Scott Emerson suggested to Jolie that they take a walk around Harbor Village. “It’s too nice to be inside.”
“Don’t you want to change clothes first?” Jolie asked.
“No, this is fun. I don’t dress up all that often, believe it or not—too much hassle. You’re probably wondering why I got so elaborate.” He spoke in his normal voice, a honking tenor. That voice coming out of the Barbie doll face was disconcerting.
Jolie waited.
“I wanted to see how smart you were. Well, actually, I wanted to see if you were as dumb as Detective Jeter. Completely clueless, not to mention deeply prejudiced.”
“You think he didn’t do enough?”
“Honey, he didn’t do
“It was the hair.”
“Looks kind of fake, doesn’t it? It’s real human hair, but it still doesn’t look right. Especially under those lights. Eating at the Waffle House is like eating under klieg lights. Anything else give me away?”
“Your car.”
He smiled and his Adam’s apple bobbed. She wished she’d noticed that earlier. “You’re right. No self- respecting girl would drive around without hubcaps.” He cradled his boobs for emphasis.
“And then there’s your ass.”
“My—?” His hand flew to his lips. “Oh, honey,
Jolie struggled not to laugh.
“I’m getting to you, Mrs. Policeman. I can tell. So why is the PCB police department suddenly interested in a missing faggot?”
They took a walk, following in the direction of the pool.
Jolie said, “I’m not with Panama City Beach PD.”
“You’re not?” For the first time, Scott looked nonplussed. “You said you were a detective.”
“Palm County Sheriff’s Office.”
He stopped walking and looked at her. “Is he dead? You’re not notifying me because I’m the closest thing to a next-of-kin, are you?”
“I don’t know if he’s alive or dead,” Jolie said.
“Then why are you here?”
“We’re working in conjunction with Panama City Beach PD. Could you tell me what happened the last night you saw him?”
He told her that Nathan left the apartment around eight o’clock at night. The night before, he’d met a guy, “Rick,” at Cove Bar. Rick invited Nathan to go with him to a party Friday night.
Jolie asked Scott what the man looked like.
“He said he was a big guy. Not his type—he prefers someone who’s willowy, like me—and by the way, we’re just roommates. You have to understand Nathan. He’s always been a climber. Impressed by wealth, power, that kind of thing. He said that he had a feeling this was going to be a real power party.”
“Power party. Did he say where this power party was?”
“Didn’t Jeter tell you? You didn’t see his report?”
Guy was smart. “I’d like to hear your story, from you. No filters.”
“Okay, he said San Blas. That’s really it.”
“He didn’t say anything else?”
“He said I wasn’t invited.”
“You asked to go with him?”
“Oh no. I’m not the
“Was he? Special?”
“He was—is—a good person. Too impressed by people with money, but he grew up poor in Alabama. Father was a steel worker or a drywall installer or a tire-banger, I forget exactly what. Nate was obsessed with ‘making it.’”
Jolie asked him how he planned to do that.
“He was looking for a sugar daddy. He said he wanted to be someone’s little pet. A ‘beloved, cosseted pet,’ he said. He wanted someone to take care of him.”
“Did he ever mention a man named Luke Perdue?”
“Never heard of him.”
“Amy Perdue?”
“Wait a minute. Luke Perdue does sound familiar. Oh, I know. That was the guy who got shot up in that motel room, took the woman hostage, am I right?” He shook his head. “No, I don’t think Nathan would have ever met that guy. Different circles
Jolie tried him on Riley Haddox. Threw in Zoe Haddox. Nothing.
“What do you think happened to him?” Jolie asked.
“You really want to know? I think that big guy, the one who lured him to that party? I think he had his way with him—then killed him.”
Later that day, Scott took Jolie on a guided tour of Cove Bar. He insisted. She understood why. He wanted to be part of it, because he cared about his roommate, because he wanted to do the right thing, or just because he just wanted in. Jolie understood his need to do
She wanted to find out who killed Maddy and nearly killed Amy. This was the only way she could see to move the ball down the field. So in a way, she and Scott were on the same mission.
Cove Bar was as retro inside as out. A low white ceiling with mica-sparkles, black walls, black lights, a neon martini glass above the George Jetson bar. Pulsing alternative rock at odds with the time warp decor.
They must have rounded up every Formica chrome dinette set in the twenty counties.
“Technically, those tables and chairs are from the fifties,” Scott said. “But why quibble?”
He’d scrubbed off the makeup and transformed himself into a very good-looking man. Maybe a little slender, but if Jolie was fourteen, she would have had a crush on him. He wore a madras shirt, cargo shorts, boat shoes without socks: “My
“Well, try to hide it.”
“My mama always said, you get more flies with honey than vinegar. But I always asked her, ‘Why would you want flies?’”
They sat at the bar and ordered drinks, a shot and a beer for Scott, a Diet Coke for Jolie. She paid.
The bartender had a salt-and-pepper crew cut and the physique of a dead lifter. He said to Jolie, “I don’t drink either. Eighteen years sober, how about you?”
“Thirty-three years.”
“But when she was a baby she could really put it away,” said Scott. “You remember me?”
“How could I forget? Take it Nate still hasn’t made it home?”
“I don’t think he will, do you?”
The bartender wiped a glass and set it in the rack. “Nope.” He looked at Jolie, saw the shield on her belt. “Why don’t we go on in back? Wait here.”
“Wow,” Jolie said. “He’s cooperative.”
“He’s good people.”
A woman took over the bar, and the man with the crew cut, Darrell, led them to a tiny room off the back. He prefaced their conversation by saying, “I don’t want any trouble.”
