Scandal on the Sand (The Billionaires of Barefoot Bay #3)(21)
Author: Roxanne St. Claire

“Whatchya guys havin’?” she asked, shuffling her pad without really looking at them.

“How long have you worked here?” Liza asked.

That got her attention, right on Liza, which is exactly where he suspected she wanted it. If this one got all gooey-eyed over him, they might not learn anything.

“You lookin’ for a job?” the girl asked, nodding as if she already knew the answer.

“No, I’m trying to find out about a friend of mine who used to work here, but it was more than five years ago.”

“Before my time,” she said. “But, hey…” She turned—revealing a matching Hot Buns written across her lukewarm ones—and waved over another server, a dark-haired young woman who looked like she was in her late twenties.  “Tracy, c’mere for a sec.”

The other woman pivoted on her sneakers and bounced over, a huge, friendly smile in place. “What up, buttercup?”

“You’ve been here forever, right?”

She rolled brown eyes. “Feels like it. I started in ‘05.” She gave a throaty grunt and dropped her head back. “Why, God? Why can’t I get my life together and not be a waitress?” She grinned at her joke. “Who wants to know?”

“This lady is looking for someone named…”

“Carrie Cassidy,” Liza said. “Did you know her when she worked here?”

The woman shook her head, frowning as she considered the question. “No, no. I didn’t know anybody by that name. When did you say she worked here?”

“About five years ago. I have a picture. Maybe you’d remember her.” Liza got her phone, tapped the screen, and showed it to the waitress. “This is her.”

The woman leaned closer, and their first server poked her head in to look, too.

“No, I don’t…” She squinted and took the phone, staring at it. “Wait, I do know her. She worked here for almost a year. Um…” She snapped her fingers, digging for more. “Bonnie? Brandy? What the hell was her name?”

“Bailey?” Nate suggested.

She looked up, face brightening. “Bailey Banks! Yes. I do remember her.” She looked at the picture again, thinking, then shaking her head. “Where is she now?”

“Well,” Liza said,  “I’m sorry to say she died in a car accident.”

The woman’s mouth dropped open. “No way! Oh my God, I never heard that. She just disappeared after…is that her little boy?” Still holding the phone, she dropped into an empty chair at the table, as if the knowledge that someone she knew had died pressed her down.

“Yes, it is,” Liza said.

“That fucking bastard, excuse my French.”

Nate leaned forward. “What do you mean?”

She glanced at him, then Liza. “Oh, her dickwad, deadbeat baby daddy.”

He saw Liza suck in a breath, clearly unable to speak. So he did it for her. “Who?” he demanded. “You know him?”

“Oh, hell, everyone knows Jeff Munson around this town. He’s been up every skirt in Key West.”

“Jeff Munson, the old line cook?” the first waitress asked. “I know him. Whoa, yeah, total manwhore.”

Tracy jutted her chin to the picture. “She loved the hell out of him, though. She even moved in with him for a while.” Shaking her head, she sighed again. “God, I can’t believe she’s dead. I wonder if he knows.”

So did Nate…what if Liza was all wrong? What if he wasn’t anything but a fall guy?

“Do you know where we could find him?” Liza asked.

The other girl stepped closer. “I know where he lives.” A soft flush bloomed under her makeup. “I’ve been there for, you know, after-work parties. It’s over in Conch Harbor in those apartment buildings off Twelfth Street.”

“Oh, God, no,” Tracy said, leaning back and narrowing her eyes at Liza. “Please tell me you are not some HRS person who’s going to give that kid to Jeff Munson, are you? Because I’m here to tell you, he is so not father material. Parties constantly, has a stream of ‘ho bags in and out of his place, and hasn’t had a legit job in his life. Trust me, he doesn’t want a kid to hamper his style.”

Nate swallowed, staying very still. She’d just described him.

“No, no, we’re not from HRS,” Liza assured her. “But it does seem fair to tell him what happened to her.”

The waitress shrugged. “He won’t care unless it involves money. That dude lives for the next get-rich scheme.” She pushed up to get back to work. “Sorry to hear about Bailey. Sweet kid, but maybe not the brightest bulb in the bunch. She was always trying to make him jealous and making up shit about meeting celebrities at work. As if we get Leo DiCaprio in here on a regular basis.”

She started to walk away, but Liza reached out her hand and stopped her. “Did she tell you she met Leo DiCaprio?” she asked.

Tracy snorted. “And Ryan Gosling and Adam Levine and, oh my God, that…that billionaire guy, the naughty hottie one from the messy family.”

Nate froze—inside and out. To her credit, Liza didn’t even blink.

“That girl had a fertile imagination and really tried to get Jeff’s pants in a bunch over her ‘celebrity’ encounters, but…” She shrugged. “I just hope she died happy.”

“She did,” Liza said, her throat tightening. “She was really happy.”

“Good, good. ‘Cause, man, life is short.” She gave a remorseful smile. “I better quit this gig and start living it.”

When she walked away, Liza turned to the other waitress. “We’re not going to have anything, sorry.”

“No biggie. Good luck finding Jeff, and sorry about your friend.”

Nate had no idea if she glanced at him, because he looked down at the menu they didn’t need and made sure the bill of his cap covered everything but his chin. After a moment, they were alone, and he looked up at Liza, stunned to see her eyes swimming with tears.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“She probably made you up,” she whispered.

“Why would that make you cry?”

She bit her lip, hard, then blinked away the moisture in her eyes. “Maybe she made everything up. Her name, her life, her…everything. What if all those years of friendship were just a lie?”

He reached out a hand, no clue how to console her. 

“Come on, Nate,” she said, blinking away her emotions. “Let’s go find this Munson guy. That place where he lives matches the address for Carrie’s last address in Key West.  I have a really good idea.”