Page 83 of Beach Reads and Deadly Deeds

“Yep.” She handed me back my credit card.

“When?” I asked, getting exasperated.

She shrugged. “He’s on de boat now, twenty minutes? You want me call ’em?”

“That would be great,” I said.

The cook hit a bell, and the girl reached back for my basket of tacos without looking. I took them to the ATM and withdrew two hundred dollars—Crusty might want money for information. Then I went outside, which was decidedly cooler than indoors. I climbed onto the seat of the bike cart and handed Jorge one of the water bottles, two of the tacos, and two twenty-dollar bills. He’d earned every dime.

“Gracias,” he said.

I ate my tacos. They were fresh and delicious.

We were parked on the uneven base under a huge mampoo tree, its trunk thick and roots breaking through the ground in multiple places between us and the inlet. It was quite nice, I thought as I watched the boats. Jorge drained his water and leaned back, closed his eyes, his hat partially covering his face.

I didn’t know what to do other than wait and reflect onwhat I’d learned—which was not much, to be honest. I’d come here to retrace Diana Harden’s steps... and only learned that CeeCee was having lunch with a girlfriend, and Sherry Morrison had given a shady-looking man cash. I still didn’t know why Diana had come to St. John or what she did while she was here. I hoped I could get back to St. Claire with enough time to shower and change for the sunset cruise. Put all this unproductive sleuthing on the back burner and enjoy the evening with Jason. A thrill went down my spine remembering how he made me feel... I deserved him, didn’t I? I deserved a night to let go and not overthink everything.

“There,” Jorge said, interrupting my daydream. He motioned toward the inlet. A kid was scrambling up the rocks from the shore below. A fishing rod protruded out of his backpack, and he struggled to carry a large ice chest.

“That Crusty,” Jorge said.

Crusty went into the restaurant. A minute later, the kid came out without the ice chest and climbed next to me on the cart, getting into my personal space. He couldn’t have been more than twelve.

“I’m Crusty,” he said. “You?”

“Mia,” I said automatically.

“You need a ride?”

I pulled out my phone and showed him the photo I had of Diana Harden. “Do you know if someone took her to St. Claire on Sunday?”

He looked at the picture, and I couldn’t read his expression.

Then he said, “Fifty.”

“Fifty what?”

“Fifty bucks.”

“For?”

“I’ll tell you who took her back.”

He could be scamming me, and it would be my fault if I lost my money, but I had a feeling...

I only had twenties. I handed him two and said, “Forty. No bullshitting, okay?”

He pocketed the bills and said, “I took her.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Are you lying to me?”

“Nope. She paid me two hundred to take her, and fifty to not tell anyone. I kept my mouth shut. But I heard she got dead.”

“You should have told the police.”

He shrugged. “I didn’t kill her.”

“And you took her to St. Claire.”

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