Page 97 of Spooked

“Where’s the nearest beach? Near Leiria or Coimbra?”

A shrug. “It’s possible,” Tulsa translated. “But there are many river beaches in Castelo Branco, so they could have gone to one of those.”

“Did either of them give a timeframe for their return?”

We already had that information from the police, didn’t we? Why was Ari asking the same question?

“A week, he said.” Another shrug. “But maybe more, maybe less. The beaches here are very beautiful.”

“How were they planning to get to the beach?” Ari asked. “Meera didn’t have a car.”

“Probably he had a car.”

“Probably? You didn’t see a vehicle?”

“I didn’t look. Why would I? A guest going to the beach with a friend is nothing unusual. Or maybe they took the bus? There’s a stop on the next street.”

I didn’t much like this guy. Meera’s colleagues at Quinta do Lago had been helpful, possibly feeling guilty that they hadn’t raised the alarm, but the manager of the hostel treated us as though we were nuisances.

“I understand Meera left some of her stuff here? And her bicycle?”

“That’s right.”

“Is it normal for people to do that?”

“It happens enough that we have a storage room. Tourists want to make side trips, and they don’t want to pay for a bed they’re not using while they’re gone.”

“Could we take a look?”

He shook his head. “What if you steal something? I don’t want to get into trouble.”

“A woman is missing.”

“If the police want to look, then they can do that. But I’m not giving people off the street access to private belongings.”

“Tell us more about the man you saw—how old was he?”

“The same age as her.”

“Tall? Short?”

“Average.”

“What about his hair? Was it dark blond? Light blond? Long? Short? Did he have a beard?”

“Short, I guess, but not shaved. Dark blond—not quite brown—and yes, he had a beard.”

“Any jewellery?”

“I wasn’t paying attention.”

A couple walked in, young, both wearing backpacks, and the manager turned away, dismissing us with a hand. The message was clear: conversation over. His tone turned servile as he greeted the newcomers in Portuguese.

“Let’s go,” Ari said. “We can come back later if we need to.”

Back at the house, the disappointment continued. Jerry and Chase had arrived from the police station, and the cops had been as helpful as Silvio. Jerry was sitting on the kitchen counter when we arrived, her feet dangling as she carved slices off an apple with a nasty-looking penknife. Through the window beyond, I could see Chase lying beside the pool in a pair of Speedos. Meera would have rated him a ten for sure.

“The cops don’t wanna know,” Jerry told us. “They said she isn’t the first backpacker to leave the area without announcing her plans, and she won’t be the last. Most of them show up in a few weeks, and if the department expended resources looking for these people, they’d never solve any actual crimes. Alexa looked up their solve rate. It’s a fuckin’ joke.”

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