“It’s possible because none of that is in Oscar’s name. It’s all paid for by a conglomerate out of Vegas calling themselves Beeskow Enterprises. What’s that noise? Where are you?”
I looked up and noticed a group of kids had decided that the toys around where I was sitting were the best they’d ever seen, and they’d gone into playacting a Top Chef challenge. I got up and moved to the shopper’s path, which was lined with wire baskets brimming with little things to amuse the kiddies, like finger puppets, plush animals and wooden cars and trains.
“Sorry about that, Peggy, I was fiddling with the car radio, trying to find a weather report.”
Who am I to try to lie to Peggy? I’m stopping off in purgatory for sure now.
“Oh-kay. So, of course we’re working on getting details about this enterprise, but because it’s registered out of Vegas, it’s probably a shell company. When we’re done with the research, we’ll probably find it’s being run by a fellow by the name of Dirk Diggler.”
Peggy’s a Boogie Nights fan? Oh my!
“Thanks, Peggy. I’ve got one more name I need you to check out,” I said, distracted by something I’d spotted in one of the bins. As I walked over to it, I told Peggy what I needed.
“There you are. I got everything I wanted.” Sally pulled up with an overflowing shopping cart. “What are you staring at?”
“Sally, we’ve got to get home right away!”
CHAPTER 18
I agreed to wait for Sally to check out and went outside and waited by the car.
“Jack?”
“Hi honey. I was just thinking about you.”
“You have anything more on the Pietenpol?’
“Oh, all business for Halsey today. Nothing yet on the ownership, but the DEA’s been all over it, checking for drug residue. I can give my friend, Agent Mark, a quick call to see what he and his team have found.”
“They’ll find heroin: traces of it, at least.”
“You sound like you know something I don’t.”
“Actually, a few things. And we’re going to need to talk to Mark. Do you think you can get him to meet us somewhere tonight?”
“I’ll check. Do I get to tell him what this is about?”
I gave him the top line and what I thought we should do about it. I could see Sally coming out of IKEA and told Jack I had another call to make.
“Hey Peggy.”
“Twice within the hour. You must really love me.”
“I do, and I need you. Any chance you could convince Charlie to fly into Santa Monica airport in the next day or two?”
“I don’t know why not. If I tell him I’m making my pot roast, he’ll probably hang glide here with a good tailwind.”
“I don’t want him doing that. He’s going to have cargo with him.”
Sally had opened the trunk, and I motioned for her to come over and listen in. She did as I explained the plan.
“See?” Sally said as we merged onto the freeway. “IKEA really does have everything.”
* * *
Jack and I met Mark at Chez Jay’s in Santa Monica. A beloved landmark, this nautically themed watering hole on Ocean Avenue first opened its porthole in 1959. The Jay in Chez Jay’s is Jay Fion-della. As the story goes, he was a two-bit actor, hustler and bartender on the Santa Monica pier when he spotted a “For Sale” sign on a coffee shop across the street from the pier. He scraped together enough to buy it and turned it into a favorite steak-and-seafood dive that attracted the famous to the trademark-free peanuts and sawdust floor. It has flourished ever since. Mark was sitting at the bar, nursing a tap beer.
“Hey buddy,” Jack said, shaking his hand and offering me the stool next to Mark’s.
“Hi Jack, Halsey. Good to see you.”
Mark and Jack had met through dogs, of course. Mark was training to become a K-9 team with the DEA, and Jack had been brought in to consult. The two hit it off and have remained friends. Mark works undercover, which suits him just fine because I’ve never seen him in anything else but jeans and a Hawaiian shirt. Maybe a Members Only Windbreaker if it’s raining. I once asked Jack if those were his regular clothes or just for work and he shrugged. Mark was around Jack’s age, I guessed, and I’d seen him in action, and he could be extremely athletic and fierce when he was about to make an arrest.
Jack signaled for two more beers for us and secured a supply of shelled peanuts. He stood behind my barstool, and when we leaned in to talk, we had a fair amount of privacy. Plus no one in here was interested.
