Robyn Carr - The Wanderer

“Who is this Rawley? The guy who called me?”

The deputy scrubbed off his hat and scratched his head. “You say you were good friends?”

“For fifteen years. I knew he was raised by his dad, that they had a bar and bait shop here on the coast. We met in the Army. He was a helicopter mechanic and everyone called him Gentle Ben. He was the sweetest man who ever lived, all six foot six of him. I can’t imagine him standing up to a robber—not only would he hand over the money, he’d invite the guy to dinner.”

“Well, there you go, you might not have the more recent facts, but you knew him all right. That’s the thing that makes everyone lean toward accident. That, and the lack of evidence to the contrary. No one would have to hurt Ben for a handout. You don’t know about Rawley?”

Cooper just shook his head.

“Rawley Goode is around sixty, a vet with some challenging PTSD issues. He lives down the coast, where he takes care of his elderly father, sort of. He’s not real good around people. Ben gave him work. He helped out here, cleaned, stocked, ran errands, that sort of thing. He could serve customers, if no one expected conversation. People around here were used to him. I think he might’ve been homeless when Ben met him, but his father has lived around here a long time. Interesting guy, not that I can say I know him. Rawley found Ben.”

“Are you sure Rawley didn’t push him down the stairs?”

“Rawley’s a skinny little guy. The coroner didn’t find any evidence to suggest Ben had been pushed. And Rawley...he was dependent on Ben. When Ben died, there wasn’t anyone for us to contact. But don’t worry—the town gave Ben a decent send-off. He was well liked. There are better bars around here to hang out in, but people liked Ben.”

“Yeah, I liked him, too,” Cooper said, looking down. “There must’ve been a will or something. Rawley wasn’t the most articulate guy on the phone, but he said Ben left something for me. Could be old pictures from our Army days or something. Who do you suppose I should see about that?”

“I’ll make a few calls, check into that for you.”

“Appreciate it. And maybe you could suggest a place to hook up the fifth wheel?”

“There are several decent spots along the coast for tourists—Coos Bay is a nice area. You planning to hang around?”

Cooper gave a shrug. “Maybe a few days, just long enough to talk to some of the folks who knew Ben, pick up whatever he left for me, pay my respects. I just want people to know—he had good friends. We didn’t get together a lot, and it sounds like I didn’t get a lot of inside information from Ben, but we were always in touch. And since I came all this way, I want to hear about him—about how people got on with him. You know?”

“I think I understand. This place is locked up. No one would care if you sat here for a while, while you look around at other possibilities. No hookup for your trailer, but you’d be fine for a couple of days.”

“Thanks, maybe I’ll do that. Not a bad view.”

The deputy put out his hand. “I gotta run. You have my number.”

“Thank you, Deputy McCain.”

“Roger McCain, but hardly anyone remembers that. Folks tend to call me Mac.”

“Nice meeting you, Mac. Thanks for helping out with this.”

* * *

Sarah Dupre walked with Hamlet, her Great Dane, down the main street in Thunder Point to the diner. She looped his leash around the lamppost and went inside, pulling off her gloves. This was one of the things she loved about this little town—there was always somewhere to stop and chat for a few minutes. She wasn’t well-known around here, had only lived here a few months, but considering the way she was treated by her new friends, it was as if she’d been here quite a while. If she wasn’t working, she liked to take Ham down to the beach and stop off at the diner on her way home. Apparently she wasn’t the only one—there was always a large bowl of water for dogs by the lamppost. Twin benches on either side of the diner’s front door frequently seated one or two old guys, passing time.

Gina James was behind the counter of the diner. Gina took care of almost everything at the diner except the cooking. There was another waitress at night and a couple of part-time girls, but it was a pretty small shop. Gina’s mother, Carrie, was sitting on a stool at the counter, her friend Lou McCain seated beside her. Carrie owned the deli across the street. Lou was a schoolteacher who helped out with her nephew Mac’s kids when she wasn’t teaching. Two of said kids were in a booth, eating fries and drinking colas, an after-school treat.

Sarah said, “Hey,” and all three women said, “Hey,” right back.

“Something to drink? Eat?” Gina asked her.

“Could I have a water, please? How is everyone?”

“What can I say, it’s Friday,” Lou said. “I won’t be seeing the little bast—er, darlings till Monday morning.”

Sarah laughed at her. “You’re going to heaven for it.”

“If I died and went to hell, they’d have me teaching junior high,” Carrie said.

“And if I go to hell, I’ll be making pies and cakes,” Lou said.

“You have a day off?” Gina asked Sarah.

“For Landon’s football game. I’m sitting alert Saturday and Sunday, that’s the price I pay for it.”

“But no one gives you any trouble about it, do they?”

“Nah. They like weekends off as much as anyone. And I’ll gladly fly weekends if I don’t have to miss Landon’s games. It’s not as though I have any other social life.”

Carrie leaned her elbow on the diner. “Wish I had an exciting career like you, Sarah. Being a pilot beats my job, any day.”

“Tell me about it,” Lou said.

Before Gina could weigh in, the door to the diner opened, the bell tinkling. Ray Anne appeared in her version of a Realtor’s business suit—too short, too tight, too much boobage. She scowled. “Sarah, that dog should be on a leash!”

“He is, Ray Anne.” She leaned back on her stool to look out the glass pane in the door. “He’s all hooked up.”

She wiped at her purple skirt. “He still managed to get me with that awful mouth of his.”

“Well, Ray Anne, you’re just so edible-looking,” Lou said.

“Ha-ha. Well, you’ll never guess what I just saw! The most gorgeous man, out at Ben’s place. He was built like a brick you-know-what—worn jeans, torn in all the right places, plain old T-shirt under a leather jacket. One of those flying jackets, you know, Sarah. Driving one of those testosterone trucks, pulling a trailer... Handsome face, maybe a dimple, scratchy little growth on his cheeks and chin. He was talking to Mac. It was like an ad for Calvin Klein.”

“What were you doing out at Ben’s?” Lou asked.

“I was checking on a rental up the hill two blocks. You know, that old Maxwell place.”

“Then how’d you see the tears in his jeans and his stubble?”

Ray Anne dipped a manicured hand into her oversize purse and pulled out her binoculars. She smiled conspiratorially and gave her head a toss. Her short blond hair didn’t move.

“Clever,” Lou said. “Man-watching taken to the next level. How old is this hunk of burning love?”

“Irrelevant,” Ray Anne said. “I wonder what he’s doing here. I heard Ben had no next of kin. You don’t suppose cuddly old Ben was hiding a handsome brother? No, no, that would be cruel.”

“Why?” Sarah asked.

“Because Ray Anne would love a shot at selling that property of Ben’s,” Carrie said.

“That’s not true,” Ray Anne protested. “You know me, I only want to help if I can.”

“And bag a single man or two while you’re at it,” Lou said.

Ray Anne stiffened slightly. “Some of us are still sexual beings, Louise,” she said. “A notion you might not be familiar with.” As the Sheriff’s Department patrol car passed slowly down the street, Ray Anne said, “Oh, there’s Deputy Yummy Pants—I’m going to go ask him what’s going on. If I can get past the dog!”