"Sasquatch," I said a little while later, after Ernie had drifted along the gutter back toward the beach with the twenty dollars I'd convinced Curt to hand over. I still thought it had been a disgusting request from Ernie, but I couldn't stand the thought of leaving Annie's locket with him. If it had meant enough to her to wear it, it was important enough to return to her family.
I rubbed my thumb across the A.H. inscription, thinking. I couldn't seem to remember Annie wearing jewelry in school, not even little stud earrings. But then I couldn't honestly say I'd noticed much of what she'd worn.
"Sasquatch." Curt shook his head. "Why not the Easter Bunny? It'd make as much sense."
We were in Howard's immaculate family room, sitting on immaculate furniture, and I couldn't speak for Curt but I felt as dirty as a landfill. I didn't know which was worse: finding Annie's body or the visit from Ernie. They both made me want to scrub my skin off.
"He was disgusting," I said "but I don't think he was nuts. It must be a nickname for some goon with a lot of hair." Probably back hair. I hated back hair. Back hair was made for gorillas and guys named Rocko.
Curt gave me a Duh look. "So how do we find him?"
I blinked. "You want to find him?"
"I know you plan to look for him. I hope you don't think I'm letting you do it alone."
That was the beauty of Curt. Well, that and the six-pack abs and killer smile.
He gestured toward the locket. "Let me take a look at that thing. It reminds me of something women wore in Victorian times."
"It is a little out of style," I agreed. But what was a little out of style in high school, if Annie had had it that long, became individualism in adulthood.
"Didn't they keep pictures or something inside of them?" Curt turned it over and poked and prodded, and the gold heart separated. A tiny folded paper fell out onto the sofa. He unfolded it. "Looks like a phone number."
I took it from him. Ten digits, starting with 609, which was the area code for extreme southern New Jersey. It was a phone number, all right, but there was no name. "Should we call it?"
"Probably," Curt said. "But let's wait till morning. It's getting late. In the meantime, we need to figure out how to start looking for this Sasquatch."
I refolded the paper and tucked it back into the locket. "You think there's actually a Sasquatch out there?"
"We know there's someone out there," Curt said. "Someone who killed her, and then moved her body before the police got there. We could call him Sasquatch or Joe; we've still got to find him."
I thought about it. "In a couple hours, we'll have a whole beach filled with people, right?"
Curt's mouth twisted. "You think Sasquatch will be sunbathing in a Speedo?"
"God, I hope not." I shuddered. Speedos were a huge no on my Fashion Don'ts list. There wasn't a man alive who could pull off a spandex hankie over his private parts. No offense to the folks at Speedo, but I preferred to leave something to my very active imagination. Imagination beat reality most of the time anyway. Except maybe in Curt's case. I was pretty sure Curt could rock a Speedo. I still didn't want to see it.
"What are you looking at?" he demanded.
I gave an innocent shrug. "Just wondering if you packed your swimsuit." Because it looked like we were about to jump in with both feet.