“I understand you’re making my job easy again, Halsey.”
“I’m not sure about that, but I did get access to some information that may help.”
“I’m anxious to hear it.”
“Me too, hon.” Jack patted my back.
“Okay, I’ll start at the beginning just to make sure I tell you everything I know. Our friend, Charlie, flew in from San Diego’s Montgomery Airport several weeks ago and hit something on the runway, which caused him to crash. I still don’t know what that was. The accident brought in the cops, who discovered that a cooler Charlie had been asked to transport was loaded with fish stuffed with heroin. The fish could have come from only one place: Lake Managua in Nicaragua.”
“Yep, my team was called in to investigate that afternoon. I hadn’t heard about the fish origin, though.”
“Mark told me there has been some bad stuff circulating that’s cut with fentanyl. They’ve been working this for a while.”
Mark nodded.
“Then—and we’ve been debating whether this is connected to the drug smuggling or not—Jonas, a kid we were told was apprenticing for the landing-crew chief, Rusty, was found killed with something very lethal.”
“Devil’s Breath; I know you’ve had dealings with it, Mark,” Jack picked up the story.
“Boy, have I, though never stateside. Mostly, I’d get involved when American tourists visiting Colombia were involved. And I’ve only ever encountered one death from it.”
“Apparently, this was some heavy, powerful dose, according to the autopsy report. Should we order some steamed clams and maybe a crab cocktail? I’m starving,” Jack announced.
“Sounds good, and I’d like a glass of Chalk Hill Chardonnay,” I said, sliding the remainder of my beer over to Jack.
Life is too short to drink beer when you can have wine.
“The Rose Avenue Wine Club then set to work to try to solve this crime. We had a vested interest because one of our members was accused of buying unregulated prescription drugs and her cousin was being looked at for Jonas’s murder.”
My wine arrived, and I took a fortifying sip.
“Where does this Pietenpol replica I’ve been testing fit into the equation?”
Jack told Mark about the flyover and the sightings, both here and in San Diego.
“It ties in because we found plans to build that exact plane tucked away in the hangar where Rusty has his desk.”
“Ah, but without tail numbers and no filed flight plans, we can’t make a more solid connection?”
“Unfortunately, Mark, but I have a theory about that.”
“I’ll bet you do.” He laughed.
Our food arrived, and we spent a few minutes savoring our fresh, sweet seafood.
“I can see already that we’re going to need another order of clams, and how’s a shrimp quesadilla sound?” Jack said to the bartender and looked at us.
All we could do was nod. We were too busy eating.
“We made a trip to Montgomery Airport and had lunch at the Mexican restaurant that sits off the runway. Charlie had remembered that the guy who brought the fish cooler to his plane was wearing a shirt with a Casa Machado logo on it; that’s the name of the restaurant. We met the hostess/ waitress, a girl named Chloe. She was friendly at first, but when we started asking questions about the fish, she shut down and sealed up tighter than a sous vide salmon. We later learned she has a boyfriend named Oscar Sandoval, a flashy guy from Nicar
agua who runs a nightclub in San Diego.”
“You’ve established a connection to this guy Oscar and the smuggled heroin found at Santa Monica airport. Give me a minute. I want to get someone working on finding Sandoval and collecting evidence. What’s the name of the nightclub?”
Jack and I exchanged looks.
“Er, Mark, let’s just say for now that people are already on Oscar Sandoval’s case. Don’t worry, it’s all legit, and I feel safer knowing he’s being handled. We have something more urgent we need to bring you in on.”
Mark was taken aback and gave me a long, hard look. He was about to say something when Jack piped up.
“I’ll explain it to you later. One of our US agencies is on the case.”
Mark looked like he wanted to press it, so I quickly continued.
“We then turned our efforts to learning more about the victim, Jonas. We thought if we knew what he was up to, it might tell us why someone would want him dead. We got access to Jonas’s apartment—”
Mark was about to, no doubt, ask if we broke in, but Jack again waved him off.
