CHAPTER 3
Fifteen minutes later, I stood just inside the entrance to Gray’s Tavern, scanning the room to get a feel for the place. Dex had declined to join me but had given me his cell phone number in case I needed anything. I couldn’t decide if that was reassuring or if he felt like I was going to get into some kind of trouble. Great. Just when I needed a boost of confidence.
The bar wasn’t all that different than the Sea Glass, with its weathered walls and an easy-to-clean concrete floor. The walls were decorated with the occasional swordfish, but no one had gone to any great effort to make the place charming. However, it lacked the Sea Glass’s beautiful view and wasn’t as bright or cheery inside. It didn’t smell as good, either. The air wasn’t tanged with as much salt, the cleaner they must have used was bleach-forward, and the hints of beer smelled old.
The patrons looked like a mix of hardworking locals—although how hardworking were you if you were day drinking?—and tourists who probably didn’t want to pay what drinks cost in a place with a good view. The rule of thumb here was the closer you were to the beach, the more expensive the drink, and often, the more watered-down. Of course, that wasn’t the case at the Sea Glass. There were more men than women in here. Possibly because Wonder Woman supposedly worked here.
It didn’t take me long to spot Wonder Woman, even without her Bracelets of Submission and costume. I really needed to try and think of her as Lisa, because Lisa was such a friendly name, not nearly as intimidating as thinking of her as the Princess of the Amazons. She sat alone at the end of the bar, reading a book. She had two drinks in front of her. One was clear liquid with a lime floating in it. The clear liquid could be water, gin, rum, vodka—the list could go on and on, so who knows what it was. The other was a dark shade of green and looked more like one of those healthy smoothies some people love.
The men in the room ogled her. One swaggered up and said something. She slowly lifted her head from the book she was reading, put a bookmark in, and set it on the bar. Lisa turned in her seat, grabbed the man by the collar, almost lifting him off his feet.
She said something I couldn’t hear, but he paled and put his hands up in surrender. She gave him a little shake and let him loose, which caused him to stumble back. He slunk back to his table, where his buddies were all laughing. I’d observed all this from near the front door as I tried to figure out how to approach Lisa.
The man who’d slunk back to his chair noticed me, said something to his friends, and they all turned to stare. I was now wishing I’d worn an oversized turtleneck and loose pants instead of the flirty sundress. I’d never been so ogled in my life.
“Hey, mama. Want to come over and make daddy happy?”
Ick. I didn’t get that men-calling-themselves-daddy thing. “Not in a million years.”
Lisa looked my way. Maybe this was my in. I walked across the room and took a seat next to her at the bar.
“Why do men always think a woman alone in a bar wants company?” I asked as she picked up her book.
Lisa shook her head. “No idea.”
“I hope you don’t mind if I sit here. I’m alone, too, and really don’t want to be bothered.” I paused. “And don’t worry, I’ll leave you to your book.” Up close, she looked even stronger and more intimidating than she had in her pictures or even from the entrance of the bar.
“No worries.”
She picked her book back up and started reading again. I glanced at the cover. Lisa was reading a mystery by V.M. Burns. It didn’t look like she actually worked here if she got to sit around reading all day.
The bartender came over then. “What would you like?”
What would I like? Nothing too strong; I had a long day ahead of me. The man kept glancing over at Lisa. I couldn’t decide if he was irritated because she was getting paid to sit there and read or fascinated because she was so beautiful. At any rate, something was making him uneasy. The bartender turned his attention back to me.
“How about a Bushwacker?” I asked. Bushwackers were like milkshakes for adults. They’d been invented in 1975 on St. Thomas in the Virgin Islands. So while some drinks’ histories stretched back hundreds of years, this one was a relative newcomer. The bartender who had come up with the drink named it after his dog, Bushwack. They could be strong drinks, but places like this tended to skimp on the alcohol while also adding a lot of crushed ice and half-and-half. I should be okay. Plus, the dairy should coat my stomach. I knew that was wishful thinking but tried to convince myself that it would help. Although in this kind of bar, maybe this was too complicated a drink.
The bartender reached into a mini fridge and pulled out a plastic jug of premade drink labeled Bushwacker. Joaquín and Vivi would shudder at its use. They both believed in making all of our drinks from scratch. On the one hand, we had the best drinks on the beach, but on the other, it took a lot of extra time. I’d once suggested we could make up our strawberry daiquiri recipe in the morning and got a lecture on freshness.
The bartender poured the mix over ice and added some half-and-half. He gave the blender a whir, poured the drink into a disposable plastic cup, and handed it to me. Lots of bars around here used these kind of cups so people could take them down to the beach. Or maybe they were just lazy and didn’t want to wash glasses.
I took a sip, and just as I suspected, it was light on the alcohol, which was fine with me. Now I just had to find a way to have a conversation with Lisa since I’d said I’d leave her alone. Why did I say that? What was I thinking? Why had I agreed to Vivi’s absurd plan in the first place? It was one thing to enter the competition and another to sneak around checking out the competition.
“Are you okay?” Lisa asked. “You keep sighing.” She put her bookmark back in her book, set it aside, and took a drink of the green smoothie-looking thing.
Her drink was probably healthy unlike mine. “Do you ever agree to do something for someone and then regret it?” I said.
“Rarely.”
Figures.
“Unless it comes to men. I have a terrible track record then. Is that your problem?” Lisa asked.
“Not this time. For once, I’m actually in a stable relationship with a good man.”
“How’d you manage that?”
