Page 16 of Forgotten Path
“No, it’s weird. I didn’t. I guess they’re on the same ring as his house key. Although, like I said, the camper wasn’t locked. The Jeep is, though—I checked.” She shrugged.
“Huh.”
“I didn’t search the camper thoroughly. I looked around, but I didn’t go through his things. That felt too violative. But you might find a spare set of keys in the back of a drawer or something. Do you need a car?”
“No. I just thought there might be something in the Jeep pointing to where he goes. A toll ticket or a receipt or something.” He shrugged.
Interest sparked in her eyes. “I should have thought of that. See if you can find a set of keys. If not, I’ll bring some tools over tomorrow, and we’ll pop the lock.”
“Can you do that? Legally?”
There was a long, laden pause before she answered. “Nobody’s seen or heard from him in a week. At this point, we really should open an official missing person investigation. But that’s likely going to cause more problems than it solves. So, let’s say I feel justified in letting myself into his car and leave it at that.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I’ll take that as a no.”
She raised one right back at him. “Find his spare keys, and we won’t have to worry about it.”
She let herself out of the camper, and he followed her down to the lot to wave goodbye as she pulled out. She was right. The late afternoon breeze coming in from the ocean was salty and balmy. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the air rippling over his skin for several moments before he returned to the camper to rummage through Joel’s belongings.
CHAPTERTEN
Craig jutted his chin toward the street as the bright yellow convertible rolled slowly down the road, its driver making sure everyone got a good look at the shiny sports car.
“Another new car?”
Jayson narrowed his eyes. “Old Fred’s got more money than God. I guess he’s running out of girlfriends to spend it on.”
Craig chuckled. Fred Glazier’s long line of girlfriends was an open secret in Oyster Point. According to Craig’s gran, the girlfriends used to be mistresses. Eventually, Fred’s wife got fed up, went to some fancy resort on Amelia Island for a girls’ weekend (with one of Fred’s mistresses in her group), and never returned. The mistress had trotted back, apparently thinking she’d slide into the wife’s role. But Fred had never remarried. And now, the girlfriends got younger and the cars got flashier as Fred got older.
“Man, he’s got the life.”
Jayson side-eyed him. “You think so? He’s a joke, dude.”
“Yeah? The joke’s on us, then. He’s driving around in that sweet car, and we’re spending our night sitting on a bench. I wish I had his luck.”
Jayson shook his head. “He’s gross, but luck had nothing to do with it. Nobody ever handed Fred anything. He works his butt off to get it. Nothing’s stopping you from doing the same.”
“Gah, you sound like my grandmother.” Craig waved his hand in disgust.
He and Jayson had been friends for decades. They’d even had a short-lived garage band for a while. But sometimes he didn’t understand the guy.
“I’m serious, man. You need to get a real job. Your gran’s not wrong.”
“Look around. Who in this rundown craphole of a town is gonna pay me enough to get a Mustang? Huh?”
“I heard Steffi’s hiring.”
“Steffi? You think a part-time job at the Juice Joint is my ticket to the big time, Jay? Get out of here.”
Jayson had a good job, an office job in Tallahassee. He griped about the commute but didn’t seem to mind the benefits or the paid vacation time. Where did he get off telling Craig to take some food service gig where he’d have to wear a hairnet and be covered in sticky citrus juice all day?
“It’s a steady income. Do you really think Keno and scratch-off tickets are the answer?”
He shrugged. “Won fifty bucks the other day. I even treated Gran to lunch.”
Jayson didn’t say anything. They sat like that for a few long, silent moments, watching the cars drive by.
Then Jayson said, “Hey, if you wanna live like your idol, why don’t you ask him for a job?”
