Page 11 of Nightshade

BUDDY CALLAHAN WORE a white shirt with a black bow tie and matching waistcoat, ready for a night of work in the BMC bar. Stilwell had moved around the desk to Crane’s seat, preferring the position of authority. Callahan entered the office and stopped when he saw Stilwell where he was used to seeing Crane.

“Close the door, Buddy, and come take a seat,” Stilwell said.

Callahan did as he was told. He appeared to Stilwell to have lived a hard sixty years and had the gin blossoms and bloated belly to prove it. After he sat down, Stilwell gave him a moment to say, What’s this all about? But he sat there quietly, apparently having been given a heads-up about the subject matter by Crane. Stilwell filled in the rest.

“I’m Detective Sergeant Stilwell with the sheriff’s department,” he began. “I’m investigating the theft of a valuable object from the club here. Are you familiar with what I’m talking about?”

“Yeah, I heard all about it,” Callahan said. “That statue been there the whole time I been here.”

“Which I’m told is almost thirty years.”

“Twenty-eight, to be exact. Longer than anybody else except some of the members.”

“I’m guessing Buddy isn’t your real name. I need your formal name for—”

“No, it’s Buddy. Says it on my birth certificate. My mother, she was a big Buddy Guy fan. You probably never heard of him.”

“‘Damn Right, I’ve Got the Blues.’ I know Buddy Guy.”

“There you go. And get this—my full name is Buddy Guy Callahan.”

“That’s cool.” Stilwell smiled and moved on with the interview. “So, Leigh-Anne Moss, what can you tell me about her?”

“She was on the make, that one. I told Crane she was bad news from the start.”

“‘On the make,’ ‘bad news’… what are we talking about here?”

“From day one she was trying to get her hooks into the members. She was looking for a sugar daddy.”

“She worked for you?”

“She worked weekends. She’d do the lunch shift and then move into the bar at night. That was when she worked for me, and I saw her game right away. She couldn’t put a drink down on a table without grabbing a shoulder or touching an arm. It was obvious. I told her to knock it off. She didn’t listen.”

“So you told Mr. Crane?”

“I wasn’t the only one. Some of the members didn’t like it. They complained.”

“Does that mean some of the members did like it?”

“I can’t say.”

“Or won’t say?”

“I didn’t last twenty-eight years in this place by shooting my mouth off about members, and anyway, it’s got nothing to do with what you’re investigating.”

Stilwell nodded.

“How about you, Buddy? Did Leigh-Anne ever grab your shoulder or touch your arm?”

“I didn’t have the right bank account for that.”

“Did that upset you?”

Callahan laughed loudly. A little too loudly. Stilwell thought he might have struck a nerve.

“No, it didn’t upset me,” the bar manager said. “I’ve seen a lot like her over the years and I managed to keep my dick in my pants, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“You married, Buddy?” Stilwell asked.

“Not anymore. Tried it and it didn’t take. But I don’t fish off the company dock.”

“Mr. Crane thinks Leigh-Anne stole the statue on her way out. Did you see her on her last day?”

“Sure. I was the one told her the boss wanted to see her.”

“When was that?”

“As soon as she came in. She was late for setup, as usual, so maybe ten fifteen or thereabouts.”

“So you were here that early. I thought you ran the bar.”

“I do. But Saturdays during the season are busy, especially when we start getting into the season. Bar’s open whenever the restaurant is.”

“What exactly are your duties as bar manager?”

“Glorified bartender. I’m in charge of inventory and maintenance, but I’m behind the bar too—five nights a week.”

“I bet a woman like Leigh-Anne, the way you say she operated, she was pulling down a lot in tips. Did people get jealous? People like you?”

Callahan laughed again, his face getting red and his nose turning a deeper shade of purple.

“Aren’t you people supposed to do your homework?” he said. “There are no gratuities at this club. Members aren’t allowed to tip. For anything. There’s a twelve percent add-on to every chit. It goes into a pool that’s split evenly with everybody on staff at the end of the month. That girl complained about the money—the exact opposite of what you’re getting at, Detective.”

He said the last word with a double shot of sarcasm. Stilwell let it roll off him as he came back with a question.

“Why would she complain when everyone got an equal share?”

“Because it’s prorated by the number of shifts you work. She was getting only four, sometimes three, shifts a week. The full-timers were getting more, and that meant more at the end of the month.”

Stilwell nodded that he understood and pivoted, hoping a change of direction would keep Callahan uncomfortable.

“So what did you say to her that day after Crane fired her?”

“Nothing. I never saw her leave. She probably didn’t want anybody to see her. That’s why she went out the front.”

