Pineapple Turtles

was a lot of information about a girl named Stephanie Moriarty. Angelina made a note to remember that name. Most of the crimes looked small time. Nothing too sinister, with the exception of some notes implying ole Stephanie might be a serial killer.
That’s interesting.
But not relevant.
She opened a browser and went to a real estate site to look up Charlotte’s address. The house she lived in was owned by her. Last owned by Estelle—
Angelina’s face went tingly.
Last owned by Mick’s ex-wife.
This girl was a private detective living in the home of Siofra’s mother.
Oh this is not good.
Angelina slapped close the computer and slipped it back into the safe. She returned the shoebox and locked the safe door.
She tidied—zipped shut the duffle bag, tucked the fun-sized vodka into her pocket, fluffed up the spot on the bed where’d she sat and with a final sweeping glance of the area, left.
Once downstairs, she hustled out the front door.
“Where you going?” called Croix as she hustled by.
Angelina waved her away. “No time.”
The doorman opened the door as she approached and she stopped to put a hand on his chest.
“Which way did she go?”
“Basket stop.” He pointed to the left.
“What do you think? Sushi?”
He squinted and then nodded.
She patted him on the chest. “I think so too. Thanks, Bracco.”
He smiled and she hurried for her car. It wouldn’t be long until the girl realized her phone was missing and she needed to be there to save the day.

 
 
Chapter Thirteen
“Hey, fancy meeting you here.”
Charlotte looked up from her sushi roll to find Angelina from the Loggerhead Inn walking towards her. Striding, really, as if she were late for a lunch date. The woman bristled with confidence.
What is going on with this lady? She’d practically pushed her out of the hotel and now she was here as if she couldn’t get enough of her.
“Hello again. I guess that’s why this place is on your list?” asked Charlotte as Angelina arrived tableside.
“Hm?” Angelina cocked her head and looked at the ground through one eye like a bird.
“Your list. I guess this place is on it because you like it.”
“Oh right. Sure.” She stooped, disappearing below the table and then popped up again with a familiar item in her hand. “Is this your phone?”
Charlotte patted the pouch of her hoodie where she’d last put the phone. “Yikes. Yes. Thank you. How did that fall?” She took the phone and slipped it back into its home. Thank goodness Angelina had come along. If she’d reached to find her phone and found it missing, she would have panicked.
Uninvited, Angelina sat at Charlotte’s small round high-top table and began shifting the center piece and a spare set of silverware as if they were chess pieces, clearing a sight path to Charlotte on the opposite side of the table. “So, tell me more about why you’re looking for Siofra?” she said.
Charlotte’s mouth hung open a crack, her brain unable to unlock.
Why is this woman here?
She decided there was nothing left to do but play along. “I think she was important to my grandmother.”
“And who was your grandmother?”
Charlotte frowned. She didn’t like that suddenly Angelina got to ask all the questions. Every interaction with the woman felt one-sided.
“Does this mean you figured out who Siofra is?” she asked.
Angelina ignored her and instead raised a hand to flag down a waitress. When the server shifted directions and moved to the table, Angelina smiled.
“Is this your table, Susan?”
The server grinned and nodded. It was clear to Charlotte she was happy to see Angelina.
“Great. Sweetheart, could you get me a Clamato and vodka?”
Susan nodded and continued on her way.
Angelina refocused on Charlotte and leaned in as if she were sharing a secret. “They hate it when you ask them for something and it isn’t their table.”
Charlotte nodded.
Angelina continued. “I don’t usually drink this early but my nerves are shot—”
“Why?”
“Why don’t I drink this early?”
“Why are your nerves shot?”
Angelina shrugged. “Oh. It’s Tuesday. What were we talking about? I think you were about to tell me who your grandmother is in relation to Siofra?”
Charlotte frowned.
She’s got the upper hand again. How did that happen?
“No, I asked you if you figured out who Siofra is,” she said.
“Oh. Right. Maybe. I just want to narrow things down a bit.”
“I don’t understand.”
Angelina turned a palm to the sky, her fingers splayed out like ruby-tipped peacock feathers. “I mean, I can’t just give you the names and addresses of everyone who worked at the resort. I have to find out why you want to know. You could be a debt collector, for all I know.”
“But I’m a food inspector.” Charlotte felt like an idiot repeating her stupid lie, but she had to stick with her cover.
Wait, did I say health inspector or food inspector the first time?
She wasn’t sure.
Shoot.
Angelina nodded. “So you say. But that’s something a debt collector might say, isn’t it?”
“And knowing who my grandmother is would tell you if I’m a debt collector?”
Angelina shrugged. “Maybe.”
Charlotte took a deep breath. “Okay. Fine. It seems as if neither of us want to be the first to share and we’re going around in circles. Let’s start over.”
“Fine.” Angelina studied her nails. “I don’t know why you wouldn’t trust me. You’re a health inspector who showed up asking for information. I have reason to be afraid of you.”
“Why? Is your kitchen in violation?”
“No. But you know how health inspectors are.”
Charlotte couldn’t miss the emphasis Angelina placed on the word “health”, now certain the woman had caught her mistake.
I definitely said health inspector the first time. Not food inspector.
A close-lipped smile