A Stranger on the Beach(80)

“Nope. She’s a pain in the butt, but her complaints pan out.”

“I have to find Caroline.”

“Interview Mrs. Eberhardt with me. Then I’ll help you find Caroline. Jess, look, I want to nail this asshole worse than you do. I know this town. I can get people to talk who would never talk to you. Give me one more shot. Please? You won’t regret it.”

Jess hated to admit it, but Mike had a point. Small towns were always tough for the state police to penetrate. The locals stuck together and hated to rat on their own. And Aidan Callahan was more than a local. He was a bartender at one of the most popular joints in town and the brother of the police chief. His family had lived in Glenhampton for generations. What’s more, it was clear to Jess after only a couple of days in this town that the locals despised the weekend people. Caroline and Jason Stark were as weekend as they come—city folks, with a big house on the water and fancy cars, who threw elaborate parties and didn’t invite their neighbors. If you were investigating a crime committed by a local boy against snooty weekenders, it might help to have Mike Castro along to break the ice.

“All right. But I drive. I do the talking. And at the end of the day, if I’m not impressed by what you brought to the table, you’re out.”

“Deal,” he said, smiling, and got in her car.





49


Francine Eberhardt lived next door to the Starks’ oceanfront mansion. Jess had visited the Stark home the day before to walk through the crime scene with the head of the forensics team. The team was behind schedule, delayed by the storm and short of resources, and they had little of interest to report. As she and Mike drove past on their way to interview the witness, Jess was not happy to see the house shuttered and the police van gone.

“Where are they?” she said. “Vernon Mays is all over me to get the evidence together. It’s only three o’clock. How do they expect to make this case if they don’t put in the time?”

Mike was scrolling through his phone. “I got a text. They were called away to the beach. The tide went out, and they made it to that cave. They found something.”

“Oh, thank God. The body.”

“Nope.”

“No? What did they find, then?”

“A blanket and a man’s jacket, both soaked in blood, wedged behind a large boulder. It’s possible that the body was there and got swept out to sea with a strong storm surge. But it’s not there now.”

“Crap. This case is getting worse by the minute,” Jess said.

“They sent the items to the lab to be tested. But they took photos. We’re supposed to show the pictures to Caroline Stark right away and ask if they belonged to her husband.”

“Too bad we can’t find her. Goddamn it.”

Jess slammed the heel of her hand against the steering wheel, which made her hand hurt and didn’t make her mood any brighter. Mike raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she said. “This witness better be good. She’s taking time we could be spending looking for Caroline.”

They pulled into Francine Eberhardt’s driveway. The little house looked like it had taken a serious hit from the storm. The glass was gone from several windows, replaced by cardboard. The shutters hung askew, and most of the trees on the small property were twisted and mangled. An enormous tree branch lay across the small patch of lawn. A white-haired woman in jeans and muddy wellies stood over the downed branch with a chain saw. As Jess watched, she pulled the chain, making an earsplitting sound.

“That’s her, I take it?” Jess said, raising her voice to be heard over the ruckus.

“Yup. Don’t get in her way while she’s holding that thing.”

They got out of the car. Mike introduced Jess to Francine Eberhardt, who put down her chain saw to shake hands. Francine looked to be in her late seventies or early eighties, but she had a killer grip and an impatient manner that made Jess think she’d be a handful as a witness—or as a neighbor.

“Michael offered to help clear this debris. That’s the only reason I agreed to speak with you,” Francine said.

Jess raised an eyebrow at Castro. “I see. Thank you, Michael,” she said.

“Landscapers these days. It’s highway robbery. They think everybody is a weekender and made of money. Well, I refuse to pay. Still, it’s a lot for me to handle alone at my age, so when Michael offered, I figured it was worth my time to tell you what I saw the other night.”

“We appreciate that. I’m glad we had something of value to offer you.”

Castro winked at Jess behind the old lady’s back as they went inside.

The kitchen was cramped but cozy, with an old-fashioned gas range and a woodstove. A decrepit Chihuahua lay on a bed in the corner. He poked his head up and gave several high-pitched yaps.

“Don’t mind him,” Francine said. “When they say all bark and no bite, they’re talking about Bandit.”

They sat down at the small wooden table. Mrs. Eberhardt folded her hands and looked at them with a long-suffering expression. Jess took out her phone and placed it on the table in front of them.

“If you don’t mind—”

“Oh, I mind. You can take notes if you like, but I don’t like a microphone in my face.”