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“assault. Battery. Fraud. Misrepresentation. Loss of business. Loss of wages. Loss of good name. Pain and suffering—”
    “What?” Daisy shrilled. “This is so lame!”
    “—And Clyde is threatening a restraining order, so stay away—”
    “A restraining order! Against me ? Jason is the one who needs to be restrained!”
    “Let’s remember, Daisy, you do have a history,” Bob reminded her. “Which Clyde will happily use against you.”
    “One time! And it was completely justified! Charity said so.”
    “She did, did she?”
    Charity ignored her husband’s disapproval. “Calm down, Daisy. I’m sure this is all swagger.” She addressed Bob. “You don’t think Jason can win any of this, do you?”
    “Doubtful,” Bob said.
    “See, Daisy, you’re getting all worked up over nothing.”
    “Unfortunately,” Bob added, a twinkle in his eye, “Clyde’s client isn’t Jason.”

Chapter Six
    T he Alaskan ferry M/V Columbia eased out of Bellingham under gunmetal-gray skies. The cold salt wind stung Daisy’s cheeks and flung her hair as she pressed the rail and waved bravely from the deck at Charity, who returned her farewell from the dock.
    Daisy no longer babied her left wrist, healed from the incident at Mama Mia’s three weeks earlier. All that remained as a reminder of that dreadful night was a mottled yellow-and-lilac shadow cradling her right eye. That—and Max Kendall’s lawsuit. But she’d given that problem to her lawyer, along with a $3,000 retainer after being warned by Clyde Standish to stay away from his client or be arrested. Nonetheless, she had shown up at the hospital with a vase of carnations. But after the nurse had refused admittance to Max’s room—apparently there was an unwanted-visitor list—she left the bouquet at the nurses’ station, then stomped off, passing Tina on the way out. She’d never have to see Max Kendall again, her lawyer had assured her, promising to handle everything on her behalf, which suited Daisy just fine. After all, she had enough to be miserable about, losing her home, her restaurant—no matter what the judge had ruled—and now, her best friend.
    “You’re not losing me. I’m only a phone call and a three-hour plane ride away,” Charity had insisted before Daisy drove her Lexus onto the ferry.
    Actually, it was a fifteen-minute flight in a tiny plane from Otter Bite into Homer, then a thirty-minute flight in a small plane from Homer into Anchorage, and then a three-hour flight to Seattle on a 737. But there wasn’t any percentage in dwelling on that.
    Tears welled in Daisy’s eyes as the waters of Puget Sound swirled below her and Charity shrank from view. She could scarcely believe this was happening, but the drone of the massive engines, the smell of diesel exhaust, the ebb and flow of the Columbia as it forged its way to sea, proved too real to deny.
    On deck for the departure, her fellow passengers soon abandoned Daisy for warmer, brighter quarters inside, safe from the worsening late-afternoon weather. Daisy watched the mainland slowly disappear under a gray, depressing shroud.
    A raindrop pinged her nose. Another splattered her cheek. Snuggling into her jacket, she frowned at the skies, which seemed to be one more force against her.
    Turning into the rolling tide, the Columbia shimmied and lurched as it collided with whitecaps and a crosswind. A landlubber down to her floral panties, Daisy grabbed the polished teak rail with both hands.
    “First time at sea?”
    Turning her head, Daisy met a distinguished-looking man in a starched white uniform. Maybe ten years older than she, he had the commanding presence of an ancient mariner. She released one hand from the rail only long enough to chase hair away from her eyes.
    “Shouldn’t you be driving the boat?” she asked, only half kidding.
    The man chuckled and joined her at the rail. “Actually, the Columbia qualifies as a ship and I’m not the captain, but thank you. I’m the medical