“Anything for you, darlin.’”
“It’s about Bear.”
“What about him?”
“How long has he worked for you?”
“Ever since I opened the place. He’s like family to me. Why?”
“I’ve been looking into a cold case, and earlier this morning, someone described a man that reminded me a lot of him.”
“He in some kind of trouble?”
“Not at all. I’d just like to ask him a couple of questions if you can spare him for a few minutes.”
“Sure, sure. But knowing what you do, I feel I must put in a good word before I leave you.” Turning toward the kitchen, he glanced at Bear. “That right there is one of the most stand-up gentlemen I’ve ever met. Sure, he looks a bit rough around the edges, but that’s not always a good judge of character, is it?”
“It is not.”
He nodded and walked away as the waiter returned with our drinks and a basket of bread. We gave him our order, and as he took it to the kitchen, Giovanni leaned in, saying, “At least I know why we’re here today. What does Bear have to do with your case?”
“I’ll explain everything when I get a chance to talk to him.”
He took a sip of his tea. “So, you’re keeping me in suspense.”
I shot him a wink. “Babe, you live with a private investigator. Suspense comes with the territory.”
Minutes later, the waiter returned with a bowl of clam chowder for Giovanni and a turkey club sandwich for me. Giovanni thanked him and reached for his spoon. As we ate, Billy sent over a few complimentary appetizers to the table, and we made small talk and enjoyed our feast. Every so often, I’d look up and notice Bear glancing at me, stone-faced. He looked nervous, or worried, or both.
He waited until we’d finished our meal, and then as the plates were removed from the table, he dried his hands on a towel and walked over.
“Everything okay with the food?” he asked.
“It was excellent, as usual.”
He slid into the seat next to me, on a chair that was made for someone half his size. “You wanted to see me?”
I nodded and thought about what to say next. “Did you grow up here, in Cambria?”
“Born and raised.”
“I wanted to ask you about your tattoo.”
His attention shifted to his ankle, then back to me. “What about it?”
“When did you get it?”
He swallowed, and his jaw tightened. “I don’t know. A long time ago.”
“What does it symbolize?”
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Why does this matter?”
“I’m just curious.”
He cocked his head to one side. “I know you’re a private detective. You’re more than a little curious.”
“I’ll admit, I’m working on a case. This morning, I was speaking to Violet and Eugene Fontaine. Violet’s daughter, Anne, went missing in Cambria twenty-five years ago. Around the time she disappeared, Anne and her Aunt Glinda saw a man in her aunt’s neighborhood, a man whose description made me think of you. Same build. Same tattoo.”
