The door between my office and the reception was wide open. The woman made a beeline to me, bypassing Melanie without even a glance. She slid into the chair. Peering into my eyes, she told me, “My colleague has been missing for the past three days.”
I was embarrassed to admit that my mind went blank—I had forgotten what I was supposed to say, to do. What actually came out of my mouth was idiotic.
“Then why haven’t you gone to the police?”
She raised a thin, perfectly penciled eyebrow, clearly sharing my internal opinion. “Because I thought that, being a private investigator, you would be able to do the job. Was I mistaken?”
Melanie had entered the office by this point, tense and holding a pen and notepad. She gave me a warning glance.
“The police are free, doll. I’m not,” I managed to salvage.
“Money isn’t an object. I can pay more than your retainer if you find him before the end of the week.”
“That’s quite the hassle for you to go through, for your boss.”
“I said colleague, not boss,” she sharply corrected. “We run an accounting firm together. Not every woman is content to be a secretary.” She cut her eyes dismissively at Melanie.
“My apologies,” I was flustered at her rebuff, and at the way Melanie was grinding her teeth together.
“Welcome to 1946, Mr. Kendrick, the world is changing,” she said with a sarcastic sigh. The woman waited a beat, and then when sensing there would be no further interruption, continued with purpose but the animation of someone reciting a grocery list, “My colleague’s name is James Bennett. He’s thirty-four years old, and we’ve worked together for the past two years. The last time I saw him was four days ago, when he left work at five o’clock. He didn’t come in the next day, and he didn’t call. He’s the reliable type, so I’m worried.”
“Did you swing by his house to check if he was there?” I interjected.
“Yes, and he wasn’t. There were a few newspapers piled up at the door, so I was thinking he hadn’t been home in a few days,” she shifted in her seat. Her skirt bunched up, revealing a little of her thigh. My eyes glanced there involuntarily, and she seemed to notice. Her mouth tightened for a moment before smoothing out into a smirk. She adjusted her skirt on purpose this time, revealing more leg.
“Look, Mr. Kendrick,” she lowered her eyes and voice to a more vulnerable presentation. “Mr. Bennett might not be my boss, but I do need his help to run my business. If I had the time, I would look for him myself. But I need your help.”
“And you got it,” I said. “We’ll take the case. Right, Melanie?”
“Sure,” my impotent boss ground out.
The woman reached into her purse and pulled out a business card. “This is my number,” she told him. “Do you have a pen?”
Melanie handed her one. The woman flipped over the card and began to write on the back. When no ink came out, she raised the fountain pen to her lips and licked the tip of it. Melanie and I both shivered at her smile. She put the pen back to the paper.
“This is Mr. Bennett’s address,” she handed me the business card and stood up. “Call me when you find him.”
As she reached the door, she paused and turned back. “My name is Tamsin, since you didn’t ask. Tamsin Saxa.”
“You fat-head,” Melanie told me, minutes later. I couldn’t disagree.
We took the time out of our not-so-busy workday to drive over to Mr. Bennett’s house. He lived in a nondescript suburb. The houses looked like an extended family, slight differences but the same peach-colored faces. Melanie parked the car and we walked up to the man’s front porch. The pathway was bordered with yellow rose bushes.
“There aren’t any newspapers,” Melanie mumbled, scuffing the toe of her shoe on the polished wood. The way she had been glaring at me in the car, I knew she was talking to herself rather than me.
“Cover me,” Melanie ordered me, pulling a lock-picking kit out of her pocket. I casually blocked her from the eye line of nosy windows. Apparently displeased, the house across the street spit out its occupant: a young housewife. She waved cheerfully at me and made her way over. Melanie continued to scratch away at the doorknob.
“Hello there. I’m Josephine Bradley,” she introduced herself.
“Arthur Kendrick and this is my secretary Melanie. Did we disturb you?” I intercepted her before she could see what Melanie was doing.
“Not at all! I was just wondering what you were doing here over at James and Barbara’s house!”
