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head stuffed in an engine compartment. You’re right, though, now that you mention it. Milhouser always wore a pinstriped button-down shirt. And boots from L.L. Bean, back when New England swells were the only ones who thought that stuff was hip.”
    I listened to him talk while I ate another plate of fish he’d brought out for me, which was nicely seasoned and well cooked, though like all Hodges’s preparations, unidentifiable. You could ask him what it was, but it wasn’t worth the trouble. You never got a straight answer.
    “So we’re agreeing Jeff Milhouser was a dickhead,” he said in summary.
    “We are. Him and his offspring.”
    “Don’t know the kid,” said Hodges. “Not that I know of, anyway.”
    “He’s been building houses around Noyac and North Sea. His crew’s from Up Island.”
    “They might be a little too refined for the Pequot.”
    “Better to stay clear of that bunch. You don’t need the trouble,” I said.
    “Can’t be worse than a crew of fishermen after a few weeks at sea. Anyway, we got equipment for that behind the bar.”
    “They aren’t always men,” Dorothy interjected from across the room.
    “Pardon me, I meant fisherpeople,” said Hodges. “She’s right, though. Some of those ladies are scarier than the men.”
    After that we found ourselves diverted along some other long and circuitous conversational paths, which was the norm with Hodges. It was still early, but I was getting heavy with tiredness and iced Absolut, the hard labors of the day catching up with me. I told Hodges I had to call it quits.
    “I’ll go dig up the check,” he said, starting to stand up, and then paused and sat back down.
    “Now I remember,” he said. “It wasn’t the road-salt scam that got Milhouser in all that trouble. It was bank fraud. Damn, I can’t believe I’m remembering this.” He nodded to himself as he chewed over the memory, his face furrowed with concentration. I was almost too tired to take the bait, but I wasn’t getting the check without letting him spill the story.
    “Gee, Hodges, what was that fraud all about?” I asked.
    “What he did was move a bunch of Town money into one of his own accounts, just long enough to collateralize a loan, then moved it all back out again. This took place inside the same bank, so it must have looked easy to Milhouser, though of course the genius never thought anybody’d notice the transactions. Could have been real trouble, but he got probation on a plea of irreconcilable stupidity.”
    “Which bank was this?” I asked.
    “Right there on Main Street. Don’t remember the name.”
    “Harbor Trust?” I asked him. It was the bank where Amanda used to work and her husband Roy was the manager.
    “I think it was some savings and loan. Local deal. They all disappeared a while ago.”
    Dorothy saved me from more talk about the Milhousers by bringing me the check and gently shooing her father back into the kitchen. I got out of there and headed back to the tip of Oak Point.
    I drove past my house and up to Amanda’s. The Audi was gone and her house was blacked out, leaving only my postlamp to light our two properties. I walked up to the door anyway and rang the bell. After waiting a minute, I went around to a side window and opened it up. I knew about the missing lock from when the place was owned by an old lady named Regina Broadhurst. I knew about it because she was always on my ass to fix it.
    I found my way to Amanda’s bedroom and turned on the light. Her suitcase was missing from the closet. The hair dryer and her makeup bag were gone from the bathroom.
    The only thing that could nail it down more was a note that said, “I have left for the night.”
    When I got back to my cottage Eddie was waiting on the little porch off the side door. My plan had been to go right to bed without a last cigarette or nightcap, but now I decided on both. Eddie went with me out to the Adirondack chairs. The surface of the Little Peconic was racing