Myrtle Beach, South Carolina Spencer checked into a hotel under an alias in case Matthew was looking for him; he did not want the name Spencer Grim popping up and ruining his plan to help Christopher Gilbert. The only available room was in a hotel two streets back from the beach. He was hoping to find a spot right in the middle of the action, but every room had been booked weeks in advance. He had to settle for what he could get.
After his last radio contact of the day to Christopher, he returned to the beach and made his rounds, revisiting the marina where Christopher had docked his boat. Over the last two days, Spencer had developed a rapport with the crotchety owner and confided that he was looking for someone who might do Christopher Gilbert harm. The old man remembered Christopher well and agreed to help in any way he could. Most importantly, he would deny all knowledge of the fact that Christopher was, indeed, floating around on a sailboat no more than a mile off shore. Of course, if threatened, the man could easily change his tune.
The sun dipped below the horizon and night crept over the ocean. A blanket of silver stars covered the sky as the local teens took over the beach and vacationing families returned to the hotels and campgrounds.
Spencer discovered an empty plastic lawn chair sitting just outside a bike rental place and carried it out onto the beach. A cool evening breeze blew up the beach from the south, reminding the northerners what a summer night should smell like. Spencer sat out in the open, his profile to the gently washing waves as he watched the antics of a group of teenagers a few hundred feet down the beach. The faded orange fishing hat and sunglasses made him appear as just another local, at least from a distance...or so he hoped.
