“We’ve still got a long day ahead, so I’ll take the caffeine. One of those scones Neely says we’re having with dinner tonight, too, please.”
“Consider it done!” I pulled out teacups and saucers and added two matching dessert plates. The lovely china set had been a wedding gift. It’s one of the few treasured items I’d kept during my mad efforts to downsize when it had become clear I couldn’t hang onto the house. I touched the delicate pieces that always made me think about the fragile beauty of our lives.
“I wonder why so many people are bent on destroying themselves. Diana was beautiful. She obviously had men clamoring for her attention and must have had some talent as a singer since she had an agent and performed at clubs in and around San Francisco. One of the saleswomen we spoke to believed Diana was all about the thrill of the chase when it came to men—more a huntress than a siren as her coworker told the media. Ironic that she bore the name of the Roman goddess of the hunt.” I shrugged, not sure why that seemed to matter.
“There are all sorts of theories about what leads someone like Diana into criminal activity. Thrill-seeking, yes, but there are others. Narcissism, lack of self-control, impulsivity, and a desire for wealth and success without being willing to put in the effort required to achieve those outcomes among them. After looking into her background, I can tell you that her troubles started in her teens. Her juvenile records were sealed, but have been reopened as part of the murder investigation. She was also picked up and questioned a couple of times about incidents that occurred in the clubs where she worked while she was still in the Bay Area. Life is tough enough without engaging in all the risky behavior she found so irresistible. It was all bound to catch up with her at some point.” Charly sighed deeply before going on.
“People do change. Especially if someone can reach them while they’re young. Past behavior is still the best predictor of future behavior. I didn’t find any evidence in the record that she was abused or had an especially dysfunctional family life. As you said, though, she sure seemed bent on destroying herself. Why don’t you give me the details about your discoveries today and connect the dots for me since Neely and I didn’t have time to do that? I’d like to be sure I understand why you’re so convinced Boo left the envelope that Domino found so disturbing.”
“Sure, we should do that before Hank gets here. He’s tied up with something that, by the tone of his voice, sounded serious.” Charly had let the two dogs back inside after their romp outdoors. They were napping side by side right now like a pair of perfect little angels. When Charly spoke Domino’s name, they wagged their tails in tandem. At moments like this, it was hard to believe the chaos they could create when they gave into their wild side. “Let’s hope Domino doesn’t enjoy her new game so much she keeps on playing it—or that she doesn’t teach it to Emily!”
“That’s all I need! Emily’s already quite capable of moving things from one part of the house to another and adept at hiding them from me. I live a life of mystery every day. Nothing like the kind of day you’ve had, though. Let’s get through as much of it as we can before the law arrives.”
For about twenty minutes, we drank our tea, ate our scones, and talked. Yes, I ate another one. There’s comfort in both tea and sweets. I told Charly what Neely and I had learned about Diana, including the men in her life, her thieving, framing other people, and the reasons I figured that package had come from Boo.
Our conversation came to a sudden halt when both Domino and Emily began barking. The two dogs settled down as the four of us went in pack formation to answer the door. Hank stood on my porch gazing at the view of the blue Pacific Ocean that I couldn’t help noticing was almost the same color as his eyes. Much to my surprise, he wasn’t alone.
“Come on in, Detective.”
“They don’t call it Seaview Cottages for nothing, do they, Hemingway?” He laughed as he said that. He must have noticed the plaque hanging on the gate that designated my place as the Hemingway Cottage. Of course, he’d heard Joe Torrance call me that at the Blue Haven Pro Shop today, too. I tried to accept his comments as friendly, almost collegial, inspired by the intoxicating vision of the ocean.
“No, they don’t,” I replied.
“This is Karen Vaughan,” he added. The young woman with him displayed a no-nonsense demeanor as she stepped inside my home and gave my hand a single shake. “Karen’s with the crime lab. She’s going to take custody of the evidence and carry it directly to the lab, right?”
“Yes, Sir,” she responded. “What have we got?”
