Berried to the Hilt by Karen MacInerney

for a split second before both dashing to the swinging door.
    I got there first, and froze in the doorway, at a loss for what to do next.
    One of my plates lay shattered on the wood floor. A few feet away, Carl stood, murder in his eyes. Molly stood next to him, a restraining arm on his—our eyes met, and I could read fear in hers.
    Not good.
    “I’ll get John,” Gwen murmured, and I was thankful for her quick thinking. I didn’t know what was about to happen, but the way things were looking, it wouldn’t be a bad thing to have the island’s deputy on hand.
    “Can I help you with something?” I said calmly, addressing Carl. He didn’t even hear me. The veins stood out on his forehead; I could see the one by his temple pulsing. He pointed a shaking finger at Gerald. “If you so much as remove one splinter from that ship, I will hunt you down personally.”
    Gerald sat back in his chair, in the relaxed pose of the man who’s holding four aces in his hand and knows his opponent has nothing but deuces. “Business is business, Carl. I’m here on authority of the finder, and the wreck is outside of territorial waters.” He cut a scallop in half and popped it into his mouth. Carl’s chest heaved as Gerald chewed slowly, then swallowed and looked back up at him with a contented smile. “Better luck next time, Carl.”
    Carl let out a strangled bellow and lunged at him. Molly pulled him back, but he broke free, stumbling over to the treasure hunter’s chair and throwing a wild punch that grazed Gerald’s chin. Carl fell to the floor, but scrambled to his feet and was about to attack a second time when John dashed past me and into the dining room.
    Within seconds, he had the wiry archaeologist’s arms pinned behind him, and I could hear my fiancé’s low, calm voice telling him to get himself together. Cherry Price gazed at the entire proceedings over the rims of her red reading glasses. She looked more intrigued than afraid, thankfully.
    I hurried over to Carl’s partner, Molly. “Are you okay?” I asked
    Her curly red hair was mussed, and her face was pale, but she was recovering herself. “Yes. Thank you for getting your friend—Carl was really out of control.” She reached up and raked her hand through her hair. “I’ve never seen him so angry,” she said. “If he’d been armed …” A shiver passed through her.
    “But he wasn’t, and it’s over now,” I said, watching John as he led the archaeologist to a chair.
    Gerald was still sitting at his table, feeling his chin with his fingers. His two companions sat nearby; while Frank seemed unconcerned, the young woman had fished ice cubes out of Gerald’s water glass and was offering them to him, wrapped in a napkin. He waved the impromptu compress away. “I’ll be fine,” he said. “He barely touched me. Still—it was an assault. If I wanted to, I could press charges.”
    Personally, I thought he looked awfully unruffled for a man whose life had been threatened just moments before. I wondered if attacks by university archaeologists were a frequent occurrence in his life.
    “Oh, please don’t, Gerald,” said Molly from beside me, addressing Iliad’s owner. “He just has a lot at stake—he didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m so sorry he lost his temper.”
    Gerald ? I looked over at Molly, surprised.
    A slow, almost rakish smile crossed Gerald’s face, and for a moment I could see the energy and drive—and the passion—that drove the treasure-hunter. “It’s fortunate for Carl that he has such a charming partner,” he said. “The offer of a job is always open, you know, if you’re interested …”
    “I’m not,” Molly said, cutting him off. Their eyes met and held for a moment; then she looked away and bent down to pick up shards of the broken plate from the floor.
    I hurried to take over for her. “There’s no need to pick this up,” I said.
    “No,” she protested. “It’s our fault. I’ll clean it up—and we’ll