Page 85 of Cougar Point

She nods.

I say loud enough to overcome the slurping and burping at the bar, “Take a look at these pictures, Tammy. We’re trying to find them. Anything you can tell us will be appreciated.” I show her the pictures of Thundercloud, Missy, and Duke—and Vinnie last. She recognizes Vinnie and Thundercloud. I can tell by her eyes. She takes my phone and slides it down the bar in front of the men. They gather around Hank, and he flips through the photos of the two men.

Hank says, “That’s Vacuum Vinnie,” and points to the picture of Vinnie. “I don’t know the other.” They all look then shake their collective heads and go back to their drinks. We do thesame with the pictures of Missy and Duke with the only response being whistles at the picture of Missy. I guess free booze only buys so much. Tammy hands the phone back, then slides the pizza out of the air-fryer onto a couple paper plates and covers this with a wad of paper towels creating a makeshift to-go box. Our cue to leave. We leave.

Back in the parking lot Ronnie holds the pizza in her lap and hands me a piece on one of the paper towels. “Tough crowd,” she says.

I take a bite and almost break a tooth on the hard crust. “Tough pizza too.” I ignore the littering law and pitch the pizza out of the window. Ronnie does the same and settles for her water.

“This seems like a wasted trip,” she says.

“We’re going to Lynden. Nothing is wasted.” Except the pizza. And Ronnie’s money. “Call Rebecca and see where we’re at with the motel.”

“Maybe we should go to Missy’s mother’s place. We might find Thundercloud. Someone else was there when we were talking.”

“We’re not ready to talk to him yet. I just want to know where he is. Maybe a drive-by won’t hurt. Can you check and see if he has any vehicles registered to him?”

Tammy knocks on the window. Megan powers it down, and Tammy is holding a bulging black trash bag. “You see what my customers are like. I can’t say nothing in there or I wouldn’t have any customers at all. Show me the pictures again. The ones of the guys with scarred faces.”

Ronnie pulls the photos up on her iPad to make them larger. Tammy stops her at Thundercloud’s photo. “I’ve seen him.” She takes the iPad to get a closer look. “Yep. He was in here right after you and the rude cop were here.”

She means Lucas. I ask, “What did he want?” I don’t ask if Hank or his comedy crew had seen him. It doesn’t matter.

“He was asking about Vinnie. Said he was a friend and had some news for him. I might ’a messed up.”

I ask, “What do you mean, Tammy?”

“I might ’a told him some cops were looking for Vinnie too. Hank might ’a told him about the VW camper that Vinnie bought. I should ’a known he was lying. Vinnie doesn’t have any friends as far as I know. But this guy was one scary looking man. Is he in trouble?”

I say, “We’re going to arrest him for P.U. Public Ugliness.”

Tammy chuckles. “In that case you’d better take everyone in my bar.”

We thank her, and Tammy heads off to the trash bin.

“Thundercloud is looking for my uncle,” Ronnie says. “He just made the top of my list of suspects.”

“Along with Duke and Missy,” I say.

Ronnie gets on her iPad. “I’m sending the pictures to Officer Nelson’s phone. He can check with the shelter and save us some time.”

“Good idea. There’s still one person here we need to show.”

There’s no traffic so I run the stop sign hoping Tommy Tittle, the town constable I’d met earlier in No Name Bar, is hiding behind a billboard. Maybe he’ll stop me and help us spread the word or at least listen in at the bar. But Tittle’s not taking the bait. I don’t wait for Ronnie to finish to see if we’re going to Lynden or to Bellingham and pull out of Tammy’s place running the stop sign. I then make a U-turn and run the stop sign again going toward Bellingham.

Ronnie gets off the phone. “You just ran that stop sign, Megan.”

“Sorry. I was thinking.” I was thinking there’s never a cop around when you need one.

“I texted Nelson and he’ll do that for us. I texted Rebecca too. She rented all the rooms at the Ocean View Motel.”

Before I can ask where the Ocean View Motel is, a black car with wig-wag lights in the grille speeds up behind us almost tapping my bumper. The siren is blasting the peaceful stillness I’d been enjoying. I pull over, and a policeman in a khaki uniform, straw Western hat, large gold badge, cowboy boots and big mirrored aviator glasses saunters to my window.

“Ma’am,” he says, and tips the silly hat.

“Officer Tittle,” I respond.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to cite you for running that traffic sign back there.”

---