Whiskey Beach(139)

Mike took a long pull of Mountain Dew. “Man, this takes me back. Anyway, we made an appointment. He wanted either me or Tony—Tony Dodd, my associate—to show the properties. Insisted it had to be one of us. I got a note right here in the file because I got attitude right off the get-go from him. No problem, a sale’s a sale.”

“He doesn’t have time to waste on underlings. He’s too important. I get him.”

“Yeah, he made that clear,” Mike agreed. “So, he comes in later that week. Expensive suit, two-hundred-dollar haircut. He’s got that entitled, prep-school superiority all over him. No offense, you probably went to one.”

“I did, and none taken. I know the type.”

“Okay. He doesn’t want coffee or small talk. He’s on a schedule. But when I’m driving him down to look at the two properties, he asks about Bluff House. Everybody does, so I didn’t think anything of it. I remember we had one of those smoky skies that day, cold, gloomy, and the house looked like something right out of a movie. Some old gothic film, you know, the way it sits up here. I give him the spiel, the history, the pirate deal because it always grabs a client’s interest. And Christ, Eli, I hope to God I didn’t say anything to bring this on.”

“He already knew. He was here because he knew.”

“I didn’t like him, but I didn’t jump to homicidal maniac or anything. Just tight-assed rich prick. I showed him the place a block back first. Sandcastle’s newer, bigger and a bigger commission. Plus I tagged him as going for the bigger. But I took him through the other. He asked what most people ask, did the wandering through, and out on the top deck. You can see the ocean from the deck.”

“And Bluff House.”

“Yeah. He wasn’t too happy about the proximity of the other houses, wanted to know which ones had permanent residents, which were rentals. But that’s not an unusual question. I took him down to Sandcastle. It’s got some nice features, and the other houses aren’t as close in. He spent a lot of time outside again, and yeah, you can see Bluff House from there.

“He met the asking price on the spot, which isn’t usual. In fact, actually pretty damn stupid in this market, since the sellers were prepared to go lower. But I just figured he thought dickering was beneath him. I said how I’d take him to lunch, and we could deal with the paperwork, and I could contact the owners. Not interested.”

With a sour look, Mike tapped the face of his own watch. “Tick, tick, tock, you know? I had to put the contract together quick and fast. He wrote a check for the earnest money, gave me his contact information. And took off. It’s tough to complain about an easy sale, but he irritated me.”

“And the rest? Did it go as fast and smooth?”

“Settled in thirty days. He came in, signed the papers, took the keys. He barely said anything more than yes or no. We do a nice welcome basket for new owners—a bottle of wine, some fancy cheese and bread, a potted plant, some coupons for local shops and restaurants. He left it sitting on the table. Couldn’t be bothered to take it.”

“He had what he wanted.”

“I haven’t seen him since. I wish I knew more, but if you figure out how to catch the bastard, you let me know. I’m all about being in that.”

“I appreciate it.”

“I’m going to get going. Look, why don’t I throw some burgers on the grill tomorrow night. You and Abra come on over.”

“It sounds good to me.”

“I’ll see you then. Thanks for the Dew.”

After Mike left, Eli laid a hand on Barbie’s head, scratched gently behind her ears. He thought about the man Mike had just described.

“What did she see in him?” he wondered. Then he sighed. “I guess you never know who’s going to pull at you, or why.” He shoved to his feet. “Let’s go for a walk.”

He gave it a few more days, just a few more days. The routine lulled him. Morning runs on the beach with the dog, or yoga if Abra charmed him into it. Solid blocks of writing time, with the windows open, the balm of sea air now that May blew sweetly through.

Reading out on the terrace with a dog sprawled at his feet, he learned more about the history of the house and the village whiskey built than he’d ever expected to.

He’d known the original distillery had expanded in the late 1700s after the war. He hadn’t realized, or retained, in any case, that the extensive expansions on the once modest house had begun shortly after. They’d added a bathhouse at considerable expense, according to his source, the first in Whiskey Beach.