“Follow me.” When we arrived in the kitchen, the crime scene investigator set a case she’d brought with her on the table next to the laundry basket. She put on a pair of gloves, spread a sheet of plastic on my table, and opened a clear plastic bag. Then she picked up the envelope by a corner, slit it open with a little retractable blade that must have come from that kit. In another moment, she slid the contents from the envelope revealing sheets of paper that she spread out on the plastic. I breathed a sigh of relief that no handwritten death threat glared at us. Nor was there one of those cut and paste jobs made of words or letters from magazines like I’d seen in an episode of Columbo or Murder She Wrote.
“May I take a look?” Charly asked. She didn’t wait for a reply before pulling a clean pair of gloves from a box in the woman’s crime lab kit. Karen Vaughan moved out of the way as Charly examined each piece of paper.
“Well, well, well,” she said as she reviewed the items. “Diana Durand did have a knack for getting herself into trouble. Others, too! These papers must contain the information she was trying to sell to Edgar. It’s too bad he didn’t buy it from her since he might have found it very interesting.”
When Charly got to the last sheet of paper, there was a note penned on it in big bold print.
Diana didn’t deserve to die.
“What does it all mean?” I asked. Charly proceeded to give us the details of a plot to gain control of the Seaview Cottages community by convincing members of the HOA to change management companies. In effect, giving control to a shell company owned by the Blue Haven Resort Properties Development Group run by Dave Winick. The documents included several memos and emails that Diana must have printed out from Dave Winick’s computer or copied from his files. One of the memos had handwritten notes in the margins that he must have made. In them, two HOA board members were mentioned by name—Greta Bishop and Peggy Clayton.
“There’s no evidence here that they’ve done anything yet to undermine or discredit the current management company at Seaview Cottages. It does say ‘on our team’ next to their names,” Charly noted.
“I know shell companies are used to cover up dirty tricks and illegal activity, but why would they need to do that?”
“Dave Winick’s memo describes plans to transform Seaview Cottages into The Blue Haven Resort Residences by putting it into the hands of ‘new management.’ On the face of it, it sounds legit—especially if he argued that new management would be better management than what we’ve got already. We’ve talked about the fact a deal might be in the works, Miriam, and even considered it might be on the up and up. With a little strategic mismanagement, our community that’s struggling to stay afloat could sink like a stone. A shell company would be a perfect way to hide the parties behind the dirty-dealing.”
I nodded feeling a wave of déjà vu sweep over me. It had been so much easier for Pete and our accountant to keep me in the dark. No shell company needed—just a gullible woman who didn’t question her husband’s repeated delays in reviewing financial plans for a retirement that never happened anyway. Was that why I was filled with such a sense of urgency about getting to the bottom of the latest mystery?
“Devers has mumbled about Seaview Cottages going under, but I figured he was being a crank,” Hank said.
“As far as I can tell from reviewing the books, it’s not that dire, Detective. There’s a plan in place to retrofit and repair the infrastructure while keeping the res
erves at the level required by law. As residents, we’re all being asked to chip in more to make that happen. I’m not sure what Charly means, specifically, by strategic mismanagement, but we are vulnerable. Charly probably has a better idea of what it would take to push us into bankruptcy or legal trouble.”
“Yes, I do! All sorts of hanky-panky involving the mishandling of funds could make our community’s money problems worse. Violating the rules and regulations that govern fifty-five plus communities could get us in more trouble, too. Rules violations carry fines or can trigger court intervention. Legal fees piled on top of fines could push us toward insolvency. Maybe that’s what Dave Winick intended to do. If I were Greta Bishop or Peggy Clayton, I would have gone to the police when Diana was killed and told them everything I’d learned as a member of Winick’s team. But what do I know?”
“Plenty!” I replied spontaneously. “Even if our illustrious board members haven’t reached that conclusion, Boo has. Dropping off these pages would explain what he was doing around here earlier today. Maybe Diana was telling the truth when she called him a ‘marshmallow’ given that his actions seem to have been motivated by sentiment—a desire for justice, perhaps.”
