Killer Honeymoon (16 page)

“I was in jail.”

Savannah and Dirk stared at him, silently, for a moment.

“ ‘In jail’?” Savannah repeated. “And you had the gall to tell us just now that you’ve been clean for years.”

“I have. Just ’cause I was in jail doesn’t mean I was guilty of anything. You know that.”

“Why were you in there?”

“The chief of police herself was questioning me. I’ve been real popular with you cops this week. She seemed to think I had something to do with somebody or the other getting shot. But I didn’t. And I couldn’t have done whatever else you think I did.”

He turned away from them and gave the lid of the toilet the same brief swipe as he’d offered the sink.

“Just ask Chief La Cross if you don’t believe me. She knows I was there from eight o’clock in the morning till one in the afternoon.”

He picked up the drinking glass on the counter and, with the same rag that he had just used on the sink and the toilet, he wiped out the inside of the glass, then set it back down.

“Oh no! That does it!” Savannah said, suddenly rushing out of the room. Once outside, she leaned against the side of the building and took some long, deep breaths. “
I’m gonna be sick,”
she said to herself, “
and I’m sure as shootin’ never staying in a motel again. Not for the rest of my born days!”

 

“Why do I feel a bit like Daniel walking into the lion’s den?” Savannah asked Dirk as they got out of the Jaguar and walked up to the modest stucco building bearing the sign
SANTA TESLA POLICE DEPARTMENT
.

“Me too.” He slipped his arm around her waist and gave her a little hug. “This may not go down in history as the smartest thing we ever did together.”

“Do you think she meant it about arresting us and putting us in separate cells?”

“Something tells me she’s just mean enough to do it.”

“Well, she ain’t got the corner on ‘mean,’ so she’d better watch out. Sneaking around, taking pictures of us like that, when we didn’t know it! She’s got a lot of gall, if you ask me.”

Dirk chuckled. “How many times, Miss Private Detective, have you done the exact same thing?”

Savannah thought it over for a second, then sniffed. “That’s different. It’s all in the line of duty. A necessary evil. Stuff like that.”

“But mostly, what makes it okay is that
you
do it. It’s not all right when
she
does it.”

She scowled up at him. “I have to tell you, I’m not happy with this new trend we’re developing here, this business of you winning arguments. We’ve gotta nip it in the bud before it gets outta hand.”

“Don’t confuse you with the facts?”

“Something like that.”

They reached the building, and Dirk opened the door. She entered to find the tiniest reception area she had ever seen in any police station. Unlike some of the hardcore facilities Savannah had worked in during her career, this place looked like it was set up to handle maybe one jaywalker a year.

As she flashed back on Dr. Glenn’s minuscule office, it occurred to Savannah that, here on this island, if a building wasn’t a place created for luring in tourists, not a lot of money or effort was spent on its construction or décor.

Maybe what William Northrop had said was true. Perhaps Santa Tesla Island’s inhabitants were poor and in need of some form of economic stimulus.

Was a casino complex the answer? She decided to leave that up to wiser minds than her own. For right now, she had a killer to catch and a police chief to confront.

She turned and saw a tiny desk and, behind it, a sight that made her skin crawl. Turning to Dirk, she whispered, “Oh no! Look at that! It’s Kenny’s evil twin!”

Dirk took one look and said, “Oh, man. This is freaky.” He hummed a couple of bars from the
Twilight Zone
theme song.

At the morgue in San Carmelita, Savannah had experienced far more than her share of unpleasant encounters with a boorish buffoon named Kenny Bates. From the minute Kenny had laid eyes on Savannah, he had been hopelessly, pathetically in lust with her. Unfortunately, he never bothered to conceal the fact every time she walked through the morgue doors.

From the too-small uniform on a too-rotund body to the bad toupee, this guy was Kenny to a tee.

He nodded to Dirk, but his eyes lingered on Savannah. And more specifically, her bustline.

“Yeah? What can I do you for?” he asked; then he snickered at his own tired joke.

“Not for a million dollars and the Hope Diamond,” Savannah replied, giving him a cold stare—which he missed entirely because he was still soaking in the view.

“Hey, over here!” Dirk snapped his fingers. “You wanna put your eyeballs back in their sockets and take care o’ business here, guy?”

Kenny’s clone shook his head slightly, as if coming out of some sort of fantasy—the details of which Savannah hoped never to know.

“We need to talk to Chief La Cross,” Dirk told him. “Now.”

“She ain’t here” was the professional response. He turned back to Savannah. “But you can talk to me anytime you want to, pretty lady.”

“Oh, Lord, just kill me now,” Savannah whispered. “Or, better yet, kill
him,
if you ain’t too busy workin’ out that world hunger problem.”

“That pretty lady is my wife,” Dirk said. “So you’d better spend the rest of our little conversation here looking into
my
eyes. Otherwise, one or both of yours are gonna be black. Got it?”

