Part 10 (2/2)

I was hoping I wouldn't have to elaborate. Maybe it was how fast I bought Carter another rum punch-”Hold the fruit, please”-but he didn't pursue it. I asked him to describe this guy he saw with the Breslows.

”Dark hair, decent-looking,” he said. ”Probably in his late thirties.”

”Tall? Short?”

”Average height, I think. Around the same height as the Breslow boy. He looked to be in pretty good shape, too.”

”Do you think he's a guest here?”

”I don't know. Like I said, the only other time I saw him was at the casino.”

”Which one?” I knew there were a couple on the island.

”The Casablanca,” he said. ”Speedo and I were at the same c.r.a.ps table, only he was playing the don't pa.s.s line. He was betting a lot. Winning a lot, too.”

”Did he seem to know the dealers?”

”You mean, like, maybe he was cheating?”

”No...like maybe he was a regular, someone who lives on the island.”

”Yeah, now that you mention it, the dealers did seem to know him,” he said. ”That's good, right? Chances are you can find him there.”

Down went my last sip of the Turk's Head beer. Pretty good for an island brew.

I thanked Carter for his time and help. As I was about to push off my stool, though, I saw his eyes go wide.

”I don't effin' believe it,” he said, looking over my shoulder.

I turned. ”What is it?”

”That's him...the guy! Coming in on the Jet Ski. See him? Right there.”

I cupped my eyes to cut out the sun's glare. The guy certainly fit Carter's description, right down to the Speedo-or, as Susan used to call it, the banana hammock. ”Are you sure it's him?” I asked.

”As sure as sugar,” he said.

I took that for a yes.

Chapter 16

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