Muller, Marcia - [McCone 04] Games to Keep the Dark Away (v.1,shtml) Page B

stools ran along one wall and a couple of rickety tables
occupied the rest of the floor space. Hand-lettered signs advertised
beer, bait, and burgers.
    The only customer was the bearded fisherman I'd spoken to that
morning at the boatyard. He glanced at me, then stood up, fumbled
some coins onto the counter, and left. A frail old man with shaggy
white hair was sitting on a folding chair next to the grill. He
raised his head from his newspaper and gave me a cursory look. I
ordered a cup of coffee. It was terrible, and I added two spoonsful
of sugar, hoping to kill the bitter taste.
    I cleared my throat and said, "Interesting little town you've
got here." The words sounded ridiculous as soon as they were
out.
    "No, it ain't."
    "I'm sorry?"
    "I said it ain't. About the most interesting thing hereabouts
is the new fall TV shows, now that we're over the summer reruns."
    "Oh."
    He picked up his newspaper again. "Of course, today the most
interesting thing hereabouts is you."
    "What?" I stopped stirring the coffee and set the spoon
down.
    "I don't know as we've ever had a private detective before.
Especially a woman private eye."
    "How did you—"
    "John Cala told me."
    "John Cala?"
    "Him, the one that just left."
    The fisherman, of course. "But how did he know?"
    "Sylvia Anthony. John lives next door."
    "Does everybody here know everybody else's business?"
    He shrugged. "Why not? Keeps us honest." Then he rustled
the paper and disappeared behind it.
    I idled away ten minutes, barely touching my coffee. Then I
started back to Sylvia Anthony's house, feeling as if the eyes of
Salmon Bay were upon me. It was after seven-thirty; if Mrs. Anthony
was still out, I'd just go back to Port San Marco and talk to Don Del
Boccio.
    I was at the corner of the side street that led to Hydrangea Lane
when I heard the sound of running footsteps. They were farther up the
road, coming toward me from the direction of the old pier. I stopped
and made out a bulky figure. As it came closer, I recognized the
fisherman, John Cala. I put out a hand to stop him.
    "Hey!" I said. "What's going on?"
    He pushed my hand away and kept running. As he passed me, I
glimpsed his face—it was twisted with fear. He turned into the
side street, probably heading for his house.
    Now, what was that all about? When I'd talked with him that
morning, Cala hadn't seemed a man who would scare easily. But he was
plainly frightened. Frightened enough to make me want to know why.
    I considered going after him, but decided he'd had too great a
head start. After all, I didn't know for certain that he was running
for home. Instead, I went on toward the pier. There was no place else
out here that he could have been coming from.
    It loomed up in the dusk, leaning at an unsteady angle on its
pilings. Looking around, I saw no one. I stepped onto the planking
and tested it to see how it held my weight. In spite of its
appearance, the pier was remarkably sturdy. I started forward,
feeling with each step for loose or missing boards. The water sloshed
beneath, but otherwise I heard nothing. I got to the end and looked
down into the blackness. Here, in the bay, the tide was low. There
was nothing frightening down there that I could see. If anything, it
was a peaceful place. Far off in the channel I could see a ship's
lights. The horizon was a faint line of color, the pinks and reds of
the sky paling quickly to indigo. I watched for a moment and then, as
I was about to turn to go, I heard a small bumping sound.
    I listened. It came again. From under the other end of the pier. I
reached into my bag for my small flashlight and started back, shining
it through the boards at my feet.
    The shape below was pale colored, half in and half out of the
water. The part in the water bumped up against the pilings with the
motion of the waves. I went over and squatted down on the edge of the
planking, shining my light closer. It was a woman, dressed in jeans
and a bulky white sweater. She lay on her face on the