“XIV.”
He laughed. “Got it.”
When they knocked, Dalia threw open the door to the huge but ramshackle cottage wearing a long-faded T-shirt covered with bears and a flowered kerchief over her hair. “Greetings and salutations!”
The main room was filled with personality of the type that had been willfully edited from the Badgerton house. Food covered the old oak table, which was surrounded by mismatched chairs. Nico doubted the dingy avocado appliances had been made in this century, and the saggy, sun-bleached Naugahyde couches had clearly been hauled out from someone’s basement. Valerie relaxed and he didn’t blame her. Unlike the Badgertons, Dalia’s place felt as if he could spill a drink without getting arrested.
After a wave of friendly introductions, Dalia led them to a surprisingly new dock instead of the repurposed planks on floating barrels he expected, given the house. “The games are asynchronous and we’re going on the honor system.”
“Asynchronous?” Nico checked through the various games listed on the scorecard, all standards like horseshoes and ring toss.
“People are dropping in over the course of the day, so it made sense to do a final summing up and email the results.” Dalia kicked a ball out of the way. “If we remember. It’s pretty casual.”
“Who’s in the lead?” Valerie asked.
“Mickey and Sharon.” Dalia pointed to an older couple who were batting a shuttlecock back and forth with Ping-Pong paddles.
Valerie cast Nico a sidelong glance; she’d noticed the name as well. Roger might have said their job wasn’t to investigate, but surely they needed to follow up on things that had been presented to them on a silver platter. “Mickey from the Lakeview, Mickey?” she asked.
“You got it. Let’s go over and say hi.” Valerie showed Nico her crossed fingers as they paused at the big sign that read “Station 5—Shuttlecocks Keep Falling on My Head.”
“We wanted to name all the games after songs but there were a few fails,” said Dalia. She made the introductions as the other couple passed over the paddles.
“Nice to meet you,” said Mickey as Sharon went to grab a drink. He was in his late forties and his bald head was as tanned as his weathered face. His Lakeview T-shirt was damp with sweat, and faded tattoo vines climbed out the collar to trace up his neck. “See if you can beat us. We got a high of twenty-two.”
It wasn’t until they finished batting the shuttlecocks, with Mickey and Dalia calling encouragement, that they had a chance to talk. “Sixty?” Mickey groaned when Valerie finally missed. “God, to be young again.”
“Dalia says you own the Lakeview,” said Valerie.
There was no reasonable way to segue into asking about Yvette, and Nico commended Valerie for just going for it.
“Yeah, bought it about a decade ago when the Toronto restaurant scene was getting too much. I got an ulcer, and me and Sharon took a break here. Saw the place for sale and made an offer right on the spot.”
“Why was the other owner selling?” asked Nico.
“Getting old, he said. Thanks, toots.” He took the beer Sharon brought and tapped her on the ass as she swatted his arm away. “He said he wanted a rest.”
“Are you talking about the old Lakeview owner? He wasn’t too tired to drive a hard bargain,” observed Sharon.
“Lucky I had the city’s best labor lawyer to do the negotiation.” Mickey took her hand, and Nico saw their matching wedding-band tattoos. “It was his baby. He wanted it to go to the right person. I’ll do the same when I retire.”
“You’re going to die at the grill,” Sharon said.
“Thenyou’llmake sure it goes to the right person.”
“We’re doing some research on how the Mariposas have grown,” said Nico, to get the conversation back. “The Lakeview was always central to the summer crowds. Was it hard for the old owner to get the staffing?”
Mickey snorted. “Not when you pay seasonal people under the table. I looked through his old files, and you’d think he only hired a dishwasher, one server, and a cook. Not a single other person on payroll.”
“Oh?” asked Nico. “We saw he expanded the patio in the nineties. He must have hired some more people.” Valerie gave him a tiny nod, as if to congratulate him on this line of questioning.
“If he did, he didn’t leave proof.” Mickey shrugged. “It’s bad business to have books older than six years for taxes anyway, so I burned them when I took over.”
Damn.More people came to take a turn, and Dalia excused herself to greet some new arrivals. “Wes! Nadine! Did you bring the cats?”
A man’s voice replied, “They’re city girls, Dal. Rebecca’s watching them.”
“She set up a camera so we could keep an eye on them,” said a dark-haired woman in a yellow dress as Nico and Valerie moved to the ring toss. “Or, more accurately, so Wes could.”
