SEAS THE DAY Page 3

I started the coffee machine and debated taking headache meds. Nope, caffeine would clear out the cobwebs and the dull ache from a late night. “Far as I know, I’m the last people to talk with him, and I called him around ten Tuesday morning.”

  Estelle sniffed a few times. “Anybody take a special interest in what you were doing?”

  “Just about everybody I met.” I sighed. “Vivian Declan introduced me around the wine bar. That was my next stop after the marina restaurant. Viv knew everyone there. Anyway, I spoke to the twenty- and thirty-somethings at both places, and no one knew Chili’s whereabouts.”

  “That Viv tried to get her hooks in Chili once and I told him he could do better.”

  Vivian did us a favor, and Estelle was trash-talking her? “Viv was nice to me, and I appreciate her help. Because of her kindness, I made excellent progress.”

  “The wine bar rings a bell. What about that bartender fellow?”

  The scent of brewing coffee strengthened me. I drifted to the kitchen window to gaze out. To my surprise, a lean black kitty perched on the deck bench seat, staring my way. What was that about? I didn’t have a cat.

  Was it possible the stray at the Robertsons knew where I lived? Not likely, and yet I had a black cat in my yard looking like it expected breakfast. I turned away from the cat to finish the conversation, vowing to focus on the feline mystery later. “Reg made a very nice wine selection for me last night. He’s a good bartender.”

  “A few months ago, before Reg got hired at Wine and Dine, he was Chili’s first mate.”

  Estelle could’ve told me that earlier. “Reg didn’t mention their association. How many people worked for Chili’s charter business?”

  “Not people, hon. Men. Only men crewed for him on the Reel Fine.”

  Guess she didn’t know about the vomiting gal. I poured coffee and sipped it. “Women are as good at fishing as men. Seems to me a woman has a lot more patience at waiting for a fish to bite.”

  “But not the upper body strength to help customers land the bigguns.”

  “Good point.” An idea sparked in my barely caffeinated brain. “Say, getting back to his former crew members, is there anyone he fired that might hold a grudge?”

  “Heavens. I don’t know. Most guys work a few trips, then they move on, no hard feelings either way. Not steady money in crewing. Chili takes the fuel, rigging, and bait cost off the top then he gives a crew member twenty-five percent of what’s left over. Considering he doesn’t usually have more’n three charters in a week, the money isn’t regular enough for most folks.”

  “How’d Chili make ends meet?” I wondered aloud.

  “Odd jobs here and there,” she said vaguely. “Sometimes he picks up a shift at the dry cleaners. He sometimes helps his friend who moonlights as a handyman. It all works out.”

  I knew the feeling. One day I’d have enough catering customers to stay afloat. Until then, I picked up extra work too.

  “Which handyman is it?” I asked. “I’ll add him to my query list.”

  “Darry Declan.”

  “Viv’s brother?”

  “Half-brother. He’s a good six years younger than Chili.”

  “Interesting. Also very interesting that his sister latched onto me last night. I thought her kindness was about doing a good deed, but I don’t trust coincidences. I’ll talk to Darry and Reg. If you think of anyone else connected to Chili, let me know. There must be an explanation for why your son is missing.”

  “He better have a darn good explanation after all this.”

  I ended the call and dressed for the day. Back in the kitchen, I refilled my coffee cup.

  What to eat this morning? I decided on a microwave-poached egg. You’d think being a chef that I loved to cook all the time. Not so much. I enjoyed cooking for others. I often cooked meals for myself, but it wasn’t fun to cook for one person. Early on as a business promotion, I invited people over on Wednesday nights to sample my meals.

  Though they raved about my food, very few of them hired me so I stopped the free-meal train. Instead, I targeted community functions and fundraising auctions people with money attended, donating a dinner for four or a specialty dish. Little by little the word spread, and I finally gained traction. At first, the Garden Club and the Bridge Group asked me to bid on their catered functions. Then they told me they were hiring me whatever the cost.

