Page 12 of Nightshade

BEFORE RETURNING TO the sub, Stilwell walked over to the hardware and marine-supply store on Marilla. The longtime manager was Ned Browning, and Stilwell knew him from following up on reported thefts from the store. Browning was in the back room, conducting an inventory of boat cushions.

“Sergeant Stil, how’s it going?”

“Not bad, Ned. You?”

“The body in the water. Bad stuff. Terrible.”

“Yeah.”

“So you want to see my records on recent anchor sales?”

Stilwell was surprised.

“Why would you say that?” he asked.

“Because Denzel Abbott was in here this morning,” Browning said. “He was ordering new air lines and filters. He told me all about the girl wrapped in an anchor chain.”

“Do me a favor and keep that to yourself.”

“Not a problem.”

“So, have you sold any anchors of late?”

“That would make your day, huh?”

“It would.”

“Well, sorry. I don’t move a lot of anchors. Most boats come out here equipped.”

“I kind of thought it would be a long shot.”

“Just so you know, somebody already asked me about anchors today.”

“Who was that?”

“A sheriff’s detective from overtown called, a guy named Ahearn. I told him just what I told you. We don’t sell a lot of anchors.

We have ’em. We just don’t move ’em.”

Stilwell was surprised that Ahearn had taken such initiative so early in the investigation.

“Did he ask you about anything else?” he asked.

“Uh, no,” Browning said. “Just the anchor.”

“Okay, then. Did Ahearn ask you to call him if anybody comes in to buy a twelve-pound Hold Fast plow anchor?”

“No, he didn’t ask that.”

“Then you can call me if that happens.”

“You got it.”

Stilwell headed out, but as he was walking back through the store to the door, he thought of something and turned around. Browning was still where he had left him.

“Ned, you sell handsaws here?” he asked.

“Sure,” Browning said. “What kind you need?”

“Like for cutting through PVC, fiberglass. Like that?”

“Aisle four.”

Stilwell went back and found the saw section. It took him only a few seconds to see a package that included a saw with a handle like the one he had seized. The package came with two extra blades. He looped the package off the hanging peg and returned to the back room to talk to Browning a third time.

“Do you know who Oscar Terranova is, Ned?” he asked.

“Sure, I know him,” Browning said. “Everybody knows him.”

“Does he have an account here?”

“An account? No, we don’t have accounts. Customers want something, they have to buy it. No credit. That’s a deal with the devil, having to chase people to pay their bills.”

“Is there any way of checking to see if he bought a package like this recently?”

“If he paid cash, no. If he used a credit card, we could go through the charges, but it would take a while.”

“Would you search by customer name or product?”

“Product would be easier. Our inventory is digital. We could pull up sales of that individual product. Credit card is more involved.”

“Good. I’d be interested in anybody who bought one of these in, like, the past sixty days.”

“Okay.”

“How long will that take?”

“Uh, give me a couple days. Is this about that buffalo beheading? Is that what they used?” He pointed at the saw.

Stilwell was never surprised by how fast word got around. Avalon was a small town, and everybody seemed to know everybody’s business long before it ended up in the Call. “Look, Ned—”

“I know, I know. Keep it to myself.”

“Please.”

“No worries. I’ll call you when I’ve looked.”

“Thank you.”

Outside the store, Stilwell checked his watch. The autopsy on the body of the woman from the water was still a few hours away. He pulled his phone and called Tash.

“Do you think I can grab a screen over there and go through the harbor cameras for earlier this month?” he asked.

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” she said. “I can set you up. It’s pretty quiet around here.”

“You want me to bring lunch?”

“That’d be nice. Blue Rose?”

“Sure. What do you want?”

“Chicken mole, please.”

“Okay, I’ll be over.”

After he disconnected, Stilwell called Maggie’s Blue Rose and put in an order for pickup. While it was being put together he walked back to the sub to check in with Mercy. Deputy Ilsa Ramirez was in the dayroom bent over some paperwork.

“Sergeant,” she said. “I just took a missing person report on a guy Mercy said you asked about the other day.”

“Who?” Stilwell asked.

