Deep Sleep (Devin Gray #1)(27)
PS: Ask Frank about my car. I highly suggest you swap vehicles.
PPS: Don’t skip out on lunch at Cantler’s. A friend of mine may join you. You can trust him.
So . . . now what? Continue the quest? An untraceable car would definitely make things a little easier, but he wasn’t sure about meeting with anybody until he got a better handle on what his mother suspected she had uncovered. Then again, what did he have to lose? He could always walk away from whoever showed up.
“Why the hell not?” he muttered, stuffing the file and the pouch into his backpack.
On his way back to the Cantler’s parking lot, he spotted Frank near the marina’s boat ramp, where he’d just hauled what looked like a mini sailboat out of the water. Two middle school–age kids wearing orange life jackets helped him drag it onto a small trailer. Devin headed in their direction. When Frank saw him, he patted one of the kids on the shoulder and told them he’d finish securing the boat. They headed for the dock, where he assumed a much larger boat and eager-to-please parents awaited them.
“Now that looks more my speed,” said Devin.
Frank laughed. “We’ll have to start you with something a little bigger if you plan on fixing up your boat. How did it look?”
“You really think you could fix her up by the end of the summer?”
Frank’s smile widened. “Definitely before Labor Day weekend, which gives you a good month on the water and plenty of time to learn how to sail—or find a girlfriend that knows.”
“And those are easy to find?” said Devin. “The girlfriend. Not the sailing lessons.”
“A lot easier when you have a boat,” said Frank. “What do you say? Want me to fix her up?”
He wasn’t paying for it, so he responded with his new motto.
“Why the hell not?”
“You won’t regret it. She’s a thirty-foot Catalina. A reliable cruising boat,” said Frank. “Not that easy to find, either, so you could always sell her if it doesn’t work out for you.”
“Easy enough,” said Devin. “There’s one more thing. My mom said I should ask you about her car, but she didn’t leave any keys, and I forgot to look on the boat.”
“Your mom keeps an old Honda Accord up by the main road entrance. She’s never used it as far as I know,” said Frank. “She left me a key to start it up every month or so to keep the battery charged. I can run up to the house and grab the key.”
“That would be great. Also, would you mind if I left my SUV in its place for a little while?”
“Not at all. All I ask is that you come and go during marina business hours. Seven in the morning to ten at night.”
“Works for me,” said Devin.
He returned to the packed parking lot and studied the cars before approaching the waterfront side of the restaurant. Devin was mostly looking for anyone hiding in their vehicles—the obvious giveaways on this sunny, hot day being rolled-down windows or running engines. By the time he reached the restaurant entrance, Devin felt confident that the parking lot was clear. A blast of air-conditioned air washed over him when he opened the door to the bar and main dining area, where a young woman greeted him from the adjacent hostess stand.
“How many in your party?”
“One,” said Devin. “Possibly two?”
“It’s about an hour wait for a table,” she said. “Or you can try and squeeze into the bar.”
He glanced toward the packed bar area, not thrilled with the idea of reading his mother’s file seated shoulder to shoulder among a boisterous crowd. Nor did he relish the thought of cracking open a dozen freshly steamed crabs under cramped conditions. He studied the faces for a moment, neither seeing anyone he recognized nor receiving a knowing glance that might indicate his mother’s friend was here. Devin could study the file outside while he waited for a table, then enjoy the leisurely meal his mother had promised. Maybe by then her friend would have arrived.
“I’ll put my name down for a table,” said Devin.
“Sure. What’s the name?”
“Devin.”
“You don’t happen to be Devin Gray, do you?” she asked.
“That’s me,” he said.
“Perfect. I have a table waiting for you,” she said. “Your friend’s been here about an hour and a half. I seated him ten minutes ago.”
He followed her into the bar area to a bank of three pub tables, tucked away next to the windows facing the parking lot. The tables hadn’t been visible from the hostess stand. Karl Berg sat at the farthest table, shaking his head and smiling. Devin wasn’t surprised to see Berg here.
“I’ll send someone over with menus,” she said.
“That would be great. Thank you,” said Devin.
Berg offered a hand, which Devin reluctantly shook before removing his backpack and sitting down. The man looked exhausted, his eyes red and watery behind a pair of black-rimmed glasses.
“You look like you drove through the night to get here,” said Devin.
“I did. I received the oddest message last night around nine thirty,” said Berg. “Thirty minutes later, I was headed to Annapolis. I assume you received a similar message?”
“Odd doesn’t even begin to describe having your dead mother send you on a treasure hunt,” said Devin. “How did she convince you to drive all night to be here?”