Cowabunga Christmas (9 page)

A
s I
emerged from that cave I could see two men in wetsuits wading into the pool
where Willow and I waited. I had pulled my surfboard up out of the water earlier
and was glad now it wouldn’t be in the way of the rescuers. I could not imagine
how Willow had survived that dive into the pool of water. It seemed so small
with four of us in the area now.

One of
the men seemed familiar. Maybe he was a member of the hotel staff who handled
beach rescues and I had seen him in the lobby or elsewhere. Just beyond the
little lagoon area, I could hear a motor boat.

“Hey
you guys! Are we ever glad to see you.” I glanced at Willow who remained
silent. She was sitting up, her eyes wide with terror. That’s when I noticed
the gun.

“Not
as glad as we are to see you, Ladies. This one anyway,” he laughed—gesturing
with the gun toward Willow. “Imagine how disappointed I was when we didn’t get
to finish our earlier conversation.” I blinked. My mind went blank.

“What
is going on?” I asked. “Who are you?”

“It’s
him,” Willow whispered. “He’s the guy up on the cliffs when I jumped.” Duh! I
had been so sure our rescue team had arrived, my poor brain, running on empty,
couldn’t process what was happening. I tried to figure out what to do, growing
angrier by the second as I stared at the gun and the toll fear was taking on
Willow. At a distance, I could hear another boat—this one sounded bigger. I
hoped it had bigger guns, too.

“Hey,
hurry up. We gotta get out of here. There’s a rescue skiff coming. It’s closing
fast.” That voice had come from outside the lagoon in which Willow and I had
become captives. A bolt of recognition hit me.

“Benny,”
I hollered. “You ratfink, I’d know your voice anywhere. If you want to outrun
that skiff you’d better get out of here now!” I was about to mouth off again
when Gun Guy pointed that thing at me.

“Shut
up, Ms. Reed, or I’ll shut you up. I told you to leave it alone.” Aha! Gun Guy
was also Nasty Note Writer Guy. That Ms. Reed bit also made another thing
clear—he was definitely a staff member at the hotel. One of the insiders
involved in the counterfeit ring. I wasn’t sure what else to do, but stall. The
rescuers were getting closer with every second.

“We
are—we
were
leaving it alone. Willow and Brien and I weren’t doing
anything but surfing.”

“On
Christmas day? In the middle of your honeymoon? Please, give me a break. You
all are up to no good. What about all those questions you’ve been asking, and
that heart-to-heart with Detective Mitchum? I suppose it’s all a big
coincidence you showed up here just when that pipsqueak Owen says he and his
silent so-called silent partners have scored big. You two make an awful lot of
noise for silent partners.” As he said that he looked over his shoulder, trying
to see above the rocks that enclosed our little lagoon and blocked his view of
Benny in the escape boat. I could tell he was getting more nervous. That rescue
boat was getting closer. If I could only keep him talking!

“You’ve
got it all wrong. Brien and I never even met Owen Taylor.” It had been a close
call that night in the pool. A few seconds one way or another and we might have
met him.

“Sure,
and it’s another coincidence you turn up with his girlfriend, here, the day
after Owen meets his maker? I thought he was trying to snow me at first when we
nabbed the idiot stealing from us. Then he shows up in that hotel room with a
sack of stolen goods. My goods! That loser tells me where I can find more of my
stuff since—get this, he won’t need it anymore! Can you believe that? Standing
there in a Santa suit he apologizes, as if that makes it all better. The guy
stole from me. I showed him what a sincere apology gets you when you cross the
wrong people. That’s when he spilled his guts about his big score and offered
to cut me in. What I want is the GPS Owen Taylor had in his possession and
those coordinates he saved. It took a good deal of persuading, but he told us
he gave the GPS to you, Willow—that it’s at your place. So, which one of you wants
to hand it over or go with me to get it?”

“I
already told you I don’t have it,” Willow said. “You searched my place. You
know it wasn’t there.” Her voice trembled as she spoke and she was white as a
sheet. Her body shook, too. Not good.

“Search
me,” I said. “I don’t have it.” I did a twirl like a spokesmodel on a game show.
The set of his jaw told me Gun Guy was not amused. I used that twirl to search
one more time for an escape route. Not that I thought it was a good idea for
Willow to move. Maybe if I told them it was in the cave I could keep them busy
until help arrived. I was gripped by a vision of that tarp. What if it
was
in there? I didn’t want them to get it. Besides, he might shoot us if he
believed I had given up the location of that device.

