Page 31 of Nightshade

“He was helpful,” he said.

He pulled a business card from his pocket and put it down on the desk.

“I think I’ve got enough information for now,” Stilwell said. “If you think of anything else that would be helpful, you’ve got my numbers there. I’ll show myself out.”

“I can walk you down,” Crane offered.

“Don’t bother. Thank you for your cooperation.”

“Thank you, Sergeant. I hope you recover our statue. It belongs here.”

Stilwell thought of something and stopped at the office door. He turned back to Crane.

“You know, you said that when you terminated Leigh-Anne, you timed it so there wouldn’t be a lot of members in the club. In case she made some kind of scene.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“So why didn’t you walk her to the door? You know, to make sure she didn’t act out or do anything else she shouldn’t?”

“I obviously should have, but I had a call from a member and I had to take it.”

“Was it that important that you’d let her walk out without being watched?”

“Sergeant, every call from a member is important here.”

“Got it. Thanks.”

Stilwell walked down the hallway where the four guest rooms were located, two on either side. The door to one of the rooms was open. Stilwell looked in and saw a woman in a maid’s uniformmaking a bed. The room looked sparely furnished and basic. He could see why members would prefer the staterooms on their yachts.

Stilwell went down the stairs and checked out the dining room. People wearing red waistcoats, white shirts, and black bow ties were setting up tables with silverware and glasses, getting ready for lunch. At the far end of the room was the bar. It was all dark wood and green glass banker’s lamps above shelves of bottles containing clear or amber-colored liquors. As he stood there, he saw Callahan enter from a door Stilwell presumed was the kitchen and move behind the bar. He was followed by a young man carrying something heavy, his arms straight but his hands below the bar top. He turned, raised his arms, and poured a full tub of ice into a bin behind the bar. As he did so, his grip on the tub slipped; he overcorrected, and a cascade of ice slid across the top of the bar and onto the floor in front of it.

“Goddamn it!” Callahan yelled. “You stupid asswipe, clean that up! We’re about to open.”

The kid looked mortified, like it wasn’t the first time he had taken a verbal lashing from his boss. He turned and scurried back to the kitchen. Callahan glanced into the dining room and saw that Stilwell had seen his response to the ice spill. He nodded proudly, as if saying, from one manager of people to another,This is how we do it.

Stilwell turned and left the club.

12

BEFORE RETURNING TOthe sub, Stilwell walked over to the hardware and marine-supply store on Marilla. The longtime manager was Ned Browning, and Stilwell knew him from following up on reported thefts from the store. Browning was in the back room, conducting an inventory of boat cushions.

“Sergeant Stil, how’s it going?”

“Not bad, Ned. You?”

“The body in the water. Bad stuff. Terrible.”

“Yeah.”

“So you want to see my records on recent anchor sales?”

Stilwell was surprised.

“Why would you say that?” he asked.

“Because Denzel Abbott was in here this morning,” Browning said. “He was ordering new air lines and filters. He told me all about the girl wrapped in an anchor chain.”

“Do me a favor and keep that to yourself.”

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