He cracked a nanosecond grin. “Because she calls him every week.” He leaned toward her. “Look, Lucky’s fine. I’ll tell him to call her when he gets back. Go enjoy your vacay, there’s a drink with an umbrella there with your name on it. I’ll even call ahead to tell them you’re coming.”
She turned to the beer contemplators. “What about you three? Do you know where he is?”
“Nope.”
“Can’t say.”
“Not a clue.”
Julie gritted her teeth. “Well, it’s been a real pleasure.” She turned to leave. The three men lifted off their seats in a show of respect before returning to the contemplation of their beers.
So be it. This surly jackass and his three-man goon squad weren’t the only people in town who might know where Uncle Tony was.
Aggie and Kayla followed her out, followed by the three men from the bar, who stopped on the porch and watched for a few seconds before melting away in the direction of Main Street.
“Gee,” Aggie said. “I feel like we’ve just been run out of Dodge. What was with those guys?”
“Too much beer and time on their hands,” Julie guessed.
“What do you want to do now?” Kayla asked.
Julie really wanted to go on her vacation, to hang out with her friends, drink sweet cocktails out of glasses with little umbrellas in them—and not worry about Uncle Tony or her life or what came next.
“Maybe you two should just go on. I think I’ll ask around town. At least find out where he lives and leave him a note. It’s not fair to have Mom stuck on a cruise ship worried about her irresponsible brother.” Plus Louise wouldn’t leave them alone until Tony was found or if she came to see for herself.
“And how are you going to get to Dewey if we leave?” Kayla asked.
“I’ll take a car service. They must have one.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Kayla said. “It might cost hundreds of dollars if they even have services. We can spend a couple of hours here. And we’d like to see Uncle Lucky, too.”
“There’s no reason for you to give up your—”
“Stop it. We’re staying,” Aggie said. “What do you want to do next?”
“I want to take another shot at the bartender now that his posse’s gone.”
“Good idea,” Kayla said.
Julie retrieved her purse from the back seat of the SUV.
“You planning to try some of your strong-arm elementary school teacher tactics on him?” asked Aggie.
“Hey, I’ve brought some hard-core fourth graders to their proverbial knees,” Julie said.
“And with a smile,” Kayla added.
“True,” Aggie said. “Who ever thought Jimmy Marcuse would win the county spelling bee?”
“That was pretty weird,” Julie admitted.
“That was pretty you. Take some credit.”
Julie shrugged. “Right time, right place.” Though it struck her that the “Jimmy Miracle,” as it was called in the faculty lunchroom, had been pretty cool. But her feeling of triumph hadn’t lasted.
“And you didn’t get teacher of the year for nothing.”
“That was weird, too.”
“You deserved it.”
So why wasn’t she satisfied? “I’ll hurry.”
“Sure you don’t want us to come with?” Kayla said.
“I’m sure. I haven’t been on the receiving end of recalcitrant children for the last six years to be stymied by a recalcitrant bartender with a third-grade sense of humor.”
“You go, girl.” Aggie gave her a thumbs-up. “We’ll hit the surf shop. If anybody knows where Tony is, it will be his fellow surfers. Meet us back here in a few.”
Kayla and Aggie went off in the direction of the surf shop. Julie really wanted to go with them, but she knew where her duty lay. She turned and strode up the steps and back into the bar.
With his customers gone, the bartender had moved to a table near the side door and the best available light. An open battered briefcase sat at one elbow and several thick manila folders were stacked at the other. He was bent over, studying a single open folder.
He looked up when Julie stopped in the center of the room. He was wearing glasses just like an actor in one of those commercials, where the intense, handsome nerd and the femme fatale with ridiculously shiny hair and long legs are brought together by some product that no one paid any attention to. Cue music.
Only Julie was no femme fatale, and he’d turned off the music, which had left the bar eerily silent.
He closed the folder he’d been reading, returned the stack of folders to the briefcase, and carried it back behind the bar.
Julie followed him over. “Can you please help me?”
“Sure, but I’ll have to see some ID.” A smile. One he obviously saved for flirting and manipulation.
Julie had to admit it was very effective. She concentrated on looking over his shoulder at the row of bottles along the wall.
“What would you like? You don’t look like a beer drinker. I’m thinking pinot grigio.”
“You have a wine list?” Julie asked, temporarily taken off guard.
“Sure we do. Red, white, and pink. Pink is a favorite with you gals.”
Gals? What decade was he living in? Or was he just trying to piss her off?
There was a thumping sound from the other side of the bar.
Maybe Tony was hiding back there after all.
He reached under the bar and brought out an industrial-looking wineglass that he began polishing with the same cloth he’d been wiping the bar with.
He couldn’t be as clueless as he was acting. So why the belligerence?
“Look. My mother is worried. All I want is to know for certain that my uncle hasn’t met with some accident . . . or worse.”
That earned her a sharp look. Something odd was going on here. Everyone thought schoolteachers were pushovers, but nothing could be further from the case. They just had fiercely honed endurance and infinite patience, though she had to admit hers was being sorely tested as she felt her vacation slipping into one of those what-might-have-beens, just like her leave of absence.
“He’s fine.”
“How do you know?”
“What’s with the questions? I told you I’d have him call you.”
“Can you call him?”
“Why would I be able to call him if you and your mother can’t?”
Good question. Julie’s mind was beginning to go places it shouldn’t. Tony’s body floating in a vast ocean, bleeding in an alley where he’d been attacked trying to save a stray dog . . . or boy. Her uncle, turned to crime to keep his bar afloat.
Maybe she was being overly alarmist—chalk that one up to her mother. Julie had also inherited her curly blond hair and dimpled knees. You couldn’t choose your genetics.
He was probably just on the lam, looking for bigger waves than those found at his own beach. Maybe some things never changed and he still came and went at will, not bothering to tell his staff, just like he had when he’d lived with Julie and her mom.
“You really and truly don’t know where he is? And you aren’t worried?”
The bartender shot her a grin that was dazzling. “Nope.”