Fogged Inn by Barbara Ross Page A

“Okay, just for a minute.”
    â€œYou look like I feel.”
    He dropped onto a stool at the counter. “You got, what, three hours’ sleep last night?” he asked.
    â€œFour. And I dozed for a while sitting up in a kitchen chair at my mother’s. You?”
    He yawned and stretched. “None. And I worked double shifts both Thanksgiving Day and Sunday. I was running on fumes as it was.”
    â€œA double shift on Thanksgiving? Why?”
    â€œGuys have families, Julia.” He said it with a finality that didn’t invite conversation, but I could hear the echoing, unsaid, “And I don’t.”
    â€œI thought you were going to Gina’s family for Thanksgiving?” I’d returned to Busman’s Harbor in March to discover that my old buddy Jamie had a long-simmering crush on me. I only had eyes for Chris, and the situation had gotten a little awkward, compounded by the time in June when he and I drunkenly, mistakenly, kissed. I was thrilled when Gina came on the scene in the fall, because her presence as Jamie’s girlfriend had removed the last remaining tension between us.
    â€œNope,” Jamie said. “That didn’t work out. And it’s not going to. Long term.”
    â€œI’m sorry.”
    He gave a casual whatcha-gonna-do shrug, a guy sloughing off emotion.
    â€œWait a minute,” I said. “You went straight from the accident to the body in the walk-in? Why?” In the off-season, when the part-time employees were cut back, the Busman’s Harbor police force consisted of seven sworn officers, including the chief, as well as a civilian receptionist and a few civilian 911 operators. But even given the size of the off-season force, there should have been better coverage.
    â€œI’d finished what paperwork I could after the accident and was just leaving the station when Gus’s call came in,” Jamie said.
    â€œBut why did you answer it?”
    He stared down at the counter. “I thought the two cases were related.”
    â€œThe accident and the body? Related? How?” I couldn’t imagine. The stranger, whomever he was, was sitting at our bar at the time of the accident. Vee Snugg had told us he’d come to town on the bus. How could a person who didn’t have a car cause an accident at a time when he clearly hadn’t been there, unless he was some sort of a time traveler?
    â€œI’m going to tell you something, Julia, but you have to keep it to yourself. It’s unofficial. I mean it. You can’t tell your sister or your mother. Not even Chris.”
    I wasn’t sure I wanted to agree to this. After a rough start communication-wise, Chris and I were at a point in our relationship where we told each other everything. Still, I was dying to know. I found myself nodding yes.
    â€œI came this morning,” Jamie said, “because I thought the body in Gus’s refrigerator was the victim of the car crash.” He paused, taking in the puzzled look on my face. “When I got to the scene of the accident last night, Ben Kramer was still in his pickup. Belted in, shaken up, but okay. But the car he hit, the Volvo, the driver’s side door was open and the driver was gone.”
    â€œLeft the scene?”
    â€œI assumed. I’ve seen it before. The driver’s intoxicated, so even if the accident’s not their fault, they hide out until they figure they’re at the legal limit. But from the beginning, that scenario didn’t make sense. The car had Connecticut plates, and it was treacherous outside last night. Where would a person on foot go on a night like that? Your restaurant was the only place open on Main Street, but you’re around the bend from the accident site. A driver couldn’t see your lights.” He drained his cup, and I got up to pour him some more.
    â€œIf whoever it was knew the area, if it was a summer person, then I thought, maybe it could