Free Kendel Lynn - Elliott Lisbon 02 - Whack Job by Kendel Lynn

county. Includes the docks, harbors, and miles of coastline. Nearly impossible to locate a stolen vessel once it’s out to sea. Unless your wife brings it back.”
    “Thanks, Parker,” I said.
    She nodded and they left.
    “Is it insured?” I asked.
    He sighed and shook his head.
    “Let me guess, another heirloom smuggled out of Russia?”
    Gilbert sank down onto the long park bench and put his head in his good hand.

EIGHT

    (Day #2: Saturday Night)

    He looked worse than dejected. He was torn, burned, injured, and homeless.
    “You still have your credit cards and bank accounts, right?”
    He nodded slightly.
    “Go check into a hotel. Buy some clothes. Just one outfit and a pair of matching shoes.” I searched for a clean spot on his shirt so I could pat his back. I settled for a not quite burned patch on his shoulder.
    “I’m going home, to my house,” he said. “Where I should’ve been all along.”
    “No, Gilbert. Please. Stay away from Jaime. You’ll only make things worse. I promise, I’ll talk to her. I’m doing everything I can. Can you call me in a gate pass?”
    “She’s not even there. I checked. She’s gone. The house is empty. She went away for the weekend. She does that now. Me time, personal time, a yoga retreat.”
    “Still, get me a pass and stay away from the house. You’ll only make things worse. Try the Tidewater Inn. Enjoy a quiet dinner and get some sleep.”
    “Fine. But Elliott, please find my egg.” He shuffled to his feet, then out into the lot.
    I watched him drive away, then I went back through the clubhouse to the rear dock. The party was really hopping now. Most of the boats had returned, and the regatta officially moved from a sailing party to a dock party. I quickly found the boat Vivi Ballantyne had sponsored. After introducing myself to the crew, and congratulating them on their sail, I left them to celebrate.
    I spotted Matty and Elaine on the far side of the dance floor. Well, at least I spotted Matty. His head was a good foot above the crowd. He looked happy. Without me.
    “Here, sweetie, you need a cocktail,” Sid said and handed me a fresh mai tai.
    I took a sip and handed it back. “I can’t stay. I need to wrangle Jaime Goodsen before Gilbert gets checked into the loony bin. You’ll be okay if I go?”
    She smiled at a handsome man walking over to us. Dark skin, dark eyes, impeccably dressed. Milo Hickey. Local financier and underground poker game host. I know this because Sid and I crashed a game last May. All in the name of investigation. “I think I’ll manage. Call me tomorrow. I’ll be at the hospital all day.”
    In addition to working real estate seven days a week, Sid also served on the Island Memorial Hospital board. But her board was more tame than my Ballantyne board.

    The indigo sky boasted streaks of deep pink as I zipped down Cabana Boulevard toward Sugar Hill Plantation. I needed to get over to Jaime’s, hoping she was now home, and beg her to work things out.
    The gate guard handed me a pass after I gave him my name and destination. It expired on Tuesday, in three days. Gilbert’s not so subtle way of telling me to hurry.
    I wound around the development to the Goodsen’s house on Brambleberry Lane. The house was dark. So was the street. Quiet, deserted, off-season. I drove around the first half of the circular drive, parking right in front of the steps. I tucked my hipster beneath the seat and my phone into my front pants pocket, then got out. The driveway was still covered in mounds of pine straw as if the house was heading for foreclosure.
    No one answered my repeated door bell ringing, so I peeked through the front door. I’m not sure it’s really considered peeking, since the entire thing was made of glass. The back patio lights shone through all the way to the front door, bathing the interior in faded light.
    Gilbert may have understated the nature of his visit earlier. The place was a disaster. I decided to walk around to the