Free Mariner's Compass by Earlene Fowler Page A

to find her—her house, the store, her mother’s house. I finally tracked her down at Emory’s house downtown.
    “I’ve called all over creation looking for you. Maybe I should start checking here first,” I teased her when she came to the phone.
    “Shut up,” she said, “and tell me what’s going one.”
    “I can’t do both.”
    “Benni!”
    “Okay, okay.” I quickly told her everything I knew so far.
    “Well, just be careful,” she said. “This sounds very, very weird.”
    “I’m fine. My number’s in the Morro Bay phone book under Jacob Chandler. I’ll be easy to track.”
    “All right. Let me know if I can help, amiga.”
    “You bet, girlfriend.”
    On the drive back, four loaves of plastic-wrapped molasses-wheat bread sitting in my lap, I stared out the truck’s window, thinking about Jacob Chandler and the second night I’d spend in his house. Pelican Street appeared almost before I realized it.
    Gabe put the truck in park. “I’ll walk you in,” he said. “Check things out.”
    “Oh, sure,” I said, hopping out and heading down the front walk, Scout trailing after me. “Don’t kid me with your noble pretensions. You’re just hoping for a repeat of last night’s episode on the sofa. Well, you can just—”
    I stopped when Rich walked up.
    “Oh, hi,” I said.
    “Hi back.” He looked curiously at Gabe.
    “This is my husband, Gabe Ortiz. Gabe, this is Rich Trujillo, my next door neighbor. I told you about him.”
    They shook hands and nodded. Gabe’s face was stiff and wary.
    “So,” Rich said, smiling at me, “how’s your head?”
    I touched my forehead where a scab had already started forming. “Fine.”
    “Good.”
    He cleared his throat, the smile never leaving his face. “Well, you two have a nice evening. Nice meeting you.”
    Gabe stared at him, not answering.
    “Geez Louise, Friday,” I said after Rich was out of earshot. “I thought you were going to start growling like Scout.”
    “Why would he ask about the scrape on your head?”
    “I told you I did it on the birdbath. He bandaged it for me.”
    “You didn’t tell me that.”
    I gave an irritated exhalation of breath. “Gabe, for cryin’ out loud, you are really getting paranoid.”
    “How long did he say he’s lived here?”
    “Three months. He’s a retired fireman from Phoenix. I’m sure that’ll be a cinch for you to check out.”
    “No doubt.”
    Inside the house, I turned and shook a finger in his face. “I think you were rude to Mr. Trujillo.”
    He grabbed my finger and kissed it. “Does he know why you’re here?”
    I was silent for a moment, not wanting to tell Gabe how much I’d opened up to my new neighbor. “He’s a perfectly nice person.”
    One black eyebrow lifted in skepticism.
    “I didn’t tell him everything,” I said defensively.
    “See, that’s exactly what worries me about you. You’re too trusting with strangers.”
    “And you think everyone and his grandmother has a hidden criminal agenda. Can you imagine what he thought?”
    He shrugged, unconcerned, and gave a wide yawn.
    “You are too old to be trying to get along with only three hours sleep, papacito,” I lightly scolded.
    “Am not,” he said, yawning again. “Besides, it’s only six o’clock.”
    “Don’t argue with me. You need to go home and go to bed.”
    “I hate leaving you here.”
    “I know, but you don’t have a choice.”
    Just as he was walking out the door, I remembered something. “Gabe, I know this sounds silly, but is there some way you can find out exactly where Mr. Chandler died in this house?”
    “Sure, I’ll see what I can do.” Using his cell phone, he called Morro Bay’s police chief, who gave him the number of the officer who took the call. Luckily the officer was home.
    “The recliner in the living room,” Gabe informed me. “He was sitting there when his neighbor, a Mrs. Tess Briggstone, found him. She has a key to his place.” I-told-you-so was written all over