Page 70 of Death at the Deep Dive

Ellery turned.

Kingston, slightly out of breath, caught him up. “I did have one more piece of information to share. It may or may not be relevant, but I think you should know that in 1985 Douglas Franklin was killed in a hit-and-run accident. They never caught the driver.”

Chapter Nineteen

The Deep Dive was all that Ellery had expected: dark, dingy, and perhaps a little dangerous.

James Franklin was not.

Not dark, not dingy, and not remotely dangerous. Also, not what Ellery expected.

Although, James must have beena littlewhat Ellery expected, given that Ellery recognized him immediately. But then, like Ellery, James stood out like a sore thumb in the cave-like interior of the pub.

Until he walked into the Deep Dive, it hadn’t really occurred to Ellery that there was any class division in Pirate’s Cove. But the minute he pushed through the heavy double doors, he saw that the smoky interior (although surely in this day and age no one was actually smoking indoors?) was crowded with fishermen and farmers.

Not vacationing fishermen. The fishermen who provided the restaurants and markets with their fresh fish. And not the owners of flower nurseries or landlords of cozy B&Bs named North Light Farm or the Rose & Ivy. The farmers who got up at dawn to provide the dairy and meat and produce that supplied the restaurants and markets.

No one said or did anything at all threatening. Ellery got a few side-eyes, caught a few whispers. But really, it just added to the ambiance.

He located James seated at a table against a wall that was mostly taken up by a mounted swordfish the size of a dinghy. He—James, not the swordfish—raised a hand in greeting, and Ellery made his way through the tables and chairs, most of them filled, despite what Nora thought.

“James? I’m Ellery.” Ellery offered his hand, James half rose, they shook, and Ellery took the seat on the other side of the table.

He’d been expecting someone who matched that aggrieved voice on the other end of the phone, but James Franklin was just an ordinary, pleasant-looking guy in his sixties. His fair hair was turning gray, and he was more chunky than stocky, but he had a nice smile. In the gloom, his eyes were a light, indeterminate color.

“You look a lot like your aunt Eudora,” James said, and that answered that. He knew all about Ellery, so there was no point in continuing the pretense that he was writing a book. Frankly, that was for the best. Ellery hated lying.

“Do I? I’ve only recently seen pictures of her as a young woman.”

“Oh yes,” James said. “You look like her. Like all the Pages, which I guess, means you look like all the Shandys.”

“Ha,” said Ellery.

The bartender, who turned out to be Reg from the Salty Dog, came over to them and asked Ellery what he wanted to drink. James ordered another Wild Turkey on the rocks. Ellery ordered a beer, to keep life simple, but Reg said, “I can make that Blue Iceberg cocktail you like so much.”

“Sure!” He did not plan on drinking a lot. He thought it would be wise to stay sharp.

When Reg stepped away, James said, “Did Vera really sic you on my mother?”

Why did he keep asking that? Why was it so hard to believe?

“I wouldn’t phrase it like that.”

“I would.” James gave a narrow smile. “What does Vera think happened?”

“When?” Ellery asked blankly.

James said impatiently, “When Vernon died. What does Vera think happened?”

Ellery’s scalp prickled. Okay, so right there. Right from go.When Vernon died.No question in James’s mind about what happened to Vernon.

“She doesn’t know. That’s why she asked me to look into it. It was a long time ago, and everyone’s memory is a little foggy.”

“Not mine.”

“Really? But you were pretty young.”

“I was a good listener. Still am.”

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