Yesterday's Echo by Matt Coyle Read Free Book Online

overheated radiator. I tried to keep the cap on. “Said his realtor told him it was listed for sale.”
    Turk shook his head and glanced down at the bar. When he looked back at me his eyes were squinted and his mouth closed tight.
    â€œYes, the restaurant is listed.” His voice had a little snap in it. “You could have just asked me and I would have told you.”
    â€œOr you could have volunteered it.” I bit the words off harder than I expected to.
    â€œI’d never sell without telling you. I’m just testing the water to see where the market is. If I do sell, you’ll get back what you’ve invested.”
    â€œI don’t want my investment back.” Stone’s entitled arrogance, Melody’s abandonment, and now Turk’s betrayal boiled up in me and the cap blew off. I shot up from the barstool. “I want the restaurant. That was our deal!”
    â€œOur deal? You gotta be kidding.” Turk planted catcher’s-mitt hands on the bar and leaned toward me. “You’re giving me seven fifty a month. That’s barely enough to get you a minority share. The rate you’re going, we’ll both be dead before you own this place.”
    â€œWe had a deal.”
    â€œIt was contingent upon you getting a loan.” His voice was low, like a father explaining life to his son. “It’s been two years.”
    â€œAny other buyers?” I lowered my voice and tried not to sound like a petulant son.
    â€œNone right now, but you need to come up with some realmoney soon. I can’t wait forever.” His eyes showed friendship with a hint of pity. “Have you talked to any new lenders lately?”
    I’d talked to plenty of lenders, but there wasn’t a bank who’d give me a loan with only a 2006 Mustang GT as collateral. All I had was seven years of sweat equity in the one place I felt at home. Until now.
    I left the bar without answering.

Muldoon’s
C HAPTER S IX
    Eleven forty-five a.m. I left Muldoon’s and headed south on Prospect Street instead of north toward my car. Turk and Stone were still rattling around in my head, but I had a more immediate concern. Melody.
    The muscle I’d met that morning didn’t seem like the kind to give up the chase. I was afraid of what they might do to Melody if they found her. I had to get to her first. It was time to convince her to put the police between her and Stone and his hard boys. A call to her cell phone would have been the easy way. If I’d had enough sense between sex and snuggle time to get her number.
    One thing I did mange to absorb was that Melody’d mentioned she was staying at a motel that she later called a bungalow. I knew of only one place that fit that description. Shell Beach Motel. It was just a few blocks away, down by the ocean.
    The sun was hiding behind a gauze of morning fog when I hit the narrow alley that sluiced down a hill toward the sea. The motel was a series of small bungalows opposite the beach and sat on Coast Boulevard, a winding strip of seaside paradise. The bungalows were weather-beaten and could only generously be called quaint, but they did have an ocean view. Today the low gray sky smothered the ocean, leaving a gunmetal gray reflection on the water. Even paradise had its off days.
    I angled over to a brick three-story building on the south side of the alley that housed the front desk. Maybe someone in there could help me track down Melody.
    I was about to enter when a cop car blurred by on the streetand then hot-rubbered to a stop on the north side of the alley. I walked down to the corner and looked. Three other squad cars and two slick tops were parked haphazardly in the street blocking any would-be traffic. A uniformed patrolman stretched yellow crime-scene tape around two bungalows and part of the parking lot. A plainclothes detective squatted in front of a Hispanic woman seated in the one of the unmarked brown Crown Victoria