Cassidy Kincaid Mysteries Box Set

tours today? I think we go to Avellanas,” Macho said. “Is beautiful beach,” he added, drawing out the word, his eyes shimmering. “Muchas olas.” He paddled for a set and was gone.
Cassidy remembered that she was going to the police station.
Eddie paddled for a wave, leaving her bobbing with her thoughts. “Wait,” she called, but it was too late. Hadn’t Mel told her that these might be friends of Reeve’s?
Quickly, she stroked into a wave and surfed it, trying to pick out Macho in the group of surfers collecting on the shore. Her wave collapsed with a thud behind her and she dropped to her belly to ride the whitewash in. She arrived breathless.
“Do you guys know Reeve Bennington?”
The threesome stopped their bantering. Macho had paused the coiling of his leash. The three looked at each other and then back at her. “Sí,” he answered. “We haven’t seen him in a while,” Eddie said.
“I know. I’m trying to get in touch with him.”
Eddie eyed her curiously. “Is he okay?”
A tendril of guilt tickled her insides. “I don’t know. He normally checks in with Rebecca, his sister, but he hasn’t, so I’m here.”
“Vamanos,” Macho said. “We can walk back together,” he said. Eddie and Rico were already walking toward the river, deep in conversation. Something about a surfboard.
“So his sister ask you to come?”
Cassidy nodded.
“Why she not come? Is beautiful, yes?” He gestured with his free arm at the jungle and the sunrise.
“She has too many children,” Cassidy replied, then realized how that sounded. “I mean, her kids are little. And her husband travels a lot.”
“Is he your friend?”
“No. Stepbrother. We grew up . . . for a time . . . together.”
“Ah.” This information seemed to satisfy Macho.
“So, can you tell me about him?” Cassidy asked.
“He surfed sometimes,” Macho began. “Like this, here. I see him out sometimes. At the club. On the beach. Is party town, right?” he said, a little sheepishly.
“What club?”
“They have music. Reggae, you know, for dancing. It is up past the circle.” He looked at her to see if she was following him. She nodded. She figured that the circle was where the road forked away from the beach.
“Was he doing drugs?”
Macho looked at her in surprise.
“Sorry, it’s just . . . I’m used to it. Reeve has had problems in the past,” she said, trying to keep her tone light.
“It is not my place to say,” Macho said.
Now it was Cassidy’s turn to be surprised.
“Smoke a little motta, have few beers, sure, I see this. But this is everybody,” he conceded.
“But no needles, pills?”
A look of extreme discomfort came over his face. “I would not know this. We only surf together sometimes.”
“I’m sorry. I just can’t help but think he got into some kind of trouble. He got off the boat in San Juan del Sur and never came back. Maybe he was using again. Maybe he was on the run, or maybe he just got pulled back into that life.”
“He go to San Juan?” Macho asked.
“He was working a trip with Bruce,” Cassidy answered. “You call him Captain Keo, right?”
Macho nodded. “Yes, I remember this. Reeve helps out. Fix things. Does video for the guests.” He sighed. “He’s a good guy. Good surfer too. One time he fixed my bike. I was going to be late to work, and he’s just coming home from the night, and he says, ‘let me look at it.’ Five minutes later and boom, it’s fixed. Fucking genius, that guy.”
They had reached the river and began to wade in, then went prone and paddled across, the current sweeping them downstream at an angle. On the other side, Eddie and Rico were waiting for them.
“Did he hang out with anyone? Apparently, there was a girl. Do you know who she is?”
All three shook their heads.
“Meet me this afternoon,” Macho said, eyeing the others, including them. “We can show you where he lives.”

Six
Cassidy returned her board to the cage, showered, and dressed carefully in her least grubby clothes. Not a small feat, given that she had not intended to impress anyone on this trip, which had transitioned from fieldwork to beach lounging. She did manage to find her one pair of earrings, and had even ironed her shorts. Her only footwear choice was flip-flops but it couldn’t be helped. After a cup of coffee, and eggs and bacon from the restaurant, she asked directions to the police station from the hostess.
Even though it was still morning, just past nine, the humidity was on its way to sweltering. The air was fresher than on the previous evening, though, with the faint scent of blossoms and the gentle hum of insects to keep her company.
She followed the dirt street to the edge of town and found the low, white building with blue motorcycles parked outside and a Costa Rican flag tacked to the exterior wall. Other than the barred windows, she could have mistaken it for a community center.
The door was open, so she entered the tiny entryway, where a man in a blue uniform sat talking on the phone at a scuffed metal desk. When he noticed her, he grunted a signoff and hung up. His round face, with tired eyes and a flattish nose, attempted a smile.
“Puedo ayudarla?” he asked.
Cassidy bit her lip. “Una persona desaparecida.”
The man’s eyebrow rose.
There was no chair in the room. Beyond the entryway office space was a larger room with a table, folding metal chairs, and a medium refrigerator, stained brown at the edges and decorated with a handful of stickers from surf companies and energy drinks. Likely, the police station had once been a house and she was looking at the kitchen.
“Tu marido?”
A hot flash of pain lit up her face. She shuffled her feet to keep her knees from wobbling. “No,” she managed. “Mi hermano. Mitad.”
He looked at her curiously again. She didn’t know the word for “stepbrother” so had used the word for half, but it didn’t sound right.
“Hermanastro?” he asked,