Thread of Hope (The Joe Tyler Series, #1) (4 page)

“That's the third time he's been by,” the guy at the bar said.  “He's circling.  And he's looking at you.”

“Maybe he's looking at you.”

The guy finished his beer and stood.  “If he was looking at me, I'd have already broken his arm.”  He kept his eyes on me as he stuck his hand in the pocket of his shorts.  “He's looking at you.”  He pulled out a handful of bills and laid them on the bar.  “But, whatever.”

The bartender came over and shoved the bills back in the guy's direction.  “On me, Noah.”  The bartender placed his hands on the bar.  “I heard what happened.  I'm sorry, man.  Liz was...”

The guy shoved the bills back toward the bartender and pointed at me.  “Buy his drinks then.”  The guy hesitated.  “And if I don't see you for awhile, take it easy.”

The guy glanced at me, the circles around his eyes darker now, then left.

I should've thanked him, but now I was focused on who might be watching me.

I waved at the bartender and kept an eye on the window, waiting for the fourth pass.  The bartender hustled over.

“You're good, man,” he said.  “He got you.” 

I pulled my wallet out of the back pocket of my jeans anyway and unfolded it, looking for a couple of bills to tip the guy.  Several quarters fell out of the fold and tumbled to the floor.

“Dammit,” I muttered, laying my wallet on the bar and bending over to pick up the quarters.

“Cute kid,” the bartender said to me when I was upright again.

“Excuse me?”

He pointed to my wallet.  “She’s cute.”

The wallet had opened flat on the bar top and the picture of the young girl in the tattered plastic sleeve was staring back at me.  Plain gray background, her small oval faced framed with long yellow-blonde hair.  Her smile was awkward and missing two teeth, her head tilted fractionally to her left.  It was taken the second week of second grade when life was still fair.

I fished quickly for cash from the back fold of the wallet, fighting a surge of nausea in my gut.

“How old is she?” he asked, leaning in to get a better look.  “Seven or so?”

I found a ten-dollar bill, tossed it on the bar, folded up the wallet and shoved it in my pocket.

“
Six
teen,” I said as I walked away, my steps hea
vy and forced.  “She’d be sixt
een.”

SEVEN

I was wrong.  It wasn’t a guy that was keeping an eye on me.

It was a kid.

I stood in the lobby of Buster’s, fishing for a peppermint out of a small tin bowl, waiting for my friend to pass by.  A minute later, he walked quickly past the front of the restaurant, not even glancing at the doors I was standing behind, probably assuming I was still at the bar.  I stepped out through the doors and followed him.

He turned at the far corner of the restaurant and it was clear to me he had no idea what he was doing. He'd made nothing but circles around the restaurant.  When he turned the corner, I caught a better glimpse of his face.  A bit of stubble dotted his chin, but his cheeks were a little red and there were no lines around the eyes.  No way he was more than eighteen.

He came around to the boardwalk-side of the restaurant and I stayed a good distance behind him, tucked in behind an older couple wearing matching Hawaiian shirts.  When the kid got to the window at the bar, he glanced over, did a double take, then slowed, realizing I’d moved from my spot inside at the bar.

I slipped out from behind the couple to the wall that ran on the other side of the walk and half-turned, like I was looking at the birds feeding down by the water.  I was parallel to him and he was still in my peripheral vision. 

He stepped closer to the window, clearly wondering where the hell I’d gone.  I moved forward, staying out of his line of vision.  He hesitated for a moment, then broke into a pace just short of a jog as he circled the restaurant one more time. I followed.

He came around to the window at the bar again and pulled out a cell phone.  I stayed further behind him this time, out at the boardwalk railing, sidling up next to a group of teenage boys who were comparing skateboards. 

My friend spun slowly in a circle, talking rapidly on the cell, gesturing, frustrated.

I thought about just walking up to him, surprising him and seeing what his response was.  But if I did that, I wouldn’t get any idea of who he was talking to or why he was following me.  Patience wasn’t my strongest character quality, but I summoned what little I did have to see if I could learn a bit more.

He folded up the phone and headed west toward the Harbor House and the park that jutted out into the bay, dodging couples and tourists on the crowded boardwalk.  I kept my distance, moving behind him.  He wasn’t looking around any longer, just seemed to be aiming for a new location.

The road into and out from the park was clogged with traffic and I was afraid I’d lose him, as he could’ve easily jumped into a car and sped off.  I picked up the pace and was only about fifty feet behind him as he crossed the busy road and walked over to the west side of the village. 

I slowed, relieved that he wasn’t looking for a ride and watched him stop as he came up behind the Harbor House.

He was joined by another kid about his age, shorter, with a baseball cap on backwards, shorts hanging below his knees and a bright blue T-shirt that had “Coronado Wrestling” written in white letters across the front.   The shirt looked two sizes too small across the kid’s broad chest.