“Davis,
the boat is coming. We gotta go, now!” Benny bellowed.

“Shut
up, you idiot. I told you not to use my name.”

Davis,
that name rang a bell. Where had I heard it before? Bingo! I had
seen
it,
not heard it. Davis, as in Matthew Davis, had sent out those talking points on
the hotel intranet about how to handle the dead Santa problem at the resort. A
big umpty-ump in the Human Resources division, he could have contacts everywhere—purchasing,
front desk, security, you name it.

“You’re
both coming with me, Ms. Reed, now that you know my name. We’ll find a more
private place to sort out who will fetch the GPS without causing trouble. That
way the one who stays behind doesn’t get a couple bullets in her like Owen.”
Davis motioned to his wettie-wearing partner. The guy stood there, like a deer
in the headlights. The poor schmuck was in way over his head, like Owen.

“You
get the thin one. I’ll take care of Ms. Reed.” Thin one, huh? What did that
make me? Deer-in-the-headlights Guy stood there. “Don’t make me tell you
again.” Davis pointed that gun at his own partner, who was now not only silent,
but motionless.

I calculated
what could happen if I rushed Davis while he aimed that gun away from me and
Willow. Deer-in-the-headlights Guy might get shot. If I shoved Davis off
balance, though, he might drop the gun or dunk it, making it harder to shoot
any of us. It was worth a try. No way would I go anywhere with Matthew Davis.

I was
about to body slam Davis when, out of the corner of my eye, I caught movement.
Brien had slipped up over the rocks, or squished in between them. Squatting low
on rocks near me, Brien lobbed a large plastic bottle of water or soda that
exploded when it hit the rocks. A second bottle hit and exploded. Davis turned
and fired toward that noise, unloading several bullets that splintered the
rock. The splinters pummeled Deer-in-the-headlights Guy, causing him to break
his silence and move. A split second later, Brien leaped onto Davis, using
brute force to shove him under water.

“Look
out Brien,” I cried, as I grabbed a handful of sand and pebbles near my feet
and hurled them at wettie-wearing thug number two who was finally moving. He
ducked. That slowed him down long enough for Brien to land a punch. Not that I
believed he was much of a threat at that point. When that bottle exploded
against the rocks, Deer-in-the-headlights Guy had finally made a sound: a
screech of terror that sounded like a gull circling overhead. That tide pool
was now teeming with writhing, wet-suited men. Brien’s earlier punch had sent
Davis’ partner reeling against the rocks. Now moving again on the rebound, I would
not let him get to Brien. I slipped around Brien and pelted Deer-in-the-headlights
Guy in the face with a sharp rock, making contact on the first try. He squealed
again, this time in pain.

“Ooh,
ouch! That’s going to leave a mark. Good one, Kim.” Brien reached out, grabbed
thug number two, and shoved him under the water. I heard Benny-the-ratfink take
off in the getaway boat. I took a deep breath. Then, it dawned on me that Davis
was still under water.

“Uh,
Brien, you better let Gun Guy up for air. His name is Matthew Davis. A big shot
in Human Resources he’s one of the hotel insiders.” I wasn’t sure when Brien
had joined us or how much he had heard before launching his attack.

“No
kidding?” Brien let Davis get his head up above water. When he had taken a breath,
Brien dunked him again.

“No
kidding. Davis sent us that note, and he killed Owen,” I added.

“That’s
bogus!” Brien dragged Davis a few inches under water so he could get a better
grip on the second thug. Then he gave thug number two a chance to gasp for air.
He didn’t look like he could take another dunking. Blood was pouring from a
gash he got when he fell against—no, when Brien shoved him against those rocks.
Or, more likely, when that rock I lobbed, struck him.

“Brien,
that one needs all the air he can get.” Brien twisted the guy around to make
eye contact.

“You
going to stay put if I let you keep your head above water?” Thug number two
nodded in agreement. Then Brien repeated himself, asking the same question of
Davis who quit struggling before also nodding.

With
his muscles bulging under that tight-fitting wetsuit, Brien reminded me of the
lead in one of those old Hercules movies. He wasn’t up against Titans or sea monsters,
but that didn’t matter. It was still heroic. When he caught me watching him, he
smiled that blazing smile of his. Reassured, I staggered over to Willow and
slumped down next to her.

