Con was standing in the middle of the floor now, thumbs in his sweater pockets. They both looked up at him. “That was the Chief of Police,” he said. “He’s on his way out to see me.”
The silence was so utter, you could hear the sound of the water shivering across the pebble sand.
Kew finally smiled. “There goes our swim. I’d better run along.”
“Not at all. Not at all.” Con finished crossing the room, drained his half-filled glass. “I told him we’d be out on the beach and to holler when he arrived.”
2
Captain Charles Thusby was fuzzy bald and porpoise fat. His right leg was wooden. It was not disguised by modern craft but a delightful replica of the kind pirates wore in childhood story books. He should have been dressed as a seaman; he was instead excessively official in his policeman’s
