The three of them had to stand for a few seconds while their eyes adjusted from the brilliant sun to the dingy bar light, whose only source seemed to be from neon scripted beer signs that littered the walls and cast everything into deep shadows. At least the music was turned low, so low that Julie could barely recognize the twang of a country-and-western singer.
At first it was impossible to tell if there were any customers besides the three guys sitting at the bar, whose heads had turned to see who had just entered, their grins glowing green from a neon miller time sign above them.
“Not so cute,” Aggie said under her breath.
“Middle-aged regulars,” Julie guessed. “The surfers probably come in later.” She walked forward and shouldered her way between the guy on the right, thin-faced with a gray chin beard, and the dark-skinned, chubby-cheeked guy in the middle who was wearing a cap advertising Corey’s Electronics.
The bartender turned away just as she reached the bar rail, and she addressed the back of his head.
“I’m looking for Tony Costa.”
Was that feeling of sudden cold from the fridge he’d just opened, or was it emanating from the change in mood as the three men turned back to their beers?
The bartender turned to face her.
“I take it back,” Aggie whispered from behind her. “Now that’s cute.”
“I believe this is his bar,” Julie said.
The bartender just looked at her. She looked back at him. Aggie was right. He was pretty decent in a scruffy bartender way. Dark eyes and dark beach-bum-length hair that curled temptingly at the ends. She tried to ignore that fact. Why wasn’t he answering?
“Well, is it? Is he here?”
“No.”
“To which? He doesn’t own it, or he isn’t here?”
The three men continued to drink their beer. Not one of them looked up or offered an explanation.
Kayla pulled off her cap and leaned on the bar, letting her hair swing seductively over the polished wood. “We’re just passing through and thought we’d look him up. Julie is his niece, and Aggie and I are Uncle Lucky’s two biggest fans.”
A flicker of interest from all four men as Kayla moved back and ceded the standing space to Julie. “So do you know where he is?”
“Huh. So you’re Lucky’s niece,” the bartender said, giving Julie a quick, scrutinizing look.
She scrutinized him back. She guessed he was younger than he looked, midthirties maybe, possibly even younger with some hard living in his past. “Yeah, so can you tell me where I could find him?”
“Nope.”
“You’re Lucky’s niece?” asked the guy in the electronics hat. “Well, I’ll be.” He stuck out his hand. “Corey Washington. I own Corey’s Electronics in town. Anything from earbuds to home security systems, I’m your man.”
Julie smiled, but before she could continue, the man on the far side of him stretched his hand across his companion. Julie shook it, too.
“Ron Petry. Retired. Twice. Glad to meet you.”
The bartender seemed to have lost interest and was smiling slightly at something—someone over her shoulder. Probably flirting with Aggie.
The man on her right stuck out his hand. “Ike Gibson. Lucky and us go back a long ways. Glad we finally get to meet you.”
“Do any of you know where he is?”
Simultaneously the three heads snapped back to the bartender.
“He’s out of town,” he said, dropping his smile. “But I’ll tell him you came by and to give you a call when he gets back. Just write your number on the chalkboard over there.” He thumbed a gesture across the room to where a large, much-erased chalkboard was balanced precariously against the wall.
Julie turned around just in time to see three heads snap back to contemplating their beers. “Do any of you know when he’ll be back?”
The three men looked at the bartender.
“Nope,” he said.
Julie was beginning to think she was being punked. It would be just like Lucky to be hiding behind the bar waiting to pop up like a demented jack-in-the-box. She resisted the urge to lean across the bar top to look.
“Is Tony out of town now, or just not at the bar? Maybe he’s still at home. Can you give me his address?”
“Why don’t you just give him a call when you get a chance?”
“My mother talks to him every week.” She started to say that he hadn’t called her and that she was worried, but something held her back. “My friends and I are on our way to Dewey Beach and told her we’d drop by to say hello.”
“Dewey, huh? Tell Louise he’s fine.”
Julie’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know my mom’s name is Louise?”
He cracked a nanosecond grin. “Because she calls him every week.” He leaned toward her. “Look, Lucky’s fine. I’ll tell him to call her when he gets back. Go enjoy your vacay, there’s a drink with an umbrella there with your name on it. I’ll even call ahead to tell them you’re coming.”
She turned to the beer contemplators. “What about you three? Do you know where he is?”
“Nope.”
“Can’t say.”
“Not a clue.”
Julie gritted her teeth. “Well, it’s been a real pleasure.” She turned to leave. The three men lifted off their seats in a show of respect before returning to the contemplation of their beers.
So be it. This surly jackass and his three-man goon squad weren’t the only people in town who might know where Uncle Tony was.
Aggie and Kayla followed her out, followed by the three men from the bar, who stopped on the porch and watched for a few seconds before melting away in the direction of Main Street.
“Gee,” Aggie said. “I feel like we’ve just been run out of Dodge. What was with those guys?”
“Too much beer and time on their hands,” Julie guessed.
“What do you want to do now?” Kayla asked.