The guy appeared to grasp Dirk’s meaning because, with effort, he turned and looked straight at him. “I told you the chief’s not here.”

“Yes, and I heard you,” Dirk said.

“Then what else do you want from me?”

“I’ve got one more question for you. Listen close now, ’cause it’s a toughie. Where is she?”

“I don’t have to tell you that.”

Savannah stepped closer to him, the expression on her face deeply unfriendly. “No, you don’t have to. But whether you do or not, we’ll find her. When we do, I’m going to complain to her, long and hard, about how you practically stared a hole through the front of my blouse and were quite unprofessional with me.”

“But—but . . . I . . .”

“Something tells me that my complaint won’t be the first one she’s ever gotten about you. I’ll just bet that your job’s hanging on by a thread right now. If you get fired, with your abundance of charm and the bad economy around here, you’d be lucky to get work as a dogcatcher.”

The passion in his eyes flickered; then it died a quick death. He gave her a nasty look, then turned to Dirk. “She’s having lunch at the Lobster Bisque down on the water in the harbor,” he said. “Now, why don’t you two leave and let me get back to my work here. I’m a busy man.”

Savannah glanced at the video game on the computer. “Yeah, get back to all that protecting and serving. Make the world a safer place.”

As Dirk and Savannah walked out of the station and headed for the Jaguar, she said to him, “That was so spooky. I guess we all
do
have a double somewhere in the world.”

When Dirk opened Savannah’s car door, she said, “Maybe they were identical twins separated at birth.”

“Would you blame the parents? Who could stand to raise two of those?”

“Hey,” she said, pausing with one foot in the Jag, “I just thought of something. The chief’s at the Lobster Bisque. I knew that sounded familiar.”

He thought for a moment. “Oh yeah, isn’t that the place that Northrop said was his favorite restaurant, too?”

“I’m sure it is.”

They looked at each other, weighing any significance.

“Probably doesn’t mean a thing,” she finally said. “How many really great restaurants could there be on this little island? It’s probably ninety percent of the population’s favorite eatery.”

“True. Besides . . . La Cross? Ugh.” He shuddered.

“Yeah. I agree.”

S
avannah and Dirk stood on the sidewalk and looked across the street at the Lobster Bisque, a simple but charming seaside establishment. It looked as though it had once been a nice house, someone’s vacation cottage. Now with its exterior painted an icy white and with deep blue umbrellas shading its outdoor tables, the place looked most inviting.

Apparently, a lot of Santa Teslans thought so, too, because not a single table was vacant.

But it wasn’t the ambiance of the place or even the capacity crowd that captured Savannah’s and Dirk’s attention. It was the table to their far right, in the rear, by some planted palms—the table least visible from the street.

It was the table where Chief of Police Charlotte La Cross and William Northrop were sharing lunch and a couple of cocktails.

“Well, well, well,” Dirk said, grinning at Savannah. “I wouldn’t say for sure that they’re up to no good, but you have to admit this is an interesting little rendezvous.”

“This is going to be fun. Just watch.” Savannah took her phone from her purse and crossed the street. Her spine was pool stick straight, her stride determined.

Dirk followed close behind her as they darted between the pedestrians, bicycles, motor scooters, and omnipresent golf carts. He stayed right behind her as she wove her way among the tables.

She stopped a few feet from La Cross’s table and pointed the camera of her cell phone directly at the chief and her luncheon companion.

At first, the two diners failed to notice, so absorbed were they in their conversation, food, and drinks. But the instant La Cross glanced up and recognized Savannah and Dirk, the cozy, happy expression fell off her face.

Savannah could almost imagine that she heard it plop into her umbrella-adorned pink cocktail.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing there?” La Cross snapped as she jumped to her feet, knocking her chair over backward in the process. It fell to the floor with a tremendous clatter, which caught everyone’s attention.

Suddenly the busy, bustling, noisy restaurant was as silent as a well-tended library. The crowd sat, wide-eyed and all ears, taking in what was going on at their neighbors’ table.

“Who me?” Savannah asked, checking the picture on her phone, smiling, and then pushing the camera button again.

“Stop that!” Chief La Cross rushed around the table and tried to grab the phone from Savannah’s hand.

“Stop what?” Savannah quickly shoved the camera down the front of her blouse and into her bra. “I was just taking some pictures of people who were minding their own business. People who didn’t know they were having their pictures taken. Nothing illegal about that. Right?”

Savannah quirked one eyebrow and gave her an unpleasant, bitter smile. “But then, it isn’t nearly as bad as taking pictures of a couple on their honeymoon—an unsuspecting guy and gal who’re just hanging out, minding their own business around, say . . . Coconut Jane’s Tavern or maybe somewhere nearby there.”

