“I did report it to the police. I flew in yesterday and discovered the boat was missing. I tried calling your worthless brother, but of course he isn’t answering. I asked for him at Flex II and found out he’d quit. I tried the dockmaster, but they have no freaking records left. Blood on everything. How inconvenient is that? I called the police this morning and they took my statement. I expect that’s as far as it’ll go.”
“Maybe someone else took your boat. Maybe the guy who killed the night guard took your boat.”
“Maybe your brother killed the night guard.”
“Maybe you’d like a broken nose.”
“Just what I’d expect from a woman named Barney,” Hooker said.
I turned on my heel, crossed the lobby, and exited through the door to the parking lot. I put my head down and slogged through the wind and the rain, walking in the direction of Fourth Street. Just for the hell of it, I pointed Bill’s car remote in a couple directions, but nothing beeped or flashed lights.
I heard a car engine rumble behind me, and Hooker rolled alongside in a silver Porsche Carrera.
The driver’s-side window slid down. “Want a ride?” Hooker asked.
“I’m wet. I’ll ruin your l
eather upholstery.”
“No problem. The leather will wipe dry. Besides, I’m thinking of trading up to a Turbo.”
I scurried around to the passenger side and wrenched the door open. “What do you expect to gain by following me around?”
“Sooner or later, your brother’s going to get in touch with you. I want to be there.”
“I’ll call you.”
“Yeah, right. That’s gonna happen. Anyway, I haven’t got anything better to do. I was supposed to be out on my boat this week.”
I wanted to get rid of Hooker, but I didn’t have a plan. Truth is, I didn’t have a plan for anything. Alexandra Barnaby Girl Detective was stumped. Just pretend it’s a transmission, I thought. You take it apart. You see what’s broken. You put it back together. Really go through the apartment. Bill was friendly. He didn’t have a well-developed sense of secret. Surely, he talked to someone. You have to find that someone. You found the key in the dog poop pile, right? You can find more.
Hooker made a U-turn on Meridian and pulled into a spot in front of Bill’s building.
“Thanks for the ride,” I said, and I hit the ground running. Okay, not exactly running, but I was moving right along. I was hoping to get into the apartment and close and lock the door before Hooker could elbow his way past me.
I got one foot on the sidewalk, and I was yanked back by my purse strap.
“Wait for me,” Hooker said.
“Here’s the thing,” I told him. “You’re not invited in.”
“Here’s the thing about driving NASCAR,” Hooker said. “You learn not to wait for an invitation.”
When I reached the front door I tried opening it without the key. If the door had opened, I would have sent Hooker in first. The door didn’t open, so I unlocked it and stepped inside.
“Someone broke into this apartment,” I told Hooker. “You can see where they pried the door open. It was unlocked when I got here this afternoon. I don’t suppose it was you?”
Hooker looked at the doorjamb. “I was here around four o’clock yesterday and again this morning. I rang the bell, but I didn’t try the door. I was so pissed off I could barely see. No, it wasn’t me.” He followed me up the stairs and gave a low whistle at the mess. “Bill’s not much of a housekeeper.”
“Do you think I should call the police?”
“If something’s been stolen and you need a report to put in an insurance claim, yes. Otherwise, I can’t see where it does much good. I don’t see the boat police out searching for my Hatteras.”
“I can’t tell if anything’s been stolen. This is the first time I’ve visited. The television and DVD player are still here.”
Hooker strolled into the bedroom and gave another whistle. “That’s a lot of condoms,” he said. “That’s a NASCAR amount of condoms.”
“How about giving the NASCAR thing a rest,” I said.