  The microwave dinged, and I removed my perfect egg. When I turned to eat at the table, I noticed the cat again. It was still here, crouched in a pool of sunshine and staring at the window. Did I want to risk feeding it? That’s how they hooked you into caring for them. They showed up, ate, and moved in.

  As if in answer to my thoughts, the kitty yowled, demanding my attention. My heart softened. If I was a cat and I had no food, wouldn’t I do the same thing? This cat sure sounded hungry. I grabbed a foil pack of tuna from the pantry and plated it. Then I carried the tuna and a dish of water outside for my furry guest.

  The black cat watched me with unblinking eyes and then scampered to the far steps at my approach, so perhaps it was shy. Or maybe it had one foot out the door if things went awry. I’d dated guys like that.

  He wouldn’t approach the food with me outside, so I returned to the kitchen to eat my egg. Even so, the kitty finished first and darted into the woods.

  I cleaned up and checked my schedule. Saturday was clean the house, mow the lawn, and buy groceries day. Oh, joy.

  But I didn’t have to start right away. I could search Chili’s house first. Maybe I’d see something Estelle and the cops missed. The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to do it. I had his address in my phone, so I could be in and out quickly. No one would even know.

  Mind made up, I dressed and motored to his place, about a mile past the marina. I’d come here once before to pick up fish, and I’d stepped inside the two-bedroom bungalow while he retrieved my fish from his fridge. So I already knew how his house looked on a regular day.

  With the stoplights and traffic circles, it took me ten minutes to get there. The outside of his wooden clapboard house looked the same as before. An outboard motor hung on a board nailed between two pines. Four commercial crab traps graced his porch, and a barren concrete planter on one side of the steps showed that his mother had tried to soften the masculine edges of this place at one time.

  The door was locked when I tried the knob, but I knew the Bolz family secret. There was always a spare key under the planter on their porches. The dirt-filled concrete planter weighed a ton, but I lifted it and retrieved a key. It snicked in the lock and I opened the door cautiously. “Chili? It’s River,” I called out in case he’d returned home. “I came to check on you.”

  No answer, as I’d expected. His truck wasn’t in the yard, but Estelle said the cops had it. His place looked messier than the last time I saw it. Could be something, could be nothing.

  A couple of unmatching chairs and a large leather recliner populated his living room. Some laundry was strewn around. One shirt smelled fishy, so the clothes weren’t clean. Belatedly, I realized I should’ve worn gloves for this expedition. I didn’t bring any, so I hurried to the kitchen, thinking he might have a pair under the sink.

  Using my shirt tail, I opened the cabinet. Nothing. Not even a bottle of dishwashing detergent. How did bachelors live without all the cleaners, sponges, and dish towels I required in a kitchen?

  Carefully, I unrolled the paper towels so that I held one in each hand. That way I wouldn’t leave any prints. I opened all the kitchen drawers and cabinets. A tall stack of paper plates sat atop his real plates, plasticware covered his eating utensil tray. His fridge had a pack of half-used hot dogs, three kinds of hot sauce, and the largest jar of mayonnaise I’d ever seen. The freezer was packed with fish.

  But there were no notes, indeed, no pens or pads or paper, not even any bills. What kind of person had zero paper
work at home? There wasn’t even a stack of junk mail and his trash can was empty. How odd.

  The bathroom was tidy, though his sink, john, and shower looked like they should be power washed. A smattering of toiletries littered the medicine cabinet. Two spare rolls of toilet paper topped the back of the john.

  His bedroom reflected the same bachelor mentality. Dust bunnies ran amuck and a cloud of dust triggered a coughing fit when I moved the heavy drapes. The spare bedroom had four sets of weights and a treadmill. Two suit coats hung in the closet.

  Chili had no washer or a dryer, and there were no mowers or tools outside. I didn’t get it. This place seemed like a temporary haunt instead of a home. I realized there’d been no pictures on the walls. No TV and no landline phone.

  I called his cell phone and listened for it, in case he’d left it behind.

  Nothing.

