cash, leaving nothing but the deed to the decidedly less-valuable North Beach.
Why had Eddie made that deal? What could he possibly have been thinking as heâd signed their life over? Bo didnât know, and he probably never would.
As the day went on, a few private jets came and went, but with North Beachâs fuel pump down for the day, many customers bypassed the place entirely, which meant a huge loss of income.
It boggled Boâs business-oriented mind. Ernest was still working on fixing the pump, and supposedly they had another guy coming out tomorrow or the next day. Bo himself could have probably lent a hand to the efforts, but as no one had exactly welcomed him or tried to even talk to him, he figured fuck it. Sure this place was his now, but damn it, it wasnât what he wanted. What he wanted was the Beechcraft his father had loved. The money would have been welcome as well.
To get either, he also needed Sally. Where was she?
And what was pretty Mel hiding? He knew it was something, because things were not adding up. She couldnât talk to him. Odd, since he didnât have a beef with her. Though he was beginning to understand she had a beef with him.
Something else that didnât add upâ¦
Each of the employees here was interesting, to say the least. Not a one eager to make friends.
Bo didnât care, but heâd hoped for some answers. And yet they were an incredibly tight-lipped, loyal bunch.
Heâd thought heâd start with Dimi, but she threw him such a fulminating look, he just kept walking, instead trying Danny. The mechanic was quiet but steady as a rock, and knowledgeable as hell for someone with flip-flops on his feet and the surf report blaring on his radio. He warmed up a bit when Bo revealed his love for all things aircraft, but was careful not to take the bait with any of Boâs careful probing, giving nothing away of Mel or Sally or anyone here.
Bo tried again with Kellan and Ritchie in the employee break room. They were playing darts, and after awhile, seemed to forget Bo was there, which scored him all sorts of interesting but useless gossip; such as the fact that Dimi serial-dated men, and Mel rarely dated at all.
Must be that cheer and sweetness she had in spades.
Later he tried the café. Char cooked him an orgasmically good burger while singing along to an old STYX song, although singing was a debatable word. She was clearly curious about him but managed to restrain herself from answering any questions.
It was seriously starting to piss him off.
Ernest came next. He was an odd bloke who muttered to himself and spent a lot of time looking at spiderwebs, and was definitely not going to warm up to Bo enough to give him any valuable information.
A bust. The whole day had been a bust, with the exception of the one piece of knowledge heâd gained about the people here: they shared a deep, abiding, unwavering love for this place, and an even deeper one for Mel.
He told himself he didnât care. He was on a mission, and heâd only just also realized that the mission was going to have to include something he hadnât expected: clearing his fatherâs name. Because no matter what happened, whether Bo got the Beechcraft or the money back, Eddie Black did not deserve to be remembered as a con artist, and the thought that it could happen started a slow burn in his gut. Eddie had once saved the young Boâs life, then had raised him while trying to get his own dream off the ground, and as far as Bo was concerned, Eddie had been a fucking hero, and by the time this was over, everyone else here would sure as hell know it.
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Mel came back in the late afternoon. Bo watched as she connected with everyone there, making sure all was okay.
Like a mother cat checking on her kittens.
Actually, he thought, it was probably a lot more like a wild tigress checking on her feral cubs. Sheâd apparently had a long layover and had gone shopping.
Dave Barry and Alan Zweibel