“You
okay?” I asked. Her appearance was less scary—the color in her face more
natural. She was no longer shaking all over.

“Now I
am. Why on earth would Owen tell them he gave me that GPS gizmo?”

“Owen
was desperate; afraid for his life, Willow. He would have said anything at that
point to stay alive. My guess is that his confession had the opposite result.
Davis had no more use for him once he gave them your name. What I don’t get is
why do they want it?”

I suddenly
remembered a story Willow had told me the first time we met. She had taken me
up on the cliffs to show me this tide pool area. “That’s our own private sanctuary,
now. My place where it all started, it’s your place too, Willow.” Owen had told
her something like that. I had regarded Owen’s testament to Willow as
sentimental or delusional. He was deluded if he believed fate had brought him
to that spot and the runners’ missing swag, or that any of his other schemes would
give him a future with Willow. That must be what he meant when he told Davis it
was at Willow’s place. I peered over my shoulder at that cave entrance. Owen may
have given that GPS device to Willow after all.

I
n two
or three more minutes, and after a bit of yelling back and forth, the rescue
squad was upon us. Orange suited men waded into the pool and had us up on board
that rescue boat in no time flat. I was so grateful! I still had to make that
pit stop and ran for it in the direction the crew leader pointed when I asked
for a bathroom. You could hardly call it that, but who cared?

When I
returned a while later after wrestling with my wet suit in those accommodations,
I realized in my haste, I had brushed past Detective Mitchum. He stood there
with a dour expression on his face. Before I could say a word, Brien rushed to
my side. He threw a blanket around my shoulders and handed me a bottle of
juice. I guzzled the juice, eying the detective as he eyed us.

“Merry
Christmas, Detective. I take it you got our messages.” I glanced at the
activity around us. First aid was being administered to Willow and to
Deer-in-the-headlights Guy who turned out to be Art Abrams—a recent hire in
security, according to what he told Mitchum. Matthew Davis was glaring at me
from a few yards away. He wasn’t in cuffs, but a uniformed police officer stood
next to him.

“You want
to tell me what’s going on here? Davis has lawyered up already.” Mitchum
glowered. “He claims you two are part of a conspiracy to defraud the hotel—mixed
up in a scheme with Owen Taylor and his girlfriend, Ms. Calloway.”

“Ms.
Calloway—are you talking about Willow, Detective?”

“Yes,
Willow Calloway.”

“Arrest
them, Detective. I demand you place them both under arrest this minute!” That
was Davis, shouting. He had taken a step toward us before the officer
restrained him.

“Cuff
him, Officer Ballard. I wish those cuffs came with a muzzle. I’ve had all I can
stand. Three strikes and you’re out, Davis. I told you to quit bellowing.”
Detective Mitchum turned his attention back to us as he kept complaining about
Davis.

“He’s
been ranting almost nonstop since we dragged his miserable behind on board. I
have no doubt you two can provoke anyone into fits of senseless blabbering. It’s
the intermittent commands to do
my
job
his
way that I can’t stand.
I don’t buy his self-serving hero routine, either. A hotel executive, in a
wetsuit on Christmas day, with no one but a low level member of the resort’s
security team out to apprehend hotel guests? No way!”

“If
you fish around in that pool area, Detective, you’ll find a gun the
civic-minded hotel executive was wielding until a few minutes ago. I’m betting
the bullets match the ones the coroner removed from Owen Taylor. Before you all
came along Davis was ranting about Owen, not me or Brien or Willow.”

“Find
Benny, Detective.” That was Willow yelling to be heard over our conversation
and other noises on board the boat.

“Who’s
Benny?” Mitchum barked.

“Benny
Abrams—he’s your brother, right Art? They must be in on this together,
Detective.” Art Abrams shut up as Willow made that point.

“What
about it, Abrams? Don’t tell me you have nothing to say now.” Mitchum turned to
us, complaining again.

“He’s
been whining and whimpering, sniveling and shivering. We just can’t do enough
for him—wants a blanket, water and a lawyer.” Mitchum turned to speak directly
to the jumpy-looking young man.

“You
must be used to better service at the hotel, eh Abrams?” Abrams looked at the
detective, then at Davis before speaking.

