Slice of Life (Dixie Flannigan Book 4) by Rogers Chris

Author:Rogers, Chris [Rogers, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2014-02-13T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 29

A phone call to Paddock’s number told Dixie the investigator was still not available. As she pushed Claire’s fifty dollars into her pocket, her fingers touched a card already there. She pulled it out.

FARLEY SHORT

IMPORT/EXPORT

She was wearing the same jeans she’d had on Friday night, when she and Parker visited Slice’s Tavern and Deli. Farley had seemed agitated that night, trying to tell her something that, in his whiskey fog, refused to take shape. “Artichokes,” he’d said. “James Carver’s artichokes.”

Knowing now that James Carver Gray was Astin’s and Carra Lynne’s father, who’d vanished ten years before his wife committed suicide and his daughter pulled her own vanishing act, Dixie suddenly had an intense interest in speaking to Farley again.

Why had he been so determined to tell Dixie about James Carver, unless he’d seen Carra Lynne, recognized the girl despite her skinhead getup, and overheard Dixie asking about her?

Dixie slid into the driver’s seat and used Parker’s mobile phone to call the number on Farley’s card. It rang six times.

“Yes?” His oboe voice trilled with impatience.

“Farley, this is Dixie Flannigan.”

A hesitation. “Oh, yes, from the Evers’ party.”

“Could I drop by and talk with you for a few minutes?”

“That would be nice. I don’t get nearly as many visitors as I’d like. But I’m all packed up to go fishing before this fine morning turns foul.”

Dixie looked at the western sky, where dark clouds had gathered. “I won’t take much of your time, I promise.”

“Well, now, I suppose we could chat while I load the boat, if you’ll meet me at the yacht basin.” He gave her directions and a slip number.

According to the dash clock, Dixie’d been gone forty-seven minutes. She could count on Parker copping zees for another hour, long enough to exchange a few words with the former importer and still have time to pick up breakfast. Maybe.

Shoving the Cadillac in gear, she sped back toward Broadway then headed west. This would be a good time to have Parker along, with his intimate knowledge of the yacht basin. A rabbit’s warren of streets truncated abruptly as land ended and water began. Despite Farley’s directions, she dead-ended twice and had to retrace her route, but found the slip with less trouble than she expected and spied Farley loading a modest-sized fishing boat. He looked spry this morning, vital, and somewhat younger in khaki cargo shorts and white crew-neck shirt.

A brown pelican perched on the boat’s bow. Dixie had never seen one so close. When a horn sounded sharply nearby, the bird lurched into the air, made a lazy circle, sharing the sky with a dozen gulls, then resumed its perch.

Dixie called to Farley and waved.

“Ms. Flannigan, I’m very glad to see you.” He paused his work long enough to shake hands. “Welcome to the Spunky Mackerel. Plenty of room to sit while I finish loading.”

Waves slapped the side of the hull, making it squeak and groan.

“Thanks, but I’ll just stand here on the dock.”

“Coffee!” He hustled to the bow and scooped up a Thermos.

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