“What we found were valuable artifacts, tapestries and books that resemble pre-Columbian art. Certainly something a kid working for peanuts to get his pilot’s license couldn’t afford.”
“We also found out,” Jack said, pulling away a wedge of quesadilla, “that he was already an internationally licensed pilot. He was certified in Nicaragua.”
I thought Mark was going to choke on a clam.
“There was apparently some sort of love triangle going on between Jonas, Britt—she’s a waitress at Spitfire Grill—and Rusty. Both guys were hounding her. It seems Jonas had more success, if you believe the rumors.”
“You think that maybe Jonas was running this drug ring using Oscar and maybe Chloe in San Diego and Rusty up here?”
“Yes,” Jack said.
“Wow. That is some investigating you and the ladies of the Rose Avenue Wine Club have done. Ever consider working undercover?”
Jack laughed. I thought about it, which made him squirm a bit.
“There’s one last bit that ties this all together and is why we need to set up a sting,” I said, finishing the last of the crab cocktail and motioning to the bartender for another glass of wine.
“A sting? Now you’re getting way ahead of yourself. We can’t rush into anything or we could tip them off and end up with nothing.”
Mark was looking nervous. He’d heard from Jack how hard I am to rein in.
“Chloe’s last name is Bird.”
“So? Could easily be a fake.”
“True, Mark. Britt’s last name is Fagel.”
This time he just stared at me.
“Fagel is the Swedish word for bird. Chloe and Britt are sisters.”
CHAPTER 19
Of course we were told to stay as far away from the airport as possible.
Of course we didn’t.
It had taken a few more days to set everything in motion, and while that was going on, we managed to fit in a Wine Club, courtesy of Aimee. We elected not to invite Britt.
Aimee outdid herself, as she always does. If she doesn’t open a full restaurant soon, we may all have to sit on her until she does. Today, she’d adopted a German/Swedish theme, which we would all later find very apropos. She had made ham and cheese croquettes, homemade pretzels with a spicy mustard dipping sauce, meatballs and pineapple skewers and some sort of German beer cheese spread that you were supposed to eat with apple slices. Most of us quickly discovered that dipping the meatballs in it made for a delicious combination.
Hearing the menu, I’d brought along a flight of rosés. We were heading into summer, and a world tour of wines I’d been meaning to try seemed like just the thing. Rosé haters, I double dog dare you to feel the same way after sampling these. Here’s what I brought:
Paraduxx Napa Valley Rosé
Pittnauer Rosé, Austria
Rideau Vineyard Rose, Santa Ynez
Mulderbosch Cabernet Sauvignon Rosé,
South Africa
“I want to thank you all for coming, I know we’ve all been busy gathering information on this horrible tragedy that took place at the airport. I can’t wait until it’s resolved and we can get back to our normal lives.” Aimee was tearing up already.
“I’m starting to think this is our normal life, thanks to the curse.”
We’d all forgotten about that little wrinkle until Sally brought it up again.
“You really don’t think that’s anything more than a Rose Avenue myth, do you, Sally?”
“I do, Mary Ann, and I don’t think it ever really went away. I think it’s been festering underground all these years and the crash brought it back.”
That reminded me that I still hadn’t figured out what had caused said crash. This was really frustrating me.
“Everyone have a full glass of wine?” Peggy asked. She had her iPad with her, which meant new news was on the way.
We all settled down and looked to her.
“I have answers to a few loose ends that can now be tied up. Jonas, last name Peters, although now a US citizen, was born in Germany. When he was very young, the family moved first to Colombia and later to Nicaragua. There’s a large expat community in each country,” Peggy consulted her tablet, “mostly moving there after WWII, when agricultural and technical experts were sorely needed and solicited. In the case of the Peters, they needed to leave town before the father was arrested for a long list of petty crimes.”
“I can see where this is going.”
