He shrugged indifferently as if bar fights were the normal course of doing business, and I guess in his line of work that was true.
“Well, anyone who wants to salvage treasure from ships sunk in Florida waters needs a license from the State. I’ll check with Tallahassee, see if anyone is looking at wrecks between Sarasota and Key West.”
He saw the hesitation in my face and went ramrod straight again.
“What?”
“There was a man . . .” And I told him how strange it was that Bucket Hat insisted on questioning me about Augusta and Delia, even with Miguel writhing on the kitchen floor.
“That is . . . out of place. Are you sure he could see Miguel? Knew there was a problem?”
“There’s more.” When I finished telling him about my accidental brush last night with Bucket Hat and the wrecker boys all talking about treasure and old ladies who could soon be dead, Frank stood towering over me, with a cloudless sky as background.
“Tell me again. As close as you can remember, repeat exactly what he said.”
And I did. In my memory, the threat in Bucket Hat’s words was magnified by the fierce glare he sent my way when he caught me eavesdropping. I wouldn’t want to come face-to-face with him again.
Frank took a few steps away from me and spoke quietly into his shoulder radio. Then he pulled out his cell phone and made a call. When he was done, he came and stood over me again. He leaned back, crossed his arms and stared directly in my eyes. We’d moved back to not speaking. Was this an interrogation technique? I wondered. Too bad. I’d told him everything I could think of; besides, I had so much work waiting for me in the café. I cleared my throat, gave as sweet a smile as I could muster and stood.
“I guess we’re done here. I’ve told you all I know.”
“Sit. Down,” he ordered.
Wondering what else we could possibly have to discuss, I decided to comply although I’d already told him everything I knew. I reached for my cell phone to check the time then realized I’d left it on the counter. I started to fidget. The lunch crowd would be gathering soon.
Finally, he broke the silence, his voice dripping with accusation. “This conversation you overheard on the pier. That was last night?”
I nodded. “I know it was after Delia . . . but I thought it might be important.”
“Thought? Thought? You saw these men before I called, didn’t you?”
I was starting to see where this was going.
“The problem is you didn’t think. If you weren’t so completely thoughtless and irresponsible, you would have told me this last night. You’ve cost this investigation valuable time.”
Abruptly, he turned away, throwing a curt “we’ll need to speak again” over his shoulder.
As I watched him stride to his car, I determined that from this point on, the only person I’d speak to from the sheriff’s office was Ryan. This new lieutenant had far too much ’tude for me.
I was barely through the café door when Bridgy hurried toward me holding my phone in her outstretched hand. “You left your cell. It’s been ringing constantly.”
“Who’s been calling?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t look.”
As if, I thought. I took the phone from her hand and pressed the “Missed Calls” button.
Chapter Ten ||||||||||||||||||||
Two calls from Cady one minute apart. As was his habit, he called then re-called instantly, assuming I hadn’t reached the phone in time to catch his first call. Next, Pastor John. He probably needed help dealing with Miss Augusta. The fourth call was from a number I didn’t recognize, which my phone unhelpfully named “Wireless Caller.” Still, it was a 239 area code.