“Did Carl?”
“You’d have to ask him.”
“When was the last time you were with Hessel?”
“A few days before he died.”
“And Carl found out…”
“He did.”
Before I could ask how Carl had found out—though my guess was coitus interruptus—Denny’s father came out of the barbershop and called him. Denny looked over at me, and said, “Don’t come back here,” then ran back into the barbershop.
I walked back to my car thinking that Carl had to have done it. He had a strong motive. Love, or maybe jealousy. I mean, your own stepfather doing the guy you were hung up on. Killing him just made sense. Except for one thing, of course. Carl had an alibi.
Unless Opal was lying for him. Could she be? Was I wrong to believe her?
Masons Bay hada charming shopping area on Main Street. It consisted of two facing rows of hundred-year-old buildings that looked a little too much like a movie set. Pastiche was a boutique on the west side of the street squeezed between the movie theater and a fudge shop.
Like the other businesses on Main Street, the storefront was narrow, with a high ceiling and a rustic appeal: wooden floors, mismatched furnishings, lux mixed with handmade. The kind of vibe stores paid decorators scads for in L.A. but was probably much more catch-as-catch-can here.
The clothes at Pastiche were largely handmade, and not by tiny hands in Indonesia. That was reflected in the prices, whichI was sure were huge. You had to be wealthy to care who made your clothes.
Opal stood next to the cash register. Her hair was even more faded. The green and orange and yellow had washed out, making her head look like a bag of pastel mints. The chalky kind you always want to spit out the minute you put them into your mouth.
“You can’t just come in here,” she said, when she looked up and saw me.
“Maybe I’m a customer.”
“It’s a lady’s boutique.”
“I could be buying my grandmother a gift.” I looked around. Was there anything in here my grandmother would want?
“Are you buying her a gift?” Opal demanded.
“Maybe.”
“Is it her birthday?”
“No. Early Christmas shopping.”
“Very early. What are you looking for?”
“A scarf maybe.”
She walked over to a line of scarfs and picked one out. “This one would go well with your grandmother’s coloring.”
It had about fifteen colors in it, so it probably went with anyone’s coloring.
“How much is it?” I asked, bracing myself.
“Three ninety-five.”
“Four dollars? Really?” Maybe I would get it for my grandmother. Yeah, it was June and Christmas was ridiculously far off. I could give it to her when I—
“Threehundredninety-five.”
“That’s insane.”