La Cross looked like she had just been caught stealing an expensive diamond ring in a jewelry store. She also seemed to notice she was making a scene as she glanced around the restaurant and realized that her fellow islanders were watching this highly entertaining exchange with rapt attention.

“It’s not like this is a romantic lunch,” Savannah said, waving a hand toward William Northrop, who was leaning back in his chair, almost as if trying to hide behind the potted palm. “Is it, Chief La Cross? You aren’t having a cuddly lunch with a man who’s only been widowed a little over forty-eight hours, are you?”

“You leave!” La Cross whispered, leaning so close to Savannah that Savannah could smell the alcohol and fruit juice on her breath. “Get out of here this minute. I’ll deal with you two later.”

“No, you can deal with us right now,” Dirk said. “We want to know if you take pictures of all the residents who live here on the island without their knowledge or permission. Without them knowing it.”

At several of the tables, people turned to each other and began to whisper furiously. “Or is it just the tourists you spy on?” he added for a bit of extra spice. “People who visit your island like us . . . like these folks sitting around here, just trying to have a nice meal?”

The whispers around them suddenly turned into an uproar. Several guests pushed away their plates and motioned for the waiter to bring their checks. Others got out their own cell phones and began snapping pictures of Dirk and Savannah and Northrop. And even more of Chief La Cross, whose face was turning more crimson by the second.

Even her eyeballs looked red. For a moment, Savannah wondered, if a police chief had a stroke while arguing with you, would that be murder or manslaughter?

“We have one thing to ask you and then we’ll leave,” Savannah told her. “A simple yes or no will suffice.”

When La Cross didn’t reply—just stood there breathing heavy, her nostrils flaring—Savannah continued. “Was Hank Jordan at your station house when Amelia Northrop was murdered?”

It seemed to take forever, but eventually the chief gave Savannah the slightest nod.

“Thank you,” Savannah said. “One more thing, as we bid you a good day. Do not take any more pictures of me or my husband. We aren’t the bad guys here.”

Savannah glanced over at William Northrop, who still looked like he wanted to climb into the palm tree next to him and hide. He hadn’t said a word, and somehow, Savannah didn’t respect him much for not even bothering to get out of his chair and stand up for his dear old buddy Charlotte.

“Now
he
might be your bad guy,” Savannah said, pointing at Northrop. “For all we know, you might be questioning him right now. But if you want to question
us
any further, I’d suggest you invite us out to lunch, too. Maybe buy us a couple of fancy cocktails, and we’ll sit at a table and giggle together, like y’all are doing there. But either way, stop spying on us, and let us enjoy our honeymoon in peace.”

She and Dirk turned and left, following the same pathway through the tables of people, who now looked far less peaceful than when they had entered.

But none more so than William Northrop and Chief of Police Charlotte La Cross.

La Cross slowly returned to her seat; then she sat down so quickly that it looked like her legs had collapsed beneath her. She gave Northrop one quick, dirty look, then began to chugalug her drink.

He waded into his salad with a vengeance, not looking at any of the other diners, who were openly staring at them.

When Savannah and Dirk got back into the Jaguar, they turned to look and saw that La Cross was glaring at them with an intensity that would have sent shivers through Savannah if she hadn’t been so mad herself.

“When it comes right down to it, she didn’t do anything all that awful,” Dirk said as he started the car and pulled out into traffic.

“She violated our privacy,” Savannah shot back.

“Something that we do to other people almost every day of our careers.”

“But—but . . .”

“Come on. It’s me. You can be honest with me.”

“No, I can’t,” she replied with a sigh. “Because to get real with you, I’d have to fess up to myself first. And I’m not ready to do that, thank you very much.”

“How about if I tell you why you’re so mad at her?”

“Okay, Mr. Smarty Farty, lay it on me. The cold, hard truth. Smack me right between the eyes with it.”

“It’s easy. You’re mad at her for the same reason I am. She was able to surveil us without us even knowing it. We’re pissed at her ’cause she beat us at our own game.”

He nudged her with his elbow. “How’s that, babe? Was I even close?”

She smiled in spite of herself. “You’ve gotten smarter since you became a married man.”

“I know.”

“Well, I don’t like it.”

 

“If this ain’t the most beautiful place on earth, I don’t know what is,” Gran said as she stood in front of the lightkeeper’s cottage with the rest of the gang and looked up at the tower.

Silhouetted against the deepening evening sky, with its brilliant coral-and-turquoise glow, the structure had an almost ethereal beauty about it.

“What do you reckon it is,” Savannah asked, her arm around her grandmother’s shoulders, “that makes that shape so appealing to the human eye?”

The moment the words were out of her mouth, Savannah realized she had just opened the door for a flood of stupid, adolescent jokes. She looked around the Moonlight Magnolia gang seated in a circle of beach chairs in front of the cottage and saw far too many males for the opportunity for “bawdy” to just slip by.

