By two o’clock that afternoon, Caroline reached the wet wooden planks of the Seabrook harbor wharf.

The smell of ocean brine, diesel fuel, and damp pine hung heavy over the commercial docks.

Seagulls circled high above the fish packing houses while cold green waves slapped against the heavy cedar pilings.

Outside the main harbor market, a broad-shouldered man in a yellow plastic apron was washing down wooden fish crates with a heavy rubber hose.

Water splashed over his rubber boots as he scrubbed the slats with a stiff bristle brush.

Caroline walked across the damp decking and stopped three feet from his wooden work table.