Her deep breath was audible through the phone. "Is this because of those two men that came to the house?"
"No," I explained, "This seems to be something else. Those two men shouldn't cause any more trouble right now."
"What is it?" she asked, =tears were in her voice. "What happened to Tristan?"
Right now didn't seem like the time to tell her about her house. That would only scare her more.
"At this point, I need to find anybody that Tristan knew. Do you know anyone that he might have gone to? Has he ever mentioned anyone by name?"
"Chase, I think you are the only person that he would go to around here. He doesn't have any family."
"Was he working anywhere in the last couple of years? Someone has to have had contact with him."
"He used to work at the Hometown Hardware over in Lake Park. That was last year. He started doing some construction work after that. I don't know with who. He was being paid in cash."
"Okay," I said, "like I said, I want you to stay up there. Don't come back without talking to me. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"If you hear from Tristan, I need to know. He should know this, but tell him I want to help him."
"I will."
Her voice was demure and sad. I wondered if she was coming to the same thought I had. That Tristan was never coming home.
18
The phone rang, and my left hand reached for the it as my right continued mixing a Grey Goose martini for the prim and proper woman seated at the back of the bar. Pinching the receiver between my cheek and shoulder, I answered, "Manta Club."
The voice on the other end said, "I need to speak with Chase Gordon."
"This is him. Can you hold one second?"
I dropped the phone from my chin to my hand as I carried the martini around to the woman on the backside of the bar. Giving me a nod without the slightest hint of a smile, she pressed her thin, red-stained lips to the glass. When she seemed satisfied, I lifted the phone back to my ear.
"Sorry about that. This is Chase."
"Chase, this is Rob Isip. Jay Delp called me about a boat named the Kristol."
I perked up. "Right. The Coastie...I mean, you're with the Coast Guard."
"Jay said you were a Jarhead," he commented. "Coastie. Only in this part of my life. I did twenty in the Navy first."
"Double dipping, huh?"
"The wife likes Fort Lauderdale, and it ain't cheap."
I laughed. "I hear that all wives aren't cheap."
Rob chuckled back. "I can't say. I'm only experienced in the one."
"I'll assume they all are, and I just try to avoid them at all costs."
"Might be wise," he laughed.
"Thanks for calling me back."
"Anytime. Jay said that you two have a friend from his Corps days that might be in over his head."
"Seems like it. What do you know about the Kristol?"
Rob answered, "I pulled reports. It looks like she was boarded about six weeks ago and searched. Nothing was found, and the vessel was permitted to continue on its way."
I shook my head. "Was there a reason that she was searched?"
"I can't say," he answered. He added, "I mean, I don't know from the report."
"Thanks, that helps a lot. Does it say if the owner was alone on the boat?"
"Yeah, just one person aboard. Name was Tristan Locke. Is that your buddy?"
"Yeah. I appreciate it. You get up here to West Palm much? Maybe we can grab a drink."
"Absolutely," he said. "You need anything, just let me know."
A thought popped in my head. "Yeah, I have another question you might help me with. Do you have any reports on stolen boats? I'm looking for one called King of Hookers."
"Classy name," he said. "Hang on."
He put me on hold, and I took a minute to do a pass by each of the customers at the bar. I was making a Dewar's on the rocks when Rob came back.
"Chase, I do have something."
"Great," I said as I slid the bottle of Dewars back into the bar well.
"The King of Hookers was stolen from a private dock in Jupiter. Sheriff's department got a call last night about it on Lake Clarke. Looks like it was close to the north side somewhere."
"Did the sheriff impound the boat?" I asked.
"Looks like the owner was called, and he retrieved it."
"Any chance that you have the owner's name?"
Rob paused. "I'm not sure I should share that. No offense."
"I understand."
"Is this still about your and Jay's friend?"
"No," I responded. "This was something else."
"You seem to have your hands in everything," he said.
"Normally, I do not. I like the quiet, easy life."
"Jay said you just got back from the Bahamas on your boat."
"After this week, I'm already tiring of people."
Rob laughed. "Sorry, I can't help you more."
"Thanks, Rob. I owe you one."
"Jay said you would take me and the wife out for a sunset sail sometime."
"Anytime," I promised him. "I only need a small excuse to head out."
"Great," he said gleefully. "I'll bring some beer."
I hung up and moved back to working the bar. Grey Goose Martini Lady was already almost finished with her drink. She motioned that she would like another. It's hard not to be impressed with a woman that drinks vodka like it was ice water.
The bar got busy with tourists and hotel guests. Nights like that are nice. Busy enough that the night doesn't drag by like a dead turtle and enough business that my tip jar fills. These tend to be quality gratuities over quantity.
By midnight, I was ready for a drink myself. Jerry, the kitchen supervisor, came through the doors carrying a plate.
"Yo', Chase!" he hollered. "Wanna trade a burger for a beer?"
Kristy and Bobby had just left. I try not to defy too many rules in front of them. I never drink when I'm on shift, but once the night is over, I have no problem with an after-shift round or two. I'm just careful about who I share them with. I've worked with barbacks and servers who couldn't understand that work and play shouldn't coincide. It probably stems from my years in the Corps. When on a mission, I was always focused and clear-headed. Not that bartending even remotely compares to the Marines.