“Henry Gaston? He works as a mechanic in the cart barn for one of the tour companies.”

A dull thud hit Stilwell in the chest and he was silent for a moment as he digested the news.

“Who reported him missing?” he finally asked.

“His wife,” Ramirez said. “She says he hasn’t been home since Saturday morning.”

“What happened Saturday morning?”

“Nothing unusual. She said he went into work because one of the tour carts broke down and they couldn’t replace it because all the tours and carts were booked for the weekend. He said he’d be gone a couple hours while he fixed it, but he never came home after that.”

“Did you take this by phone or in person?”

“In person. I went to their house up on Tremont.”

“Did you ask if any of his clothes were missing?”

“Uh, no. I didn’t think to—”

“He might be on the run. Go back up there and look around the house. Ask about his things. See if he packed a bag.”

“But why would he do that and not tell his wife?”

“I don’t know if he would, but on Friday I gave him until Wednesday—tomorrow—to come in and talk about the buffalo mutilation. He could’ve gotten scared and rabbited. Or he could actually be missing—as in forcibly missing.”

“Oh, wow.”

“Yeah. So you do that and I’ll go check out the cart barn.”

“Roger that.”

She got up and left the bullpen. Stilwell turned and saw Mercy at her desk.

“Mercy, anything on the socials about Leigh-Anne Moss?” he asked.

“I found her on Instagram,” Mercy said. “Her profile hasn’t been updated in a while. Do you want me to send it to you?”

“I don’t have Instagram. Can you print it out?”

“I think so. Might take me a bit.”

“Fine. I’m going over to the desal district to check the cart barn.”

Once he was in the Gator and heading to where Gaston worked, he called Tash.

“Tash, something came up and I can’t make it for a while,” he said. “But I did order the food. Can you go pick it up?”

“Uh, I can’t leave right now,” Tash said. “I’ll see if Heidi can go over there.”

Heidi Allen was a secretary in the harbormaster’s office. She was also the mayor’s aunt, which caused Tash some concern. She worried that the mayor had placed Heidi there so he’d have eyes on the internal operation of one of Avalon’s most important and visible public services.

“Sorry about this,” Stilwell said. “I’ll come by to look at the cams as soon as I get free of this other thing.”

“What’s happening?” Tash asked.

“A missing person. I’ll tell you about it later.”

“Okay. I’ll keep your lunch warm.”

He was already up high and cresting the mountain on Wrigley Road. The air was crisp and clear, and the view across the bay was marred only by the hazy layer of smog that hung over the mainland like a warning. Stilwell often drove up here to contemplate his surroundings and think about what he had left behind in the dirty air over there. It always seemed to reinforce the idea that sometimes you don’t know what you’re looking for until you’ve found it.

He had found good things on Catalina. He had found Tash and he had found meaning in his work. He had initially objected to his transfer but now knew that he never wanted to go back. That he was home.

At the cart barn, the garage door was down and there was no sign of activity. Stilwell got out of the Gator and went up to the pedestrian door to the right of the garage. It was locked, so he knocked. He waited and then knocked again. There was a camera over the door. He looked up at it and guessed that there was someone inside watching him. He stared unblinking at the lens for a few moments before turning.

As he walked back to the cart, he heard the door open behind him. He turned to see Oscar Terranova standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame.

“You scared away my mechanic, Stilwell,” he said. “Now I have to find a new one.”

“ I scared him away?” Stilwell said. “Or was it you?”

Terranova didn’t answer. Stilwell walked up the drive and over to him. He stood close enough to make Terranova drop his relaxed position and take half a step back.

“I don’t care where you stashed him or what you did with him,” Stilwell said. “It’s not going to stop anything. This doesn’t end here.”

“We’ll just have to see,” Terranova said.

“Yeah, we will. You take care, Baby Head. If I were you, I’d get myself a good lawyer—one of those slick guys from the mainland. You’re going to need one.”

“Yeah, but you’re not me, right? So why don’t you run along and fuck off.”

Stilwell nodded, noting that it was the second time so far in the day that he’d been told to fuck off. He took that as a good sign on multiple levels.