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“Same. It occurred to me that we’re in a precarious spot here. If we lean too hard on neighbors, we’re bound to get a bad rep across town.”
“Yeah, but if we don’t find out who killed this teenager, we’ll regret it for the rest of our lives. Our neighbors will have to get over any hard feelings they harbor.”
“So after this, we’re headed to Zephyr’s place? What did Brent say about not making the connection?”
Lucien polished off his two slices of pizza and picked up his soda. “He explained it away by saying everyone knew Willis as Zeph, not Zephyr.”
“You didn’t buy his explanation?”
“How many Zephs or Zephyrs are living in Pelican Pointe? See the problem?”
“Absolutely. But anyone could make a mistake and forget, Brent included. He does have a lot on his plate. So what if he didn’t make the connection? Neither did Murphy or anyone else. They’re not in league with the killer. It’s not a townwide conspiracy. Even Scott got it wrong about Zephyr.”
“Scott pointed us to Richie Plunkett for a reason, though. Let’s remember that.” He dug through his backpack and removed his iPad.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m running a deep dive on Lee Willis, more in-depth than last night.”
“You know what? With all the garden talk, I forgot to ask Tazzie what her nickname was. Why didn’t the females have nicknames? She never said.”
Lucien looked up from his iPad. “Is it important?”
“Not really. But when you think about it, I wonder how the other girls must’ve felt about Gidget moving in on their boyfriends?”
“Ifit’s true,” Lucien cautioned. “Tazzie might’ve been blowing smoke.”
“But what if it was true to Tazzie,” Brogan countered before finishing her pizza. “Jealousy is a motive. Keep in mind that we won’t get the truth unless we push. And pushing means we ask about the little stuff. The smallest detail—like thinking Gidget was putting the moves on her boyfriend—could be the key to solving this case. Anything on Zeph?”
“The man’s an enigma. Very little information on him after he left the Coast Guard. He put in twenty-five years and retired with his pension. When he was twenty-nine, he married Angela Roberts from the Encinitas area of San Diego. She was three years older and had a daughter already. Wally didn’t mention a daughter.”
“Another question to ask,” Brogan reasoned. “Sometimes I feel like certain things are none of our business. What difference does it make if Zeph Willis has a daughter?”
“None. I wonder why Wally didn’t mention it, though. I’m starting to think everyone seems to be holding something back. But why?”
“Paranoia isn’t pretty. It’ll get you committed in all fifty states,” Brogan deadpanned.
“Very funny. Do we know how we plan to handle the interview with Zeph?”
“Straightforward. No ruses. No pecan pies to get him reminiscing about the summer of 1978. Although showing up empty-handed didn’t work out so great with Mr. Plunkett.”
“Neither did bribing Tazzie with goodies. She still wasn’t forthright with her answers.”
Brogan held up what remained of her iced tea. “I’ll give you that. Lesson learned. Fancy coffee and pecan pies won’t get you the deets on murder.”
Lee ‘Zephyr’ Willislived modestly in a two-bedroom shingled cabin surrounded by scenery, solitude, and surf. An idyllic spot that captured the essence of privacy, it reeked of someone who wanted to be left alone.
Lucien parked his pickup down a gravel road behind an older model Ford F-150. “Wally wasn’t kidding. This guy lives twenty yards away from the water.”
“It’s a beautiful area. You can hear the surf beating against the rocks from here. Did you know this existed below the lighthouse?”
“Troy mentioned an area below the cliffs once. But I had no idea anyone lived here. Weird, huh?”
“For such a small town, it is.”
They exited the pickup and began navigating the rugged terrain toward the house. Wheat-like beachgrass grew almost waist-high on either side of a narrow gravel pathway that twisted and turned. They left behind the pebbles for a footpath that softened into sugary sand.
Zeph had left his surfboard leaning up against the porch railing. A towel and wetsuit flapped in the breeze to dry.