  Only one thing stopped me. His Georgia Bulldog hat sat upside down in the recliner. He never went anywhere without that hat. But he’d left it behind now.

  Discouraged, I drove home and hoped I had better luck tonight. People couldn’t vanish into thin air. There must be a clue somewhere.

  As I scrubbed, dusted, and vacuumed my place, I thought about my boyfriend. If Pete lived on Shell Island, this morning would’ve gone much differently. My daily activities would revolve around him, and his would revolve around me. I wanted that synchronicity and so did he, but the geography issue was tricky. I loved coastal Georgia and felt rooted here. Pete loved changing jobs and seeing the world. Was it possible that two people who loved each other couldn’t make it work?

  No matter where Pete and I ended up, our future seemed bright compared to Estelle’s. It was hard to bury a loved one. I couldn’t imagine what Estelle went through putting a headstone on Kale’s empty grave and now to have her remaining son go missing. I had to find Chili for her, but I was stumped. He didn’t go far without his truck or boat. I hoped and prayed my bar hopping tonight would yield a lead.

  Chapter Five

  Lance arrived promptly at six holding a bouquet of mixed flowers. I stared at them and retreated into my house. “This isn’t a date,” I said. “I shouldn’t take flowers from you.”

  “These are thank-you flowers,” Lance said, following me in and closing the door. He clutched the bouquet to his heart like a little boy would. “I understand we have a professional relationship, and I promise you are safe with me. If you don’t like the flowers, I’ll throw them away.”

  They were pretty and exactly the vibrant colors I preferred. Not wanting them to go to waste, I reached for them. “Don’t do that. I like them, but flowers are a traditional date gift. You’re a nice person and all, but I have a boyfriend.”

  The concern in his dark eyes faded. “Understood. I won’t thank you with flowers in the future.”

  I winced. “Gracious, my apologies for misinterpreting your gift. Thank you for the flowers. They are beautiful. Give me a minute to put them in water.”

  “Sure.” He followed me back to the kitchen. “Nice place.”

  With my head inside the under-sink cabinet I didn’t quite hear him. I grabbed the vase I wanted and stood. “What?”

  “I said nice place. I like how you’ve blended old with the new. Seems homey and contemporary at the same time, like you.”

  “Oh, thanks.” Not sure what to do with the offhand compliment, I fussed with the flowers and set the arrangement on the center of my table. I turned and he was standing at the back door, looking through the top window panel.

  “Do you have a cat?” he asked.

  “That one followed me home yesterday, so I fed it.”

  His gaze narrowed. “You make a habit of taking in strays?”

  My skin prickled. Was this collaboration a cover for an interrogation? He was a police officer, and I was the last person to talk to Chili. I’d better watch what I said tonight. “I like to help people and cats. I have a helping nature.”

  “Does this one have a name?”

  “Don’t know yet. If the cat stays, I’ll figure out something.” I shouldered my purse. “We should get going.”

  He guided me out to the high-end black sports car he’d been driving last night. As we got underway, I said, “Nice ride. You had it long?”

  “Bought it a few months back.”

  Lots of shiny chrome and gauges on the dash, creamy, like-new leather everywhere else. How’d he afford this on a cop’s salary? “Seems fancy.”

  “I got a sweet deal on it.”

  “Oh?”

  “At the annual sheriff’s sale on the vehicles we’ve impounded. This one belonged to a drug kingpin we pulled off I-95. He’s doing time, and I bought his wheels on the cheap. A fine example of karma if you ask me.”

  Fancy cars equated with high maintenance costs, which reminded me that my economy van was overdue for an oil change. “Must cost a fortune to upkeep. Every time I take my van to the shop, they always find other things to be repaired.”

  “I’m a gearhead. I do most of my car maintenance.”

  “Huh.” Lucky him. He probably saved a bundle on car repairs every year.

