Mathias P.I.
The surf shack wasn’t hard to find, like it’s name implies, it was on the Waterfront. Though the front was decked out to look like a tiki hut- complete with a juice bar, the inside reminded Cyd of a sporting goods store. Rows of wetsuits, rash guards, and surfboards lined the aisles, while fishing rods, reels, and rifles were locked behind glass cases. Sea kayaks hung on the walls along with bright pictures of coral reefs and sea turtles.
“My god this place screams tourist trap.” Mathias mumbled out the side of his mouth. “We should start a collection … like … shot glasses or something stupidly domestic!”
“Spoons,” Cyd offered, picking up a small pewter spoon with the beach name embossed. “Less breakable.” With all the criss crossing across the US they’d driven? They’d have drawers full of tiny spoons by now. “Pretty girl, 3:00, that’s all you,” she said, nudging him towards the counter.
“What do you mean “all me”? That's a lot of assumptions you just made right there.” Mathias snorted and yet was still straightening his jacket as he was shooed toward the counter. “Hey, I'm Mathias.” He said smoothly leaning on the count. When you were tall leaning was a thing, otherwise people got cricks in their neck looking up at you
“Alison,” She said back,eying him over. “You expecting a cold front to come through?” Everyone else for the most part was in board shorts, this guy was in a leather coat and black jeans. “Let me guess, tourist?”
“Oh, no I'm like reverse Elsa. The heat never bothers me.” He jokes brushing the comment aside. “Fair seems … packed. I was actually wondering if you could help me with something?”
“If you need to rent a board, you have to talk to Gabe. Other than that,” she said, putting away the last of the sand dollars. “What did you need?”
Looking to get more info on a guy named Ethan Jackson? You happen to know him?” Mathias asked.
Alison looked towards the backroom, where a second girl stood in the doorway. Hearing Ethan’s name, the second girl covered her sob and disappeared into the stockroom. Alison’s shoulders dropped. “You another reporter?” She asked stiffly, her demeanor changing.
“No.” Mathias assured. “Private investigator.” He said keeping it simple.
“We told the police everything we know,” she asserted, “which isn’t much.”
“I'm not police.” Mathias pointed. “I lacked the whole peaked in high school need for authority vibe. You friend over there, the one that went the back, is it cool if talk to her?”
“That’s my sister,” Alison corrected,” And no. She’s shook up as it is. Who did you say hired you?” She asked warily.
“I would but there is a Private in front of Private Investigator. I'm paid for discretion.” Mathias pointed with a chuckle. “l’ll tell you what I know you guys are working, and I would hate being peppered with these kind of question at work. So, if you … or your sister or both wanna talk about what happened …” Mathias held out a simple white card with a number. “... Call me. Anything might help.”
“You think you can catch the sick fuck who did this?” Alison asked taking the card.
“That is actually in my job description. Less curse words. But pretty much the jist.” Mathias said with a shrug.
Alison nodded. “I’ll call you if we think of anything,” she promised, sliding the card into her pocket.