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The bell chimed again. Dropping his phone in his pocket, Nick strode through the kitchen, down a short hall, and opened the door. Standing before him was powerfully built man with slicked back dark hair and bearing a solemn expression.
“Can I help you?” Nick asked casually.
“My name is Jack Whittaker. I’m a private detective. May I come inside and speak with you for a moment?”
“Do you have ID?” Nick asked, genuinely surprised by Roland’s appearance and demeanor. He couldn’t imagine the nattily dressed man cleaning debris from the street.
“Sure,” Roland replied, retrieving his wallet and withdrawing a business card.
Cards were inexpensive and easily produced, yet people still accepted them as identification. Playing along with Roland’s facade, Nick studied it for a moment, then stepped aside and waved him through the door.
“Thanks, come in, what’s this about?”
“You may have heard about this on the news,” Roland replied as they started walking into the house. “A young woman named Bianca Albertini is missing. She was on her way home and she disappeared.”
“For a secluded beach, things have been busy around here,” Nick remarked, “and I might be able to help you, though—”
“Why is that?” Roland asked quickly as Nick led him into the living room.
“I was about to say, the girl I met probably has nothing to do with your case. Yesterday I was about to go for a swim when a young woman came wading out of the water and asked me for help, but a detective, a police detective I mean, not a private one like you, walked up and said she was under the protection of law enforcement and carted her away. A couple of hours later that damn storm hit and I had to leave my house. Now you’re here looking for a missing girl.”
“Is this her?” Roland asked, producing a photograph of Bianca.
“Holy smokes, yeah, that’s her.”
“Who is it, darlin’?”
Though Bianca had spoken in a lilting, southern, feminine drawl and didn’t sound anything like herself, her unexpected question caught Nick off guard. Swiftly turning around, he stared up to the top of the stairs.
“Hey, Kitty, it’s a private detective, Jack Whittaker,” Nick called back. “He’s looking for a girl who went missing out of Las Vegas.”
“Hi, Jack,” she said with a smile and a wave.
“Hello, Kitty,” Roland said, waving back. “Have you seen a young woman with long dark hair anywhere on the beach?”
“There hasn’t been a soul out there,” she replied, continuing the lyrical Georgian accent. “I’ll be on the patio, hon.”
“Okay, I’ll join you shortly.”
“Wow, where did you meet her?” Roland asked, continuing to blatantly stare at Bianca as she turned and walked away. “Wherever it is, I want to move there.”
“It’s a long story,” Nick answered with a frown. “Dammit, I knew there was something off about that so-called detective. I feel terrible. I could have—” But the doorbell rang, cutting him off. “Excuse me, I need to see who that is.”
“No problem, I’m done here,” Roland declared. “Thanks, you’ve been a great help. At least we know she was here, though how she managed to get away during that storm is a mystery.”
“She might have hunkered down in one of the lifeguard stations.”
“Lifeguard stations?” Roland repeated as they neared the back door.
“If you follow the beach south you’ll find a row of them, and they’re not too far down. It’s just a thought, and this will probably be one of my roofers,” Nick said as he opened the door. “I thought it would be you,” he declared, grinning at Brad.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Brad began, “but I need to speak with you. It’s important. Oh, hello, again,” he added, looking at Roland. “You look different without that vest.”
“I guess I do,” Roland replied awkwardly. “Thanks, Nick. If you happen to see her or hear anything, call me, you have my card.”
“Yep, sure will,” Nick assured him. “Come in, Brad.”
As Roland marched away and Brad entered the house, Nick closed the door behind them and quickly strode back to the kitchen.
