Collateral Damage A Matt Royal Mystery - By H. Terrell Griffin Page 0,21
thing that night.”
“What?”
“A guy came up to the bar and wanted a drink. He wasn’t part of the wedding party, and I told him we were closed. He seemed pissed off about it and mumbled something about rich people taking over everything.”
“Anything else?”
“You mentioning Vietnam made me remember him.”
“Why?”
“He was Asian. But I’m pretty sure he was American. He didn’t have any accent at all. He spoke American idiomatic English. I don’t think you get that comfortable with a language unless you grow up speaking it.”
“Can you describe him?”
“He was pretty big. Not huge, but bigger than the average Asian. I’d say five ten to six feet tall, maybe one-eighty, one-ninety.”
“Did he leave right away?”
“No. He sat for a little while kind of staring at the party. I didn’t want to be rude to him, but finally I told him he’d have to move along.”
“Did he leave?”
“Yeah. Didn’t say another word. Just got off the stool and walked out.”
“Have you ever seen him again?”
“No. I’d never seen him before either.”
“That means he’s probably not an islander. Did you get the idea he was staying here at the hotel?”
“No, but that doesn’t mean anything. He may have been a guest here. I didn’t ask and he didn’t volunteer.”
I sipped my beer, talking with Billy about fishing. He was planning to go with Logan and me next time we went out. I finished the beer, paid my tab, shook hands with Billy, and went home.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Only I didn’t go home. I stopped at Tiny’s, the small bar on the edge of the Village that served as sort of a clubhouse for the northenders. It was quiet with only a few people huddled at the bar. I knew them all, the late night denizens of the Village and one mid-key condo dweller, my buddy Logan Hamilton. I hadn’t seen much of him lately. He was in love and spent much of his time with his lady, Marie Phillips, who lived in one of the high-rises on the south end of the key.
“You get dumped?” I asked as I slid onto an empty stool between him and Les Fulcher.
“Right. How would she ever replace me? She had one of those girlie things tonight. Dinner at Michaels and drinks at Marina Jack.”
“Girlie thing?” “Yeah, you know. The girls get together and gossip. Marie probably likes to tell them how great I am in the sack.”
“Just another group of nice people lying to each other, huh?”
“Well, exaggerating, maybe. Just a little.”
I turned to Les. “How’s retirement?”
“Lots of fishing.”
“Catching anything?”
“Not much.”
“I haven’t seen you lately. I heard you’ve been off island for a while.”
“Yeah. For two months. Went to Guam.”
“Guam? What’s a broken-down firefighter doing in Guam?”
“Broken-down my ass. I retired in the peak of health. Still got my youthful glow. I am the epitome of boyish exuberance.”
“How’s the knee?”
“Gotta get it replaced. I go in the hospital the first of the month.”
“So why Guam?”
“I’ve got a buddy out there and I spent some time fishing and diving.”
“When did you get back?”
“Yesterday.”
“I guess you heard about the murders we had last month.”
“Yeah. I knew Jake Prather, Dulcimer’s captain. He used to live next door to me in the Village.”
“Sorry about your loss.”
“I hadn’t heard anything about it until I got in yesterday. I went to see Janice, his widow, this morning.”
“How’s she doing?”
“She’s doing okay, I guess. Jake had some life insurance. Not much, but it’ll see Janice through. Did you know them?”
“No. I knew the name and I knew he ran Dulcimer, but I don’t think I ever met him.”
The conversation turned back to inconsequential things. Tiny’s owner, Susie Vaught, kept the beer coming and joined in the conversation. It was a pleasant evening on the downside of July, old friends gossiping, trading fishing spots, laughing at the crazy politics of our island. We decided that July was the safest month on the key since the Town Commission didn’t meet. All its members were up north somewhere trying to escape the heat.
I was up early the next morning, jogging the beach as the sun rose over the mainland. I ran two miles south and turned for the trek back to my starting place. I left the beach and walked down Broadway and into the Village and home. The peacocks were roaming the streets hunting their breakfast. People were walking their dogs, waiting patiently while the animals sniffed the ground and found the best place to do their business. Full daylight was on us and the air