Backwater Bay (Kurt Hunter Mysteries Book 1) by Steven Becker

Author:Steven Becker [Becker, Steven]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The White Marlin Press
Published: 2018-01-08T22:00:00+00:00

14

Walking out of the dive shop, I noticed the storefront next door. Pictures of all kinds of boats for sale plastered the windows, and I scanned the listings. The divorce thing had me curious about how much the Big Bang was worth. Maybe putting a dollar value on it would justify the backstabbing I had witnessed, or even the death of a young woman, though I doubted it. As I moved closer to the door, the boats turned from smaller vessels to yachts, and the prices went from five figures to six and then seven. It was in the latter price range that I found the Big Bang. The Selene 60 was listed at 1.8 million dollars. It wasn’t worth a dead body but sure explained a lot. Plenty of people have been killed for a lot less.

I walked past the bar on the way to the parking lot and wasn’t the least bit surprised when I saw my favorite couple sitting together. In fact, not much had changed since that afternoon except the bartender. I stood off to the side by a stuccoed column thinking I was out of sight. As it turns out, a uniform is a magnet, and before I could react, I saw Brenda’s eyes locked on to me. I thought about making a run for it. That plan had no legs and mine started to tremble as she sauntered toward me.

There wasn’t even the remote possibility that she was heading anywhere else. Despite a slight sway, she was moving on an intercept path with my position. She clearly hadn’t sobered up since our earlier introduction, which was the reason I didn’t want an encounter now.

I’d had a bouncer’s lifetime’s worth of dealing with people on drugs and alcohol out west. You would think a beautiful remote wilderness would be overrun with Sierra Club–card-carrying do-gooders. My experience proved otherwise. There were the random hikers and fly fishermen, but the forest was full of people up to no good. Miners, pot growers, and poachers all seemed to get their courage from drugs and alcohol. An encounter with an inebriated person was inherently risky and the woman approaching me was no different.

“My favorite officer,” she cooed.

I instinctively took a step back, trying to anticipate her next move. It almost put me out of her reach, but when she tripped and fell forward, whether by accident or design, I found her in my arms. When she looked up at me, I knew I had been played. I tried to lean her against the column and escape her grasp, only to find her falling into me again, this time using her breasts to cushion the blow.

“Brenda,” I started, trying to remember her last name. “Maybe you should go back to your boat and sleep it off.”

“Maybe you should walk me back.”

I looked back toward the bar and saw Gordy watching us. Her invitation had one purpose for her and another for me, and I weighed the potential gain versus the risk.

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