Mortictian Murders 06: Splitting Hairs by Greta Boris

Author:Greta Boris [Boris, Greta]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cryptik Press
Published: 2024-02-28T00:00:00+00:00

26

A Crap Boyfriend

The next morning, we walked George through town to find the café listed on Fredericka’s credit card statement, Café Cat. It was a cute place with a black-and-white striped awning and several outside tables topped by umbrellas. Chelsea tied George to a table leg, and we walked inside to order.

A young woman with sun-bleached blonde hair and flower tattoos vining up her arms greeted us. “Morning.”

“Morning,” Chelsea and I said together.

“What can I get you?”

We gazed at the menu on the wall over her head. Chelsea ordered coffee and a bagel sandwich. I ordered a latte and an Everything bagel with cream cheese. I woke up with a slight headache, and the salty, garlicky, sesame crunch along with caffeine sounded like the perfect antidote.

“I’ll bring it out.” The girl gestured to where George stood staring through the window.

He was ridiculously happy to see us when we reemerged into the morning air. His hind end wagged so hard he almost fell over. Chelsea scratched and cooed until he relaxed, which he did with the same level of enthusiasm he’d greeted us with. He collapsed onto the concrete with an audible sigh and dropped his chin on his paws.

All this quivering, wagging enthusiasm was new to me. The only thing Fred was enthusiastic about was kibble. Not for the first time, I considered getting a dog, but dismissed the thought. Although Fred didn’t completely hate George, he wasn’t exactly a fan. A puppy would drive him nuts.

Chelsea and I wiped the dew from two damp metal chairs and sat. I fished in my bag, pulled out the photo of Fredericka and Isabel, and set it on the table. “I thought I’d show it to her when she brings the food.”

“Good idea,” Chelsea said. “We can go to the Shell Shop next. They open at ten.”

“Then, Go Golf Tours?” I asked.

“Yup.”

A part of me—actually, the majority of me—wanted to sink into the vacation atmosphere of Catalina Island. I wanted to go on a glass-bottom boat tour, take a Jeep into the interior and look for bison, visit the Wrigley Botanical Garden, and walk on the beach.

Instead, I was running around town looking for clues to Fredericka’s whereabouts. This was stressful on so many levels. Talking to strangers was uncomfortable for me even when I was asking appropriate questions like, where’s the bathroom? Asking them to report on women they didn’t know seemed like an invasion of privacy—theirs and Fredericka’s and Isabel’s. If there was one thing I didn’t want to invade, it was other people’s privacy.

The flower-girl came outside carrying our coffees in her hands and balancing our plates on her forearms. “Wow, you’re good.” Chelsea grinned at her.

The girl grinned back. “Too much practice.” Her gaze fell on the picture I’d placed on the table. “They friends of yours?”

“Yes.” Chelsea’s tone was nonchalant. “We’re actually looking for them.”

The girl’s forehead creased in concern. “They missing?”

Chelsea nodded.

I have to say, I was impressed. My cousin might be new to this whole sleuthing thing, but she was a natural.

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