Wild High by Tripp Ellis

Author:Tripp Ellis [Ellis, Tripp]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tripp Ellis
Published: 2020-07-19T16:00:00+00:00

21

"Bernard is 81, and he lives alone on his sailboat, She Got the House. His daughter in Sacramento hasn't heard from him in a week, and she's concerned," Daniels said. “Drives an older champagne-colored Hoyoka sedan. I’ve got a BOLO out just in case he’s wandering around lost. The daughter says he doesn’t have dementia, but you never know.”

"We’re on it," I said.

We made our way through the parking lot of the high school to JD's Porsche. His wasn't the only exotic sports car in the lot. There were plenty of high-end cars—Mercedes, Lexus, BMW, Porsche, and a few Teslas. There were a lot of wealthy families in Coconut Key.

We climbed into the two-seat speedster, and Jack cranked up the engine. He dropped it into gear, and the beast growled as we eased out of the parking lot. We zipped across the island with the top down. The wind swirled around the cabin, blowing Jack's blond hair as he pumped classic rock through the Bose speakers.

"I hope I'm still going strong at 81," JD said.

"Let's hope Bernard is still going strong," I said.

We pulled into the parking lot of Pirates’ Cove, hopped out of the vehicle, and trotted to the dock, looking for She Got the House. It was a 42-foot Bruun-Ericson sailboat built by the renowned Swedish shipbuilder. It had a 13.6-foot beam, twin aft cabins, bow and stern thrusters, and comfort options that included a generator, washing machine, and push-button sailing controls with electric halyard and wenches. It had a spacious cockpit, finished with an elegant teak deck. It was just at home crossing the Atlantic or cruising around coastal waters.

It was a damn nice sailboat.

We stood on the dock at the stern and called aboard for Mr. Norman.

There was no response.

A vehicle pulled into the parking lot, and a man got out of the driver's seat. It was a champagne-colored Hoyoka. The driver moved to the rear of the vehicle, popped the trunk, and unloaded two bags of groceries. He carried them toward the dock.

I squinted, trying to see if it was Bernard Norman.

The man wore a blue ball cap, a sky-blue polo shirt, and white shorts. He was a little too spry for a man in his 80s. He was probably in his late 30s or early 40s.

Clearly not our guy.

But the car was a match.

A woman had disembarked from a neighboring boat and ambled down the dock toward the parking lot. She had short, curly hair that had been blonde, but was showing more gray.

"Excuse me, ma'am, have you seen Bernard Norman?"

"No, I haven't seen him in about a week. But you might want to talk to his nephew. He's taking care of the boat while Bernard is on vacation." She pointed to the man carrying the groceries.

As soon as she pointed, the groceries hit the asphalt. The brown bags toppled over, and a head of cabbage rolled out. Glass shattered, and a carton of eggs probably didn’t survive the fall.

What was more concerning was the pistol the man had pulled from his waistline.

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