Page 60 of Forgotten Path
She glanced through the construction gate that hung ajar behind Ralph and then turned her attention back to the security guard. “So this is your boss’s truck? Personal vehicle?”
“No. It’s not Mr. Glazier’s personal ride. It’s one of the company trucks.”
“One of them. How many are there?”
He shrugged. “I don’t rightly know. At least four or five.”
“Are they identical? All this shade of blue?”
“Yes, ma’am. Least as far as I know.”
“Are they all this muddy?”
He frowned at the question. “I’m not sure what happened to this one. Or why it’s parked out here. This isn’t the main gate. We almost never use this entrance. But the truck oughta be parked inside with the others. Well, after someone hoses it down.” He reached for a radio clipped to the pocket on his shirt sleeve.
“Don’t.” She held up her palm like a crossing guard, and he moved his hand away from the walkie-talkie.
“Don’t make the call?”
“Right. I’m advising you to leave that truck parked right where it is unless and until law enforcement instructs you to do something different. Don’t move it. Don’t wash it. And do not touch it.”
He nodded wordlessly.
“Good. Now, you said this isn’t the main entrance. Where is that?”
He jabbed his thumb to his right, as if he were trying to hitch a ride. “Back around the bend about a half-mile or so.”
“What is this place? It’s obviously a construction site, but what’s it going to be ultimately?”
“This is the future home of Emerald Estuary Estates, Oyster Point’s premier luxury home gated community.” As Ralph rattled off the sales spiel, he straightened his shoulders and puffed out his chest.
Felicia recalled the handful of ramshackle ranch-style homes and rundown beach cottages with peeling paint she’d passed on the road. “How many luxury home gated communities does this town have?”
“Well … none, yet.”
“Oh, then I guess this one’ll definitely be the premier one.”
He squinted at her as if he wasn’t sure whether she was joking. “Uh, yeah.”
“So, your boss owns the development?”
“No, ma’am. That’d be Mr. Hornbill. Mr. Glazier is the general contractor on the project. I work for Glazier Builders.”
“Is he here now?”
“Mr. Glazier?”
“Yes.”
He considered his answer to this ‘yes or no’ question for longer than Felicia liked. In her experience, a delayed response to a simple question indicated the speaker was coming up with a lie—or, in the best-case scenario, a half-truth.
She was about to prompt him when he bobbed his head and opened his mouth. “Yes, he’s—”
The growl of an engine drowned out the rest of the sentence as a bright yellow Mustang raced around the bend and blew past them. The driver must have been going at least eighty miles per hour, well over the speed limit.
Ralph snorted softly and cocked his head to the side. “I mean, no, ma’am, he just left.”
CHAPTERTHIRTY-TWO