“We work with James,” I lied—or as I preferred to call it, acted. “We need to drop off some important papers. He told us he’d be out of town, and to just drop by.”
The door clicked open as Melanie succeeded. She surreptitiously slipped the kit back into her pocket.
“He gave us a key,” I continued. I dialed up my most charming smile to nuclear.
“Oh, what a shame!” Josephine exclaimed. “James got back from his trip earlier today. You just missed him.”
Melanie and I faltered.
“Oh? I wasn’t aware...”
“I don’t blame you! Unexpected departure, unexpected return, you know. He really rushed out a few days ago.”
“I’ll just be a few minutes,” Melanie whispered, slipping inside the house. Josephine didn’t seem to notice her close the door. I was struck by the contrast Melanie presented. One moment she seemed as conspicuous as an Axis alliance tank rolling into your living room, the next moment she was a ghost, slipping through walls unseen.
“Yeah, he didn’t really give any details about where he was going. Do you know?” I asked her, pegging the woman for a gossip. I was right.
“It’s quite a personal matter. He probably didn’t want it getting around. Barbara, his wife, left him two weeks ago. Just packed up and moved back in with her parents. They live in Nevada, now,” Josephine giggled.
“Wow! Do you know why she left?” I prodded her.
“Probably because he was carrying on with some woman he worked with.”
“Tamsin Saxa?” I asked on a hunch.
“Exactly! She’s stacked, but she’s bad news. You met her?”
“Once. It left an impression.”
“That woman thinks she’s better than everyone because she knows how to add some numbers together. She was always coming over here, staying late into the night. Barbara was so upset that he wouldn’t leave his work at the office. And Saxa would use any excuse to get fresh with him, even in another woman’s living room!”
“So he went to Nevada?”
“To get Barbara back, I think. A week is enough to make any man realize how much his wife does for him. To make him see what he’ll be missing. James came to his senses,” Josephine huffed.
“But he came back early. I guess things didn’t go over well,” I said.
“I wouldn’t know. He was in and out before I could ask him. I called Barbara, but she couldn’t come to the phone.”
“Where?”
“In Nevada, silly. At her parent’s house!”
“No. I mean, where did James go?” Worrying about how abrupt that sounded, I angled my body closer to hers. She bloomed under the attention.
“Oh, on his morning run. He goes every day before work to the Santa Monica Pier and runs a mile. I don’t see the appeal, but men tend to bring home quirks after serving in the military. He left about thirty minutes before you got here.”
I felt a spark of triumph run up my spine. I might not have been the great detective Melanie was, but I had figured out where Mr. Bennett was with my own talents. But Melanie was still inside the house, and I couldn’t have Josephine getting suspicious.
“I never saw the appeal of a woman like Ms. Saxa. A man needs a stable home, not a sharp tongue. I’m sure she couldn’t be half the wife you are, Mrs. Bradley. Your husband’s a lucky man,” I began to flirt more overtly.
Josephine flushed. “You’re much too handsome for your own good, Mr. Kendrick. You’re
making me talk too much.”
“I could say the same thing about you, Mrs. Bradley. You make me want to listen to you all day,” I winked.
Melanie slammed the door shut. “I got what I need. Let’s go.”
I waved goodbye to Josephine, who looked confused as to why I was taking orders from such a short, severe-looking woman. I kept in character until we were safely seated inside the car, but Melanie had a harder time containing her amusement. “So you can talk to women.”
I chose not to respond and instead relayed to her what I had learned. “Tamsin’s having an affair with Mr. Bennett.”
“Oh really?” Melanie raised an eyebrow, which was far thicker than trend called for.
“Yes. His wife left him—”
“Two weeks ago, I know. To live with her parents in Nevada.”
“You heard Josephine from inside the house?” I was a bit disappointed.
“I didn’t need to,” Melanie rolled her eyes condescendingly. “I use these things called detecting skills. I looked around Mr. Bennett’s house, found he had pictures of him and his wife, but most of her closet was cleared out. I also found out some interesting things about his accounting work that Mrs. Josephine Bradley couldn’t have possibly known about. I don’t need to talk to some unreliable busybody to find these things out.”
