Chapter 19: Dale's Chair

Dale stepped out of the elevator with the duffel bag over his shoulder and a grin already on his face.

It was a good grin, the one he'd worn at our wedding, and he had it ready for a room that would be looking the other way.

The room was looking at him.

He stopped just outside the steel door.

The grin held for a moment, and then it began to come apart at the corners.

"Evening, Dale," Hugh said.

He was standing three feet in front of him, with his hands loose at his sides.

"Hugh," said Dale. "Well, I'll be."

"Two years."

"It's good to see you."

"Is it?"

"Sure. Look, I can explain about the company."

"You'll have the chance."

Dale looked past him.

He took in the full tables, the raised phones, the detective standing with his hand on the back of a chair, the gray-haired man with the open wallet.

He took in the six people from the charter company, who had risen from their two-tops along the glass without a sound.

The dock manager stood first, in his best coat.

Then the older deckhand, who had lost his boat slip.

Then the mate, and the cook, and the bookkeeper, and the other deckhand, one after another, until all six stood in a row.

None of them said a word.

Dale's mouth moved, and he tried to laugh.

"Boys," he said. "Ma'am. You all look great."

"You look rested," the bookkeeper said.

He shifted the bag on his shoulder.

"This is a misunderstanding. I'm not who you think I am. I'm a cousin. There's a family resemblance."

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