Blind Overlook (Book 3 of the Jay Leicester Mysteries Series) by JC Simmons Page A

South Carolina State police. He's a retired Aerospace Engineer, worked
with NASA. Neither he or his wife have ever had so much as a parking
ticket."
    "We keep
looking." I fingered a knife, and watched Mabel disappear into the
kitchen.
    "Yes, we
do."
    Henry entered
the restaurant, went behind the counter, poured himself a cup of coffee, came
over to our table, and sat down with us. He said the hotel was empty, except
for me. Silently, I wondered where Nat Rinaldi could have stayed. He had to
have slept somewhere. I made a mental note to discuss this with Chamberlain on
the way to the airport. His men were working on it, I knew, but we needed to
know.
    Watching Henry
carefully, there was nothing outwardly noticeable that indicated he had more
than a layman's curiosity of what had happened in this small community. He had
not been scratched off my list, not yet, anyway.
    On the way out
of the restaurant Chamberlain insisted on paying. At the cash register Mabel
asked if I still had the piece of paper she'd given me. I said that I did.
    "What you
don't use, you lose,” she said, walking away toward the kitchen.
    When we got in
Chamberlain's car he asked, "What was that all about?"
    "You mean
with Mabel?" I fastened my seat belt. "What do you know about
her?"
    "I've known
her for thirty years. Lost her husband to the sea." He started the engine.
"She's hard working, never remarried. Doesn't play around much. Why, you
interested?"
    "Just
wondered,” I said, looking out the window to the blue waters of the bay.
    "Yeah,”
Chamberlain said, with a smile, putting the car in gear. "Let's go meet
with the Chairman of the Board."
    "We've got
to find where Nat Rinaldi was staying,” I said to Chamberlain while looking at
the buildings along the waterfront as we drove south toward the airport.
    "Yes,” he
said, nodding, both hands gripping the steering wheel. "Sooner or later
we'll get lucky. One of the advantages in working the confines of a small
community is your chances are better at finding the bad guys. Or anything else
you might be looking for."
    "You think
he might have stayed on Monhegan?"
    "I don't
know." He turned and watched a squad car speed down the street in the
opposite direction. Bending forward, he turned up the police radio. "It's
a possibility we won't rule out."
    "I talked
with Barstein, the ferry boat Captain out of Port Clyde,” I said, turning and
watching the blue and white round a corner. "He said Rianldi was at the
dock wanting to get across to Monhegan Island the day before Bilotti turned up
with a bullet in his brain. Only the ferry didn't run. Rinaldi was upset, asked
about a charter boat."
    Chamberlain hit
the steering wheel with the palm of his hand. "I asked Barstein,
personally, if Rianldi had been on the passenger list. He said no, which was
the truth. He should have volunteered he'd seen him."
    "Well, you
know seamen are a closed mouth group,” I said, remembering being among them
yesterday.
    "Yes. But,
by God, this is murder." He slapped the steering wheel again, then as an
afterthought, adjusted the volume on the police radio. "Two of them. They
know it!"
    Chamberlain was
mad. He knew the people in his community. All of them. He knew there were times
when they'd lie; illegal fishing, running some grass, stealing. There are
things where one draws the line. Murder was one of them.
    "I thought
one of the locals might have lifted the cash from Bilotti,” I said, feeling out
his thoughts. "If it was still there when the body was found."
    "Forget
it,” Chamberlain said, looking at me. "They couldn't keep it secret for
twenty-four hours. They'd probably go buy a new sports car, a boat, and a
house. All in one day, paying cash." He laughed, exercised the fist with
which he'd hit the wheel. "I don't think so, Jay."
    Maybe, I
thought. But half a million would go a long way to keeping up an old ferryboat.
    "We may
have to go over to Monhegan Island,” I volunteered, rolling down a window,
smelling the