  We arrived at Molly’s Brew House, bypassed the loud bar, and were seated in the dining room. I ordered a house draft with my barbeque sandwich for dinner. Lance encouraged me to order a meal, but I wasn’t that hungry. He had ribs with a side of barbecue, fries, and slaw, along with a dark ale. When we finished, Lance refused my offer of payment for my dinner, saying it would go on his expense report. After the scuffle over the flowers, I didn’t protest.

  We drifted into the bar. Lance hung back while I approached patrons and asked if they knew Chili. All but one person denied knowing him. Trevor Murray wasn’t wearing his hearing aids. He thought I’d asked if he wanted a bowl of chili, and it took fast talking to convince him I didn’t work here and chili wasn’t on the menu.

  Next, Lance and I cruised over to the American Legion and ordered another beer. “Put your money away,” Lance said when I tried to pay for our drinks.

  “I’m giving you a gift,” I said, throwing his words back at him.

  “Guys don’t let women buy their food or drinks. It’s against the code.”

  I didn’t believe him, but I got the message. His reputation as a man would be tarnished if I paid for my drink or his. Women didn’t have this ego problem when we went out together. It felt weird to be out with a man, especially when I wanted that man to be Pete.

  Stop thinking about Pete and stick to finding Chili Bolz. I recognized Florrie the bartender as a longtime resident of the area, but I didn’t know her other than by sight. The sparse crowd here offered no new information about Chili, though most folks knew he was Estelle’s son. With this place a bust, we quickly took our leave.

  As we motored over to the Top Cat Lounge, I turned to Lance and said, “It’s frustrating when you come up empty. How do cops handle the disappointment?”

  “Easy. We ask more questions and chase leads until we find something.”

  He sounded so serious. “I thought it was always the spouse who did someone in.”

  “We don’t know that Chili’s dead, only missing, and he isn’t married. Far as I know, he wasn’t dating steadily.” Lance pulled into the parking lot, careful to park away from the other cars.

  Music thrummed through the walls of the building, and I hoped I didn’t leave this place with a permanent hearing loss. I suppressed a groan. I’d become my grandmother in my preference for quiet.

  Maybe we could wrap up quickly and minimize our time in the Top Cat. It was worth a shot. “Let’s split up in here to get finished in half the time. From the looks of the crowded parking lot, its wall-to-wall people inside.”

  “We stick together. This can be a rough place. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  “Okay.” We entered, and the bass notes vibrated i
n my fillings. I glanced around the shadowed room, relieved when my gaze landed on a familiar face. I hurried over to Vivian. Her face lit up, and she hugged me like a long-lost friend.

  She whispered in my ear. “Thank you. This guy is creeping me out talking about stalking his last girlfriend. You still searching for Chili?” At my nod, she said, “I’ll help you. Different crowd here.”

  I looked around at the clusters of people talking and dancing. “Who are these people? I don’t recognize a soul.”

  “Believe it or not, the folks here are mostly from out of town. Top Cat has a reputation for being a place to score.”

  “Drugs? Sex?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I’ve come here for both.”

  I shook my head, unable to turn off my judgmental thoughts in time. “One of these days I hope you’ll tell me what you’re running from.”

  “That’s easy. The past. The present is all about escaping the past.”

  The caretaker in me wanted to take her outside, hear her story, and fix her with good food and sisterly love. “I appreciate your help, Viv. Would you come over to my place for lunch soon? It’s hard to have a real conversation here.”

  “I’d like that,” Viv said. She linked elbows with me and dragged me from one clique to another, Lance scowling in our wake. Between sets of people, she asked, “What is it with Mr. Hot Cop?”

  After nearly three beers, I felt no pain. “We joined forces for tonight’s investigation. He was impressed with how many people we reached last night.”

  We circled the lounge and struck out. “Want a ride home?” I asked Viv.

  “No thanks. I’m working on a happy ending for this evening. Hand me your phone.”

  I watched as she entered her name in my contact list and then texted herself. “Slick. I wouldn’t have thought of that.”

  “You haven’t been on the singles market as long as I have,” Viv confided in my ear. “You two go ahead. I’ll be fine.”

  “We’re not on a date,” I said. “I have no interest in Lance.”