“She’s
right, Detective. Benny’s my brother. Find him and he’ll explain all of this.
I’m not going to prison for murder. I didn’t know about that or the gun, I
swear!”

“I
already told you to shut up or else.” Art wailed as Davis stepped forward and
gave his mewling sidekick a swift kick. The officer yanked Davis hard. So hard
he pulled him right off his feet. The hotel exec landed flat on his behind with
a thud that shook the boat. He immediately began muttering about police
brutality. A member of the rescue team that had been administering first aid
went to check on Art Abrams who was bleeding again.

“That’s
assault and battery, in addition to whatever else we charge you with, Davis,” Mitchum
boomed. “Okay, so who’s Benny?”

“Benny
is Benny Abrams, apparently. He was out on the surf with us this morning and
turned up later as Davis’ wheel man. He took off that way in a motorized dinghy
or a small boat.” I waved in the direction Benny had fled. “I’m sure he’s back
on dry land by now.”

As I spoke,
I scanned the cliff tops. For a second my heart stopped. I could have sworn I
saw Santa standing up there. Holy Moly, now I was seeing poor Opie’s ghost.
Detective Mitchum was on the phone, putting out a BOLO—‘be on the lookout’—for
Benjamin Abrams.

“I also
need a diving team out here to retrieve a weapon.” Mitchum gave the dispatcher
our coordinates and was about to end the call. I leaned in closer to the
detective, hoping not to be overheard by Davis. I tugged on his arm to get his
attention.

“Detective,
while you’re at it you should get someone out here to stand watch. There’s a
cave entrance that needs to be guarded until you can get a team inside and
collect the booty.” I stole another glance at the top of those cliffs. Whew! No
Santa.

“Hang
on a second, will you?” Detective Mitchum held the cell phone he had been using
against his chest.

“Now
what? Are you going to stand there and tell me you’ve stumbled across pirate
treasure?” He was shaking his head. I thought about it before I answered.

“That’s
not far off, Detective. A treasure trove of evidence, that’s for sure.”

“I’d
listen to her if I were you, Detective. Kim never makes stuff up.”

The
detective opened his mouth to chew me out. I took a step closer and turned my
back to Davis. I pulled that phony doubloon from a pocket in my wettie and
showed it to Mitchum.

“There’s
a lot more of it in that cave, Detective.” Mitchum got back on the phone.

“Send
a couple extra guys to collect evidence, too, will you?” He lowered his voice. “Tell
them to come prepared to collect it from a cave in the cliff.” He paused. “I’m
not going to repeat myself. You heard me. Get a team here quick!” Mitchum ended
the call, slipped the phone into a pocket, and then made eye contact with me.

“We
need to talk. You’re going to start at the beginning and tell me the whole
story.”

Mitchum
walked away and spoke to the crew leader on the rescue skiff. They dropped a
marker buoy over the side to help the police investigators find the spot. After
another brief discussion, a member of the rescue team climbed off the skiff and
waded into the tide pool. He kept moving until he took up a post outside that
cave entrance.

We
headed back to the dock area a short distance away. A crowd had gathered. Up
the slope, on what must be the access road leading to and from the dock, I
could see the flashing lights of police cars, ambulances, and rescue squad
vehicles. More Santas mingled among the resort guests and staff who stood on
the beach and lined the small, crowded boardwalk. I blinked a couple times as
we disembarked. These Santas didn’t go away. Thank goodness they weren’t more
ghostly figments of my imagination.

Art
Abrams got carted off on a stretcher and put into an ambulance. That vicious
kick had done damage. Davis demanded to be taken to the ER, too. A hospital
must have been preferable to a jail cell, likely to be his next stop even with
his lawyer meeting him at the ER. Davis was transported to the hospital in the
back of a police SUV, rather than putting him in the same ambulance with Abrams.

Willow
was loaded into a second ambulance, also headed to the ER to get thoroughly
checked out. She had scrapes including two deep gashes. The one on her leg needed
stitches. She might also have suffered a concussion and a sprain or a fracture
in one ankle. Given the dive she made, she was lucky her injuries weren’t
worse. Mitchum assigned a uniformed officer to accompany her to the hospital
and stay with her until events got sorted out.

The
detective escorted us, as we walked back to the hotel. On the way we filled him
in, informally, on all we had discovered. I was exhausted and my arms hung at
my side like wet noodles. Brien and I told our story ‘tag team’ style. When I
left something out or lagged, Brien picked up the tale.

