Read Sand City Murders for Free Online Page B

pirate’s treasure. It wasn’t gold doubloons of course, the money was in an escrow account. Some of the Village elders had reservations about all the kids digging up the beach. But I figured they were going to dig it up anyhow. That’s what kids do. This argument went nowhere.
     I came back with my third cup of coffee and found our number one stringer sitting in the communal cubicle. “Mr James? What are you doing here on a Monday?”
    He laughed. “Getting my check, this week’s issue, and this…” He held up his notebook. Stringer Evan James did not look like a reporter. One eye focused on you, the other seemed to be staring off at something else entirely. It was always a little disconcerting. I wondered if he had a glass eye but never asked.
    “What’s that?”
    “Oh, the Planning Commission story. Thursday’s meeting.”
    “Something big I take it?”
    “The Blue Dunes Hotel wants to add a third floor... you know, get a variance.”
    “Hmm. Objections?”
    “Not yet. Funny though, the way they’re situated, up against the bluffs, another floor wouldn’t block anybody’s view, but the new rooms would definitely have an ocean view.”
    “You’re going to need a thesaurus, Evan.”
    “What?” He looked at me quizzically through his one eye.
    “For your story. View… vista, scene, panorama, landscape…”
    “Right, thanks.”
    I didn’t know if Evan was staying or going. He just kind of stood there. “If you want to type up the story now, you can use my machine... Go ahead.” Planning commission or not, I did know what our headline would be for this week: The Sand City Murders .
     
     
    chapter 4
    the bar
     
    The biggest drawback to living in Sand City is wind. It’s a rare day that only a gentle breeze blows. Something about living on a peninsula with the bay on one side and the ocean on the other. It’s always windy, too windy to play ultimate, my favorite team sport. For the uninitiated, that’s ultimate frisbee, kind of like soccer, only no inflatable round thing. Stupidly, I tried to get a pickup game going with no success. I found a good field but… well, it was just too damn windy… Nowadays I drive to Fairhaven once a week for the Monday night pickup game, temperatures permitting; cancelled when it was lower than forty degrees… too many shattered disks, not to mention torn hamstrings. Sometimes, I’d car pool with my colleagues, Joey Jegal and Frank Gannon. Joey had a solid forehand and made great cuts from the stack. Frank played a little fast and loose but was a good defender. He was tall and could knock anything down so long as we remembered our up calls . Even Jack Leaning from the Fairhaven Times would show up once and awhile. He was old school, no flick, but a killer two-handed throw that would sail down the field. He was also faster than you might think. In all, it was a good group of people, friendly and competitive with a core of solid players and new faces almost every week. Funny, I lived for this more than anything. If you’ve never played ultimate, there’s not much more to say than it’s the best sport ever, period. If you do play, well, there’s nothing more to add at all.
    Thirty-nine degrees and raining. Tonight’s game was a wash-out. My second choice was Partners, the local bar. There was a line here at 9:30 in the morning as soon as they opened. The regulars waiting for their day to begin. Vodka, breakfast of champions... I was not amongst them, I’m happy to say. Twelve hours later though, they were still sitting there when I walked in around nine at night. Sure it was a dive, the kind of place where they tacked up everything: old road signs, knick-knacks, photos, framed ads for products no one ever heard of… I’m sure you know exactly what I mean. And mostly stuff with a nautical theme. But it was always dark in Partners so you couldn’t really see that much. Sometimes you’d be staring at a picture and say to yourself, wow, I’ve looked at