CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The Pirate’s Den was a ramshackle building with weathered driftwood boards stacked into makeshift walls. I parked the scooter in the lot and climbed the wooden ramp to the entrance. A pirate’s skull-and-crossbones sign welcomed me. Cute.
I pulled open the door and stared into a void. The bar was so dimly lit, I had to step inside and let my eyes adjust before I could see a thing. It took a while. Eventually I made out a bar running along the back wall, old-fashioned lanterns hung on wrought iron posts, wooden beams, starfish, shells and other beachy doodads hanging from the fishnet on the walls. A few customers emerged from the dark.
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