Brian Freeman - The Bone House

'A detective?' he asked.

'That's right.'

'Well, Detective, if one of my cops came into work wearing an earring, he'd have a choice. He could either yank it out and go home until the hole closed up, or he could quit.'

Cab grinned, but Reich didn't smile back. He could see the old sheriff studying his smile and thinking: Look at how white those teeth are.

'I guess it's a good thing I don't work for you,' Cab told him.

'What did you say your name was?'

'Cab Bolton.'

'Cab? What kind of name is that?'

'I was named after my grandfather;' Cab replied, selecting a new explanation and a new name to go with it. 'Cornelius Abernathy Bolton.'

'Abernathy?'

Cab just smiled.

Reich grunted and reached for his coffee. 'You here because of Glory Fischer?'

'That's right.'

'You planning to arrest Mark Bradley?'

'For now I just want to find out more about him. About Glory, too.'

The bartender wandered closer and gave Cab an interested smile. She was about twenty-five, with no ring on her finger. She had big brown eyes and round cheeks. 'Can I get you a drink?' she asked Cab.

Reich gestured at the line-up of alcohol bottles behind the bar. 'Yeah, what is it you people drink down in Florida? Mojitos?' He pronounced it moh-jee-toes.

'No thanks,' Cab said.

The bartender winked. 'Maybe you want to join the club instead.'

'What club?'

Reich snuck a smile at the fat men playing pool. They drifted closer and the smoke in the bar thickened. 'Detective, you're not just in a pub,' the sheriff explained. 'This is the worldwide headquarters for the Bitters Club.'

'Oh?'

'That's right. It was started on the island by Tom Nelsen back in eighteen ninety-nine. Nelsen was convinced that Angostura bitters were an elixir of health. Sort of like you Florida folks and orange juice. He drank a pint or so a day.'

'A pint of bitters?' Cab asked.

'It's not exactly Guinness, but you get used to the taste. It's right up there with motor oil. You don't have to down a whole pint, though. If you can put back a shot glass of the stuff, you're in the club.'

Cab wasn't going to let this man win his macho game. 'Sure, set me up.'

The bartender smirked and reached under the bar. She placed a shot glass in front of Cab and filled it with a black liquid that did look suspiciously like motor oil. Cab brought the glass under his nose and smelled it. Reich eyed him carefully, and so did the others, watching for his face to screw up with distaste. He didn't react, despite the noxious aroma that would have awakened a coma patient. He figured it was all or nothing. This wasn't brandy you sipped and savored. He swirled the liquid in the glass, tipped it to his lips, and gulped down the bitters in a single swallow. His lips pinched together involuntarily. His throat contracted. The taste reminded him of chewing cigarette butts picked out of the gutter.

'Like it?' Reich asked.

'Great,' Cab croaked.

'Welcome to the club.'

'I'll call my mom,' Cab replied.

Reich relaxed and smiled, as if Cab had passed a Door County test of endurance. 'So give me the dirt, Detective. What exactly do you have on Mark Bradley?'

Cab played with the empty shot glass. His mouth still tasted like weedkiller. 'Honestly? Not much.'

'I'm sorry to hear it,' the sheriff replied. 'I couldn't nail Bradley for sexual assault last year, because Tresa Fischer was so moon-eyed in love with the bastard that she wouldn't say a word against him. You ask me, a teacher poles one of his kids, he ought to be hauled off to a pig farm for castration. We wouldn't have to worry about repeat offenders.'

'You're sure they were having sex?'

'I read the girl's diary. Her imagination's not that good.'

'Can you think of a reason why Bradley would kill Glory Fischer?' Cab asked.

'I can think of lots of reasons. Maybe he tried to rape her, and she fought back. Maybe he just popped his cork and went off on the girl. Take your pick.'

'You may be right,' Cab told Reich, 'but right now, I can't even prove Bradley was on the beach with the girl. We're still running the forensics, and I hope we'll get lucky. Otherwise, we need to find somebody who saw something.'

'So what do you want to get done on my turf, Detective?' Reich asked pointedly. 'You're going to stir up a lot of people who are already hurting because of what happened.'

'I'd like to find out if Bradley had some kind of previous relationship with Glory Fischer. I'd also like to know if there was anything else going on in that girl's life.'

Reich put down his coffee mug on the bar. 'What's that supposed to mean?'

'Glory saw someone she knew in Florida. It scared her. I want to know who it was and whether it had anything to do with her death.'

'Someone she knew?' Reich asked. 'You think it was someone from around here?'

'That's what I'd like to find out.'

Reich's lips crinkled unhappily. 'My advice is to keep your eyes on the ball, Detective. I spent a lot of time with Mark Bradley last year. Having him in the middle of this thing doesn't surprise me at all.'

'No?'

'No. That man is a powder keg.'

'What about Glory?'

'What about her?' Reich asked.

'I hear she had problems. Stealing, drugs, sex. Sounds like she ran pretty fast for a nice country girl.'

Reich shrugged. 'Around here, there's not a lot to do in the quiet season. Kids get into trouble. Glory had her share. People aren't going to take it too well if you start dragging a nice girl's name through the mud. She's the victim here. Don't you forget that.'

'I won't.' 'Delia Fischer is a good woman. She doesn't deserve to see her kids treated like this.'

'You know her well?' Cab asked.

'We're both natives. Those of us who have been around here our whole lives know everybody else, Detective.'

Cab got off the bar stool. 'I've taken up enough of your time, Sheriff. I've got a ferry to catch. I just didn't want to start nosing around your jurisdiction without introducing myself.'

'That was a smart plan,' Reich agreed. 'If my deputies or I can help you nail Bradley, you tell me, OK? There's bad blood for me on this one.'

'I understand.' Cab nodded at the shot glass, which contained a residue of bitters. 'Thanks for the drink. I'm not likely to forget it.'

'I bet not.'

'Tell me something, Sheriff,' Cab added. 'You know pretty much everything that happens around here. Is there anything else I should know about Glory Fischer? Anything that could have led to her death?'

Reich finished his coffee and wiped his mouth. 'Not a damn thing, Detective. You just keep your eyes on Mark Bradley.'

Hilary spotted the purple Corvette in the boarding line for the last ferry of the day and saw a lanky man in a business suit atop a bench in the park by the harbor. She recognized his gelled blond hair and movie star looks, and her hands tightened around the steering wheel with anxiety. She pulled sharply off the road.

Cab Bolton nodded to her as she climbed out of her car. He held a cell phone high over his head, aimed at the sky. 'Hello, Mrs Bradley,' he said. 'This is a beautiful island, but the cell signal sucks. It's driving me crazy.'

Hilary didn't waste time with small talk. 'I hope you weren't harassing my husband, Detective.'

'God forbid,' Cab replied pleasantly. He climbed off the bench and stood up to his full height. Hilary, who wasn't small, wasn't used to anyone towering over her the way Cab did. He gave her a disarming smile and tugged at the sleeves of his suit coat. 'Is it always so cold here in late March'

'If it's too cold for you, go back to Florida.'

'Oh, I just like complaining.' He glanced around the island at the rocky water beyond the harbor and the thick barrier of evergreens hugging the shoreline. 'This is a barren place to live. Why did you and your husband move up here?'