Julie really wanted to go on her vacation, to hang out with her friends, drink sweet cocktails out of glasses with little umbrellas in them—and not worry about Uncle Tony or her life or what came next.
“Maybe you two should just go on. I think I’ll ask around town. At least find out where he lives and leave him a note. It’s not fair to have Mom stuck on a cruise ship worried about her irresponsible brother.” Plus Louise wouldn’t leave them alone until Tony was found or if she came to see for herself.
“And how are you going to get to Dewey if we leave?” Kayla asked.
“I’ll take a car service. They must have one.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Kayla said. “It might cost hundreds of dollars if they even have services. We can spend a couple of hours here. And we’d like to see Uncle Lucky, too.”
“There’s no reason for you to give up your—”
“Stop it. We’re staying,” Aggie said. “What do you want to do next?”
“I want to take another shot at the bartender now that his posse’s gone.”
“Good idea,” Kayla said.
Julie retrieved her purse from the back seat of the SUV.
“You planning to try some of your strong-arm elementary school teacher tactics on him?” asked Aggie.
“Hey, I’ve brought some hard-core fourth graders to their proverbial knees,” Julie said.
“And with a smile,” Kayla added.
“True,” Aggie said. “Who ever thought Jimmy Marcuse would win the county spelling bee?”
“That was pretty weird,” Julie admitted.
“That was pretty you. Take some credit.”
Julie shrugged. “Right time, right place.” Though it struck her that the “Jimmy Miracle,” as it was called in the faculty lunchroom, had been pretty cool. But her feeling of triumph hadn’t lasted.
“And you didn’t get teacher of the year for nothing.”
“That was weird, too.”
“You deserved it.”
So why wasn’t she satisfied? “I’ll hurry.”
“Sure you don’t want us to come with?” Kayla said.
“I’m sure. I haven’t been on the receiving end of recalcitrant children for the last six years to be stymied by a recalcitrant bartender with a third-grade sense of humor.”
“You go, girl.” Aggie gave her a thumbs-up. “We’ll hit the surf shop. If anybody knows where Tony is, it will be his fellow surfers. Meet us back here in a few.”
Kayla and Aggie went off in the direction of the surf shop. Julie really wanted to go with them, but she knew where her duty lay. She turned and strode up the steps and back into the bar.
With his customers gone, the bartender had moved to a table near the side door and the best available light. An open battered briefcase sat at one elbow and several thick manila folders were stacked at the other. He was bent over, studying a single open folder.
He looked up when Julie stopped in the center of the room. He was wearing glasses just like an actor in one of those commercials, where the intense, handsome nerd and the femme fatale with ridiculously shiny hair and long legs are brought together by some product that no one paid any attention to. Cue music.
Only Julie was no femme fatale, and he’d turned off the music, which had left the bar eerily silent.
He closed the folder he’d been reading, returned the stack of folders to the briefcase, and carried it back behind the bar.
Julie followed him over. “Can you please help me?”
“Sure, but I’ll have to see some ID.” A smile. One he obviously saved for flirting and manipulation.
Julie had to admit it was very effective. She concentrated on looking over his shoulder at the row of bottles along the wall.
“What would you like? You don’t look like a beer drinker. I’m thinking pinot grigio.”
“You have a wine list?” Julie asked, temporarily taken off guard.
“Sure we do. Red, white, and pink. Pink is a favorite with you gals.”
Gals? What decade was he living in? Or was he just trying to piss her off?
There was a thumping sound from the other side of the bar.
Maybe Tony was hiding back there after all.
He reached under the bar and brought out an industrial-looking wineglass that he began polishing with the same cloth he’d been wiping the bar with.
He couldn’t be as clueless as he was acting. So why the belligerence?
“Look. My mother is worried. All I want is to know for certain that my uncle hasn’t met with some accident . . . or worse.”
That earned her a sharp look. Something odd was going on here. Everyone thought schoolteachers were pushovers, but nothing could be further from the case. They just had fiercely honed endurance and infinite patience, though she had to admit hers was being sorely tested as she felt her vacation slipping into one of those what-might-have-beens, just like her leave of absence.
“He’s fine.”
“How do you know?”
“What’s with the questions? I told you I’d have him call you.”
“Can you call him?”
“Why would I be able to call him if you and your mother can’t?”
Good question. Julie’s mind was beginning to go places it shouldn’t. Tony’s body floating in a vast ocean, bleeding in an alley where he’d been attacked trying to save a stray dog . . . or boy. Her uncle, turned to crime to keep his bar afloat.
Maybe she was being overly alarmist—chalk that one up to her mother. Julie had also inherited her curly blond hair and dimpled knees. You couldn’t choose your genetics.
He was probably just on the lam, looking for bigger waves than those found at his own beach. Maybe some things never changed and he still came and went at will, not bothering to tell his staff, just like he had when he’d lived with Julie and her mom.
“You really and truly don’t know where he is? And you aren’t worried?”