“The first one who says something nasty and ruins this precious moment is gonna get his jaw smacked,” Granny said, still gazing up at the tower.

Waycross grinned. Dirk snickered. Ryan and John looked at each other and covered the lower portions of their faces with their hands.

Savannah sighed, envying Gran. How lovely would it be to have that kind of power?

She’d only have to wait another forty years to know.

“It was really generous of you two inviting us all over for dinner like that,” Ryan said.

“We don’t mind you guys that much,” Dirk replied, then took a long drink from his bottle of root beer—a concession to Granny being present.

John lifted his cup of evening tea. “Kinder words were never spoken.”

“Not by Dirk-o,” Tammy muttered, sipping from her own sparkling mineral water, enhanced by lemon and lime slices.

Waycross was watching her as she swirled her fingertip in the drink, and Savannah noticed that he had a slightly sad look on his face tonight.

Perpetually the nosy big sister, Savannah couldn’t help wondering what that was all about. Being terminally codependent, as well, she couldn’t resist spinning her mental wheels about how she might be able to fix it . . . once she found out what it was.

“Actually, we had an ulterior motive for having y’all over for dinner,” she said.

“Uh-oh, here it comes.” Tammy laughed. “Somebody invites you to their house during their honeymoon, you have to know they’re after something.”

She looked anything but annoyed. Savannah chuckled to herself. This gang loved nothing more than to be “used” in an investigation. In fact, they lived for it.

Dirk downed the last gulp of his root beer. “Ordinarily, I wouldn’t request backup,” he said.

“Being a strong, tough, virile man possessing supernatural powers, and all that,” Ryan interjected.

“Exactly. But this Xenos dude, he’s got a really nasty record, and—”

“Say no more. We’re in.” Ryan turned to John. “It’s been a while since we went after a guy like that. It’ll knock the rust off, huh?”

John lifted his teacup in a toast. “Most certainly. It’ll be a pleasure.”

“Don’t be so sure about that,” Savannah said. “Since he’s got a trail of nasty assaults and some unsolved murders in his past, I doubt we’re going to find him pleasant company.”

Tammy reached for her handheld device, which was never far away. Savannah and Dirk had given it to her for her last birthday; now it was like an extra appendage. “I’ve been researching him and found where he’d posted a bunch of messages on a boxing gym’s blog. Apparently, he works out there every afternoon at two, without fail. It’s in the southern end of Malibu, near Santa Monica. And it’s on the same block as his house.”

“I’ll bet he walks there,” Savannah said. “It’d be pretty stupid, even in Southern California, to drive less than a block.”

“That’d be a good time to nab him,” Granny added.

“We might luck out, and he’d even be alone,” said Ryan.

Tammy nodded. “That’s what I was thinking.” She turned off her device and looked down, a bit of a woebegone look on her face. “So you four are going to go to Malibu tomorrow and interrogate our terrorist fashion counterfeiter. I guess Gran and Waycross and I can hang out here and wait to hear how it goes.”

“No way,” Savannah said. “Do you really think we’re gonna do something as dangerous as that and just let you guys cool your heels here by a pool? Nice try.”

Tammy beamed. “Really? Wow! What do you want us to do?”

Savannah’s brain froze. Of course, they weren’t going to put three “civilians” in the midst of the action, when the situation was as dicey as this one might turn out to be. But she had to think of something. It wasn’t fair to ask the others to do all the dry research work and leave them out of the juicier stuff.

She looked over at Dirk. He gave a slight shrug and shook his head. He couldn’t think of anything either.

Suddenly Ryan chimed in. “We need you three to man the audio-surveillance recorders.”

A wave of gratitude washed over Savannah. She flashed him a brilliant smile. “Yes!” she said. “We’ll want to record the whole thing, just in case he says something incriminating.”

“You mean you’ll be wearin’ microphones under your clothes or somethin’?” Waycross asked, nearly as excited as Tammy.

“Sure they will,” Granny replied, looking most authoritative with her nose slightly elevated. “Don’t you ever watch television, grandson? They call it ‘bein’ wired’ ”

“We’ll take our surveillance van,” Ryan said. “It’s got everything we need. You’ll be parked on the street, watching the whole thing out the window.”

Tammy rubbed her hands together with glee. “That’s so cool! I can hardly wait for tomorrow! It feels like Christmas Eve.”

Savannah laughed and looked up at the light tower. The beam had just turned on and was beginning its nightly rotations.

“If you guys are gonna go up there and look around, you’d better do it now,” she said. “Daylight’s about gone.”

Ryan glanced over at Tammy and Waycross. “John and I, we’ve had a long day. We’ll go up another time.”

“Me too,” Gran said. “Not that I’m too old or nothin’ like that, but I’m just not in the mood right now. Somebody else go.”