I smiled as I remembered the first time Rip and I had met. I’d been snoring away on a boat. Rip had walked by and thought there was a wounded animal under the tarp. It wasn’t the best first impression, but who didn’t like a man who didn’t mind a bit—a lot—of snoring. And who was also handsome and kind.
“Oh, you’ve got it bad,” Lisa said. “I’m Lisa, by the way.”
“Chloe. I guess you’re right, I do have it bad.” From there, the conversation took off, with Lisa regaling me with stories about men she knew out in Hollywood, including some from the Wonder Woman movies.
“You’re a stuntwoman? No wonder you almost lifted that guy off his feet.” We both turned to look. I almost shuddered. “Wow, if looks could really kill.”
“He thinks I’d be lying on the floor, but he doesn’t intimidate me.”
We laughed, which didn’t make him any happier. We both ordered Bushwackers and toasted each other and continued talking. Lisa’s life was fascinating and tough at the same time. During a pause in our conversation, and after another Bushwacker, I remembered Dex was sitting out in the truck waiting for me, and this was business, not pleasure.
I left a big tip for the bartender, who’d hovered around us most of the time we were talking. I slipped off the stool. “It was nice meeting you.”
“You too,” Lisa said. “I hope we run into each other again.”
I felt a little stab of guilt. I’d been vague during our conversation about what I did. “I’m sure we will.” I just hope my deception wouldn’t make her hate my guts. She seemed like a nice woman, but also like someone I wouldn’t want mad at me.
* * *
Dex grilled me about what I’d found out from Lisa. I figured the least I could do was answer, since he was driving me around. I also knew that indirectly, I was letting Ann know what was up, because I was certain that Dex would report back to her. Seven minutes later, we pulled up in front of Sandy’s. The building was a drab cement block. The gutters were dented and bent. It had a screened door, which hung at an odd angle.
Several Harleys were parked on the crushed-shell-covered parking lot. They gleamed in the April sun, and heat wafted off some of the chrome gas tanks.
Dex looked over the situation. “I’m going in first to make sure you’ll be safe. If I don’t come back out in a couple of minutes, come on in. Act like you don’t know me.”
That shouldn’t be hard to do, because I really didn’t know him. “Okay.” I watched him walk in. He had a confident stride, and something about the set of his shoulders said Don’t mess with me. It seemed kind of silly. This was Dune Allen, for goodness’ sakes—a place that was more affordable than a lot of the surrounding towns and certainly not some seedy area, even if the bar itself looked run-down. But I appreciated the gesture.
I waited the required “couple” of minutes before walking in. Sandy’s was dark inside, so I stood by the entrance to let my eyes adjust. The bar was directly across from me at the back of the building. The room wasn’t much bigger than an elementary school classroom. Jean Claude was behind the bar. He had a white hand towel slung over one shoulder and was chopping fruit. The lime in his hand looked like a walnut. I was kind of hoping the angle of the photo had exaggerated the difference between his hand size and the glass he’d been holding.
Dex sat in a corner with his back to the wall. He could see the entire bar from where he sat. I looked over at him, but he didn’t make eye contact. Dex had what looked like an iced tea in front of him. I was guessing it was alcohol and sugar-free. How was I going to ever get a chance to talk to Jean Claude? There were only three barstools at the bar, and three women were sitting in them. They laughed and flirted with Jean Claude. He was smiling and chatting with them.
I sat at the last empty table, alone and feeling awkward. It was about half a foot away from the table of men, whom I assumed belonged to the Harleys. I took the Harley-logoed T-shirts, bandanas, and boots as a sign. My back was up against the wall, too—in more ways than one.
“Jean Claude, some help out here. We have customers who want to order,” a harried-looking waitress yelled from across the room.
Once Jean Claude looked at her, she jerked her head toward me in a “go wait on her” kind of way. Yes, this was my chance. Jean Claude didn’t hurry over, and it was more of a strut than a walk. As far as I could tell, pretty much everyone in the room was watching him, because he was a sight to behold. Jean Claude wore a yellow T-shirt with the Sandy’s logo on it and black shorts. He had a bruise under one eye and some marks on his arm that made it look like he’d been in a tussle.
A few seconds later, he stood by my table, and I tipped my head back to look up at him. Up close, I could see the dark lashes that curled probably without the use of an eyelash curler. He’d probably never yanked all his eyelashes out by accident in sixth grade. Jean Claude smelled like a fresh-cut Christmas tree, and he had an easy confidence that made me—a happy, in-a-solid-relationship girl—want to cast that aside and leap on him. I really hoped I didn’t fan myself.
“What can I get for you?” he asked.
His voice was a low rumble. Jean Claude grinned at me as I gaped at him. I could never compete against him. I’d be too distracted. Maybe that was Sandy’s plan. I finally remembered I was supposed to be ordering.
“A Bushwacker,” I said. “Please.”
“Coming right up. I’ll just write down Bushwacker for the woman with the pretty brown eyes.” He started writing on a pad that looked like a Post-it Note in his hand. “That helps me keep everyone straight, because I’m new at this.”
I almost burst out telling him that’s what I did, too, but I didn’t want him to know I worked at the Sea Glass, so I just nodded and smiled. Like an idiot. Until he swaggered back up to the bar. I would have smacked my forehead for not chatting him up, but I didn’t want to look more ridiculous than I already must. I’d do better when he brought my drink to me. A few minutes later, the harried-looking waitress brought back my drink, slopping a little of it on the table as she whooshed by. Rats. Foiled again.