The bartender shot her a grin that was dazzling. “Nope.”
He put the glass he’d been polishing this whole time on the counter before her. It didn’t look any cleaner than when he’d started.
He reached into the bar fridge and brought out a bottle of white.
More thumping from behind the bar.
“Pinot grigio, safest bar wine there is. It will usually err on the side of no taste than bad taste.” He poured a tiny amount into the glass, nodded at it, and raised his eyebrows at her.
He wanted her to taste it? What was he going to do, pour it back into the bottle if she didn’t like it? The situation was getting more ridiculous by the minute.
He nodded again, ludicrously attentive.
She took a minuscule sip just to move things along. “It’s good,” she blurted out.
“Told you.” He filled her glass.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
“What’s that knocking?” Julie stretched to see behind the bar.
“Huh? Oh, it’s just Dougie. Dougie, go introduce yourself to the lady.”
There was groaning and snuffling and the sound of someone or something getting to his feet.
Julie lifted her own feet off the ground. Dougie could be anything from a barboy to a boa constrictor.
A huge, shaggy head with a lolling tongue and slobber hanging from substantial jaws appeared around the edge of the bar, followed by what must have been a shedding nightmare of fur.
Julie considered climbing onto the bar top.
Dougie lumbered toward her, stopped at the stool, and snuffled her knee, leaving a wet, gooey trail of doggy drool on her thigh.
“You’re not afraid of dogs, are you?” the bartender asked belatedly.
Julie forced a smile. “Not at all. I just—”
Dougie was looking for more interesting places on her person to snuffle; she tried to push him away. He just opened his jaws in a chasmic yawn and put his head in her lap, pinning her to the barstool.
“He likes you.”
“Great,” Julie said, trying not to move. “While we’re doing introductions, what’s your name?”
One eyebrow dipped. “Scatter,” he said.
“What?” Her head automatically snapped toward the door in a primitive reflex of fight or flight—or one too many attack drills at school.
She laughed, dispelling that momentary reaction, only to have it followed by a flash of recognition. But it was probably a surfer handle like Hanger, Slick, Ace, or Moondoggie.
“What’s on your driver’s license?”
“Alex.”
“Ah.” She absently took a sip of her wine. It was certainly more sophisticated than its surroundings. “I guess Dougie is one of my uncle’s strays?”
Dougie commented with a sound that would have been a bark if he could have worked up the energy to lift his head off her lap.
The bartender had taken out another glass, which he was giving desultory swipes with the bar cloth. But it stopped suddenly. His frown was fast, angry, and unexpected. “What do you mean by that?”
Had she just struck a nerve? “It’s what my mother always said. Tony used to live with us and he was always bringing home stray animals, down-and-out surfer buddies, scruffy runaways . . . all sorts of unsavory characters.”
She’d definitely struck a nerve. Maybe Alex/Scatter was one of them.
“You’re not drinking your wine.”
“I didn’t actually order it.”
He picked it up, took a sip. Looked at it. “Not too bad. Light, dry, but with surprising body. Crisp with a hint of pear.”
Julie rolled her eyes.
He finished it off and put the empty glass on the bar.
“Glad you enjoyed it,” she said.
“I did. And I’m glad you didn’t ask for white zin. I order the reds and whites, but I let the distributor decide on the pinks. If you ask me, pink drinkers don’t know the difference.”
He was definitely trying to piss her off, but he didn’t know the resilience of a fourth-grade teacher. His attitude paled in comparison to eight hours of booger and butt jokes.
“Do you have an opinion on everything and everybody?”
“Pretty much. But I try not to show it.”
“Ever consider trying harder?” She wouldn’t learn anything from this guy, and she had begun to think he was purposely keeping her from her uncle.
Julie pushed the empty glass toward him. “Put it on my tab.”
She eased Dougie’s head away and slid off the stool. Then she extricated her purse from beneath Dougie’s massive paws, trying to ignore the dirty prints marring its brand-new surface and making a note to self never to leave her purse on the floor while she was in town.
The bartender stopped, stared at her. “A tab?”
“Yeah, I’ll settle up when I leave—after Tony returns and we’ve had a chance to visit.”
She grinned at him. That should give him a few seconds of WTF.
“See ya.” And willing herself not to brush at the slobber drying on her legs, she sashayed out of the bar.
“FYI,” he called after her. “Around here, he’s called Lucky.”
Alex watched Julie Barlow walk across the floor and out the screen door. Dougie padded after her but stopped as the door slammed in his path. He lolled his head back toward Alex.
Alex gave him a quick nod, and Dougie nosed the door open and padded outside.
Then Alex reached beneath the bar for his cell. Pressed speed dial. Walked to the door while he waited for an answer. Lucky’s niece was standing in the parking lot, talking to her two friends.
“Get in the car,” he urged under his breath. “Just take your friends and get out of here.”
Dougie slowly snuffled his way down the steps and toward the three women.
Someone answered on the other end of the line.
“It’s Scatter. We may have a problem.”