Beach Town by Mary Kay Andrews Read Free Book Online

behind one ear and a tiny gold ring piercing her left nostril. “How many in your party?”
    â€œJust one, but, uh, I’m actually looking for somebody. The mayor? Is he here?”
    â€œEb?” She glanced looked over her shoulder, and then back at Greer. “Nah. He’s not here.”
    *   *   *
    She left another message on Eben Thibadeaux’s voice mail, then drove three miles up the state route, following the city clerk’s directions.
    The boathouse was right where it was supposed to be. Greer took out her phone and began snapping photos. Even if Eben Thibadeaux was still MIA, this might make a great location for the film.
    The building was made of sun-bleached wood and salt-corroded galvanized tin. MARING MARINA — DRYDOCK , MACHINE SHOP , WELDING —the sign’s wording was so faded it was barely visible. There were three vehicles parked in the lot—two pickup trucks and a tired-looking blue sedan with four flattened tires.
    Seagulls plucked dispiritedly at what looked like a piece of hamburger bun near the office door, but didn’t budge as she walked past. The door creaked on its hinges. A high wooden counter faced the door, and behind it stood a desk—that was empty.
    â€œHello?” Greer walked around the counter and peeked into an inner office furnished with an old metal tanker desk and a file cabinet of similar vintage. Papers and catalogs and cardboard boxes of engine parts spilled across the desktop, but there was no sign of its occupant.
    She returned to the outer office and pushed through a swinging door that led her out into a dank building that smelled like decaying fish and motor oil. It took a minute for her eyes to adjust to the dimness.
    When they did, she saw that she was in a cavernous warehouse, with rows and rows of boats suspended from harnesses, three high, all the way up to the ceiling. A piece of heavy equipment that resembled a forklift was parked in the middle of a walkway that bisected the room.
    â€œHello?” Her voice echoed in the darkness. At the far end of the warehouse, a half-open roll-up door emitted a bright shaft of light.
    She followed the light, walked out the door, and finally saw her first sign of life. A man stood just outside the door, bent over a pair of sawhorses that held a large, black outboard motor. His back was to her, but he wore a white T-shirt, blue jeans, and a baseball cap.
    â€œHey there,” Greer called. “I’m looking for Eben Thibadeaux?”
    â€œHang on a minute,” the man muttered. He tinkered with the motor a little bit, dropped something on the pavement, and swore softly.
    â€œYes?” His face was sweaty and streaked with grease. He pushed the tortoise-shell glasses back from the bridge of his sunburned nose, and when he saw his visitor, frowned.
    It was the surly maintenance man she’d encountered back at the Silver Sands Motel. “Christ. What now?”
    â€œYou!” Greer squinted into the sunlight.
    â€œYes, me.” He took a blue bandana from the back pocket of his jeans and wiped his hands before shoving it back into his pocket.
    â€œYou’re Eben Thibadeaux? The maintenance man at the motel? You sell real estate? And you’re the mayor?”
    â€œYou left out grocery store owner,” Eb Thibadeaux said. He pointed at the outboard motor. “And failed boat mechanic. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

 
    6
    â€œI’ve been trying to track you down all morning. I’ve driven all over town, been to city hall twice, and I’ve left three different messages on your voice mail,” Greer said.
    He frowned, patted his back pocket, and came up empty. “Sorry. Guess I left my phone in my truck. What’s so important?”
    â€œYou’re really the mayor?” She couldn’t help herself. Eben Thibadeaux was the least mayoral looking person she’d ever encountered.
    â€œSo