Page 43 of Carry on Wayward Son

“Three weeks of county business records.” She sank into her chair with the concha and her coffee. “When your bar membership transfer is still being processed and you have nothing but time, you read a lot of very boring documents.” She tapped a few keys on the laptop and read from some document on the screen. “Teller’s been on the island for four years. Opened the Bistro two years in. The Tidewater connection is buried in LLC filings that nobody would ever look at unless they knew what they were looking for.”

“Is anyone on the island aware he’s connected to the marina?” I asked.

“Not that I’ve found.” She looked up over her reading glasses. “He’s done everything right. Sponsors the Christmas market. Attends council meetings when they affect his business. Has lunch with the right people. He’s been here long enough to seem like a fixture without ever actually becoming one.” She paused. “It seems he’s very good at it.”

I looked at the web on the legal pad. Four years of Marcus Teller making himself unremarkable on an island where everyone eventually knew everyone, while the marina he was quietly connected to kept doing what it had been doing since the Busbys sold it.

“Does he know Strand?” I asked.

Rios and Madden exchanged a glance that made it clear they’d discussed that exact point. “That,” Rios said, “is a question worth answering.”

I drank my coffee and sat with that for a moment. Then Rios set his mug down and looked at me. My gut tightened because I recognized that face. He’d made a decision and was going to say the thing whether I wanted him to or not.

“She’s got secrets,” he said.

I didn’t bother pretending I didn’t understand. “Most people do.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“I know what you said.” I looked at the legal pad. “I’m not going in blind. I know there’s more to her than she’s showing. I’m not asking for it.” I paused. “She’ll tell me what she tells me when she’s ready.”

“That’s a patient position.”

“She’s worth being patient with.”

Rios looked at me for a long moment. Not skeptical exactly. Something more like careful. “Just look out for yourself,” he said. “That’s all.”

“I always do.”

“You absolutely do not,” he said, “but I appreciate the confidence.”

Madden made a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh and deliberately kept her eyes on her laptop.

I pushed back from the table and picked up my jacket. “Thanks for the intel.”

Madden held up the last bite of her concha. “Thanks for the bribe.”

“Glad they worked.”

Rios waited until I’d reached the door. “Next time, get the full dozen.”

Laughing, I let myself out.

Twenty-Two

LAYLA

Henley picked up on the second ring.

“Finally.” Her voice was slightly distracted and somehow fully present, the two existing simultaneously in a way I’d never quite figured out how to replicate. That meant she was, as usual, doing three things at once. “I was starting to think Hatterwick had swallowed you whole.”

“Hatterwick is fine. I’m fine.” Repetition would make it true.

“You always say that.”

“Most of the time it’s accurate.”

“Uh-huh.” Papers rustled. A chair rolled across a hard floor. Henley Bell did not sit still while she worked, which was something I’d learned during our first case together and had stopped trying to understand since. “Give me two seconds, I’m trying to find the—” She dropped into an incoherent mutter, and I could easily picture her digging through evidence or case files. “Okay. Got it. How’s everything going back east?”