“Mr.

Miller?” Caroline asked.

The man turned off the brass hose valve, wiped his wet hands on a gray towel hanging from his belt, and looked at her.

“Market’s closed until tomorrow’s morning haul,” Miller said.

“I’m not here to buy fish,” Caroline said.

“I own Seabrook Living, a design studio up on Mill Street.”

Miller picked up a crate and stacked it onto a wooden skid.

“I don’t need interior decoration for a fish house, miss.”