Riptide (Sam McRae Mystery 3)

“Where’ve you been all night?”

“Uhhhh.” This was about the most articulate thing I could conjure up. “We’ll talk later, okay?”

I disconnected before she could ask more and turned off the phone.

After taking a moment to get my bearings, I started the car and headed back toward the highway. The dark-blue eastern sky was striped with fiery orange and salmon pink. I succumbed to temptation and turned left into a parking area near the boardwalk.

Pulling into a spot and locking the car, I climbed the ramp to the boardwalk and crossed to the rail. I leaned on the cold metal and felt the refreshing ocean breeze blow against me. The horizon blazed in Technicolor shades of pink, yellow, and blue along with the hot reddish-orange ball of the sun. Above the water, gulls circled and cried mournfully. A lone bicyclist rolled down the boardwalk behind me.

I shivered and crossed my arms. The beach was desolate. The waves washing up on the sand seemed less soothing than corrosive. Pounding the shore, over and over.

I stood alone and watched, a stranger in a strange land. Feeling no more welcome than a visitor from an alien planet.

*****

After a good half hour watching the sun come up and feeling sorry for myself, I pulled it together. I wasn’t going to accomplish anything standing there staring at the beach.

“C’mon, Sam,” I muttered. “You’ve been in tougher spots than this. Get going.”

I turned and marched back to the ramp, descending to the lot where the car was parked. I unlocked the car, slid inside, inserted the key and turned it. Nothing happened.

“What the f-!”

If it had been my car, I wouldn’t have been surprised. My old ’67 Mustang was a purple piece of shit on wheels. But this was Jamila’s Beemer. I tried the key again. Nothing. No click, no grumble of an engine trying to start.

“Ohhh!” I could have wept. I sat, staring straight ahead, and realized the hood looked slightly bent. And not quite closed. Like it had been jimmied open.

“Fuck me!” I jumped out and ran to the front of the car. I could easily see the damage now. I jiggled the catch and opened the hood fully. Wires had been pulled out all over. A random act of vandalism.

“Fucking June bugs,” I said to myself. Or was it? Who else could have done this? Who else indeed?

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

I was no closer to finding Billy Ray’s real killer, and I’d managed to get Jamila’s car vandalized. Now, I’d have the thankless job of explaining that to her, made doubly hard by staying out all night then hanging up after she’d called to make sure I was okay.

I held my throbbing head in my hands and squeezed my eyes shut, hoping it was all a terrible nightmare. I ventured to open them and, unfortunately, it was all too real.

Heaving a sigh, I slammed the hood shut, locked the car and started walking.

At barely the crack o’ dawn, I chose not to call Jamila right away about the car. I burned with guilt. I hoped that she’d simply gone back to sleep and thought no more about me after I’d ended our call so summarily. Didn’t she have enough problems?

The odor of fried eggs, potatoes, and coffee lured me. When was the last time I’d eaten? My stomach felt hollow as a basketball. A gurgling basketball. I followed the scent to a corner café. Like a lemming drawn over a cliff, I lunged through the door and made for the counter.

The waitress, her curly red hair bound up in a net, bounced around the joint in a light blue waitress outfit. She held a coffee pot in one hand and wore a large lipsticked smile. Bright red. Naturally, her name was Flo. She filled a nearby customer’s cup, chattering nonstop, and sauntered my way.

“How’s it hangin’, hon?” she asked, pen poised over pad.

“Great,” I said, lying like a rug. “Can I get a waffle, three scrambled eggs, two sides of bacon, a side of potatoes, and all the coffee you can spare me? And throw in a blueberry muffin, while you’re at it.”

“Hmm. Looks like someone’s hungry. Ooh, I’m jealous, girl. How do you stay so thin? Look at you.”

“Well … I don’t eat like this all the time.” Please, please. Just fill my order. We’ll chat later.

“It’s metabolism, you know? You lucky thing.” She paused and leaned in. “Anything else?” Her lips compressed into a knowing smirk.

“No. Yes. Well, could I get the muffin and coffee first?” Please, please, please …