The Surfside Caper Read Online Free PDF Page B

was tired of the act. It made my muscles ache. I dropped it and opened the door.
    I said, “I’m paying sixty bucks a day for this cottage. I’m not getting sixty bucks worth of pleasure out of it. If you want to press a charge against me to cover Craybaugh’s negligence, then go ahead. Otherwise, let me have the privacy I’m paying for.”
    I wasn’t making a friend of either of them. Colton climbed to his feet. I thought for a minute he was going to forget he was dressed like an Ivy League cop and take a swing at me. But he just gave a growl and said, “I can find a charge if I look hard enough, Flynn.”
    I opened the door wider. He moved toward it. Craybaugh stood up. He hated me with his eyes. Colton stepped aside as Craybaugh plowed out the door. He looked after Craybaugh and then back at me. He said, “Mr. Craybaugh throws a lot of weight in Rio Pollo, Flynn. And the Lodge is in the city limits. Don’t forget that.”
    He didn’t sound sore; he just sounded unhappy. I felt a little sorry for him. He probably wasn’t too bad a guy. And if he took guff from the Craybaughs of this world, that didn’t make him so much different from the rest of us. We all take one kind of guff or another.
    I said, “Tell Craybaugh he can throw all the weight he wants. Tell him about jujitsu too. It’s the kind of game where the more weight you throw around, the harder you land.”
    I walked into the cottage and shut the door.

4
    M ILO C RAYBAUGH had succeeded where Annette and Dolphin couldn’t. He left me without any appetite. I made myself another drink and sipped it while I tried to add together bits and pieces of the visit I’d just had. The answer was the same one I’d got before.
    Milo Craybaugh either wanted me in jail on a murder charge or he wanted me away from Surfside.
    Who in hell was Milo Craybaugh?
    I finished my drink, turned off the lights, and made the brief trip to the lodge building. I located the freckle-faced bellhop and signaled him over.
    I said, “What’s with this Craybaugh character? Who is he?”
    “Half of Rio Pollo,” the kid said. “He runs the biggest payroll in town.”
    “Selling flowers?” It sounded ridiculous.
    “He grows ‘em,” the kid said. “You should see his place. He’s got two hundred acres of the best land in the valley.”
    Rio Pollo itself had a population of about three thousand people, not counting the tourists. If the kid was right and Milo had the town’s biggest payroll, I could understand Colton’s attitude a little better. I felt even sorrier for him.
    I said, “You said Craybaugh was half of Rio Pollo. Who’s the other half?”
    The kid grinned toothily. “Clams,” he said. “In town you work for Craybaugh and raise flowers or you raise clams in the bay. Take your choice. The clams are good too. We feature ‘em here.”
    I let him go and made a tour of the lobby and adjoining facilities. I started with the cocktail lounge. It was roomy and light. Most of the customers were the well-dressed, quiet older guests. A three-piece string outfit was playing schmaltz of the Thirties. The customers were soaking it in with happy nostalgia.
    The bar was a study in contrast. Here half the people were wearing bathing suits or shorts. Most of them were young. All of them were enjoying the brassy outfit making with hot, muted music. The liquor was flowing as fast as three bartenders could get it out of the bottles.
    I worked my way around the big lobby to the door of the dining room. I still didn’t have much appetite, and I decided to go to the coffee shop instead.
    Then I saw Milo Craybaugh looking at me. He was at a two-place table with Annette Lofgren.
    I handed his look back. He moved his head aside slowly, making sure that I knew I hadn’t won a staredown. I changed my mind about where to eat. I let the headwaiter show me to a small table at one side of the room. It was a good spot. I could see Milo and he could see me. I hoped I was spoiling his