“Maybe, but there’s a thin line between a desire for justice and revenge,” Charly said. “You should examine the documents for yourself, Hank. While you’re at it, take a sniff of the envelope.” As she said that, Karen Vaughan didn’t wait for the detective to act. She picked up that envelope with a gloved hand, waved it under her nose, and withdrew it quickly. Then she waved it under his.
“It’s a strong cologne, Sir.” I launched into my explanation about why I figured Boo was the one who used the cologne on the package. Hank didn’t say anything at first, as a sad, weary expression settled onto his face.
“Unfortunately, we’ll never know. When I told you to keep your doors locked, it’s because there’s been another death. The name we have for him isn’t Boo, it’s Bradley Richards, and he’s well-known to my colleagues in the police force in San Francisco. Apparently, he was an illegal street fighter who ended up as a bouncer when he couldn’t take any more punches to his liver and kidneys. By then, his brains weren’t in very good shape either, which probably explains how he fell under Diana Durand’s spell. The San Francisco police went straight to his apartment when I called to report that he’d been murdered. They found stacks of merchandise from Blue Haven Resort shops. Apparently, he wasn’t very skilled at fencing the goods Diana funneled to him.”
“Alf and Alyssa Gardener must have had it right after all when they said Diana was demanding money from him!” Charly exclaimed.
“Given she also slapped him, she’d be a likely suspect in his murder if she was still with us. Do you have any idea who killed him since Diana’s already dead?”
“That’s a good question. He wasn’t strangled, so it’s not immediately apparent the same person killed both Diana Durand and Bradley Richards. He was hit on the head and then either fell or was shoved into the water. His body was found floating in a tide pool near Dickens’ Dune.” I gasped.
“That’s where you thought he might be headed, Hank!”
“Yes, it’s too bad we didn’t catch up with him sooner. He never showed up at the parking lot where we had an officer waiting to pick him up.”
“Oh, good grief, another murder on the beach near Seaview Cottages,” Charly muttered. “We won’t need to worry about Winick’s scam if this trouble doesn’t stop soon. Who’s going to use the golf course, the restaurant, or buy a cottage in the murder capital of the California Central Coast?”
“This isn’t two crimes, but one crime with two parts,” I offered in a feeble effort to console Charly. “Once Hank gets to the bottom of it, all the bad press will clear up.”
“It’s time for another chat with Dave Winick. We’re also still trying to catch up with Howard Humphrey, who hasn’t returned to the golf shop or Sinclair Cottage. He has some explaining to do, too, and not just about the fact he was with Diana shortly before someone killed her. When I asked the San Francisco police what they’d found in Bradley Richards’ apartment, top of the line golf clubs came up right away.”
“Are you saying he was stealing from the resort, too?” I asked.
“Either that, or looking the other way while Diana helped herself to the merchandise in his shop.” I nodded.
“He wouldn’t have been the first one to do that. Mark Hudson must have told you about the trouble Mike Evans got into when Diana ripped off guests while he was escorting them to their rooms.”
“Yes. I’m giving Howard Humphrey the benefit of the doubt by suggesting Diana used him in the same way,” Hank said.
“Well, he must not have figured it out if they were planning to fly away together. Maybe Mike Evans caught up with her,” Charley suggested.
“Mike Evans’ alibi is airtight. If Howard did figure out what she’d done, he might have decided she wasn’t going to get a third chance to betray him. The trip could have been a ruse to lure her out to the dunes and kill her.” Hank shook his head. “At least we can place him with her at the scene that morning, so he’s got some tough questions to answer if we can ever get our hands on him. I can’t believe I let him get away.” A rush of guilt came over me when his eyes settled on me. I stammered a little when I spoke.
“Hey…uh, I’m sorry if our timing wasn’t so great when Neely and I showed up. I’m sorry there’s been another murder, too. I get it if Howard killed Diana, but why kill Boo?”
