Cassidy Kincaid Mysteries Box Set

though it was obvious that English was the language of choice in Crazy Mike’s, after her week on the mountain, Spanish flowed just as easily as English. Plus, she wanted some way to communicate that she wasn’t some hapless tourist.
The bartender raised an eyebrow, and then brought her an Imperial, cracking the lid on a hidden opener behind the bar before setting it down. “Tienes hambre, querida?”
It was Cassidy’s turn to raise an eyebrow. Querida was a term of mild endearment. She nodded and a menu appeared. After a quick scan, she ordered a chicken burrito.
A pair of college-aged guys tramped through the bar, dripping wet and carrying foam-topped surf boards. Cassidy followed them with her eyes and watched them meet up with a hotel employee in the entryway who helped them stow their boards in a giant metal cage. The cage contained at least a hundred surfboards of all shapes and lengths. The employee, a petite woman in a blue polo shirt, her thick dark hair coiled tightly into a perfect bun in the back of her head, locked the cage, and the two surfers headed to what Cassidy assumed were their rooms.
“You surf?” the bartender asked her, swooping in with silverware and a napkin.
“Um,” Cassidy said, turning away from the surfboard cage.
“We can set you up with a board, lessons, we even do tours,” he added, placing a glass of water near her silverware.
By now she was so hungry she felt lightheaded, but the mention of tours got her attention. “Yes, I would like to find out about tours. Do you have a boat?” she asked.
The bartender nodded. “We run weekly trips to Witch’s Rock and Ollie’s Point, as well as day trips to local breaks like Avellanas, Nosara . . . ”
“How big is the boat?” she asked.
The bartender looked puzzled. “Uh, normal sized?”
“Lo siento,” she said, shaking her head. The conversation wasn’t going where she wanted it to. “Estoy buscando a alguien,” she said. I’m looking for someone.
“A quién?” he asked.
Cassidy pulled out her phone and swiped through her pictures. When was the last time her damaged family had been together? Christmas, two years ago? Or was it during her visit to Rebecca’s after Gloria was born? Jeez, that was four years ago. Finally, she found a photo of Reeve. His brown hair hung loose—a little long, she always thought—and wearing that same goofy grin. Reeve’s eyes were a brownish hazel that when he was high went from peaceful to downright terrifying. In this picture, he wasn’t high, and his cheeks were filled out, which meant that he had probably been clean. Cassidy had forgotten how kind and normal he could look.
She flashed her screen at the bartender. He scrutinized the phone for an instant before saying, “Yeah. I’ve seen him around,” he said.
“When was the last time you saw him?” Cassidy asked.
The bartender crossed his arms and seemed to give the question some thought. “I guess it’s been a while.”
A stocky Tico in a red polo shirt brought her a giant plate of burrito, black beans, and rice. Cassidy’s eyes nearly popped out of her head at the sight of so much food. She was used to eateries in her little town on the volcano where portion sizes were for normal humans.
“How long ago?” Cassidy asked.
The bartender wiped down a corner of the bar with a rag. “A few weeks?”
“Huh,” she said, picking up her fork.
“Otra cerveza?” he asked, picking up her empty.
Cassidy nodded.
When he returned, Cassidy was three bites into her burrito. “Did he work here?” she asked, forcing herself to slow down.
The bartender shook his head.
She took a sip of the ice-cold beer. “Or for someone with a boat?”
The bartender shrugged. “You might try Bruce Keolani. He runs surf tours out of Playas del Coco.”
“Where’s that?”
“North of here, about forty-five minutes.”
Cassidy groaned inwardly.
“But Bruce usually comes around here in the mornings. Sometimes he picks up guests in Tamarindo.”
“Even though you run surf tours too?”
He glanced at the TV. “Sometimes guest want to stay out longer, explore, that kind of thing. Bruce does that.”
Cassidy nodded. The bartender assisted a waitress with a drink order, then left his post. She heard him picking up empty glasses and stacking plates. By the time he was back, Cassidy was stuffed. “The kitchen is closing in a few minutes. Can I get you anything else?”
“You got rum?” she asked.
“Absolutely.”
Cassidy scanned the shelves behind the bar, finding what she was looking for. “Then I’ll take Flor on the rocks with an orange wedge.”
“You got it.”
Normally, she would celebrate the end of her fieldwork with a glass of Glenfiddich, but it didn’t feel right, not in this surf depot. Nicaraguan rum was a close second and something she wouldn’t easily find in the States. She paid her bill and arranged for a room for two nights, then wandered to a table outside where she could hear the waves.
She told herself that she would wait it out until morning when she could find this Bruce character, ask him if he knew anything about Reeve and where he had gone. Likely, Reeve just didn’t show up for work one day, and would not have been seen since. She wondered if there was a girl involved. It was one of Reeve’s patterns: stay straight for a while, then meet a gorgeous drug addict who was trying to get clean, but would fail and pull Reeve back into using. Refusing to experience it again, Cassidy had sworn to keep her distance. She shook her head once, vigorously, to clear the memories.
She sipped her rum, then bit down on her orange wedge, sucking the juice. She knew that if Reeve was indeed stuck in another one of these cycles, there was nothing she could do to save him.

Three
Cassidy woke to a knock at her door. The air conditioning unit had been so noisy it had kept her awake until the early hours of the morning. Or maybe it was the rum. She had finally