They both sort of shrugged and turned, heading for the park.

I’d used up my patience.

I angled back, still on the opposite side of the road, then slid in behind a group of college students and crossed the street, about ten feet in front of my followers as we headed right for them.  I separated from the group just as we all hit the sidewalk and stepped out in front of my two new friends.  Their eyes went wide.

“Hey guys,” I said.  “Looking for me?”

EIGHT

The one that had been following me looked at his friend, then back to me.  “What?”

“You heard me.”

“What’s your deal, mister?” the shorter one said, his face screwing up with agitation. 

“My deal is your pal was following me.”

“Get out of our way,” the shorter one said.

I stood there.  They stood there. 

“Here’s the way it’s gonna go, guys.” I stepped in closer, looking at the taller one because he seemed less sure of their position.  “All three of us know you were following me.  I have no problem with that.  As long as you tell me why.  If you wanna act like nothing happened, that’s fine too.  We can keep walking until we find a nice quiet spot and then I’ll make you tell me.

“We weren’t following you,” the tall one said, unconvincingly. 

“I saw you with a beer in your hand in the bar,” I said.  “That’s illegal.”

The tall one’s face pinched together, looking at me like I was crazy.

“Bullshit,” the short one said.  “He didn’t drink anything.”

“See?  I can lie too.”

Their faces reddened and I tried to seize the moment.  “Right now.  One of you starts talking or I’m gonna kick both your asses.  Right now.”

The taller one took a step back, clearly the weaker of the two.  “Okay, okay.”

“Jesus, Matt,” the other one said.

“Hey, this was your idea, Derek,” Matt fired back at his friend.

“Now I got names,” I said.  “Derek and Matt.  We’re off to a good start.”  I looked at Matt.  “You were following me.  Why?”

“We saw you outside the gates at Meredith’s house,” Matt said.

Derek winced, shaking his head.

I knew my way around San Diego.  It wasn’t like going to a city I was unfamiliar with.  I didn’t have to think about where I was going.  Apparently, I’d been too comfortable navigating the streets of the city to pay attention to the rearview mirror.

“We wanted to see where you were going,” Matt said, then pointed at Derek.  “
He
wanted to see.”

Derek scowled again, then looked at me.  “You’re friends with him, right?” 

“With who?”

“With that asshole that fucked Meredith,” he spat.  “He fucked her and then he fucked her up so she wouldn’t tell.”

His words were like a kick to my shins.  Chuck slept with Meredith?  No way in hell did I believe that.  Derek’s anger was real, though, and his statement bothered me.

“Yeah, he’s my friend,” I said.  “I’m an investigator.”

“Yeah, I know,” Derek said.  “We heard that when you were talking with Mr. Jordan’s security chick.  And you’re working for Coach Winslow.”

I blinked my eyes a couple of times, clearing my head, making sure I’d heard him right.  “Coach Winslow?”

His face tightened again, irritated.  “Yeah.  He never should’ve come to our school.”

I pointed at Derek’s T-shirt.  “He coaches at Coronado?”

Matt nodded, just wanting the interrogation to end.  But Derek cocked his head at me, unsure of me now.  “I thought you were friends with him?”

“I am.”

He nodded, a sly grin creeping onto his face.  “Well, for a friend, you don’t seem to know shit.”

Couldn’t argue with that.

Derek lifted his chin at Matt.  “Come on.”

Matt stood still, not sure what to do.

“He’s not gonna do anything,” Derek said, turning back to me.  “You’re not gonna do a thing.”

“Sure about that?”

He nodded, confident.  “Yeah, I am.  Go ahead.  Start kicking our asses, like you said.  Let’s see what happens.”  His eyes swept the area.  “Lotta people around here right now.”

He was right.  I wasn’t going to start smacking around a couple of high school kids in the middle of a crowd, particularly when they hadn’t done anything really wrong.

“Why were you following me?” I asked again, bringing the conversation full circle.

Derek grabbed Matt by the arm and pulled him past me.  Matt looked down at the ground, refusing to meet my eyes.  Derek, on the other hand, was happy to sneer at me as they went past me.  I did nothing.

NINE

I went back to my hotel room for an uneasy night of sleep, my mind bouncing from Chuck lying in a hospital bed, to two punk kids tailing me, to the phrase “Coach Winslow,” to knowing I was going to have cross back over to the island the next morning.

Chuck always did his own thing and had ever since I’d known him in high school.  We were as close as friends could be, but not in a dependent way.  And while there was now a fracture in our relationship, I still felt like I had a good handle on who he was.  Hearing that he was a coach struck me as odd, but hearing that he slept with a teenage girl struck me as flat out fiction.