Page 134 of The Newcomer
“And yet, when you figured out I was running from the law and wanted in New York, you didn’t turn me in.”
“I figured you were too cute to be a wanted criminal.”
“I’m being serious.”
He sighed. “I saw how you treated our guests. Even when they were cranky and hostile, you put up with their crap. Like Harry Bronson. You could have walked away when he yelled at you, but instead you stayed and helped. A murderer wouldn’t have done that. And then, there was Maya.”
“Maya,” she repeated. “Which is why we’re doing this. For Maya.”
“Yup.” He glanced at his watch. “Feeling any braver now?”
“Not even a little,” she admitted.
53
VIKKI HILL PULLED INTO THEMurmuring Surf parking lot. The vacancy sign was flashing, which surprised her a little. Which of the regulars was checking out?
“This place?” Wingfield sneered. “Jesus! This is where Letty was keeping my daughter all this time? What a dump.”
She gave him the stink eye. “What do you care? She’s been sleeping in a bed and eating decent food. She likes to swim in the pool. She doesn’t care that it’s not the Hamptons. She’s four.”
“Forget it.” He got out of the car. “Now what? Where’s this Joe guy?”
“This way,” Vikki said, gesturing toward the sparkling expanse of white sand visible in the gap between the office and the motel’s north wing.
He slung the leather bag over his shoulder and followed behind her, crossing the parking lot and cutting through the grassy strip dividing the grounds from the beach. He paused at the dune line, looking down at his expensive loafers.
“Christ! You don’t expect me to walk out on the beach. Right? These are Belgian loafers. I’ll wait right here. Just bring Maya to me.”
“Nope.” Vikki kept walking, stepping into the sand in her cheap generic running shoes with a malicious sense of satisfaction.
It was not yet noon, and Sunday, and the beach was relatively uncrowded. People were either still in bed or in church, or lining up for the all-you-can-eat brunch buffets at the resort hotels down the road. But there were a few family encampments scattered across thesand, with umbrellas, tents, coolers, and lounge chairs. Half a dozen blue-and-white-striped canvas beach cabanas had sprouted up in the sand along the waterline.
There were even a few hardy souls splashing around in the water.Canadians,Vikki thought dismissively. Normal people, even including New Yorkers, did not swim in the ocean when the rest of the world was still bundled up in parkas and mukluks.
She didn’t turn around, just kept walking toward Joe DeCurtis, who was standing on the beach, holding a can of beer that she was reasonably sure was empty.
For a moment, Vikki Hill felt a flash of regret. She’d been wrong about Joe DeCurtis. He was no inept local yokel. He was an excellent cop, with great instincts. If circumstances had been different, maybe they’d have had a thing. Too late now, which was probably just as well. Her relationships, even the briefest, always ended up messy.
Vikki turned to check on Wingfield’s progress. He was picking his way slowly through the sugar-fine sand, clutching the leather bag to his side.
When he was fifty yards away, he stopped and looked around. “Hey!” he called. “Enough of this charade. Where’s Maya?”
“We’ll get to that,” Vikki said. “But first, meet Joe. He’s the guy I told you about.”
Wingfield approached warily.
“Joe, this is Evan.”
DeCurtis looked the other man up and down in a stare designed to make Wingfield feel uncomfortable.
Evan shifted the bag on his shoulder and looked around. “Where’s Maya?”
“She’s around,” DeCurtis said. “First, let’s finish the cash transaction.”
Wingfield laughed. “Yeah. No. The deal was, you hand over my daughter, and then you get the cash.”
“How about you show me the money?” Joe said.