“How do you know she went out the front?”

“Because if she’d gone out through the kitchen or the restaurant, we would’ve seen her.”

“‘We’?”

“We all knew she was getting fired. No other reason to get sent up to the boss.”

“Who were the members who didn’t like her? Who complained about her?”

“Complaints would have gone to Mr. Crane. You have to ask him.”

“Where was Leigh-Anne Moss living on the island?”

“No idea.”

“Was she friends with anybody on staff? Anyone she might have roomed with?”

Callahan shook his head like he was dealing with a child. “You don’t understand. No one liked her here. No one could figure out why she’d even been hired, except she was a looker. But nobody was going to let her bunk with them. That wasn’t happening. I should get back downstairs. I’ve got deliveries coming in. It was a big weekend.”

Callahan stood up to go.

“Sit down, Mr. Callahan,” Stilwell said. “We’re not finished.”

Callahan slowly sat back down, anger crossing his face. He didn’t like being told what to do. Stilwell had finished the interview, but he wasn’t going to let Callahan dictate anything. He dropped back into a more cordial tone that he hoped would keep Callahan talking.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” he said. “Last few questions and then you can get to your inventory. What do you think Leigh-Anne did with the statue of the black marlin?”

“How the fuck would I know?” Callahan said. “It’s probably in a pawnshop in Long Beach. But I tell you what, she didn’t steal that thing to sell it. She stole it as a fuck-you to this place.”

Stilwell nodded as though Callahan had made an important point.

“Last question,” he said. “Where do you think Leigh-Anne is right now?”

He studied Callahan’s eyes for any sign of hesitation or dissembling as he answered.

“Same thing,” Callahan said. “How the fuck would I know?”

Stilwell said nothing for a long moment, hoping the angry man in front of him would say more. But Callahan held his gaze and said nothing else.

“Okay, Mr. Callahan, we’re finished here,” Stilwell said. “You’re free to go.”

“About time,” Callahan said.

He stood up and stepped over to the window to take a look at the harbor. Then he turned and gave Stilwell a dead-eyed stare before heading to the door.

Stilwell waited, and a few minutes later Crane returned to the office.

“How’d we do with Buddy, Sergeant?” he asked.

Stilwell got up to return the seat of authority to its rightful owner.

“He was helpful,” he said.

He pulled a business card from his pocket and put it down on the desk.

“I think I’ve got enough information for now,” Stilwell said. “If you think of anything else that would be helpful, you’ve got my numbers there. I’ll show myself out.”

“I can walk you down,” Crane offered.

“Don’t bother. Thank you for your cooperation.”

“Thank you, Sergeant. I hope you recover our statue. It belongs here.”

Stilwell thought of something and stopped at the office door. He turned back to Crane.

“You know, you said that when you terminated Leigh-Anne, you timed it so there wouldn’t be a lot of members in the club. In case she made some kind of scene.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“So why didn’t you walk her to the door? You know, to make sure she didn’t act out or do anything else she shouldn’t?”

“I obviously should have, but I had a call from a member and I had to take it.”

“Was it that important that you’d let her walk out without being watched?”

“Sergeant, every call from a member is important here.”

“Got it. Thanks.”

Stilwell walked down the hallway where the four guest rooms were located, two on either side. The door to one of the rooms was open. Stilwell looked in and saw a woman in a maid’s uniform making a bed. The room looked sparely furnished and basic. He could see why members would prefer the staterooms on their yachts.

Stilwell went down the stairs and checked out the dining room. People wearing red waistcoats, white shirts, and black bow ties were setting up tables with silverware and glasses, getting ready for lunch. At the far end of the room was the bar. It was all dark wood and green glass banker’s lamps above shelves of bottles containing clear or amber-colored liquors. As he stood there, he saw Callahan enter from a door Stilwell presumed was the kitchen and move behind the bar. He was followed by a young man carrying something heavy, his arms straight but his hands below the bar top. He turned, raised his arms, and poured a full tub of ice into a bin behind the bar. As he did so, his grip on the tub slipped; he overcorrected, and a cascade of ice slid across the top of the bar and onto the floor in front of it.

“Goddamn it!” Callahan yelled. “You stupid asswipe, clean that up! We’re about to open.”

The kid looked mortified, like it wasn’t the first time he had taken a verbal lashing from his boss. He turned and scurried back to the kitchen. Callahan glanced into the dining room and saw that Stilwell had seen his response to the ice spill. He nodded proudly, as if saying, from one manager of people to another, This is how we do it.

Stilwell turned and left the club.