“That is what you hired me to do. Talk to people.” I was a little offended. Melanie seemed to notice, so her next words were softer but still teasing.
“Yes, but I was having my doubts after this morning.”
“That was an extraordinary circumstance,” I huffed indignantly. “Ms. Saxa is not a normal woman. That’s like comparing apples to diamonds.”
“Excuses, excuses,” she laughed.
“I happen to be very good at charming people. Better than you, I’d bet,” I challenged.
“Excuse you,” she scoffed, “I happen to be ace at charming women. She’s just not one of my people.”
“One of your people?” I was confused, but there was a thought itching at the back of my brain. I didn’t voice it in fear of being wrong.
“I’m queer, Arthur,” she stated bluntly. It was no shameful, vulnerable confession. She spoke like she was firmly correcting a rude child. There was a slight twist of humor on her lips, like she knew how uncomfortable she made people, and she took pleasure in it. “Are you surprised?”
“That’s just not something you usually admit in polite company.”
“Once you get past that grandstand exterior you use,” she paused and bared her teeth in preparation for attack, “I don’t think you’re very polite.”
“Probably not,” I laughed it off. I didn’t want her to see how hard that had hit. I had spent too many years perfecting my outward nature. I changed the subject quickly, “Where are you driving?”
“Saxa and Bennett’s office. I figured that’s where he would be going.”
“No, he’ll be at Santa Monica beach,” I smirked. Melanie’s hands twitched on the wheel.
“According to Josephine, he goes running every morning.”
“Why didn’t you mention that earlier?” She said crossly, but my response was prompt and smug.
“You interrupted me.”
Melanie assessed me for a moment before nodding in satisfaction and turning the car around. The drive to Santa Monica was long but quiet and almost peaceful. We drove through the winding streets, past the electric trolley shuttling people to and from Venice Beach. I felt a childish glee when we passed under the iconic blue-and-white “Santa Monica Yacht Harbor” sign.
As we reached the Pier and the beach, we noticed there were a few police cars. Crowds of people gathered around, dressed in their bathing suits and carrying colorful paddle boards. I muttered, “I got a bad feeling about this.”
“I’m not really surprised,” Melanie sighed. “Let’s see who the detectives are.”
A couple of uniforms sneered at Melanie, clearly recognizing her, but let her pass through anyway. They gave me a few curious and confused glances. Melanie relaxed a bit as she saw one of the detectives, an older and slightly hairy man in a suit. He smiled back at her as the man beside him scowled.
“Arthur, this is Detective Katsaros and Detective Jeffries. One of them is useless, but the other is my uncle. He’ll let us see the body, won’t he?” Melanie smiled disarmingly at them. It was surprisingly effective.
“Melanie, I’ve never doubted your ability to sniff out a murder like a bloodhound, but this is ridiculous. His body isn’t even cold yet,” her uncle, Detective Katsaros, spoke with fondness brushed against every word.
“James Bennett. I was looking for him, but it seems like someone found him first. I want to examine his body.”
“Absolutely not,” Detective Jeffries protested. Katsaros shifted uncomfortably. “Melanie, I can’t just let you into a crime scene...”
As Melanie argued with her uncle about why she should be allowed past, Jeffries sidled up next to me. “So you’re the guy who bought Pallas Investigations from Adam Hawk, right?”
I nodded cautiously. During my interview, Melanie had mentioned her former partner had been a real detective, someone who knew as many tricks to the trade as she did. She had been vague about why he had left, but the scowl on her mouth spoke more loudly than words.
“You have some big shoes to fill. Adam solved a few big murders and extortions that had some of my superiors scratching their heads.”
“I have faith he’ll do just fine. Melanie doesn’t work with fools,” Katsaros interjected, apparently defeated by his niece. “That’s why we’re going to let them pass.”
