by Amy Vansant
It would be much more awkward ‘bumping’ into him at his home.
Pondering her options, she found herself on the tiny town’s main drag, her attention captured by a bar with an ornate wooden sign outside. The plaque’s edges were painted with golden scrollwork and the painted bust of a woman thrust from the wall, making the whole bar look like an old galleon ship.
“The Anne Bonny,” she said aloud, recognizing the bar from her thumb drive.
She needed to find a hotel room.
But first, a drink.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Snookie found parking, retrieved a small duffle bag from her trunk and entered the Anne Bonny to find a party in full swing. Homemade signs hung from every corner of the bustling establishment with Hurricane Party! written on them in colorful marker. On one wall, a round, blue Hurricane Evacuation Route sign hung, and she tapped it to confirm it was real, official and, no doubt, stolen.
Yep.
Ah well. Not her department. What’s a bar without a stolen street sign?
She scanned the faces in the bar, recognizing none. She’d been hoping to find Declan Bingham amongst the revelers. As Stephanie’s ex-boyfriend and one of the people present during Jamie Moriarty’s capture, he’d made her list of people to investigate. The young, dark-haired bartender bore a passing resemblance to Declan, but the nose was longer and his arms were dotted with tattoos.
Snookie considered leaving, but then the door to the back opened and a waitress entered carrying a basket of jalapeno poppers. A familiar man stood in the room beyond. She only caught a glimpse, but it was enough to confirm she’d seen his photo in her dossier.
Snookie headed to the bathroom with her duffle bag tucked under her arm. She couldn’t enact her new plan looking like an extra on Cops.
Claiming one of the stalls, she pulled normal clothing from the bag—a shirt without moth holes and paint splatter on it, and a skirt that didn’t have a wavy elastic waistband, though she was sorry to see that go.
Snookie strapped her gun to her thigh and lowered her skirt over it before stuffing the Tammy costume back into the bag. She left the stall to fix her makeup in the mirror by wiping away her bright blue eyeshadow. She stared sadly at the ratty little duffle bag and then dropped it in the trash. She’d had the trailer trash costume tucked in her trunk for emergencies for a long time, but she couldn’t imagine making any additional progress with Stephanie posing as Tammy, and after this assignment, she’d be officially retired.
Time to toss it.
She made the sign of the cross over the trash can and looked away before she could change her mind.
Tammy is dead. Long live Tammy.
A young woman burst through the bathroom door with her mouth wide and head thrown back laughing. Snookie had to bob to the left to keep from getting her nose broken.
“Seamus, you’re too much!” called the reveler over her shoulder before spotting Snookie.
“Oh. Sorry,” the woman said breathily, a cloud of atomized rum enveloping Snookie’s head. She didn’t mind. The woman had unwittingly informed her that her target lingered somewhere outside the bathroom.
Snookie dodged around the bleary-eyed girl and emerged from the bathroom. Plunging into the ever-growing crowd of revelers, she weaved through the room until she spotted a barrel-chested man with a mischievous smirk staring at her.
Hello, Uncle Seamus.
She held his gaze and, as if drawn by a tractor beam, he approached her, waggling a scolding finger.
“We’re not a changing room, missy, though I have to admit, it’s a nice change.”
Snookie tried not to show her surprise. She hadn’t thought it possible he’d seen her enter.
“I’m sorry. Do I need to pay a fine?” She went with a coquettish look, batting her eyelashes. The comment felt loaded, but she didn’t get the impression Seamus appreciated subtlety.
He grinned. “Aye. There’s a penalty. I’m going to have to insist you have a drink with me.”
“Those are the rules?”
He eyeballed her head to toe. “Quite a transformation.”
“You saw me come in?”
“I see everyone. I used to be a cop.”
A cop with some very strange ties to the underworld.
She’d scanned his shadowy history in the dossier. If she wanted to get near Charlotte Morgan and Declan Bingham without alerting everyone to Jamie’s escape, Uncle Seamus might be the most unobtrusive way to do it.
Snookie pondered how to play her new character, the one smitten with Seamus.
How does he like his women?
If she had to guess, breathing.
She decided to be herself. Herself, only smitten. Then Seamus grinned and she decided it wouldn’t be a part difficult to play. He looked like fun. It had been a while since she had fun.
“Tell you what. I’ll buy you a pint and we’ll talk about your punishment for using the facilities without purchasing a drink.”
“Is that a touch of an Irish accent I hear?” she asked.
He winked. “It gets better when I drink.”
He cocked out his elbow so she could take his arm and led her through the crowd. At the bar, he tapped the shoulder of an old man sitting on a stool.
“Move it, Leonard.”
The old man looked at him, bleary-eyed. “Eh?”
“Move it. I need yer stool.”
“But I’m drinking.”
“No yer not. I told you to call it a day fifteen minutes ago.” Seamus pointed at the young bartender. “You didn’t fill him up again, did you?”
The kid shook his head. “He’s been nursing that one.”
Seamus eyed Leonard’s empty glass. “Lickin’ the bottom of it more likely. Out Leonard. Call yerself a ride or I’ll call yer wife.”
