P. Alderman - A Killing Tide

She stopped fiddling with the books and blew out a breath. To hell with it. The least she could do was check up on the fishermen. And maybe one of them would let something slip, provide some small bit of information she could use to figure out what to do next.

Snagging her sou'wester off the hook by the back door, she headed out into the storm.

#

Halfway to the mooring basin, she changed her mind and pulled a U-turn, heading back toward Uniontown. At this time of the day, the Redemption was mostly deserted. She figured Steve would have time to talk to her and could perhaps shed some light on what had happened two nights ago. Pulling into the parking lot, she set the brake on the Jeep and hopped out, jogging across the gravel to the door.

She paused inside the door, shaking off the rain and letting her eyes adjust to the dimness of the room.

Steve was behind the bar, totaling up last night's receipts. "Hey, Kaz." He smiled, his expression friendly.

Like most of the people in town her age, Steve had gone through school with her. Although they hadn't run with the same crowd, she remembered Steve as being one of the good guys. She'd heard some rumors that he'd gone a little crazy after his divorce a few years back, but the divorce had been particularly acrimonious, so he'd probably had good reason.

If Steve looked the other way sometimes when it came to what went on in his tavern, it was understandable. A bartender heard a lot, knew a lot. And if he made a habit of repeating what he knew, he'd be out of business in a hurry.

Astoria had a healthy rumor mill, but there were unspoken rules about who you should talk to, and about how much you could reveal. Right now, Kaz was counting on those rules, because as the sister of someone who was involved, she was on the list of people Steve could talk to, if he so chose. She also wanted to find out why Gary had felt that Steve had no cause to criticize him that evening.

"I need to know what Gary and Ken were arguing about two nights ago," she said without preamble.

Steve shook his head, his expression turning wary. "It was pretty busy, Kaz. And you know I make a habit of tuning out."

"You were standing right here the whole time—you could hardly miss what they said."

He didn't reply, busying himself with rinsing out glasses.

Her heart sank. She slipped onto one of the barstools and leaned her elbows on the bar. "They've charged Gary with arson and murder. Steve, if you know something…"

He sighed. "I'll tell you exactly what I told Lucy and Ivar, and that new fire chief guy: I didn't hear anything important."

So Michael had already questioned Steve. He was conducting an investigation, she reminded herself--he wasn't obligated to keep her informed. But still, it bothered her that he wasn't being entirely straight with her. "Okay. What did Gary and Ken say that night that isn't important?"

Steve shrugged, then glanced around the mostly empty room before answering. "They were arguing about something to do with the crab pots."

She stared at the bartender, perplexed. "That doesn't make any sense. They drag-fish— I'm doing the crabbing."

Shooting her an exasperated look, Steve said, "I don't try to reason through what I overhear, Kaz. All I know is that Gary told Ken to shape up or else."

"Was Gary threatening to fire Ken?"

"Not as far as I could tell. It sounded more like a disagreement about how they were handling something."

"Was Ken upset? Or nervous?"

Steve paused and thought about it. "It's kind of hard to tell, with him being so laid back most of the time. But yeah, he did seem to be kind of edgy."

"Who was standing next to them at the bar?"

Steve's face pokered up. "I already answered these questions for the authorities. You're wasting your time, to say nothing of sticking your nose in where it doesn't belong."

"Who was standing there, dammit!" she snapped.

"Karl Svensen, okay?" Steve answered, just as angry. "Now either order something from the kitchen, or get the hell out of here and let me get back to my work."

So she'd been right about Karl. "Was he part of the argument?" she pressed.

"I didn't notice."

She was certain he had but wasn't going to tell her. "Why was Gary so angry with you that night?"

"I wouldn't have a clue." Her disbelief must have shown, because he shrugged. "It was just some crackpot remark your brother made because he was pissed. I'm sure he resented my interference."

He was lying, but for the life of her, she couldn't figure out why. She stood up. "If you think of anything else, please call me, okay?"

He picked up the pile of receipts and put a rubber band around it, then met her gaze, his expression remote. "There's nothing else to say."

"Well, thanks anyway."

He shook his head. "Don't thank me, Kaz. Just mind your own business."

"Why does everyone keep saying that to me?" she wondered out loud.

"Because there are things going on around here that you don't need to know about."

She stared at him, experiencing the same sense of unreality as she'd had the day before when she'd talked to Chuck. Steve looked worried, maybe even afraid. But he'd said all he was going to. She blew out a breath. "I'm beginning to think I have no clue what is going on in my own home town."

"You don't."

"I live and work here, too," she pointed out, sick of the obfuscations.

"Not for the last ten years."

#

Two blocks away in Uniontown Park, Lucy and Ivar stood in the driving rain in their police-issue slickers, hunched over the body of a small-time local drug dealer. Someone had stabbed him multiple times in the chest, then dumped him in the back of one of the abandoned warehouses on the water's edge. Lucy pulled her collar up, swearing under her breath at the foul weather. Hell of a way to start off the workday.

Rigor had set in, so the guy had probably been killed sometime the night before. "Two murders in as many days." She looked at Ivar. "Just what the hell is going on in our town?"

His expression pensive, Ivar watched Ewald work on the corpse. "Don't like the feel of this."

"Now there's an understatement."

"You think Gary had a hand in this? Or Chuck?"

Lucy frowned. That was exactly what she was worried about—that Gary and Chuck were on some kind of vigilante mission. Gary hadn't come right out and said anything that would lead her to think that, but she knew, somehow, that that was what he was up to. And where he went, Chuck followed. Still, she couldn't believe Gary would commit murder.

The murder method—multiple stab wounds—indicated that the killer had been in a rage. And while she'd seen Gary lose his temper and resort to throwing a punch or two, she couldn't envision him losing it and stabbing a man to death. Besides, why would Gary or Chuck be targeting small-time drug dealers?

She realized Ivar was giving her an odd look—probably because he'd never seen her silent for that long. "Nah," she answered. "If Chuck had done it, he would've crept up behind the guy and slit his throat. And this isn't Gary's style, either."

She turned as Clint Jackson approached, dragging a thin, nervous man. "Well, well. Look who we've got, Ivar. Briggs, ole buddy. Why am I not surprised that you're hanging around?"

The drug addict shifted nervously in his soiled, torn sneakers, his dilated eyes darting around, landing anywhere but on the body. He seemed oblivious to the fact that he was soaked to the skin and shivering. "I didn't do nothing, I swear."

"Of course you didn't," Lucy soothed. She noted the spittle in the corner of his mouth, the unhealthy pallor, the physical twitches. He hadn't gotten his usual fix, and he was going into withdrawal. Interesting. "So maybe I can help you out a little, Sammy, in return for a little information. Did you see what went down here?"