached into his pocket and pulled out the sticky note that had been attached to the will. Take care of things, Coop. He passed it to Mac. “That sound like he wants me to sell it?”

Mac handed it right back. “Listen, Cooper, I know he was a friend, but unless the two of you had some kind of understanding, you gotta do what you gotta do.”

“Why didn’t he just leave it to Rawley?”

“Oh, I think that’s pretty obvious. Rawley’s a little off-kilter, if you get my drift. Besides, I don’t think they were like brothers or anything—Ben was helping him out, that’s all. Ben did more for Rawley in the past few years than anyone has done for him in the last twenty-five.”

“Well, jeez. This just keeps getting more complicated. Do you suppose he’s one of the things I’m supposed to take care of?”

“No telling, pal. But I’ve got a cleanup crew coming out first thing tomorrow to give you an estimate. If you like the price, they can start right away.”

Cooper gave him an incredulous look. “Did you smell that place? Is it even possible the price could be too high?”

Mac laughed. “My aunt Lou is getting ready to burn some dinner. Why don’t you lock the place up and join us. You can’t get anything done around here tonight.”

“Dinner?” Cooper asked. He gave a long, dubious look at that road leading up to 101. It was bad enough in daylight.

“I’ll give you a ride across the beach. And bring you back tonight.”

“I thought you had rules,” Cooper said.

“We do. If anyone stops me or asks questions, you’ll have to act arrested.”

“Well, hell, you just stumbled on one of my special talents.”

* * *

Dinner at the McCain house was served in a large, warm kitchen. Three kids, three adults sat at a big round table, two Labrador retrievers standing watch near the back door. Cooper shoveled the last of his spaghetti into his mouth and then wiped his plate with a piece of garlic bread. As it was on its way to his mouth, he noticed that five sets of eyes were on him. He realized he’d eaten like a starving man, chuckled and tossed the bread onto his plate.

“There’s more,” Lou said.

“Sorry. But that was seriously delicious.”

Lou laced her fingers together and, elbows braced on the table, said, “I guess you don’t get out much.”

“I eat real well. It’s Mac’s fault. He tried to lower my expectations by saying you were burning some dinner.”

“Isn’t he cute? That he thinks he has a sense of humor?” Lou said, lifting one shapely eyebrow.

“May I be excused?” Eve asked. “Ashley is coming over.”

“Sure,” Lou said. “Ryan and Dee Dee, your night for cleanup. I’ll give your dad and Mr. Cooper coffee in the living room.”

“Aw,” Ryan whined. “Prison Break is on! Come on, Aunt Lou...”

“Sorry, I have Designing Women reruns to watch in my room.” Then she looked at Mac. “When did he outgrow cartoons?”

Instead of answering, Mac leaned toward Ryan. “You boning up for a prison break or working yourself into a corrections officer’s slot?”

“It’s awesome, Dad, they’re just so stupid.”

“I know. It’s my job security,” Mac said.

“Dishes,” Lou said, standing with a plate in each hand.

“I’d be glad to help,” Cooper said quietly. “I’m much better at dishes than cooking.”

“Shh, we’re getting out of here.” Mac stood up and poured two cups of coffee, throwing a look over his shoulder at Cooper. He lifted his eyebrows in question.

“Black,” Cooper said.

Carrying two mugs, Mac left the kitchen and Cooper followed. The Labs, one black and one yellow, followed Cooper. In the living room, where there was no TV, Mac flipped a light switch with the brim of a coffee cup and the fireplace came to life. Then he waited for Cooper to choose his spot.

It was obvious where the deputy liked to roost from the shape of the cushions on the recliner. Cooper took a corner of the couch and watched as the dogs lay down, one on each side of the deputy’s chair. “I guess you spend a lot of time in here,” he said.

Mac handed him a cup. “There’s no TV or computer in here, ergo—not a place the kids like to be. I sometimes have to compete with cheerleaders or dance practice, but they don’t want my audience. I had the piano delivered straight to the basement. A man’s gotta have a room, and hiding out in your bedroom? That’s weird.”

Cooper laughed. “Is it now?” he asked, sipping.

“Not for a woman. They do it all the time. Lou can’t wait to get away from us and close that door. But every time I go out on some strange call—disturbance or domestic or hinky sexual assault—the suspect is hiding out in his bedroom. Don’t ask me why. It’s just weird.”

“That’s kind of perverted,” Cooper said with a laugh.