Chapter 17
Whitlock dropped me off at the house with a quick nod and a promise to stay in touch. Then he drove away, disappearing down the hill. I stood there for a moment, allowing the morning sun to warm my back as I thought through our conversation with Violet and Eugene.
We had learned a lot.
Violet’s grandfather had built the cabin.
Her family owned the land where Audrey was murdered.
Around the time Anne went missing, they’d seen a man with a cross tattoo.
It was as if the cold case was refusing to stay cold, at long last.
I unlocked my vehicle, slid behind the wheel, and gave Giovanni a call. “Your car’s not here.”
“I’m in a meeting with our financial advisor,” he said. “Is everything all right?”
“My visit with Violet and Eugene Fontaine is putting everything into perspective. Are you free for lunch?”
“I’m always free for lunch with you. Where would you like to go?”
“The Boathouse Diner.”
“Ahh, one of our favorites. What time?”
“Thirty minutes?”
“I’ll be there.”
Twenty-five minutes later, I pulled into the restaurant parking lot.
The Boathouse Diner sat near the edge of Main Street, tucked between a bait shop and a kayak rental company.
Its weathered white siding and cobalt-blue trim had held strong against wind, salt, and sun for over three decades.
The diner had started as an actual boathouse, owned by a retired fisherman named Billy Bob Armstrong, who had decided one day that he’d spent enough of his life hauling nets and wanted to serve up food instead.
Billy kept the original structure, reinforcing the walls with reclaimed ship planks, and he added a dining room in the back to serve more patrons.
Rumor had it the brick fireplace in that room, my favorite part of the place, came from the home of Jeremiah Johnson, one of the town’s earliest settlers and entrepreneurs.
Tourists often stopped at the diner because of their clam chowder, which had been awarded one of the best in the state.
But the locals came for Billy, a master storyteller who loved sharing his seafaring tales.
I exited the car and saw that Giovanni had parked a few spots down. Inside, the diner bustled with the late lunch crowd, and a jukebox was playing oldies near the bar area. The pleasant aroma of fresh cherry pie drifted through the air.
Billy stood behind the register, polishing a brass bell with a cloth. He was dressed in his usual sea-captain ensemble: navy peacoat, wool cap, trimmed white beard, and a posture that suggested he’d once spent more time on water than land.
He looked up and pointed the cloth at me like it was an extension of his hand.
“Ahoy, Georgiana, it’s nice to see you.”
“And you, Billy.”
“It’s been a while.”
“We’ve been meaning to stop in. I believe Giovanni’s already here?”
Billy motioned toward the back room. “By the fire, your favorite spot. Take a seat, and we’ll catch up in a jiffy.”
I nodded and walked past the main dining area, entering the back room, where the old brick fireplace framed the far wall.
A small fire crackled in the hearth, giving off warmth that seeped into the wooden floorboards.
Giovanni sat near the window. We embraced, and I joined him, my attention turning toward the kitchen as I studied the movement inside.
Pots clanged.
A spatula flipped something I couldn’t see.
And every so often, a large silhouette moved in front of the stove.
“You seem to be watching the kitchen with intention,” Giovanni said.
“I am.”
He tapped a finger against my arm. “Are you going to tell me why?”
“In a minute.”
The chef, a large man everyone called Bear, worked with a precision that surprised people when they first saw him. His shoulders were broad enough to block the kitchen doorway, and his thick, muscular arms looked as though he chopped firewood every morning before breakfast.
But that wasn’t the reason I studied him.
Our waiter, a young teen who’d been hired several months earlier, approached with menus. “Welcome back. Can I get any drinks started for you?”
“Two iced teas,” Giovanni said. “Unsweetened.”
The waiter nodded and walked away with a promise to return in a moment to take our order. Billy entered the room and walked over, brushing flour off his coat as he approached.
“Well, look at you two,” he said with a smile. “Haven’t seen you for a couple of months. Thought you ran off to Europe or someplace fancy.”
