“Besides you—and noon, when you arrived at your bar. If you were out and about in this town, driving to the beach, hanging around the dock area, someone must have seen you. Even if it was someone just, you know, walking his dog. If you can help us, I think that would be really …”
“Helpful,” Gilpin finished. He speared a strawberry.
They both watched me attentively, congenially. “It’d be super-helpful, Nick,” Gilpin repeated more pleasantly. First time I’d heard about the argument—that they knew about it—and they chose to tell me in front of Rand—and they chose to pretend it wasn’t a gotcha.
“Sure thing,” I said.
“You mind telling us what it was about?” Boney asked. “The argument?”
“What did Mrs. Teverer tell you it was about?”
“I hate to take her word when I got you right here.” She poured some cream into her coffee.
“It was such a nothing argument,” I began. “That’s why I never mentioned it. Just both of us scrapping at each other, the way couples do sometimes.”
Rand looked at me as if he had no clue what I was talking about: Scrapping? What is this scrapping of which you speak?
“It was just—about dinner,” I lied. “About what we’d do for dinner for our anniversary. You know, Amy is a traditionalist about these things—”
“The lobster!” Rand interrupted. He turned to the cops. “Amy cooks lobster every year for Nick.”
“Right. But there’s nowhere to get lobster in this town, not alive, from the tank, so she was frustrated. I had the Houston’s reservation—”
“I thought you said you didn’t have a Houston’s reservation.” Rand frowned.
“Well, yes, sorry, I’m getting confused. I just had the idea of the Houston’s reservation. But I really should have just arranged to have some lobster flown in.”
The cops, each of them, raised an accidental eyebrow. How very fancy.
“It’s not that expensive to do. Anyway, we were at this rotten loggerheads, and it was one of those arguments that got bigger than it should have.” I took a bite of my pancakes. I could feel the heat rushing from under my collar. “We were laughing about it within the hour.”
“Hunh” was all Boney said.
“And where are you on the treasure hunt?” Gilpin asked.
I stood up, put down some money, ready to go. I wasn’t the one who was supposed to be playing defense here. “Nowhere, not right yet—it’s hard to think clearly with so much going on.”
“Okay,” Gilpin said. “It’s less likely the treasure hunt is an angle, now that we know she was already feeling threatened months ago. But keep me in the loop anyway, okay?”
We all shuffled out into the heat. As Rand and I got into our car, Boney called out, “Hey, is Amy still a two, Nick?”
I frowned at her.
“A size two?” she repeated.
“Yes, she is, I think,” I said. “Yes. She is.”
Boney made a face that said Hmmmm, and got in her car.
“What do you think that was about?” Rand asked.
“Those two, who knows?”
We remained silent for most of the way to the hotel, Rand staring out the window at the rows of fast-food restaurants blinking by, me thinking about my lie—my lies. We had to circle to find a space at the Days Inn; the payroll convention was apparently a hot ticket.
“You know, it’s funny, how provincial I am, lifetime New Yorker,” Rand said, fingers on the door handle. “When Amy talked about moving back here, back along the Ole Mississippi River, with you, I pictured … green, farmland, apple trees, and those great old red barns. I have to tell you, it’s really quite ugly here.” He laughed. “I can’t think of a single thing of beauty in this whole town. Except for my daughter.”
He got out and strode quickly toward the hotel, and I didn’t try to catch up. I entered the headquarters a few minutes behind him, took a seat at a secluded table toward the back of the room. I needed to complete the treasure hunt before the clues disappeared, figure out where Amy had been taking me. After a few hours’ stint here, I’d deal with the third clue. In the meantime, I dialed.
“Yeah,” came an impatient voice. A baby was crying in the background. I could hear the woman blow the hair off her face.
“Hi, is this—is this Hilary Handy?”
She hung up. I phoned back.
“Hello?”
“Hi there. I think we got cut off before.”
“Would you put this number on your do not call list—”
“Hilary, I’m not selling anything, I’m calling about Amy Dunne—Amy Elliott.”