Murder at Turtle Cove by Kathi Daley

Author:Kathi Daley [Daley, Kathi]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kathi Daley Books
Published: 2017-03-24T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 7

Thursday, March 23

After discussing the situation over coffee, Luke and I had decided to focus our energy on finding Komo, who I was increasingly worried about. Our plan was to visit his food truck this morning and if he still wasn’t there, we’d have breakfast at one of the other ones in the hope of picking up clues as to what had been going on with him prior to his disappearance.

We discovered that Komo’s truck hadn’t appeared for the second day in a row. Luke and I sat down at one of the picnic benches nearby to discuss what to do first. There were five other food trucks that usually parked in close enough proximity to Blaze Whitmore’s to be impacted by his burger-for-a-buck campaign. I already knew Buddy and Bobby didn’t know where Komo was, although Bobby had told me about seeing Komo with members of the pack. We could check with them again, especially because I hadn’t spoken with Buddy, but we decided to start our search with Zipper, who I remembered had gotten into a fistfight with another vendor, Sarge.

Zipper was a rough-looking man who appeared to be in his late fifties or early sixties. He was tall, with long gray hair he wore tied back in a ponytail. His eyes were so dark as to appear black and he had a long scar down one side of his face that began at his temple, crossed his eye, and ended up just above his chin. The wound had left a zigzag mark surrounding the original wound that looked a lot like a zipper and obviously served as the basis for his nickname.

“What can I getcha?” Zipper asked when Luke and I walked up to his window.

“We’re going to share a chili burger,” Luke answered.

“Fries?”

“No, just the burger,” Luke informed the man who wore a white tank top over faded jeans.

“Guess you heard about Blaze Whitmore?” I jumped in.

“Yeah, I heard. That’ll be five-fifty.”

Luke paid him while I searched for a way to engage him in conversation. I didn’t know Zipper well, although I’d bought food from his truck from time to time. He’d been working his truck for at least a decade and while he had many regular customers, he didn’t seem to have a lot of friends. He was a stoic sort who tended to keep his thoughts to himself. I remembered hearing he’d spent a good amount of time in prison before coming to the island, but I didn’t think I’d ever known what he’d done to land him there in the first place.

“A lot of folks aren’t sorry the man is dead,” I added, trying to draw him out. “In fact, it seems most people I’ve spoken to are pretty happy with the way things have worked out. I even heard some people on the beach saying that whoever fed Whitmore to the sharks should be considered a local hero.”

“I don’t know that I’d call the man who freed us from burgers for a buck a hero, but I can’t say I’m broken up about having him gone.

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