Read Online Sand Sharks by Margaret Maron - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Margaret Maron
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the pot. Losers go back
in the water, winners are kept until deposed.
At five or six, I looked for crabs with the biggest, prettiest shells and usually came in last, but Will always put his money
on one that had taken over the shell of a lightweight moon snail. One summer he found a crab that won so consistently that
we stopped racing with him. Next day, he made a big show of throwing his champion back into the water and hunting for another.
We lost two rounds to his new contender before it dawned on us that it was a ringer he’d thrown back, not the champ. Daddy
made him give our money back, but I overheard him tell Mother, “Takes after his daddy, don’t he?”
“I don’t know that the world’s ready for another Kezzie Knott,” Mother had laughed.
Will still plays the angles whenever he can get away with it. I wondered how things were going up in Virginia and if he was
on his way back yet. I also wondered if Dwight had made an inventory of whatever Will had loaded onto his truck. Not my worry
though. Dwight’s known my brother longer than I have and he’s well aware that Will’s moral compass is a few degrees off true
north.
But thinking of them only reminded me that Dwight still hadn’t called.
I put the scallop back in the tank and watched it jet away, then stepped into a waiting elevator and mashed the button for
my floor. As the doors were closing, I saw a cute little girl dart across the terra-cotta tiles to the touching tank. She
was trailed by a smaller boy and the bearded man I’d seen Jeffreys talking to at the restaurant last night. There was something
teasingly familiar about the man, but I couldn’t think where, if ever, we’d met before.
Up in the room, the telephone on the desk was flashing its message light. The first message was from Chelsea Ann at 9:45.
Her breakfast meeting had ended early and if I hadn’t had breakfast yet, come on down. The second, at 10:12, was from a local
newspaper reporter who hoped to catch me around the hotel before he left. The third was Detective Gary Edwards only fifteen
minutes earlier, asking me to return his call.
Too late for breakfast and no, I didn’t want to talk to a reporter. Nor did I particularly want to talk to Detective Edwards.
How about I went to the beach instead and pretended I didn’t get his message?
“
You’re an officer of the court,
” scolded the preacher,
“and it behooves you to cooperate.
”
“
Besides,
” said the pragmatist, guiding my fingers to the dial pad, “
you know you want to hear what’s happening with his investigation.
”
So I called his number and learned that he was in the hotel, too, in one of the small conference rooms off the main ballroom,
and would I join him for a cup of coffee?
Thinking I might still get in some pool time before lunch, I changed into my red swimsuit, topped it with a jungle print skirt
and matching shirt, and made sure I had sunscreen in my raffia tote bag before heading out.
Down in the lobby, I ran into Chelsea Ann, who was drifting back from breakfast with the Sunday paper under her arm. She wore
a peach-colored knit shirt that flattered her golden hair, gold hoop earrings, and a short white skirt that showed off her
long tanned legs.
“You were up and out early,” she said. “Or were you in the shower when I called?”
“I had breakfast with Reid and his friend over in Wilmington,” I said. When I told her that I was on my way to meet with Detective
Edwards, she immediately invited herself to come with me.
“Only let’s duck into the ladies’ room first and let me put on fresh lipstick.”
Why was I not surprised?
Edwards on the other hand
was
surprised. Pleasantly, if I could judge by his big smile when he saw my friend as we came down the hall to where he stood
in the doorway. “I see you got my message after all.”
“Message?” Chelsea Ann said.
“That I wanted to see you again.”
She wasn’t quite
in the water, winners are kept until deposed.
At five or six, I looked for crabs with the biggest, prettiest shells and usually came in last, but Will always put his money
on one that had taken over the shell of a lightweight moon snail. One summer he found a crab that won so consistently that
we stopped racing with him. Next day, he made a big show of throwing his champion back into the water and hunting for another.
We lost two rounds to his new contender before it dawned on us that it was a ringer he’d thrown back, not the champ. Daddy
made him give our money back, but I overheard him tell Mother, “Takes after his daddy, don’t he?”
“I don’t know that the world’s ready for another Kezzie Knott,” Mother had laughed.
Will still plays the angles whenever he can get away with it. I wondered how things were going up in Virginia and if he was
on his way back yet. I also wondered if Dwight had made an inventory of whatever Will had loaded onto his truck. Not my worry
though. Dwight’s known my brother longer than I have and he’s well aware that Will’s moral compass is a few degrees off true
north.
But thinking of them only reminded me that Dwight still hadn’t called.
I put the scallop back in the tank and watched it jet away, then stepped into a waiting elevator and mashed the button for
my floor. As the doors were closing, I saw a cute little girl dart across the terra-cotta tiles to the touching tank. She
was trailed by a smaller boy and the bearded man I’d seen Jeffreys talking to at the restaurant last night. There was something
teasingly familiar about the man, but I couldn’t think where, if ever, we’d met before.
Up in the room, the telephone on the desk was flashing its message light. The first message was from Chelsea Ann at 9:45.
Her breakfast meeting had ended early and if I hadn’t had breakfast yet, come on down. The second, at 10:12, was from a local
newspaper reporter who hoped to catch me around the hotel before he left. The third was Detective Gary Edwards only fifteen
minutes earlier, asking me to return his call.
Too late for breakfast and no, I didn’t want to talk to a reporter. Nor did I particularly want to talk to Detective Edwards.
How about I went to the beach instead and pretended I didn’t get his message?
“
You’re an officer of the court,
” scolded the preacher,
“and it behooves you to cooperate.
”
“
Besides,
” said the pragmatist, guiding my fingers to the dial pad, “
you know you want to hear what’s happening with his investigation.
”
So I called his number and learned that he was in the hotel, too, in one of the small conference rooms off the main ballroom,
and would I join him for a cup of coffee?
Thinking I might still get in some pool time before lunch, I changed into my red swimsuit, topped it with a jungle print skirt
and matching shirt, and made sure I had sunscreen in my raffia tote bag before heading out.
Down in the lobby, I ran into Chelsea Ann, who was drifting back from breakfast with the Sunday paper under her arm. She wore
a peach-colored knit shirt that flattered her golden hair, gold hoop earrings, and a short white skirt that showed off her
long tanned legs.
“You were up and out early,” she said. “Or were you in the shower when I called?”
“I had breakfast with Reid and his friend over in Wilmington,” I said. When I told her that I was on my way to meet with Detective
Edwards, she immediately invited herself to come with me.
“Only let’s duck into the ladies’ room first and let me put on fresh lipstick.”
Why was I not surprised?
Edwards on the other hand
was
surprised. Pleasantly, if I could judge by his big smile when he saw my friend as we came down the hall to where he stood
in the doorway. “I see you got my message after all.”
“Message?” Chelsea Ann said.
“That I wanted to see you again.”
She wasn’t quite
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