Detective Jeffries glared, but he didn’t protest again. The men led us alongside the Pier; I glanced upwards at the La Monica Ballroom. The air was salty and smelled a little like sewage. Sand shifted under every footstep, hitching a new ride on the inside of my shoe.
Underneath the pier, where tides pushed and pulled shells and starfish, James Bennett’s body was laying face down on the sand. The back of his head caved in, blood and brains still sluggishly oozing out. His clothes were wet from the waves. Most of the blood had been washed from the sand, but it was still tinged pink.
“We think it was blunt force trauma,” Jeffries explained. “Someone came up from behind him and hit him in the head hard enough to cave it in. Then he threw the weapon into the water—probably a piece of wood.”
Melanie kneeled down to examine the body, and I self-consciously followed her after a beat. The gore was making me woozy. It didn’t seem to affect her much as she leaned in for a closer look. She even prodded at the wound with gloved fingers.
“Can we roll the body over?” she asked.
“Sure,” Katsaros shrugged. I helped her carefully rearrange him. The blood was uncomfortably sticky as it congealed with the sand.
“Who found the body?” I asked. Melanie nodded absently, so I supposed she approved of my question.
“Some dog walker found him a few minutes after. He’s been dead less than an hour. Probably less than thirty minutes.”
Melanie unbuttoned the man’s shirt and pushed it back. Blood had run down the front of his neck as well, covering his chest and shoulders. She rubbed it away, making a small noise of triumph when she found a pair of hand-shaped bruises on the area below his collarbone, on his shoulders.
“You know, Uncle, I’m surprised you didn’t recognize him,” Melanie said casually.
“Why would I?”
“Bennett Saxa and Associates Accounting Firm manages your money, don’t they? I thought maybe you would have met the boss before.”
Detective Katsaros scratched the back of his neck and laughed, “No, I was never important enough to meet with the big bosses. I only got underlings.”
Melanie stood up and walked up to one of the pillars covered in barnacles and mussels. Standing on his tiptoes to reach the area where the back of Mr. Bennett’s head would be, she rubbed her fingers against the hard shells. They came back bloody.
/>
“He was facing his murderer. They were arguing. The man shoved him backwards, and Mr. Bennett hit his head on the pillar. The barnacles cut through his skull. He stumbled forward and fell on his stomach.”
“It wasn’t planned,” It suddenly came to me, inspired by Melanie’s description. “This place is too populated to hide the body. It was spur of the moment, a mistake.”
Katsaros and Jeffries hunched together, considering the idea. I ambled over to Melanie and whispered, “It’s a wonder you need me to be your new face; yours is transparent.”
“If I’m that obvious, Jeffries really is useless,” she said loudly enough for the man to hear. Katsaros was quick to keep his partner from responding.
“Who would have motive?” Katsaros asked. “Tell me everything you’ve learned in your investigation.”
Melanie clammed up, her eyes tense as she thought. I took over describing the information we had learned earlier today.
“So he had an established schedule. I bet this Tamsin Saxa would know that. She hires someone to find her lover, but when he returns home, she finds him first. He tells her he’s reconciling with his wife. She flips her wig, and he ends up dead,” Katsaros grinned triumphantly. “Not bad, kid.”
“You sure about that theory? Completely?” Melanie asked with a dangerous look in her eyes. I gulped. Despite the sun burning down on us, the breeze cut through my jacket chilled my bones.
“Stop worrying, Melanie,” Katsaros laughed. “I’m sure you’ll still get your money out of her. Don’t try and complicate things.”
That was a dismissal if I ever heard one, and I’d heard a lot. Melanie was surly as we went back to the car. Nervous energy bubbled under my skin, causing me to ramble. “I have to say, I’m surprised. Ms. Saxa didn’t look the crime of passion type; she didn’t seem to really care that much about Mr. Bennett. Though I guess I wouldn’t have a lot of experience. But she just seemed so put together and...deliberate. This whole thing is sloppy and easily tied to her.”
Murder at the Beach: Bouchercon 2014 Anthology Page 16