“That’s what
“Look, I’m trying to help the police find out who did it. I came in here to ask you if you’d seen any cars going out to the old pier the night Jane died.”
He took a step closer. “I was in here behind the counter the whole time. You ought to know that.”
I backed up, looking around. “Well, what about everybody else? Did any of you see a car that night?”
They were all silent. The little girl put her hand to her mouth.
The old man kept coming and I kept backing up. He held the newspaper rolled in his hand, as if he were about to discipline a puppy.
“Come on,” I said, “somebody must have seen something.”
“That’s what the cops said. And I told them the same thing. Nobody saw nothing.” We had reached the entrance now, and the old man held the screen door open.
“Don’t you care if the killer’s caught?” I asked.
He motioned impatiently, shooing me outside. “All we want is to be left alone, lady. That’s all anybody here wants.” He slammed the door and hooked it shut.
I stood there peering through the screen at him and frowning. “What are you afraid of?”
The old eyes shifted. “Nobody here’s afraid of nothing.”
“Are you afraid one of you might have done it? Is that it-you think somebody who lives here in the village is the killer?”
He stared to turn.
“Look at it this way,” I said. “Do you really want to live with a killer on the loose among you?”
In a flash, he had the screen door open and was outside, coming at me. “Get out of here!” He waved the paper in the air, then took aim at my behind. I ran just like a puppy would.
At my car I stopped and looked back. The old man stood in front of the Crab Shack, glaring at me. The other customers had come outside and were watching in silent amazement. The scene suddenly seemed funny to me, and I chuckled ruefully as I got into my car and continued down the road. Once out of sight of the restaurant, I parked again and began canvassing on foot.
At the first house, an old woman in a striped housedress told me she hadn’t seen anything. She minded her own business, she said, and didn’t see why others couldn’t do the same.
At the second house, a younger woman with a baby on her hip said she didn’t have time to pay attention to what went on outside her own yard. Besides, if this was a come-on to get her to buy something, I could forget it. Her husband had lost his job at the supermarket, and they were collecting unemployment.
No one was home at the next house, and the one after that had two German shepherds in the yard. They barked and jumped on the fence and looked at me hungrily. I decided to bypass that one.
Crossing the street, I found an old man working in his garden. No, he said, he hadn’t noticed anything, but had I ever seen such beautiful marigolds as his?
Truthfully I said I hadn’t.
The old man plucked one and gave it to me. I slipped it through the buttonhole of my jacket and went on.
The neighboring house was vacant. At the next, a woman shouted from behind a closed door for me to go away. Two little boys playing in the yard of the last house said their mother wasn’t home.
I went into the general store and was told to get out unless I was buying something. Finally, I reached the Shorebird Bar and went inside.
It was dark, with a long scarred bar and a fly-specked mirror that reminded me of the Remedy Lounge back home. The bartender’s apron was cleaner, however, and the glasses looked like somebody had taken care in washing them. There were two customers, men at the far end who were shaking dice. I sat down a few stools away from them and ordered a beer. The bartender looked as though he wanted to refuse to serve me, then shrugged and went to get it. When he came back, I asked him about the night of Jane’s death.
He frowned, polishing the bar with a rag. “That was a busy night. Of course, they all are. Ain’t much else to do here but drink. I don’t recall anything unusual, until I heard the sirens.”
“Do many people drive out that way?”
“No. Isn’t much reason to. The police asked me the same question and I couldn’t tell them anything either.” Then he looked at me with suspicion. “Why’re
“I’m working with the police.”
“Yeah? Who?”
“Lieutenant Barrow.”
Apparently he knew and liked Barrow, for he nodded and called down the bar to the two customers. “Hey, fellows, you remember the night Miz Anthony’s girl got killed?”
They stopped rolling the dice and turned to look at us. They were both bald, one fat and the other skinny, probably in their fifties. The skinny one said, “I sure do, and it’s a damned shame.”
“This lady here is dying to find out who done it.”
They hesitated, exchanging looks.
“She’s okay,” the barkeep said. “She’s helping out a friend of mine on the cops.”
“The cops can use all the help they can get,” the skinny one said.
“Even from a lady,” The other added.
I said, “Were either of you here that night?”
The fat one grinned slyly. “We’re always here. You could call us regulars.
“I’m trying to find out if anyone saw a car driving out to the old pier. It would have been a half hour, maybe an hour before you heard the police sirens.”
They both frowned. Then the fat one nodded. “There was a car, but I’m not sure how long before the sirens.”
“What kind of a car, do you remember?”
“It was a foreign job. I noted it because we don’t get too many around here.”
“Do you recall what kind?”
“I couldn’t put a name to it. It was what you call a sports car. Red. In pretty bad shape. Engine sounded like it had a cough.”
The stirrings of excitement I’d been feeling disappeared. The wonderful machine he had just described was mine.
“Does that help you any?” the fat man asked.
“Some. Did you see any cars before that one?”
He shook his head. “I was just getting here. You want, we could ask some of the other boys.”
“Do that. Thanks.” I stood up. “I’ll stop by again later.”
The bartender nodded and went back to polishing the scarred surface in front of him. The “boys” went back to their dice.
I left and stood outside, looking off toward the pier. My morning’s efforts seemed fruitless and now I wondered why I had even bothered. The police would have canvassed the village thoroughly-and, given their official status, at least would not have been ingloriously chased out of the Crab Shack. I had better get back to town and try Barbara Smith’s sister once again.
“Lady?” The voice came from behind me.
I turned. It was the little girl who had been in the Crab Shack with her mother. She was dressed in jeans and a blue T-shirt, and had bare feet. Her blond hair was pulled up in a ponytail and secured with a pink plastic barrette.
“Hi,” I said. “What’s your name?”
“Rachel.”
“That’s a nice name. Where’s your mom?”
She motioned at the store down the street. “Getting the groceries. I’m not supposed to talk to you.”
“Why not?”
“They say you’re an outsider. We don’t like outsiders here.”
Lord, they taught them young! “Who doesn’t?”
She paused, looking down and running her bare toes through the dust. “My mom. And my dad. Most everybody.”