Giovanni laughed, patting Billy on the shoulder. “I apologize we haven’t been in for a while, my friend. We’ve been busy.”
Billy leaned both hands on the edge of the table. “Busy is overrated. But I’m happy you’re here. Got a new batch of sourdough today. I’ll get your waiter to bring you some bread and butter in just a minute.”
“Wonderful.” I leaned in close, lowering my voice. “Hey, can I ask you a question?”
“Anything for you, darlin.’”
“It’s about Bear.”
“What about him?”
“How long has he worked for you?”
“Ever since I opened the place. He’s like family to me. Why?”
“I’ve been looking into a cold case, and earlier this morning, someone described a man that reminded me a lot of him.”
“He in some kind of trouble?”
“Not at all. I’d just like to ask him a couple of questions if you can spare him for a few minutes.”
“Sure, sure. But knowing what you do, I feel I must put in a good word before I leave you.” Turning toward the kitchen, he glanced at Bear.
“That right there is one of the most stand-up gentlemen I’ve ever met.
Sure, he looks a bit rough around the edges, but that’s not always a good judge of character, is it? ”
“It is not.”
He nodded and walked away as the waiter returned with our drinks and a basket of bread. We gave him our order, and as he took it to the kitchen, Giovanni leaned in, saying, “At least I know why we’re here today. What does Bear have to do with your case?”
“I’ll explain everything when I get a chance to talk to him.”
He took a sip of his tea. “So, you’re keeping me in suspense.”
I shot him a wink. “Babe, you live with a private investigator. Suspense comes with the territory.”
Minutes later, the waiter returned with a bowl of clam chowder for Giovanni and a turkey club sandwich for me.
Giovanni thanked him and reached for his spoon.
As we ate, Billy sent over a few complimentary appetizers to the table, and we made small talk and enjoyed our feast. Every so often, I’d look up and notice Bear glancing at me, stone-faced. He looked nervous, or worried, or both.
He waited until we’d finished our meal, and then as the plates were removed from the table, he dried his hands on a towel and walked over.
“Everything okay with the food?” he asked.
“It was excellent, as usual.”
He slid into the seat next to me, on a chair that was made for someone half his size. “You wanted to see me?”
I nodded and thought about what to say next. “Did you grow up here, in Cambria?”
“Born and raised.”
“I wanted to ask you about your tattoo.”
His attention shifted to his ankle, then back to me. “What about it?”
“When did you get it?”
He swallowed, and his jaw tightened. “I don’t know. A long time ago.”
“What does it symbolize?”
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Why does this matter?”
“I’m just curious.”
He cocked his head to one side. “I know you’re a private detective. You’re more than a little curious.”
“I’ll admit, I’m working on a case. This morning, I was speaking to Violet and Eugene Fontaine.
Violet’s daughter, Anne, went missing in Cambria twenty-five years ago.
Around the time she disappeared, Anne and her Aunt Glinda saw a man in her aunt’s neighborhood, a man whose description made me think of you. Same build. Same tattoo.”
His lips parted, and I waited to hear what he had to say. But he didn’t speak, at first.
“I don’t want to talk about it here,” he said. “Not at work, and not around a bunch of locals.”
Giovanni leaned forward. “When do you finish work today?”
“Five.”
“Why don’t you come to our house after you get off? We can have a few drinks, and you and Georgiana can—”
“I don’t drink. But yeah, I can do that.” Bear hesitated, his gaze darting between us, a mix of fear, shame, and something that looked almost like relief. “What I tell you, it stays between us, right?”
“As long as there isn’t a reason for it not to stay between us,” I said.
He nodded once and stood, returning to the kitchen without another word.
“I wonder what he’ll say when we see him this evening,” Giovanni said.
“Me too.”
I glanced outside as the wind began pushing against the windows, rattling the glass as if something old and buried was waking up. Whatever it was, I was ready for it to make its way to the surface.