Riptide

“Oh, sorry, Sheriff,” Adam said. “Sherlock and Savich here are friends of mine. They just stopped in for a while to visit the town.”

“Nice to meet you, ma’am. Now, that’s not a bad idea. I guess I’d have to say that for a woman you deduced that real logically, probably better than most other women.”

Savich, who heard that, wondered if Sherlock was going to take a flying leap at the sheriff’s throat.

“Yeah,” Sherlock said thoughtfully, “I’m a lot better than poor Becca here, who can barely find her way to the Food Fort without some guy explaining the poisonous plant streets to her.”

“That was sarcasm,” Sheriff Gaffney said after a moment. “I know that was sarcasm. I’ve never believed women should have smart mouths.”

Before Sherlock could leap on the sheriff, Adam said, “Are there DNA tests being done?”

The sheriff shook his head. “Still trying to track down her father. No luck yet. Mrs. Ella remembers an aunt, lives in Bangor now. Maybe she read about the skeleton and was the one who made the anonymous call. I’ve got to track her down.” Sheriff Gaffney sighed and patted the gun at his wide leather belt that was really cutting into his gut today. “But we can’t count on the skeleton being Melissa, even though I’ve made up my mind that it is, so we’re looking into other things as well.” Sheriff Gaffney leaned his considerable weight back on his heels. “Now, folks, the reason I’m here is to ask about these guys I’ve seen on and off around Riptide. No, don’t lie to me. I know they’re with you, Mr. Savich. Would you like to tell me what’s going on?”

At that moment, the phone rang.

Tinny, sharp, and too loud, and Becca dropped her coffee cup.

“Becca didn’t get much sleep last night,” Adam said easily, and picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hello, fuckhead. You found my present?”

“Why, yes, I did. Where are you now?”

“I want to speak to Rebecca.”

“Sorry, she’s not here. It’s just me. What do you want?”

The phone went dead.

“It was a salesman,” Adam said, all smooth and easy. “The jerk wanted to sell Becca some venetian blinds.” He shrugged. “What was it you wanted to know, Sheriff?”

The sheriff had not taken his eyes off Savich. “Those guys around town. Who are they, Mr. Savich?”

“You found me out, Sheriff,” Savich said. “Actually, my wife and I are here because we’re representing a big resort developer who is seriously interested in this section of the Maine coast. It’s true that Adam is a friend of ours and he, well, he gives us some cover. Now, the guys you’re seeing around are supposed to be very discreet, which means that you’ve got a very sharp eye, Sheriff. They’re doing all sorts of things, like talking to folk, surveying, checking out soil and other flora and fauna, seeing who owns what and how profitable the businesses are now. This is a lovely section of coastline and Riptide is a real neat little town. A resort not too far away—can you imagine what would happen to your local economy? In any case, we won’t be here for much longer, but I would ask you a favor. Could you please keep this under your hat?” Savich said immediately to Sherlock, “I told you the sheriff was too sharp not to catch on to us, honey. I told you he was real smart and he knew everything that went on in his town.”

“Yes, Dillon,” Sherlock said, “you told me that. I’m sorry I didn’t see him as clearly as you did. Yeah, he’s pretty smart, all right.” She gave the sheriff a brilliant smile.

“So, you want me to keep my mouth shut about this, Mr. Savich?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, all right, but if any of them cause any trouble, I’ll be back. This resort of yours—it wouldn’t go spoiling any of the natural beauty around here, would it?”

“No way,” Savich said. “That’s the prime goal of the group I work with.”

Becca eyed Savich after she let the sheriff out the front door, which smelled, he said on his way out, really nice and clean. “You’re something, Savich. I really believed you there for a minute. Goodness, I wanted to ask you the name of the planned resort.”

Savich said, “The phone call gave me time to come up with a decent story.”

“It was him, wasn’t it?” Becca said as she turned to Adam, who was still standing by the phone.

“Yes, it was him. He wanted to speak to you but I told him you weren’t here. He always calls you Rebecca, not Becca?” At her nod, Adam said, “He was calling from a public phone booth in Rockland. Tommy the Pipe just tracked it down, so there’s nothing we can do.”