Cassidy Kincaid Mysteries Box Set

hand. They followed the other surf guides on their way towards the street.
“Where are we going?” Cassidy said, downing the last of her beer.
“You want to see Reeve’s place, sí?” Macho said.
A lead brick dropped into her gut. She forced in a breath. “Sure,” she replied, but her voice sounded pinched.
“And then we party,” he added with a smile, curving his hand around her waist.
Outside the bar, the air felt fresh, and she could hear frogs chirping their crazy sci-fi noises from the ditch lining the street. The guides all mounted bikes, and Macho motioned for her to get on his handlebars.
“What?” she asked, looking at him in alarm. A bead of sweat trickled down her temple.
“C’mon,” he said as the other two started pedaling away.
“I’m too big,” she said. “You won’t be able to see!”
He dismissed her concern with a noise like a flat tire. “My brother and I do it all the time,” he said. “You put your feet here,” he pointed to the nubs of metal poking out from each side of the front wheel’s hub. “Eet no problem.”
Cassidy eyed the bike, a late-model single speed with bare handlebars and splattered with many layers of dried mud. Accepting her fate with a sigh, with Macho’s help, she climbed on.
Then Macho was off, and Cassidy had a front-row seat as they sped down the muddy street.
They raced down the dark main road, passing pedestrians strolling, dodging a jeep with music blaring. Cassidy gripped the handlebars to either side of her and tried to keep her feet from slipping off the tiny nubs of metal. She felt like an elephant riding a unicycle. After catching up with Eddie and Rico, the three egged each other on with insults and their infectious laughter. They rode past the circle and up a hill, and then turned north, back in the direction of the main town area. The streets were dark, but Cassidy could see low buildings with tin roofs and a few cars parked here and there. If Tamarindo had a rough side of town, they had found it. The area felt subdued compared to the beach. Even though there was reggae music thumping from somewhere, there was little activity. They stopped in front of a several-story-high apartment building. Cassidy slid off the bike, and the three Ticos stashed their bikes alongside the entryway, tucked between the walkway and the overgrown patch of jungle occupying the neighboring lot. They entered a narrow stairway and came out on the second floor hall.
The floor was bare concrete, and the walls, though painted white, were scuffed with gray marks. One section was covered in a watery tan blotch of splatters, as if someone had thrown out their dirty dishwater but had missed. She heard a woman’s voice shouting from one of the units above them. There was also the faint sound of singing coming from farther off down the street.
“Cúal?” Eddie asked Macho.
Macho walked slowly, his dark eyes darting from one side of the hall to the other, until he stopped in front of the door at the end, on the side opposite the beach.
Cassidy paused. It looked like an ordinary door to an ordinary—if slightly seedy—apartment, like many others she imagined Reeve living in over the years. When he wasn’t on the street or in jail. What should she do? Knock?
The Ticos didn’t seem to know what to do, either, and started chattering, their excited giggles filling the cramped hallway.
Cassidy knew Reeve was not in the room behind the door.
She took a deep breath and knocked, soft at first. Then louder.
Nothing happened. She pounded again. What would she tell Rebecca? Harder now. She tried the doorknob, and it wiggled, then clanked in an odd-sounding way. She pulled her hand back, suddenly spooked. She realized that the locking mechanism was broken; the whole knob practically fell apart in her hands. She gave the door a little push, and it popped open.
Macho’s eyes were wide. Eddie and Rico had stopped talking and the hall was silent again.
The apartment inside was dark. Should she go in? Something told her not to. She looked at Macho. He shrugged.
“Maybe people know he leave. They break in.”
Cassidy took a deep breath, and stepped inside. After a moment, she located the light, attached to a string in the middle of the ceiling. She pulled it, and a dim glow illuminated the tiny studio. But the place was a mess—the bed, a single mattress on the floor, had been upended; the drawers in a dilapidated dresser had been pulled out and emptied. One had probably been thrown against a wall because it was in pieces in the corner, the cheap plywood splinters poking out of the broken edges like needles.
Cassidy stood in shock, surveying the wreckage. What had happened here?
The bathroom, a single toilet with no seat and a tiny sink attached to the wall, was empty. No toothbrush or shaving cream, towel. Empty.
“Are you sure this is Reeve’s place?” she asked Macho.
Macho looked uneasy. “Sí,” he said.
Cassidy looked again at the room. A poster on the wall for a reggae band she had never heard of was ripped down the middle, exposing a hole in the wall’s plaster. Had Reeve put up the poster to cover the hole? Or had the raiders made the hole when they ripped the poster down? What had they been after, anyway? Reeve was not a rich person. Had he kept expensive electronics in here? He was doing video for Bruce’s guests. Maybe he owned some of the equipment himself. Had it been stolen? There was a yellowed and dinged up shortboard in the corner, surprisingly in one piece. She knew it was worthless—it probably didn’t even float anymore.
“Macho,” Rico moaned. “Vámonos,” he added with a nod of his head towards the exit. Macho shot him a stern gaze. Eddie looked subdued. He shook his head at Cassidy, and then slunk outside. Rico followed, and she could hear the two of them whispering outside.
“Happens all