Chapter Twenty-Nine

Friday mid-morning

  

Crome had a notion to strangle the detective. What kind of person played a game like that in the middle of a hostage situation? And that’s exactly what they were in. Maureen and Harmony and the murdered mayor. What the hell?

And before Crome could rip the man’s head off, Pelton leaned in almost face to face with his supposed detective friend. “This isn’t particularly funny, Wilson.”

The detective gave a smirk. “No, it isn’t. And I’m not trying to play a game here.”

Crome said, “It sure sounds like you are to me.”

“Yeah?” The detective looked at Crome. “Well, I’m sorry about that. But what I’m about to give you could get me fired.”

The kid didn’t respond. Neither did Crome.

Wilson stood. “Follow me.” They followed him outside to his unmarked Charger. “Get in.”

Pelton gave Crome the front seat and didn’t crack any jokes about age before beauty or anything like that. In fact, no one said anything as Wilson drove them down the main tourist drag of Myrtle Beach, moving with the summer traffic.

Nothing about it made sense to Crome. They should be working around the cops, not with them. They should be hauling ass in any direction that gets them closer to finding the women. Logic would say never in a million years should they be riding in a cop car to the police impound.

Except Wilson didn’t take them to the impound or even the police station. After less than ten minutes crawling along in traffic, he pulled into a Public Parking lot, pressed the button at the entrance, received a ticket, waited until the gate raised, and then drove in.

Pelton said, “What the—?”

Crome spotted Maureen’s ten-year-old Honda ahead. Next to it was a spot blocked off by orange cones.

Wilson pulled up to the open spot and put the car in park. He got out and moved the cones. Crome got out, opened the back door for Pelton, and both of them walked over to Maureen’s car.

The detective said, “Hold up.”

They stopped.

He said, “Let me give you some latex gloves. The car hasn’t been processed yet. And before you ask, there are no cameras covering the lot.”

It finally sunk in what was going on. The detective was giving them first crack at the car. However he’d been able to swing it, Wilson was acting as if he were one of them and not like an officer of the law. Whatever Crome thought about the man, it all vanished. This guy was as unorthodox as they came.

They watched Wilson park his car in the saved spot. He got out and opened the trunk.

Crome took an offered pair of gloves from Wilson, slipped them on, and walked over to Maureen’s car.

The summer sun was hot and the surrounding buildings blocked them from feeling the ocean breeze.

“Detective?” Crome asked. “You got a couple screwdrivers?”

“You know how to get in?” the detective asked.

“I do,” Crome said.

The detective gave him a smile as if saying, “Of course you’d know.”

Crome didn’t care. In fact, he wouldn’t care if the detective insulted his dearly departed mother at this point. The gift he was giving them trumped anything else at the moment.

Taking the offered tools, Crome pried the window open, slid his hand in, and opened the door.

The alarm started honking. The car was a decade old, but even ten-year-old Hondas had theft-deterrent systems.

Crome bent down in the driver’s footwell and yanked out a couple wires, silencing the shriek.

“I’m impressed,” the detective said. “You missed your calling.”

Crome grinned. “Blu and I used to work repo back when we started out.” It was those jobs that kept them in business when nothing else was walking through the door.

Wilson said, “Hell, Brack. Between your wife and your friend here, nothing is secure.”

Blu had told Crome that Pelton’s wife was an expert at picking locks and had taught the kid, who apparently was a fast study. The problem was everything today was electronic. Breaching the mechanical systems was the easy part. It was the circuitry that was the real challenge. Crome had bypassed the lock and silenced the alarm, but they wouldn’t be able to start Maureen’s car. It was quite dead.

Before he did anything else, Crome gave the car a thorough look.

Pelton and Wilson held back, letting him take it in.

Nothing appeared out of place at first glance. Maureen took care of the things she owned and her car was no exception. It was old and worn but the interior was clean and vacuumed and she did not let trash accumulate.

So, when his hand stumbled across a bag underneath the driver’s seat, he knew it shouldn’t have been there and on any normal day wouldn’t have been.

It was a bag from a big-chain drug store. He pulled it out and examined it. Inside were a receipt and an empty box of pills women took for cramps.

Wilson said, “What have you got?”

Crome held up the bag. “There’s one of these places not too far from Maureen’s trailer. She doesn’t leave trash in her car. I’d say this was from the last time she drove it.”

“We should check their cameras,” Pelton said. “See if they tell us anything. Is the receipt in the bag? It’ll give us a time stamp.”

  

Friday, mid-morning

  

Blu had a lot on his mind. Crome was barely holding it together. Maureen was still missing and it had been five days. Harmony got caught up in something and had also disappeared. The mayor washing up on IOP Beach may or may not be connected to Maureen’s disappearance. And Billie had not given him an answer on his proposal, nor even returned his calls and texts in over a month.

Overall, most things were not going well. He worried about the missing women. He worried about his friend. He worried about Brack Pelton getting involved. He worried about Brack’s wife. He worried about Tess. And Patricia. And Billie. And he worried about his daughter. That was a lot for one man to handle at one time.

Tess sat with him at the rooftop bar of the Pirate’s Cove, both of them facing the ocean. Tourists covered the beach below with a layer of brightly colored towels, folding chairs, and large umbrellas. The atmosphere was one of American optimism, but Blu didn’t feel any of it at the moment.

Shelby snored softly at Tess’ feet.

A line of five pelicans glided overhead, momentarily distracting Blu. It had made him happy when a colony of the magnificent birds nested in the marsh by his home last summer. He spent many mornings waiting for the eggs to turn into hatchlings.

Paige brought him back to reality when from behind the bar, she asked, “You heard from Brack?”

“No,” Blu said.

Apparently Blu didn’t have a monopoly on worrying. Paige, youthful and beautiful, had begun to show a few lines of concern on her forehead. Blu had the impression that being around Brack Pelton would do that to anyone. Being in business with him might even be worse.

But, then again, Blu had Mick Crome. When he didn’t disappear for three years on a drunken, violent escapade, Crome defied his friend, tried to go his own way, and only failed at his attempt to alienate those around him.

Paige stood facing them, her arms folded across her chest. As almost an afterthought, Blu had the impression she wanted more than a one-word answer. He didn’t have it.

“They’re bound to call sooner or later,” Tess offered.

It didn’t sound convincing to Blu.

Blu took a hit on his vaporizer. Until Maureen had gone missing, he’d been weaning himself off of the device. His goal had been to be smoke and vapor free by the end of the year, but it didn’t look like he was going to make it.

Tess took a sip of her virgin Bloody Mary.

Paige looked around at all the bottles surrounding her. “I need a drink.”

Blu’s phone buzzed. He looked at the screen, didn’t recognize the number, and answered.

A familiar female voice said, “Blu?”

It was Harmony.