The man’s eyes widened. “Aah...” He waved a dismissive hand at Seamus and slid off his stool. “You used to be nice.”
Leonard glanced at Snookie, looking up from what she guessed was his five-foot-four height. She stood nearly six feet tall, eye-to-eye with Seamus in her low heels.
“I’d like to climb that mountain,” said Leonard.
“You mind yer manners,” said Seamus, giving him a gentle shove toward the door.
Seamus looked at her, sheepishly. “Sorry about that. These old men have no filter day-to-day. Give them a drink and it’s even worse.”
Snookie laughed. “No problem.”
“What’ll ye have?”
Snookie scanned the bottles lining the wall behind the bartender. “I’ll take a bourbon with ice.”
Seamus motioned to the bartender to make the order happen and then tapped the bar with his knuckle to show he’d like something as well. Apparently, the bartender knew what he liked, because he pulled a bottle of Irish whiskey from what looked like a hiding place under the rack to pour him one.
“Take a seat,” he said motioning to Leonard’s abandoned stool. She did, and the bartender placed their drinks on the bar. Seamus nodded to hers. “Ye like that American whiskey, eh? I’ll try not to hold it against ye.”
Snookie chuckled to herself. Since she’d been visibly delighted by his accent, it had grown thicker by the second.
He raised his glass and she followed suit to clink hers against his.
“Sláinte.”
“Sláinte.”
They both took a sip. She’d expected him to throw his back, but saw the special bottle must be for sipping.
“Now that we’re settled, can I ask yer name?” he asked, raising his voice over the sound of the revelers behind them.
“Snookie.”
He leaned in as the background music ended and another song began. “Did you say Snookie?”
She nodded. “Snookie Moore.”
“Really?” He looked as if it took all his strength to keep from saying a thought running through his head.
“What is it?” she asked. People had all sort of reactions to her nickname, the only name she’d ever used except on lega
l documents. Though, things had been tough when Jersey Shore was popular.
Seamus shrugged. “I was just thinking I could use a little more Snookie.”
Snookie laughed. She’d heard that one before but it was a good one and it had been a while.
She scanned the bar from behind her whiskey glass, spotting an open pool table in what looked like the quietest corner of the bar.
“You play pool?” she asked.
“Do I play pool?” He jerked back his chin. “I invented the game.”
“Really? You’re older than I thought.”
He laughed a genuine belly laugh that made her feel appreciated and endeared him to her.
You are trouble, Uncle Seamus.
“Ye want to play?” he asked.
“Sure.”
He held out a hand to assist her from the stool.
“Such a gentleman.”
“Always,” he said with what she was starting to believe was a trademark wink.
Seamus said something to the bartender as she hopped off the stool. They bumped through the crowd, reaching the pool table as another man reached for one of the cues on the wall.
“Ours,” said Seamus. The man frowned and toddled off.
Seamus handed her a cue and racked. “Eight ball?” he asked.
“Sure. You seem to know this place pretty well. Are you the manager?” she asked as she chalked her cue. Knowing he owned the place didn’t stop her from giving him a chance to tell her.
“It’s mine,” he said, beaming. “You want me to break?”
“Please.”
A girl arrived with another round of drinks and set them on a small corner table.
Seamus leaned over the table and broke the racked balls. The five ball spun into the corner pocket and he grinned.
“So what brings you to my fine establishment?” he asked, sinking the two.
I’m looking for an escaped serial killer.
“Just driving through on my way east.”
“Aye? East where?”
“Jupiter Beach. My sister lives there.”
They made more small talk and played a few games, Seamus winning every one.
Even though he played like a man whose game had only become passable since buying a bar with a pool table in it.
“We should be betting,” said Snookie. The whiskey had kicked in and she felt great.
“What would you like to bed? I mean, bet?” asked Seamus.
Cheeky monkey.
“How about a hundred?”
“A hundred dollars? Darlin’, you know I just beat you three times as easily as if I’d been born with a cue in my hand?”
“I feel like I’m warming up.”
“Nah, nah. I won’t take yer money.”
She moved to him and whispered in his ear. “Beat me and you can take me home.”
Seamus’s eyes bulged wide.
“For a nightcap. Just a nightcap,” she added.
“Right. Nightcap. And what do you want if you win?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe the same thing...” she purred.
It is so much fun to flirt again.
His eyes sparkled. “Deal.”
Snookie chalked her cue. “Will you be riding out the hurricane here?”
He nodded. “I live upstairs.”
Damn.
Her intel said he lived with Declan. Her plan had been to let him take her there.
“Seamus, they need you in the back,” called a voice.
Seamus pouted and rested his cue against the wall. “Just a moment, darlin’.” He walked off to disappear in the back.
Snookie chewed on her lip. She needed to be near Declan, Charlotte and Stephanie if she was going to find out whether Jamie had returned to their orbit.
Her gaze settled on a tray of dirty dishes sitting against the wall near the bathrooms. One plate had a half-eaten cob of corn on it.
She smiled.
There’s a thought.
She moved to the women’s bathroom door and, checking to make sure the stalls were unoccupied, locked the door and pulled it shut from the outside. She did the same with the men’s room.
