“No, it was mostly a local, word-of-mouth operation. They had clients—so to speak, from St. Vincent to Ogdensburg. But most of the business was between Clayton and Alex Bay, among people they could trust to keep quiet. With one notable exception…” He grinned down at her. “Paps, Major and Johnny once delivered a case of whiskey to Irving Berlin.”

“The composer?”

“He had a place up here and word got to Johnny, ‘Mr. Berlin wants a case of Canadian whiskey.’ So the Fiskare boys delivered it, and got invited inside. And who do you think was visiting Berlin at the time?”

“Carmen Miranda?”

“Bing Crosby.”

Her mouth fell open. “Get away.”

“Irving Berlin opened a bottle right there and then, poured everyone a shot and Bing Crosby made a toast. Apparently Major was struck speechless.”

“It was Bing Crosby. Can you blame him?”

“He denies it to this day, but Paps and Johnny insist Major couldn’t say a word. Not there. Not back on the boat. He actually kept the shot glass. Berlin went to offer them each a cash tip, but Major shook his head and just wanted the glass. He still has it. Johnny teases that Major keeps his teeth in it.”

“You tell the best stories.”

“There’s the E-Minor,” Kennet said.

“Where?” Astrid shaded her eyes and scanned the river.

“Up ahead.”

Astrid had both hands piled on her forehead now. “How do you know from so far away?”

He shrugged. “Same way I know the names of the islands, I guess. Here, take the binoculars.”

She lifted the eyepieces and turned the tubes, focusing. Kennet whistled “South American Way” through his teeth, ever so slightly smug.

“You’re right,” she said. “Stop gloating.”

“I’m not gloating.”

She swiveled her mechanical gaze on him. “Tell it to Sweeney,” she said in English.

He laughed and bent to set his eyes against the lenses. Her hands turned the tubes again. Beneath them, her breath drew in and exhaled warm.

“I see you,” she said softly.

“You’re far away.”

“You’re so close.”

A shiver spread across his shoulder blades. He held still, looking through brass and glass, wanting to see Astrid seeing him. He could have stayed there forever, but the boat wobbled under his inattentive hand on the wheel, reminding him he was slacking off on the job.

Astrid looked toward Buck Bay again. “Is that Nalle with Minor?”

“Doubt it. Nalle’s working.” Kennet held a hand out for the binoculars. “Take the wheel a second. Just hold her steady.”

“Aye, Captain,” she said, a little archly. He shot her a why I oughta look before pressing the tubes to his eyes.

The doubled, blurry E-Minor swam into singular focus. Minor at the wheel, shirtless, blond and magnificent. A young man on the seat beside him. Dark-haired like Nalle. But not Nalle.

“Who is it?” Astrid asked.