Death and Relaxation (Ordinary Magic #1)(59)

“Get off my back, Bailey. You play Boy Scout, but you’re a liar. Where the hell have you been all these years? College and some fancy job in a big city doesn’t lead a man back to this low-rent shack town. You came back for a reason, and it isn’t a good one.”

Ryder didn’t show any reaction to that except for his eyes. For the first time since he’d sat, he looked down, looked sideways.

If I were trained to read body language, to interrogate, to read people, I’d say Cooper had hit too close to secrets Ryder didn’t want to tell. I might even think Ryder was sizing up how many times he could sucker-punch Cooper before I stopped him.

“Take it outside, Reserve Officer Bailey,” I said calmly. “You might not be on the clock, but that won’t keep me from arresting you for disturbing the peace.”

Ryder’s gaze flicked up. Eyes filled with heat, mouth curved at one corner into a wicked smile, he did not look like someone willing to apologize for his behavior, nor worried about arrest. His tongue tip slipped at the bottom of his lip, which he then bit.

My own mouth went dry. The brief touch of teeth on the soft swell of his lower lip, the heat in his eyes telling me he liked the idea of being on the wrong side of the law—or maybe just liked the idea of me manhandling him.

An entirely different kind of heat shot through me, leaving an electric hum deep in my belly.

Maybe Cooper was right about one thing: Ryder Bailey was no Boy Scout.

Ryder shifted, the heat, the wicked smile, stowed away. “Sorry, chief. I’m not here to cause trouble.” The sparkle in his eyes said differently.

You, Mr. Bailey, are trouble.

He popped the last of his donut in his mouth and leaned back. “I like this town, Cooper. Low rent or not, it has always been good to me. If you don’t like it, I hear the casino’s looking for talent. They need a guitarist.”

And this was helpful Ryder. The guy I’d always known to offer a hand even before someone asked for it. Even if that person was someone Ryder didn’t particularly like.

Like Cooper Clark.

“I don’t need your help,” Cooper said.

The song of power throbbed behind my temples, and the coffee wasn’t settling well in my stomach. I took a couple deep breaths to try to settle both, but the hot, damp air wasn’t doing me any good.

“Delaney?” Ryder said.

I stood up. “I need some air.”

“Let me—” he started.

“See you at the station,” I said.

I wove through the patrons and out the door, the bag with Jean’s maple bar clenched in my left hand, the song of power rolling like a drunken choir going through tune-up with a rusty band in my head.

The cool air hit my face, and I swallowed it down until the noise leveled off and my stomach evened out. I’d forgotten my coffee on the table, but I was not about to go back for it.

I rubbed at my eyes and the foggy creep of fatigue that was dogging my thoughts. I’d have to sleep soon. But not yet. Today I had to try to make headway on suspects for Heim’s death, and time was slipping away for finding a mortal to hand this power over to.

I had no idea who in this town might be the new Heimdall.

It wasn’t like every mortal was made for taking on a god power.

That much I knew. Dad had said there must be a fire in the person. Not necessarily one of anger or aggression, but something he described as sharp—a clarity that the power was drawn to. He said the mortal who was made for the god power was tempered like hard metal. Driven. They knew who they were, and remained true to their nature no matter what life threw at them.

That made sense. I’d seen five Poseidons over the years. All of them were cocksure about their ability to control the sea even before they’d taken on the power. And all of them had done something stupid on vacation here in Ordinary and gotten themselves drowned.

So, yes. There was a similarity in the mortals before they had taken the power, even though one of the Poseidons had been a woman.

Maybe that meant I was looking for someone who carried the same traits as Heim.

I started the Jeep and rolled out into traffic.

What did I know about Heim? He shied away from commitment, off on his boat for weeks at a time, sometimes leaving whale watchers without a ride out, which Pete, one of the other boat captains, always seemed willing to pick up the slack for.

He’d fallen in love with Lila. And he’d broken her heart, saying he needed something different in his life, as if he were looking for a new horizon.

I knew she’d never picked up the pieces of her life in town or her business here. She’d left, and hadn’t returned until now.

I supposed Heim was a loyal friend. He and Chris got along great. When he wasn’t wandering toward the edges of the horizon, Heim seemed happy enough doing his job—fishing and guiding tourists.

Somehow Bertie had railroaded him into judging the Rhubarb Rally, so he had the ability to give to his community. I supposed most people would see him as an easygoing charmer. A bit of a mooch, a drifter.

Who in the town had similar traits?

Too damn many people.

It was a start, though. I’d make a list of things that seemed consistent with Heim’s personality, ask Jean and Roy and Myra to add in anything that came to mind. Then I’d start sorting possible candidates, even if that meant going through all of Ordinary from A to Z.