“I agree. It’s more likely someone discovered Boo intended to pass along the information he dropped off here today,” Charly suggested.
“And tried to stop him before he could do it, right?” I asked.
“Precisely!” she responded. “If we’re lucky, Winick or whoever killed Boo believes he succeeded and the killing’s over.”
“Don’t count on it!” Hand exclaimed. “Luck won’t be enough to keep you all out of trouble if you’re wrong,” Hank warned. “It’s no accident Bradley Richards picked you as the person to receive his message, Miriam, given the stir you’ve caused the past couple of days. I’ve told you to stop snooping already, but I’m going to say it again! No more visits to the places where our victims or suspects liked to hang out. No more questions, in disguise or otherwise. No more background checks either, by the way.”
Hank fixed Charly with a withering gaze when he said that. She didn’t flinch, but reluctantly agreed with a nod. Then Hank softened his voice as his eyes dropped to the pages spread out on my kitchen table.
“I don’t mean to be ungrateful. Your efforts have been remarkably helpful. Let’s call it ‘beginner’s luck’ if you believe in that sort of thing. What good will it do for you to save the Seaview Cottages community from going into default if you all aren’t around to enjoy the view?”
“I appreciate your concern. I’d be happy not to have more clues end up on my doorstep,” I grumbled.
“The best way to do that is to lie low. No more scone bribes. It’s not just Mark Hudson who gave you away, either. Deputy Devers tells me the news traveled fast at the resort about a Hollywood scriptwriter buying information about Diana Durand with scones.” Then Hank broke into a smile. “Okay, so maybe one more little bribe won’t hurt. How about a couple of those scones to keep us from turning you in for ‘promoting interference with the course of justice?’” My mouth fell open as he threw the words I’d spoken earlier back at me. “You won’t blab will you, Karen?”
“No, Sir.” She responded. “Blab about what, Sir?” She asked. I don’t believe the woman asked that question as a joke. She appeared to be genuinely puzzled as she assembled the pages for transport back to the lab.
“You’re a good sport, Karen. Your boss is a big kidder, isn’t he?” I asked.
“If you say so.” She stared at me as if she was still processing the preceding social interaction. Then it must have all come together for her because she smiled so broadly that a dimple appeared in her cheek.
“Do we really get scones?”
“Yes, you do!” I packed two little boxes of scones while Karen put her kit back together and closed it up. “Here you go. I’m counting on you to destroy the evidence as soon as possible.”
Hank didn’t hesitate. He had one of those scones in hand as he headed to the front door. After a slight delay, Karen got it too. When she left my front porch, she turned to show me the hand that had held a scone was now empty.
“Scone? What scone?” She asked in a muffled voice, still chewing the last bite. I gave her a thumbs up which she returned.
“Hank, please give me a call when you’ve picked up Humphrey and Winick, okay?” Charly asked as Hank stepped out onto the porch. He turned around and replied to Charly, but his clear blue eyes were on me.
“Sure, but it’s going to cost you. Can you bake cookies, Miriam?”
“Of course—any kind in particular?” I asked. My skin prickled at the prospect of seeing the detective again when he collected his payment. A kaleidoscope of emotions rushed through me too. Anticipation, apprehension, bewilderment, and pleasure all competed to hold sway over me.
“Surprise me! You’re good at that.” Happiness won out when a broad smile spread over his face before he dashed away.
When I turned around, Charly was grinning. I was, too. My initial impulse was to squelch the good feelings, or at least mask them. Somehow, I didn’t believe I could hide much from Charly, so I didn’t try. Besides, it had been a long time since I’d been this happy.
“He has no idea how good you are at surprises, does he?” Charly chuckled. Her eyes twinkled. “Emily! Time to go home. We’ll be back to visit Domino later tonight.” The petite woman bent down and swept up Emily into her arms.
I mumbled—not in reply to her question, but barely coherent babbling about seeing her later. I’d just stepped away when the doorbell rang again. Domino and I dashed back to the door. When I opened it, Charly was standing on the porch holding Emily.
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