“Roger that,” says Chief of Detectives Ceepak.
“Awesome.”
Baggy shorts and a shirt loose enough to hide a holster. My kind of uniform.
“The rides really don’t open till ten or eleven,” says Ceepak.
“You want to grab breakfast at the Pancake Palace first? Say, nine-thirty?”
“That’ll work. My mother and her senior citizen group are taking a bus trip to the boardwalk Monday. Want to make sure everything is up to snuff.”
“You don’t think they’re going to ride the rides, do you?”
“Actually, with my mother, you never know.”
True. Adele Ceepak is what they call a pistol. Or a firecracker. Something that sizzles and pops and does things you weren’t expecting.
I escort Christine and her VW up to the Mussel Beach Motel.
Becca, who’s bubbly and blonde, meets us out front in a pair of sloppy sweats.
“Saving another damsel in distress, Danny Boy?” she jokes with a yawn. That’s her cute way of saying thanks one more time for what went down in the Fun House last summer. It’s a long story. Remind me. I’ll tell you sometime.
“You remember Katie’s friend, Christine?” I say.
“Sure. Rough night, huh?”
Christine smiles. “Something like that.”
“You still at the hospital?”
“No. I’m mostly working as a home health aide these days.”
“Cool. Well, you must be tumblewacked. Come on. I put you on the first floor …”
“How much do we owe you?” I ask.
“It’s on the house,” says Becca. “Hey, it’s what Katie would want.”
Becca had been one of Katie Landry’s best friends, too. A lot of people were. Katie had been like that.
“Thanks, Beck,” I say. “I’ll check in with you tomorrow, Christine.”