The Sweetest Summer(41)
It had happened during festival week three years before. Clancy had asked Cosmo to open the door to room forty-seven. Inside was Clancy’s wife, Barbie, knockin’ flip-flops with a tourist. The image was forever burned into Clancy’s corneas—Barbie’s spandex mermaid costume crumpled on the floor while a naked man in a jaunty sea captain’s cap rode her like she was high tide.
The next morning, Clancy had the very bruised tourist in custody for assaulting an officer and purchased Barbie a one-way ferry passage back to the mainland. Her parting words had been, “I hate this ridiculous island! There’s one week of fun, and the rest of the year I’m bored out of my skull! I’m going back to Boston where I belong!”
Separation papers were drawn up that week. Within two months, the divorce was final and the sea captain had wisely dropped the idea of filing police brutality charges.
In an attempt to lift Clancy’s spirits and help put the whole disaster behind him, his dad had taken him to the Rusty Scupper Tavern for a pint. Frasier had raised a glass in his honor.
“She wasn’t good enough for ya, son. Besides, you’ve dodged the menopause bullet, and that makes you a lucky, lucky man.”
Right on cue, Cosmo smirked. “Let me guess, Chief Flynn. You need me to open up another door for you? I didn’t know you had remarried.”
Clancy glared at Cosmo, making sure he saw his complete lack of amusement. “I need to ask a few questions about Cricket Dickinson, one of your guests.”
“Dickinson?” Cosmo let his eyeglasses fall down the bridge of his nose so he could see the computer screen. “Yeah. Adjoining rooms. Fourteen and sixteen.”
“Two rooms? For an adult and young child?”
“A . . . who? Now, hold on.” He clicked a few keys on the computer. “They checked in yesterday . . . paid cash for the whole week in advance . . . This don’t make no sense.” He looked up over the rim of his eyeglasses at Clancy. “I don’t know what’s going on with this reservation, but I swear that’s not who I rented these rooms to last fall. I always require a credit card on file but there’s nothing here, just a copy of her license. Something’s not right.”
“I’d have to agree with that,” Clancy said. “I’d like a printout of that license if you don’t mind.”
Cosmo clicked a key and the printer whirred to life. He resumed his perusal of the computer screen. “This had to be a reservation for a party of four originally, because I have a rule—a minimum of two people per room rule during festival week. No exceptions.”
“So what happened?”
Cosmo suddenly lost enthusiasm for the issue, and shrugged. “What do I know?” He retrieved the black-and-white page from the printer and handed it to Clancy. “I’m an old man and half the time I can’t even find my own wallet. Computers don’t make mistakes, right? So I guess I don’t remember so good. As long as the bill is paid, I got no problems.”
Clancy decided he’d be coming back for a chat with his new Albanian friend when Cosmo was otherwise occupied.
“Well, thanks for your help, Mr. Katsakis.”
“I don’t want no trouble here, Chief. I run a nice family operation, no funny business—well, most of the time, that is. But I don’t need to tell you that.”
Clancy tipped his cap and walked out of the lobby, feeling Cosmo’s smirk burning through the back of his uniform shirt.
* * *
There was a knock at the door. Evelyn jumped off the bed and ran to press her eye to the peephole. Though it was difficult to get a clear look in the glare of the security light, it was obviously a young woman. Maybe one of the motel maids.