I
began with what we had learned about Owen Taylor from talking to Willow and
Mick. We explained who Mick was, and I wondered aloud about his absence. It seemed
odd he, of all people, had disappeared once the bullets started flying. Given
his apparent interest in Willow and self-proclaimed tribal leadership role, I
was dumbfounded the Kahuna hadn’t been at Brien’s side. He might at least have
shown up at the dock to check on Willow’s well-being. I didn’t go into all
that, boy-girl stuff with the Detective. Instead, I stuck to the facts, or what
we understood to be the facts about Owen and his missteps.

That
included his stumbling upon the counterfeit ring, being run by Davis, the
Abrams brothers, and who knew who else at the resort. I also raised the
possibility that Mick might have squealed on Owen, given the trouble going on
at Sanctuary Grove.

“Mick might
be able to tell you more about who’s involved in running goods through the
cove, Detective,” Brien interjected.

“I
hear you. It sounds like I need to send an officer to Sanctuary Grove to round
up Mick, the Kahuna, or whatever he calls himself. Do all of you use several
names?” Mitchum asked. “Never mind, don’t answer that.” Brien stopped walking for
a second, but said nothing. I kept moving and picked up our story before Brien
could express bewilderment or irritation now that Mitchum was back to asking
questions that he didn’t want answered.

“You
might want to have another chat with the bar owners where Owen worked before he
got picked up for a B&E.” For a moment Mitchum looked like he was going to
ask how I knew about that B&E. He let me continue. I explained what Owen
was doing in that Santa suit, hauling sacks of goods with him to an unknown
location.

“According
to Davis, Owen claimed he still had a stash of stolen counterfeit goods that he
offered to return. If they’re not in that cave, they must be in town. That’s why
you need to talk to the bar owners. They were awful quick to let Owen off the
hook on that B&E charge. Owen also told Willow he had a partner selling the
stolen counterfeit goods online. If that’s true, Owen must have enlisted a
helper who had a computer and computer skills. That also required access to the
merchandise. Photographs have to be taken of the items that are posted on the
auction site. Then, they have to be packaged and shipped to the winner of the
auction.”

“Like eBay.
I’ve got it.”

“Yes,
like eBay, Detective. Davis must know where the goods are since Owen tried to
give them back. Good luck getting information from Davis with his lawyer at his
side. I’m sure his lawyer is as slick as he is.” I flashed on Owen in his Santa
suit, up against the likes of Davis and whoever else he had with him in that
hotel room. Opie had no chance. I stopped talking.

Brien
stepped in and told Mitchum about the incident with Bad Santa and that note
still sitting in our room. We promised to bring the note with us to a more
formal debriefing in San Albinus the next day. That respite had let me catch my
breath and get my emotions under control. I wanted to recount my conversation
with Davis for Mitchum and pass along the slimy exec’s ruthless disclosures
while they were still fresh in my mind. I gave him a quick rundown of events
once I stepped out of that cave. There were several points I wanted to make.

“Davis
admitted—no, it’s more like he bragged about beating Owen senseless. If I heard
Davis correctly, though, Owen made another claim about a big deal in the works
before
he took that beating. He could have been talking about that hotel scrip in the
cave. There’s a lot of it missing from the resort, apparently.” I didn’t tell
Mitchum how I found that out either. Fortunately, he didn’t ask.

“That’s
part of what’s hidden up on a ledge, off to the right as you move inside that
cave. It’s hard to believe that’s what Owen regarded as his big score, but who
knows? Whatever Owen told Davis in that hotel room has something to do with
coordinates saved on a marine GPS device. That’s what Davis was trying to get
from Willow at gunpoint.”

“Could
be that device contains coordinates leading to the cave where you found Owen’s
fake doubloons.”

“It’s
possible, Detective, but I think there’s a good chance that device is in the
cave. Why hide a device in the place the device is supposed to help you find?
That makes no sense.”

“Quite
the corundum, huh, Detective?” We stopped walking. It took me a minute to sync
my mind with Brien’s so I could translate. I peered into his deep brown eyes.

“Conundrum
Brien—is that what you mean? Like a big riddle?”

“Yeah,
a huge one. Not just where Owen hid it, but why Davis is willing to shoot
people to get it.” We started walking again, close enough to the hotel now to
hear Christmas music coming from inside.