The Wanderer. Робин КаррЧитать онлайн книгу.
need a little more going on. Like a woman.”
“Why? You have somewhere to go?”
“I just might,” she challenged.
“Well, knock yourself out,” he said. “I can manage.”
She laughed at him. “I’d love to see that,” she said. She pulled a cold cola out of the fridge for him and sat at the table with him. “Tell me about the crime in Thunder Point, Mac. I haven’t heard anything interesting all day.”
“Well now,” he said, sprinkling cheese on top of four large tacos. “No interesting crime, but an old friend of Ben Bailey’s came to town, wanting to know what happened to him. He’s sitting in his fifth wheel out at the bar. Says he’s going to hang around a few days.”
“Ray Anne mentioned something about that. She’s not one to miss a new man in town.” Lou clucked and shook her head. “Still can’t believe Ben’s gone.”
“No one can believe it,” Mac said. Then he dove into his first taco.
* * *
Cooper moved his trailer around to the far side of Ben’s bar on the parking tarmac, pretty much out of sight of the road to 101. The small parking lot could only accommodate twenty or thirty cars, but he discovered a road toward the front of the structure that led to the beach. More of a downhill driveway, really. The road to the beach looked much kinder than that trip up Bailey Pass and Gibbons to the highway.
He roamed around the locked-up property, peeking in windows. The newest and nicest part of the whole structure was an impressive deck, complete with tables and chairs surrounding the two sides of the building with a view. But a look through the windows revealed what he considered a dump. There was a long bar lined with stools, liquor bottles on the shelf, but only a half-dozen small tables. Life preservers, nets, shells and other seaside paraphernalia hung from the walls. A few turning racks of postcards and souvenirs sat about. The place looked like it hadn’t been improved in years. He could see the dust and grime from the window. This came as no surprise. Ben had been kind and generous to a fault, good with engines and just about anything mechanical, but he wasn’t exactly enterprising. He could be a little on the lazy side, unless he had an engine maintenance job to do. And he hadn’t been too good with money; he spent what he had. When Cooper first met him, he was living a cash existence, just like his father had. He sure hadn’t been classy. Cheap Drinks. Just a kindhearted good old boy.
Cooper unloaded the WaveRunner, his all-terrain vehicle—the Rhino—and his motorcycle. There was a large metal shed at the end of the parking lot, up against the hill, but it was padlocked. He stored his toys under a tarp, locked up in chains so they couldn’t be stolen without a blowtorch and trailer.
He wandered down to the beach to the dock. There was a fueling tank perched on the end and a paved boat launch. He wondered if Ben had a boat in the shed, which was as big as a garage. The sun was lowering and it was getting damn cold on the water, unlike the Southern climate he’d come from. He encountered a few people out walking or jogging and gave a nod. He was glad he carried a Glock in his back waistband, under his jacket. After all, he was alone out here, no one knew him, and he still had reservations about Ben falling down the stairs. Big man like Ben, you’d think he’d have survived even a steep fall with only some bruises. Worst case, a broken bone.
With night beginning to fall, he headed back to the toy hauler. He’d have time to explore Thunder Point tomorrow. He figured he’d relax, get a good night’s sleep and get to know the men and women who’d been Ben’s friends in the morning.
But at around eleven, he heard the noise of people talking. He put on his jacket, gun tucked in his waistband, and went outside. He brought the binoculars from the truck, wandered around the deck. The waterfront had come alive. He saw kids on the beach, partying around a couple of campfires. From the shouts and squeals, they were teenagers. A set of headlights from clear on the other side of the beach near the town brought it all together. Ben’s place was probably most often accessed from the beach side, especially at night. Sure enough, the headlights he saw pulled right up on the sand, next to a row of all-terrain vehicles—Rhinos, quads, dune buggies.
Yep, this was a beach bar. Complete with Laundromat, bait and gas for boats. It all made sense now—in winter and bad weather, Ben likely had moderate sales, but in summers he probably did a brisk business. Folks from Thunder Point, on the other side of the beach, stopping for a soda or morning coffee when they were out walking their dogs; people from the town driving over in beach buggies to have a drink on the deck at sunset. Sport fishermen or sailors could start or end their days here.
Cooper was a little bit sorry he wasn’t going to be around to watch the summer storms roll in over the Pacific. Or the whales migrating in spring and fall. Whales wouldn’t be in the bay, but he was willing to bet the view was great from either the far edge of the cliff or the point on the opposite side of the bay.
This would have appealed to Ben for a million reasons. It was his father’s and he’d spent years here. The view was fantastic, and no one liked to put his feet up and relax more than Ben Bailey.
There was some loud popping and shrieking on the beach and he automatically reached for that Glock, but it was followed by laughter. Firecrackers. Then there was some chanting. Go, Cougars, Go. Go, Cougars, Go. Go, Go, Get ’Em, Get ’Em, Go, Get ’Em, Go!
Cheers. That’s what was going on. It was October. Football and teenagers. This was what coastal kids did after a game and probably all summer long. Coop had spent many of his early years on the Gulf, but by the time he was a teenager his parents had moved inland, away from the water to Albuquerque, New Mexico. Cooper and his friends often went out to the remote desert, away from the prying eyes of adults where they could build a fire, drink a few beers, make out with their girlfriends.
What a perfect setup. There was a whole coastline all the way to Canada, but this little piece of it didn’t have easy access. You either came at it by way of Ben’s or from the town, on foot or armed with a beach mobile. There wouldn’t be many strangers around.
He went back to his camper and settled in—door locked, gun handy. He let the TV drown out the noise from the kids until it faded away. In the morning he brewed coffee and took a cup with him to the dock, then the beach. Although he had no investment in this place, he found himself hoping they had cleaned up after themselves and hadn’t left trash all over the beach.
And what do you know? There were a couple of big green trash cans with lids up against the hill, full of bottles, cans, snack wrappers, spent firecrackers. The tide had taken out the remnants of a fire. Except for being raked, the beach was cleaned up. Who were these kids? The Stepford teenagers?
He took a deep breath of foggy sea air and decided he’d shower and hit the town. He’d like to know a little more about this place.
* * *
Cooper thought about taking the Rhino across the beach to the town, but instead he took the truck back up to 101, just to check out the distance. The freeway curved east, to the right, away from the town, and it was five miles before he saw a small sign for Thunder Point. Then it was a left turn and another five miles to access the town. He was about a mile, maybe mile and a half across the beach, or ten miles on the road.
Heading into Thunder Point from 101, he passed the high school—circa 1960s—on the edge of town. Not too big, he noted. Then he came to the main street, Indigo Sea Drive.
He had passed through a hundred towns like this, maybe a thousand. There wasn’t a lot of commerce—dry cleaner, bakery, diner. There was a very small library at the end of the street. Next to it, the elementary and middle schools sat side by side. He spotted a secondhand clothing store right next to a thrift shop and wondered what the difference was. There was a grocery, liquor store, pharmacy, gas station, hardware store and small motel. There was a dingy-looking bar, Waylan’s. And yes, Fresh Fish. There was also McDonald’s, Taco Bell, Subway and Carrie’s Deli and Catering. The Sheriff’s Department was a small storefront that sat between the deli and a boarded-up store, although a man was tearing the