Chapter 10
Whispers on the Wharf
Sal and Mike gather intel from fishermen and shopkeepers down by the wharf. Local gossip often holds kernels of truth, revealing hidden tensions and potential leads.
The salty breeze, usually a balm to Sal Moretti’s soul, felt a little sharper today, carrying with it the tang of worry and the murmur of unanswered questions. He leaned against the weathered railing of the Sea Town wharf, the familiar creak of the fishing boats a counterpoint to the knot tightening in his stomach. Beside him, Chief Mike Riley, his brow furrowed in concentration, scanned the bobbing vessels and the scattering of early morning fishermen mending nets.
“Anything, Mike?” Sal asked, his voice rough. The “Golden Marinara” recipe, the heart and soul of Sal’s Pizzeria, felt like a phantom limb, its absence a constant ache.
Mike shook his head, a sigh escaping his lips. “Just the usual. Old Man Hemlock complaining about the seagulls, Mrs. Gable bragging about her prize-winning petunias. Nobody’s seen anyone lurking around your place at odd hours, nobody heard anything suspicious.” He kicked a loose plank with the toe of his sensible police-issue shoe. “This town is a goldfish bowl, Sal. If something happened, someone would have seen it.”
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