Marsha looked doubtful. “This guy was much older. Probably in his fifties.”
“The photo is at least twelve years old.”
Marsha slowly shook her head. “I don’t know. His hairline was receding . . . the shape of his mouth doesn’t seem right, and the nose definitely isn’t crooked.”
“He was a stranger to you?”
“Definitely not a local,” Marsha said emphatically. “He asked lots of questions about who I buy the jewelry and art from. He wanted to know if I’d just buy it off anyone who brought in a collection. I told him I’d have to see it first, but I had bought on sight when someone showed me pieces I knew I could sell.” She looked around and lowered her voice conspiratorially. “I felt like he primarily wanted to sell me something.”
“Not to find the woman in the photos?”
“Well, that too.”
“If he’s not a local, he might be staying at one of the hotels,” said Tessa. She stepped aside and spoke into the mic at her shoulder. Cate heard her pass along the man’s description and direct one of the other deputies to start checking hotels.
Could Rich Causey be on the island?
The island had only a dozen hotels, but many other options were available because of private rentals. It would be a needle-in-a-haystack search. And just because Marsha had seen him alone didn’t mean he was traveling alone, so they couldn’t limit their search to a single man. From what Cate knew of Rich Causey, he’d leave no trace behind. She couldn’t see him staying in a hotel that required a credit card that could be tracked.
He wouldn’t use his own name anymore.
“You’re sure the young mother is okay?” Marsha asked Cate. Her eyes were haunted, and Cate’s stomach twisted in sympathy for her.
“I’m positive. I saw her yesterday.”
“So odd,” Marsha said, almost to herself. “He didn’t seem like the type of man that would kidnap a child.”
As far as Cate knew, that wasn’t a recognizable type.
“Let us know if you see him again,” Cate told her as Tessa wrapped up her mic conversation.
“I will.”
7
Cate and Tessa had walked away from Shiny Objects for one minute when Tessa got a phone call.
“Bruce says the bartender at Widowmaker Brewery told him that a guy just showed him some photos of a woman, asking if he’d seen her,” Tessa told Cate.
“Is he still there?” The women changed direction, moving together at a fast walk. The brewery was a few blocks down the street. Optimism swept through Cate.
Did we get a break?
“Yes. He ordered lunch. Bruce told the bartender to hold his food back until we get there.”
“Perfect,” said Cate. The women broke into a slow jog. “It has to be the same guy.”
“We’ll know in a minute.”
The two reached the brewpub and jogged up the weathered stairs. The brewery had been started by a couple of retired navy officers two decades ago. It had a partial view of the bay, and tourists loved the old boat-and-fishing décor, with wide tables and benches in the dining portion of the brewery for family-style seating.
Cate immediately spotted the thin man at a high-top table in the bar section, his gaze on a news program on one of the dozen big-screen TVs. His profile was to her, showing an angular-shaped head, a clearly hooked nose, and a well-receded hairline. His posture was extremely straight, his bony shoulders creating sharp corners in his shirt.
That’s not Rich Causey.