Christmas Eve at Friday Harbor (Friday Harbor #1)(38)

A distinct odor of scorched food tainted the air, becoming stronger as they went to the kitchen. A dark-haired man was in the middle of disassembling the front of the oven, a power drill in his hand and a ponderous tool box beside him.

Alex Nolan was a smoother, more polished version of his older brothers. His features were handsome but remote, his eyes the crystalline blue of glacier ice. Like Sam, his form was lean and elegant, not quite so broad in build as Mark’s. And his polo shirt and khakis, while casual, had the look of expensive garments.

“Hello,” he said. “Who is this, Holly?”

“This is Maggie.”

“Please, don’t get up,” Maggie said hastily, as he set aside the drill and made to stand. “Obviously you’re in the middle of…something. Can I ask what happened?”

“Sam put some food in the oven and accidentally pushed the self-cleaning cycle button instead of the bake button. The oven incinerated the food and automatically locked, so they couldn’t open the door and get the stuff out.”

“Usually an oven unlocks when the temperature lowers to five or six hundred degrees.”

Alex shook his head. “It’s cooled down, and the door still won’t open. It’s a new oven, and this is the first time the self-cleaning cycle’s ever been used. Apparently the locking mechanism is screwed up somehow, so I have to disassemble it.”

Before Maggie could ask another question, she was startled by a flare of light, then an explosive rush of flame beyond the back door accompanied by a billow of smoke. Instinctively Maggie turned to shield Holly, and ducked her head with a gasp. “My God. What was that?”

Alex was staring at the back door, his face expressionless. “My guess is, that was the turkey.”

Twelve

The back door flung open, and a large figure entered in a cloud of smoke. It was Mark, wearing safety goggles, his arms sheathed in massive gloves that extended up to his elbows. He strode to the sink, reached into the cabinet, and grabbed a fire extinguisher.

“What happened?” Alex asked.

“Turkey exploded when we lowered it into the fryer.”

“Didn’t you thaw it out first?”

“We’ve had it thawing in the fridge for two days,” Mark replied, with vicious emphasis on the last words. Noticing Maggie, he stopped short. “What are you doing here?”

“Never mind that, is Sam okay?”

“For now. But he won’t be when I get my hands on him.”

Another blinding flare came from outside, accompanied by fluent masculine cursing.

“Go put out the turkey,” Alex suggested.

Mark gave him a dark glance. “Are you referring to Sam or the poultry?” He disappeared immediately, closing the door behind him.

Maggie was the first to speak. “Any method of cooking that involves getting dressed like a hazmat team…”

“I know.” Alex rubbed his eyes. He looked like a man who hadn’t slept well in a long time.

Glancing at the wall clock, Maggie realized that if she left right then, she would barely make it to the ferry on time.

She thought about Thanksgiving in her parents’ home, the swarms of children, the crowded kitchen, her siblings and in-laws all busy peeling and chopping and mixing. And then the long, sociable meal…and that all-too-familiar feeling of being lonely in a crowd. Maggie wasn’t needed there. Here, however, it was clear that she could be of some use. She looked down at Holly, who was leaning against her, and she patted her small back reassuringly.

“Alex,” she asked. “Is the oven going to be operational at some point today?”

“Give me a half hour,” he said.

Maggie went to the refrigerator, opened the door, and saw that it was fully stocked with eggs, milk, butter, and fresh vegetables. The pantry was equally well provisioned. With the exception of the turkey, they appeared to have everything that was necessary for a Thanksgiving dinner. They just didn’t know what to do with it.

“Holly, honey,” she said, “go find your jacket. You’re coming with me.”

“Where are we going?”

“We’re going to run a couple of errands.”

As the child scampered away to get a jacket, Maggie told Alex, “I’ll bring her back soon.”

“I might not be here,” he said. “As soon as I fix this, I’m going back home.”

“To have Thanksgiving with your wife?”

“No, my wife’s in San Diego with her family. We’re divorcing. My plan is to spend the day drinking until I feel nearly as happy as I was when I was single.”

“I’m sorry,” Maggie said sincerely.

Alex shrugged, his voice cool. “Marriage is a crap-shoot. I knew at the beginning that it had a fifty-fifty chance of working out.”

Maggie regarded him thoughtfully. “I don’t think you should get married unless you think it has a hundred percent chance.”

“That’s not realistic.”

“No,” Maggie admitted with a faint smile. “But it’s a nice way to start.” She turned to Holly, who had returned with her jacket.

“Before you leave, could you do something with that dog?” Alex asked with a baleful glance at Renfield, who was sitting placidly nearby.

“Is he bothering you?”