"Yeah," I answered Jerry, "I'm starving."
He sat at the bar, and I poured two Coastline Lagers from the tap. I moved around and sat next to Jerry.
"How was your night?" I asked him.
"Had to fire Jeremy tonight."
I didn't know Jeremy very well. In fact, I just met him this week. The chef hired him while I was cruising, but my initial impression of him was that the kid has some serious issues. He disappeared for long periods of time mid-shift, and I'd noticed him near the sea wall smoking on more than one occasion. He had all the tell-tale signs of trouble.
"What did he do?" I asked.
"Damn kid is entitled. Spent an hour on a smoke break. I found him out back with a joint and one of the housekeepers."
"Ah," I commented. Pretty much what I expected.
"Sent him home," Jerry said. "Let Chef deal with him tomorrow."
Jerry was an old Navy guy. I don't know much about his service. He was out before I was in high school, but he still carried that aura that real soldiers have instilled in them. I knew for a fact that Jerry enjoyed some recreational marijuana, but at work, he was a no-nonsense type.
"How was your night?" he asked.
"Pretty good," I assured him. "Steady."
"Am I interrupting?" Missy asked as she came through the door.
"No," Jerry answered. "We were just commiserating about the evening."
"I heard about your cook," she said to Jerry.
"Yeah," he replied as if there was no more explanation needed.
"Think he needs to go?" she asked him.
"Yeah," he said. "Kid's got no common sense or work ethic."
Jerry nodded with little concern.
"How'd your Tristan thing go?" she asked me.
"It's getting complicated."
Jerry glanced at me.
"I have a friend from the Corps who has gone missing. He was into some bad stuff with some bad people."
Jerry listened and gave an understanding gesture. "They do something to him?" he asked.
"You know," I said, "I don't think so. Or at least the bad people I know of haven't yet. I found his house broken into today."
Missy looked shocked. "The wife is still gone, right?"
I nodded. "They were looking for something."
Jerry shook his head. "I'm guessing this is drug-related."
"Seems to be. He was running drugs for the biggest dealer in the state."
"Think he stole from them?" Jerry asked.
"I don't know," I answered. "I am pretty sure that they haven't found him yet."
"Is he a Jeremy?" Jerry asked knowingly.
"Yeah. As long as I've known him."
"You won't be able to save him, you know?"
"I'm afraid that it's too late already."
"These kids," Jerry muttered before he drank the rest of his beer. "Sorry about that, Chase."
"It is what it is," I stated.
"Well, I gotta go finish up the order for Chef tomorrow," Jerry pushed his empty pint glass away. "Thanks, Chase. See ya, Missy."
When he was gone, Missy asked, "How did the wife take it?"
"The break-in?"
"Yeah," Missy responded.
"I haven't told her yet," I explained. "I didn't want to freak her out."
Missy shook her head. "You are an idiot."
I furrowed my brow at her.
"Look, I don't think that often. In this case, though, you are being one. I don't know this girl, but I think you should give her enough credit to handle this. Besides, her husband is missing, and she's already been approached by drug dealers looking for him. The poor thing is already freaked out. It's not fair of you to decide what she can handle or not."
"I am just trying to keep her safe," I replied.
"How is not telling her the truth going to keep her safe?" she asked. "If anything, knowing the danger is there is going to keep her alert and wary. Probably exactly the thing she needs to be right now."
I sighed.
Missy smiled, "You know I'm right. You just don't have enough relationship experience."
"Fine," I agreed, "I'll call her in the morning."
Missy grabbed one of the fries off my plate. She made a face. "It's cold."
Ignoring her complaint, I asked, "What are you doing about Michael?"
She peered at me through slits in her eyelids. "Paige is home, so I guess I need to be there when she gets up."
"That's not answering my question."
She looked at me with soft eyes. "Do you have any thoughts on what I can do?"
"I already said that we could just sail away."
She leaned over and kissed me.
"What was that for?" I asked.
"Because you offered to take me away," she said. "Even if you don't mean it, I like that you asked."
"How often have I had trouble saying what I think?" I questioned her. "If I ask, then I mean it."
Diverting the subject, she asked, "What about your friend? What are you going to do?"
"I've been thinking about him all day. If Moreno didn't kill him, he is either hiding out, or someone else did him in."
"Couldn't he have been in an accident?" she asked. "Maybe he fell overboard."
"It's unlikely," I said. "Not impossible, but there is no way to guess that. His boat is in dock, and he doesn't have another car. Anywhere he went would have to be with someone."
She nodded in understanding. "In which case, someone would know what happened to him."
"Exactly."
"Seems you need to find the 'someone'."
"The question is where to start."
She touched my hand. "The inn is sold out," she said, "I had to give away the room."
"Seems like you have to be getting home anyway."
"What about you?" she asked. "Don't you have a drug dealer after you?"
"I haven't seen hide nor hair of his guys," I commented. "But I'll be okay. I just don't want to worry about you in the mix."
I bent my head down and kissed her. "Why don't you go home?" I suggested.
