Marblehead Harbor
23
Some questions persisted after I spoke with Frank McClain. As Michael and I drove back across the causeway to Marblehead proper, with the natural wonder that is the harbor to our right and the North Atlantic over the seawall to the left, we kicked them around.
“So, ok, what we know…? We know that the dead woman in New York was Ivana Grdesic. We know it was Mislava down in Nantasket. We know this Niko guy was involved somehow.” I started to tick things off on my fingers.
“Ah, and that Ivana is the daughter of some power and privilege in Croatia. Right? We know her body is about to be shipped back there.”
“Yup,” Michael said as he pulled into the Devereux Beach parking lot at the end of the causeway. He thickened his brogue to sweet-talk the khaki- uniformed parking lot attendant. She directed us to a spot in the soft-sand lot.
“Yup,” Michael said as he pulled into the Devereux Beach parking lot at the end of the causeway. He thickened his brogue to sweet-talk the khaki- uniformed parking lot attendant. She directed us to a spot in the soft-sand lot.
“We also know she had exquisite taste in men,” Michael added.
“Yeah, yeah. Too bad for you she’s dead.”
Flynny’s On the Beach stands where a wooden L-shaped arcade of penny candy, tonic – the erstwhile New England word for soda pop - and hot dog stands, their rickety vertical shutters propped open against the elements, had tempted the pre-sun block sons and daughters of Marblehead’s 1940s and 50s.
We climbed the switchback ramp and ordered at the take out window. The co-mingled aroma of frying seafood and the ocean conjures up both the appetite and a fleet of memories.
“We know that I IDd the wrong woman in Portland for someone who had lied to me, and …”
“You know, Finn, I don’t know if it matters, but it appears that our Niko guy mightn’t have known one of these women from the other either, or…
“Or he didn’t care. I hadn’t thought of that. I felt that I had inadvertently set up Mislava when, perhaps, Matulich had nefarious designs on both the women.”
“Right. Nefarious. Might not mean anything, though…”
“ We’ll see, I guess. Good thinking, though Mikie.”
Truth was we might not ever know any more than what we already knew. I wasn’t working for anyone anymore.
Number 77. Number 79. Numbers 77 and 79. Our lunches were ready.
What we didn’t know was going to require many more fingers than we had between us.
“I wish I knew where Mislava’s body was.”
We returned to the truck after eating every morsel of our fried shrimp and clams with what was left of our tonics in plastic-lidded waxed cups. The sack full of raccoon was self-propelling around the truck’s cargo compartment. There was emanating from the bag a low hum that got a little louder each time it collided with something.
“There’s got to be a use for that technology.” I said as I cocked my head towards the sack.
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