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“Was it a coincidence that the barrels were moved after we confided in you about the smuggled goods?”
“It was.”
“I don’t believe in coincidences.”
“Neither do I, but that is what it was.”
Oliver removed his pistol from the waistband of his trousers and brought it to his side. “I am going to ask again, nicely, and I want the truth,” he said. “How long have you been working with the smugglers?”
The constable’s eyes grew wide at the sight of the pistol. “I am not working with the smugglers,” he asserted, his words taking on a panicked tone.
“You are in a perfect position to receive the smuggled goods since you own the mercantile,” Oliver pointed out.
“That may be true, but I am the constable of this village,” Constable Philmont replied. “I am no criminal.”
“I am not entirely sure that is true.”
“Why is that?” the constable asked, his eyes not straying from the pistol.
Oliver gave a half-shrug. “You don’t seem too concerned about smugglers using your shores, which makes me wonder why.”
“Frankly, I am not entirely convinced there were smugglers,” the constable said. “I know you claimed to have seen them, but I saw no proof of that on the beach.”
“My wife and I both saw them bring their rowboats ashore.”
The constable nodded. “That is why I accompanied you to the beach,” he replied. “If it had been anyone else, I would have dismissed their concerns out of hand.”
“Why is that?”
“Because smugglers using these shores is not logical,” the constable said. “All the smuggled goods would have to be carted to Town.”
“Or sold in a mercantile.”
The constable shook his head. “I do not sell smuggled goods.”
“How do I know that to be true?”
Putting his hands out, Constable Philmont encouraged, “You are welcome to look around my shop. I have nothing to hide.”
Oliver considered the constable for a moment, and he found himself believing him. The man’s genuine responses appeased his concerns.
“I believe you,” Oliver said, returning his pistol to the waistband of his trousers.
The constable let out a sigh of relief. “I should arrest you for threatening me.”
“I wasn’t threatening you.”
“No?”
Oliver smirked. “If I was threatening you, then you would have known.”
Leaning back in his chair, Constable Philmont asked, “May I ask you a question?”
“That would only be fair, considering the circumstances.”
“Why are you so invested in these smugglers?”
Oliver sat down on the chair that faced the desk. “Smuggling is against the law, and they are using my beach to do so.”
