Robert B. Parker’s Fallout

Twenty-Seven

Molly followed Matt Loes once he pulled out of the students’ parking lot at Paradise High after school let out. She had told Suit what she planned to do. He wanted to go with her. But Jesse had told him to take the day and Molly told him the same thing, because Jesse had told her why he wanted Suit to take the day.

“Suit always says he wants you to teach him everything you know,” Molly told Jesse. “But I’d always assumed he already knew how to drink. Or, in your case, how not to drink.”

“I can’t believe I’ve lived in Paradise this long and was never married to you,” Jesse said.

“You know why. I pledged my love to another a long time ago.”

“Poor bastard.”

Molly knew she was following a basic Sunny Randall rule of detecting: When you’re uncertain of what your next move should be, follow somebody.

Or annoy somebody.

Or both.

Matt Loes drove an Audi that appeared to have some miles on it. He stopped at the Dunkin’ drive-thru, then made his way out of Paradise before getting on Route 32 and heading for Marshport. Molly managed to stay a car or two behind him, but really was unconcerned that the kid would even dream he was being followed, much less being followed by a cop.

Sunny swore up and down that following people, for no good reason, often worked like a charm for her.

Molly still spoke to Sunny on the phone from time to time, but they had drifted apart, primarily because she and Jesse were no longer seeing each other. Molly missed her, though. Just not as much as Jesse did, whether he’d ever admit that to Molly, or himself, or not.

Molly knew from Jesse that Nellie Shofner had it in her head that Molly didn’t like her.

Not true.

She just didn’t like her for Jesse.

Big difference.

Molly knew it bothered Nellie, thinking Jesse’s best friend didn’t like her. But she was young. Plenty of time for her to recover from a case of hurt feelings.

Eventually Matt Loes arrived at his destination at Silver Lake, up in the northwest section of Marshport, an area Molly knew well from her high school days.

There was a small dock there for locals who couldn’t afford the dock prices over in Paradise. If you didn’t want to battle the ocean waves, it was as nice a place to swim as there was in the area. The beach wasn’t very wide, and too rocky in most places to suit Molly. But it was big enough on which to party, as long as you cleaned up afterward, because Mike Pearl, the Marshport chief of police, was well known for handing out littering tickets that rivaled anything you could get for speeding.

Matt Loes pulled up and stopped in front of the small white house with bright red trim that served as the dockmaster’s office. Even from where she’d parked her old Cherokee on a dirt road just past the Silver Lake lot, Molly could see the big sign on the door that read gone fishing.

There was another car, a blue Range Rover, parked in front of the office. Molly could see the big paradise beach sticker on the back window. No shocker there. There were so many Range Rovers back in Paradise, Molly sometimes imagined them reproducing like rabbits.

When Matt Loes got out of his car, Ainsley Walsh got out on the driver’s side of the Range Rover.

Scott Ford got out on the passenger side. He was moving gingerly. But obviously well enough to be riding around in a car. Maybe he was a fast healer, even after getting the crap kicked out of him.

Molly quietly closed the door to the Cherokee, grabbed her Nikon from the backseat, walked up through a small patch of woods to give herself a better view of the kids, using some trees for cover.

Matt Loes, Ainsley Walsh, Scott Ford.

Apparently Loes and Ford had patched up their differences, fairly quickly.

They all sat down on the front steps to the dockmaster’s office. Ainsley lit a cigarette.

Bad girl, Molly thought.

But how bad?

The three of them sat there for ten minutes before a third car pulled up next to Ainsley Walsh’s Range Rover. A newer model Cherokee, by a lot, than Molly’s, and in much better shape.

Coach Hal Fortin got out.

Molly leaned against the closest tree, and began shooting pictures.

Fortin walked over to the kids, said something, immediately slapped Matt Loes hard across the face. Snapped the kid’s head to the side. Loes took it. Molly just kept shooting. Fortin now pointed toward the water in the distance. The three kids started walking. Fortin walked behind them until they were out of sight.

Molly put down her camera, then said something Sunny used to say when a clue presented itself.

“Oh, ho,” Deputy Chief Molly Crane said.