She snatched the nibbled corn cob from the tray and bolted up the stairs where Seamus had insinuated his apartment was.
The top of the stairs opened into a small storage room decorated with barely more than a sofa, a scratched coffee table and an enormous flat screen television. Boxes, most with liquor brand logos stamped on their sides, lined every wall.
It didn’t take long to find Seamus’s personal bathroom. She jogged inside and, grimacing, pushed the corn cob down the toilet until she could no longer see it. Turning her head, she fought a gag reflex.
Gross.
Snookie washed her hands with body wash from the moldy shower and sprinted downstairs again.
Seamus hadn’t returned to the pool table. She huffed a sigh of relief.
A young woman tried the ladies’ room door and then queued up, thinking someone was inside.
Snookie smiled.
Let’s get this party started.
She motioned to the bathroom. “They’re broken.”
The girl’s face went white. “Both? The men’s, too?”
“You can use upstairs.”
The girl nodded and jogged upstairs. Several other people approached over the next five minutes and Snookie let each know the upstairs bathroom was open. Soon, people headed to the stairs without her help, as word of the broken bathrooms spread.
Mission accomplished.
Seamus reappeared, dabbing a sweaty brow with a hand towel. “Sorry, problem with the fridge. Had to fix it.”
“No problem,” said Snookie. Another girl moved to head upstairs and Snookie grabbed Seamus’s shoulder to twist him and keep him from seeing.
“I’ll break,” she said.
“That’s fair.” He racked again and she lined up and struck.
The seven sank and she moved in to continue, barely looking at the table.
“My father was in the military,” she said, sinking the nine and moving to the opposite side of the table. “I spent a lot of time on base.” She sank the three. “You know what they have a lot of on military bases?”
Seamus rolled his eyes and muttered.
“Hustlers.”
Snookie lined up the five. It fell.
“A young girl can make a lot of money off drunken soldiers. And the best part was we moved all the time.”
“Fresh blood,” said Seamus.
Snookie turned her head to him, shooting the eight blind. It fell into the side pocket.
“Fresh blood,” she echoed.
Seamus smiled. “I knew it.”
She pinched her fingers together. “Just a little.”
Seamus moved toward her and put his hands on her hips. “I think I love you. Any chance you’ll be staying in town a while?”
She shrugged. “I could maybe be coerced—”
The bar erupted with the sound of screaming. The crowd in the center scattered as water poured from the ceiling.
“Sweet Mary!” Seamus bolted for the stairs and headed up, taking two steps at a time.
Snookie followed on his heels.
Upstairs, a group of young men and women had gathered, dancing to music blaring from someone’s cell phone.
“What in the name of all that’s holy is going on here?” roared Seamus.
Snookie glanced into the bathroom. Water and wet paper covered the floor, the toilet gurgling a river that rolled into the main room like a wild rapids ride.
Seamus strode through the puddle to lean behind the toilet and turn off the water.
The crowd bolted in the other direction and headed down the stairs.
“Get out of here,” Seamus barked. He spotted Snookie, and shook his head. “Unbelievable.”
A noise came from a closed door to the right of the bathroom and Seamus frowned. He moved to the door and flung it open.
A young couple lying in the b
ed looked up, eyes wide.
“In me bed? Get out!”
The couple grabbed the clothes they’d removed and hustled back down to the bar.
Seamus rubbed his hand across his hair. “This is what happens when I let myself get distracted.” He grinned at her. “Though I wouldn’t trade your distraction for the world.”
Snookie motioned to the mess. “What are you going to do? You can’t stay here.”
He sighed. “I have another place. Well, it’s my nephew’s, but I have a room there.”
Snookie tried not to smile.
Score.
“Where are you staying?” he asked.
She shrugged, trying to look forlorn. “Oh, I’ll get a hotel room.”
“What? I won’t hear of it. Why don’t you come stay with us?”
She put her hand on her chest. “Oh, I couldn’t.”
“It’s no trouble at all. Declan would love it. You can have my bed. I’ll take the sofa.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to impose.”
“You’re not imposing at all. And we’ll have the whole hurricane to get to know each other. Give me a chance to clean up a little here and we’ll head over.”
Snookie smiled.
“Okay. If you insist.”
Chapter Thirty
“Do we have to?”
Bob stared out the car window at the large nursing home, his forehead resting on the glass.
Mariska adopted her most officious tone. The one she hoped conveyed she wouldn’t be budged from her plans. Bob should recognize it by now.
“They need the help and it’s safer for us, too.”
She retrieved their overnight bag from the trunk, the wind blowing her curls straight on her head. They’d spent the last day—time they weren’t dealing with Charlotte’s fire—watching the weather. The hurricane had increased to a category two. When the nursing center where Mariska volunteered called and offered them a place to spend the night in exchange for help with the residents, she’d hopped on the opportunity. She loved her home, but the roof needed work and it would be safer to spend the night in a large concrete block nursing home.
She handed Bob their bag to carry and helped Miss Izzy from the back seat, the dog excited by a car ride to a new place with new smells.
Mariska stared in dismay at the furry mat covering the back seat. Enough Izzy hair had gathered to build a second dog.
