Part 33 (1/2)
I looked at the hair. Looked at the elbow. Looked at the person who had set this in motion.
”That story Billy had about running into Jason in the restaurant in Ensenada, it wasn't true?”
”I don't know. I just know that if you asked about Jason Stockover, he was to tell you he was in Tamarindo.”
Six people have a party of sorts. Four of them Gregorys. Something goes terribly wrong. First bury it, then deny it, then, if somebody has to be thrown under the bus, pick one of the non-Gregorys. Send me to Tamarindo. Where Jason is.
Except Jason's not there. Jason has been tipped off. Run, Jason. Run, and he'll think it's you. Except we won't tell you that part. Because you're not one of us and you're not even a friend from childhood. Like McFetridge. You're only a friend from college. Which puts you in an outer circle, Jason.
First the family. Then lifelong friends. Then other friends. Then all those who want to be friends. Like George.
Oh, and by the way, do you need anything while you're running away? A new sailboat, perhaps?
Barbara was speaking. She was telling me she was sorry she didn't have every detail right as to what little Billy said and did. ”But I didn't stop there,” she said.
I looked up, s.h.i.+fting my attention to her again.
”I went to Tamarindo myself.”
Another piece that didn't fit. If she was part of the scheme to get me to go there-Barbara to Ty to Peter to Billy-why would she go after I left?
Barbara was waiting. She clearly had expected a different reaction from me. I did the minimum. I murmured, ”You've got to be kidding.”
And then she, nearly six feet of long-limbed powerful female with big yellow-brown eyes and just possibly the disposition of a s.a.d.i.s.t, said she wasn't.
”You went to California, then continued right on to Costa Rica.” I was thinking that meant she had brought her pa.s.sport, which meant she had been planning to do that all along.
”I had my mom's ATM card.”
”Your mom financed this whole trip?”
”My parents,” she corrected. Then she unwound her legs. Then she rewound them, switching the one that had been on top. ”Remember, they thought I was going to California to have it out with Tyler once and for all.”
Still, she needed a pa.s.sport.
”I get to Tamarindo,” she said, her tone telling me I was going to hear this whether I liked it or not, ”and it's a strange little place. It's kind of like being at the far end of the universe.”
She paused, perhaps to see if I would say no, no, no, it's perfectly normal. Like Orlando or Las Vegas.
”The other thing is, and I don't know if this happened to you, but it rained most every day. I mean, what are you supposed to do in a beach town when it rains? I end up going from one bar, one shop, one restaurant, to another, and whenever I see anybody who looks like an American living there, I try to strike up a conversation.”
”Hi. How are you? You know Jason Stockover?”
Her eyes flicked, rolled; her mouth grimaced. ”Pretty much. Until I get to this one man, owns a restaurant on the beach.”
”Wouldn't be the place with coconut pies, would it?”
”You've been there, I see.”
”That's supposed to be the place Jason owns.”
”Well, the real owner's name is J. T. Bauer. Balding guy, pretty muscular, about forty-five. He comes from Key West.”
”Doesn't sound like Jason.” I remembered what Howard Landry had said. I had a flash of Howard flapping his hand under his chin.
”Nope. What's more, he claimed never to have known any Jason in Tamarindo. What he admitted, and this is what I've been trying to get to, George, is that he did know Leanne.”
She clearly thought this was going to detonate, bring me flying out of my chair. She was disappointed when it didn't.
”Leanne couldn't have been there by herself.”
”J.T. said she came into town, met him, hooked up with him, as the kids say these days. Stayed a couple of weeks, even helped him run the restaurant. Then she moved on.”
It was possible. If someone had told Peter what I was doing enough time before I got to California, he could have called Leanne, gotten her to go down to Tamarindo knowing I would be coming.
I swallowed.
”What is it, George?”
”How do you know it was the real Leanne?”
”Well,” she said, the word coming out slowly, lingering, ”that's kind of hard for me to say, never having met or seen Leanne.”
I had to agree and was about to tell her that when she added, ”But this much I do know. The girl moved in with J. T. Bauer. He paid her in cash, never saw anything with her name on it, came home one day and she was gone.”
”No note? No message, no forwarding address?”
”Nothing. And J.T. didn't seem all that upset about it, tell you the truth. He says that kind of thing happens down there sometimes. He said same thing used to happen in Key West. People come in, shack up, move on.”
Barbara's legs crossed again. The upper one began to bob up and down expectantly. The woven sandal dangled from her foot. I had the feeling she was remembering something that I didn't. I tried to think what it could be.
”Key West is kind of a big sailing town, isn't it?” I asked.
”Oh, yeah.”
”This J.T., he didn't happen to know Peter, did he?”
One eyebrow went up. Barbara looked at me approvingly. ”Bingo, George. You win the prize. What he didn't know, what he couldn't tell me, was whether the Leanne who worked for him, moved in with him, had any connection with Peter.”
”Except they were both from Ma.s.sachusetts.”
Barbara shrugged. ”I'm not even sure about that. J.T. seemed to think the Leanne who was there was from Rhode Island. And that at some point she had been a cop.”