Peggy held up her iPad. On the screen was a photo of a rather handsome dark-haired man with very light skin. He looked like a Teutonic version of Daniel Day Lewis, with a little Sam Shepard thrown in for good measure. I could see the likeness in Jonas.
“Is the father still alive?”
“As far as my people know. Why do you ask, Halsey?”
“Because Augie told us early on that they busted the owners of a nightclub in Colombia for selling Devil’s Breath to their patrons. Maybe the dad was part of this and that’s why they fled to Nicaragua. Can you check to see if his name is associated with any club business there? And you might as well attach the name Beeskow Enterprises to the search. That’s the company that owns Oscar’s club in San Diego.”
“That’s using the old bean, Halsey.”
Impressing Peggy always gave me a thrill.
“It seems our girl Britt is knee deep in this mire too. In addition to being Chloe’s sister, Halsey checked, and she does have a pilot’s license.” Sally said this while trying to “unpretzel” a pretzel.
“Aw, geez, and here I thought she was so nice, we were becoming friends. We had plans to go out to dinner, a foursome. Tom was bringing a guy from work.”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. We know Britt and Jonas were caught in flagrante delicto in the flight simulator and look what happened to him.”
“Wait, what now, Halsey?” Sally looked bewildered.
“They were doing the nasty courtesy of NASA,” Peggy explained.
“Were they in zero gravity? That could prove difficult.”
“What do you know about the sting, Halsey?” Mary Ann asked, thankfully changing the subject.
“Right. Tomorrow, Charlie is going to fly up here from San Diego. In his plane will be a cooler, only this time it will only be filled with ice. Just before landing, he’s going to call Rusty to let him know he has some cargo he’ll be dropping off.”
“The DEA will be waiting and ready to arrest everyone anxiously awaiting the delivery. The idea is to get them to talk, and then make the necessary arrests in San Diego as well.”
“Peggy, is this at all risky for Charlie?” Aimee grabbed a couple of croquettes. She eats when she’s nervous.
“Shouldn’t be. There will be agents all around.”
“What about us? Do we just wait patiently at home for the news?”
“Have you met us, Mary Ann? Let’s all take a knee
and huddle,” I said.
* * *
The scene of the bust was once again going to take place in front of Rusty’s hangar. Jack had come just shy of locking me in the bathroom when he left to meet Mark, but I’d assured him I had no intention of leaving the house. I’d left out the before noon part. I’d now lied to both Peggy and Jack, and I was starting to think that on Judgment Day there would be only one direction I’d be headed.
I decided not to waste my time arguing with Marisol about coming along. She’d only follow us anyway and she’d been a big help in this case. I put her in charge of Bardot, to make sure she’d be safe, and then wondered if Bardot would be safe with her.
We decided to retrace the route we’d taken before, when we searched Rusty’s place, but in the light of day we had to take extra precautions not to get caught. The entire Wine Club was in attendance. It was Aimee who’d had the brilliant idea for our cover. She said it came to her when she was stuck in traffic on the 405 for an hour the day before.
We gathered at the east end of the airport disguised in caps, sunglasses and orange vests while carrying yellow trash picker sticks. We’d decided that rather than trying to sneak to the hangar, we’d work our way around to it in plain sight, picking up trash along the way. This wasn’t easy, considering the temperature had already risen to ninety.
“Ew, is that a dead possum?” Aimee asked.
“Those can be good eatin’ if you marinate them properly and cook ’em long enough.” Sally took a look at Aimee’s quarry.
“That’s okay. I just became a vegetarian.”
We had to time our arrival just right or we could miss the whole bust. I’d asked Charlie to text me when he was five minutes out. We were making progress, and whenever a golf cart came by with someone in authority driving, we all pretended to be picking strawberries with our heads down and backs hunched. No one seemed to notice or care. I looked back to make sure we were all keeping together and saw that Bardot was straining on the end of the leash Marisol was holding. Bardot must smell a particularly inviting critter. As I headed over to relieve Marisol, I saw her reach down and undo the leash’s clasp.
The Name of the Rosé Page 17