“The green-haired guy?” I said. “I noticed him this morning.”
“Hard to miss.”
“Why is he of interest?” Walter asked.
“He had a run-in with Robbie about a month ago. Longstanding feud. Just like his sister Sandy.” Tolliver, catching our surprise, added, “Yes, another Keasling brother.” He expelled a long breath. “Thank the lord, there aren’t any more of them.”
CHAPTER 8
Jake Keasling lounged in a frayed mesh beach chair, the kind of short-legged chair that sits you low to the sand so you can dig in your feet and wiggle your toes. His chair, however, sat on the end of his dock, putting his hand in easy reach of the green long-necked bottle on the wood decking.
He sat angled so that he could keep watch on the comings and goings in the harbor channel, and at the same time see customers coming down the stairs from the parking lot to rent a kayak.
He saw us coming.
He pinched up a slice of lime from a paper plate next to the bottle. He squeezed the lime onto his free arm, sucked it, then snagged the bottle and drank deeply.
I noted his progress. Started the day with Bud Light and now he’d moved on to Dos Equis.
We went down the stairs to the dock, where racks were hung with kayaks in bright colors. We stopped just short of taking a dive into the water, grouping ourselves like an audience around the beach chair.
Tolliver spread his hands. “Cassie Oldfield, Walter Shaws, meet Jake Keasling.”
He lifted his beer to us. “Saw you this morning. Hear you had quite a trip.”
“That we did,” Walter said.
“So what happened out there?”
“Your sister could explain better than I.” Walter smiled. “I’m not a mariner.”
“Ah, so you know who’s who.” Jake winked. “Then you know what a puppy dog my brother is. I’ll ask him about that diver. He tells me all.”
I glanced at the neighboring dock. The Sea Spray had not yet returned from the afternoon trip. It struck me that whatever was going on out there, all three Keaslings were in good position to know about it, or hear about it. Certainly, a fisher, or a diver, setting off from the waterfront would be observable. It was actually a charming waterfront but for those who had to share this little world there was nowhere to hide.
Tolliver said, “We’re not here about the diver, Jake. We’re here about Robbie Donie and these folks have some expertise to assist in the case.”
Jake took that in. His face was all angles, brown as a nut. It betrayed no expression. “If you’re here about Robbie, you all need a beer.” He gestured to an ice chest in the shade of the kayak racks. He nudged the paper plate of limes our way with his big toe, which hung over the end of his flip-flop.
Tolliver snapped, “I’m on duty.”
Jake squeezed another slice of lime onto his arm and bent his head to lick.
I said, “I get the lime and beer part but what’s the deal with the arm?”
“Sea salt in the air. By the end of the day, on the skin. Why waste it?” Jake took a swig of beer. “My expertise is in the delightful ways to complement the flavor of beer. And yours is?”
“Geology.”
Tolliver said, “They’re going to see if that sand down there,” he indicated the slice of beach below the dock, “matches some sand in Robbie’s duffel pack.”
Jake looked. “Okay, I’ll bite. Why should it?”
“Only reason I can figure is if Robbie came to see you via your little beach, dropped his pack, then came up that ramp to your dock.” Tolliver eyed Jake. “He pay you a visit that way?”
“Not that I know of.” Jake slumped farther into the chair, butt on the edge and long legs stretched to the water, as if preparing to slink on in.
“Jake,” Tolliver said, “I’d appreciate it mightily if you’d sit up straight so I don’t get a crick in my neck trying to talk to you. In fact, why don’t you just stand right up so I can look you directly in the eye.”
Jake set down his beer, pushed himself out of the beach chair, straightened and looked full on at Tolliver. “Better?”
“Much. Jake, the reason I thought of you, in connection to Robbie going missing, is that you two had a set-to in Pedro’s about a month ago. Barman had to break it up.”
“That? Wasn’t the first time.”
“What was it about?”
“Old stuff. Robbie insulted me and I insulted him. Playground-level asshattery.”
“Did it escalate?” Tolliver asked.
“You mean, did I kill him and then steal the Outcast and set it adrift? No, sir, I did not. Although the thought is tempting.”
“I mean the argument — did it escalate and bring Robbie here?” Tolliver jerked a thumb at the beach. “If he was here, my geologists are going to tell me. Be better if you told me first.”
Jake’s eyes narrowed. He had coppery brown eyes, like old pennies. He turned and crossed the dock, over to the edge closest to the beach below. A crumpled tarpaulin covered part of the planking. Jake whisked it aside.
We moved in to look.
There was a fan-shaped stain, tarry-looking, like shined asphalt. I’d seen its like on Donie’s boat, although there it was sprayed into drops, like blood.
Tolliver stared. “What the hell, Jake?”
“What a mess, huh? Didn’t find it until the next morning and it was into the wood by then. I’ll have to sandblast it.”
“I mean what the hell is up with Robbie and you and squid ink?”
“Well, putting two and two together, looks like he came like a sneak, set down his pack, took out a sac of ink…” Jake turned to us. “Don’t know if you know, but squid carry their ink in a pouch called a sac. You can gut the squid and take out the sac intact. So if you were Robbie, you’d slit the sac and toss it up on my dock. Playground asshattery, like I said.”
I was taken aback. Could that be what Donie carried in his duffel? Then again, a person could use a duffel to carry different things, different times.
“Is that Humboldt ink?” Tolliver said.
Jake shrugged.
“It’s common knowledge around the docks that Robbie was chartering for Humboldts.”
“Then that’d be my considered opinion.”
Tolliver said, “And what’s your opinion about why Robbie threw squid ink on your dock?”
“Because he had access to squid. If he’d had a dog, he’d have thrown dog shit on my dock.”
“A continuation of the argument you had in Pedro’s?”
“A continuation of the argument we had since we were kids. Competition. You know what Robbie was like, Doug. An insecure shit who thought he deserved more’n he had. What we Keaslings had.”
Walter spoke. “What did you Keaslings have?”
“Anchovies,” Jake said. “Whoop-de-do. My parents were anchovy fishers — sold the chovies for bait. Steady work, steady income. Robbie’s dad bagged groceries. Robbie had higher aspirations so he asked my dad for a job. He didn’t get it.”
“Why not?”
“Because Dad only hired Keaslings. Well, not me — fishing is work. But he had Sandy and Lanny hauling his net. Which left Robbie out in the cold, him not being a Keasling. Plus, Robbie was pissed that the job went to a half-wit. The half-wit being Lanny.”
I said, “He’s hardly that.”
“Robbie’s words, not mine.” Jake eyed me. “You already grow a soft spot for Lucky Lanny?”
I shrugged. I guessed I had. I’d also grown a couple of questions, like why Sandy wanted to keep me away from him, and what Lanny had been doing with that mesh bag. I said, “So Robbie held a grudge against you all?”