Her hand drifted to my lap. "We could spend a few minutes in my office."
"I have to finish cleaning up. Plus, you are wearing me out."
Her eyes rolled. "I thought the Marines taught you stamina."
"Yeah, against enemy combatants, not voracious vixens."
Her eyes glittered. "You think I'm voracious."
"I'll still owe you one," I assured her, ignoring her snark.
"Fine," she stated as she stood up. Her fingers traced up my chest from my lap. "Don't think I'll let you forget it."
My hand slipped under her blouse and pulled her close to me. My lips caressed hers, and I pulled back. She leaned in toward me closer. Her breath was heavy against my mouth.
"I promise I won't forget," I whispered as my mouth moved to kiss her neck.
"Damn you, Chase," she exhaled as she pushed away from me.
I watched her straighten her blouse and walk out of the bar. Her head turned back to me as she went through the door.
19
I drove past the bridge where the night before last, I had tossed a bag of money into the brackish waters. The next exit took me toward Forest Hill Boulevard. Rob didn't have a lot of information, but he said the boat was banging against another boat on the northern shore of Lake Clarke. Unfortunately, I'm not that familiar with the area around here. Or, as I've said before, I'm not familiar with anything south, north, or east of the Tilly Inn. Maybe that's a bit of an exaggeration.
There was a little park on the north shore. An American flag fluttered in the wind over a sign reading, "Town of Lake Clarke Shores." I can never tell when I cross a city limit. Individual municipalities cropped up here closer than neighbors in a duplex. Each one trying to find a way to tax and regulate its citizens, living in cookie-cutter homes with minimum square footage in the two to three thousand range.
The park must have been built for residents of the area. There was no parking, probably an attempt by the powers-that-be to prevent outsiders from enjoying the tranquil shoreline.
Across from the park was a dentist's office. I parked the marina's Corolla in a spot facing the lake. Forest Hill Boulevard separated me from the lake. Not that six lanes of traffic were a big hindrance.
The paths of the park were busy. Young mothers pushing strollers, single folks walking dogs of assorted sizes, and a couple of kids zipping along on skateboards.
If the King of Hookers was found around here, it might be difficult to establish where. Both the east and west shores of Lake Clarke were residential. Almost every house had a small dock with a boat of some type.
Staring across the water, I watched as a few boats zipped across the water. Two paddleboarders were working their way toward the park's shoreline. My feet shuffled through the grass toward the water.
The girls on the paddleboards were young. Maybe late teens or twenties. Both wearing bikinis showing off their bronzed skin. The girl in the front was peering at the surface of the water as she stroked along. The second one looked up at me. My hand came up in a wave, and I smiled at her.
"Hi there," she said as she glided near the shoreline.
"Hi," I responded. "Are you from around here?"
The first girl looked up. She turned her paddleboard toward shore.
The second girl answered me. "Yeah, we live over there." She pointed toward the western shore.
"What about you?" the first girl asked coyly.
"Closer to the ocean," I commented.
"That'd be nice," the second girl said. "I'm Kait
lin. This is Kari."
"Can I ask you guys a question?"
"Depends," Kari said. "What are you doing around here?"
"I'm looking for a boat that was stolen," I explained.
"That happens a lot," Kaitlin said. "Did someone steal your boat?"
I smiled. "No, my boat is safe."
"What is that tattoo you have?" Kaitlin asked, pointing at my arm.
My eyes glanced at the ink on my bicep. "It's a Marine tattoo."
"Does it mean anything?" she asked.
Grinning, I said, "It means I am a badass."
The girls both giggled.
"I heard that the sheriff found a boat yesterday around here."
The two girls looked at each other.
"I don't know about a boat," Kari commented, "but yesterday, when I was on my way to work, there was a sheriff boat over there."
She pointed to the opposite side of the lake.
"Do you know which house?"
"I'm not sure. Maybe the third one down."
"Thank you, ladies," I said.
"Wait, Mr. Marine," Kaitlin said. "You never told us your name."
"Or what kind of a boat you have," Kari added.
"I'm Chase."
"Hi Chase," they said in unison.
"Do you have a boat, for real?" Kari asked.
"I do. It's a 40-foot sailboat."
"That's so awesome," she cooed.
Kaitlin said, "Ignore her. She has a thing for boats."
I smiled. "Who doesn't?"
"Can we come for a sail sometime?" Kari asked.
"I'm not sure I can handle you both."
The girls giggled again.
"Maybe I'll see you around," I said. "I need to find out about this boat."
"You a cop or something?" Kaitlin asked.
"Not really," I said as I walked away from the two.
The sidewalk followed the shoreline towards the homes on the eastern shore. The path veered away from the lake toward the street. I walked past the first two houses. A woman was on her knees in the yard of the third house. She was bent over a flower bed with her head under a hibiscus in full bloom.
"Excuse me," I announced myself from the sidewalk.
The woman straightened up. Her head was covered by a wide-brimmed straw hat, she turned toward me. Her gloved hand, covered in dirt, pushed the rim of her hat back. Wide-eyed sunglasses shielded her eyes. Between the hat and the glasses, I couldn't make out her age.
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