Radical Regatta!

by Anna Celeste Burke

  “That’s kind of cute. He could be an Archie.”

  “No, he’s definitely a Mick.” I opened my mouth to clarify what I meant, and Brien grabbed my hand. “Gotcha!!”

  “Yes, you did! Why don’t we call him Archie? I like it even if he is registered as an Archibald du something-something.”

  “Archie, it is!” Brien exclaimed.

  “Now that’s settled, do you want me to tell you what I discovered today? Unfortunately, it isn’t much. Deb never returned my call. I left a voicemail giving her the two-sentence version of what we’re trying to find out. Maybe, that was enough to scare her off. Police are a skittish lot.” At least when it comes to Brien and me.

  “I only found out a few things, too. Since we’re off work tomorrow, we’ll have the entire day to investigate. We can get up early and visit the marina and Sanctuary Grove.”

  “I know Archie needs to rest, but we could take him with us in the morning to Sanctuary Grove and the marina. Dogs love to go for walks. We can ask Bonnie about it,” Brien suggested.

  “Great idea. Here’s the scoop about Dr. Elliot Mason. I found tons of information about him. He’s a plastic surgeon with a big fancy spa-like facility just up the coast from where he lives in La Jolla. There are pictures of him plastered everywhere on the Internet. He’s an older man, not bad looking, but it’s obvious he’s had work done. That’s true for his wife, Angela, who’s a former model and used to be a Hollywood hottie. I found old pictures of her, and she’s almost unrecognizable after hubby rebuilt her in her thirties. I can show you pictures when we get to the parking lot if you want to see for yourself.”

  “I believe you. The doc must be good at what he does if he could change her appearance that much.”

  “That’s for sure if you go for the look resulting from all the reconstruction,” I said. At this point, I’d rather be me even with features that are far from perfect. “Elliot and Angela are involved in lots of community activities and charity events. They’re members of the La Jolla Country Club that has a three-hundred-fifty-thousand-dollar entry fee.” When I said that, Brien looked at me and the golf cart shifted course for a moment. I patted his hand holding onto the steering wheel. “Hang on, dude, there’s more.”

  “I should be used to that kind of money after hanging out with Jessica and working for Peter’s private security firm, but it still messes with my head. There’s a monthly fee on top of that, isn’t there?”

  “Yes, there is—a mere eighteen hundred dollars a month. Chump change for Dr. Mason, I suppose. He’s also a member of the San Diego Yacht Club that’s one of the top clubs in the U.S.”

  “If he’s a fan of yachting, that explains why he’s in town. Does he race?”

  “No. It appears that he did in his youth, but he’s officially a senior citizen at this point. That doesn’t mean he’s retired.”

  “He probably can’t afford to retire. Sometimes rich guys like him are slaves to their fortunes, you know?”

  “Yes, I do know. Some men like Dr. Mason are addicted to success, along with other even more unhealthy things.” I grew silent and took a deep, cleansing breath. Brien knew immediately where my mind had wandered.

  “I’m glad you got away from Mr. P.”

  “Me, too.” I sighed again before continuing my story about the doctor who, from all I’d read, appeared to be regarded as a pillar of the community. “Elliot Mason doesn’t race, but he keeps a boat at a private marina near his home. He’s a big supporter of racing and has sponsored several regattas—for adults and youth. In one picture, a younger version of the doctor is handing a trophy to a smiling regatta team.”

  “That’s terrific information you found today. Especially the pictures of Dr. Mason and his wife. We can take those with us when we go to the marina where his boat is parked—Al said ‘moored’ is a more correct term to use.”

  “That’s good news! I thought if he had a boat, it was at the bottom of the deep blue sea by now. Did Al speak to the doctor who’s too busy to notice his poor dog has gone missing?”

  “Not yet. Al called his friend who keeps an eye on people who come and go at the new addition to the marina. He told Al that Dr. Mason and his wife haven’t been there much since they arrived. That wasn’t odd to him, though, since they’re guests at the resort.”

  “That’s true. I confirmed that Dr. Mason and his wife have a penthouse suite in the Resort Club Tower. Then I called Sylvia, the seating hostess at The Abbey, and she said they’ve eaten there a couple of times since they arrived at the end of June. She heard they’ve also been guests at The Captain’s Table—a special venue that’s been set up for big shots that are here for the regatta. Last night, they were supposed to have dinner at El Pescado Fresca, but they were no shows.”

  “Uh, oh. That’s not odd, that’s bad.” I nodded in agreement with Brien’s point.

  “Bad as in rude if the doctor doesn’t care about the commitments he makes. What’s a little matter like ditching a reservation if he can’t be bothered about his lost dog?” I harrumphed and then waffled. “Then again, bad could be an understatement if the story Cathy told us is accurate. Why can’t Al go to Mason’s suite and bang on his door?”

  “According to Al, that’s sort of what he and Earl Gardner were discussing.”

  “Gardner must be one of the regatta organizers, and the guy you saw Al speaking to this morning, am I right?” I asked.

  “Yes. Al said when he received Bonnie’s message, he called the Front Desk and found out that Dr. Mason’s a guest. He tried to reach the Masons’ suite, and when no one answered his call, Al decided to visit him. That’s when he bumped into Gardner coming out of the elevator. Al asked Gardner if he’d seen Dr. Mason recently. When Gardner said no, Al asked if he wanted to go with him to the suite. Gardner got all edgy and objected. He claimed he’d just been up there and found a Do Not Disturb sign hanging on the door.”

  “So? Do Not Disturb doesn’t mean everything’s okay.”

  “I agree, but no one has reported a problem.”

  “Dr. Mason isn’t a young man. What if he’s ill and can’t answer the phone?”

  “Kim, his wife is with him. Wouldn’t she be calling for help if her husband’s sick? Besides, according to Earl Gardner, Mason and his wife are enjoying a romantic getaway before the regatta events are in full swing. Gardner told Al, in no uncertain terms, not to disturb Mason who’s one of the regatta’s biggest sponsors.”

  “That seems suspicious to me. If he knew that, why was he visiting the penthouse?”

  “If I’d been with Al, I would have blasted the guy with questions like that. Big Al’s close to retirement and doesn’t like to rock the boat.”

  “Earl Gardner goes on my list as the next person to track down in cyberspace. Even if I buy the idea that Mason and his wife have been swept off their feet by their romantic getaway, they’ve got to eat, don’t they? If they didn’t show up for their restaurant reservation, can’t Al or someone check to see if they ordered from room service? That’s one way to make sure they were in their suite, and still alive, last night. This morning, too, if they ordered breakfast.”

  “It won’t be Al. After he told me what Gardner said, he seemed relieved as if he was off the hook. I’d be surprised if he’s had time to follow up. This place is booked solid, and we were slammed with the usual security issues—people who left a wallet somewhere, locked themselves out of their cars, or scared another guest when they tried to get into the wrong room. Plus, a kid wandered away and caused more panic than a lost dog.”

  “Oh, no! Obviously, you found him, or you wouldn’t be here.”

  “Yeah. We all pitched in, and it didn’t take long to find him. He’d fallen asleep in one of the little tubes kids crawl through.”

  “Thank goodness someone gives a hoot about others. The more I think about it, the more upset I feel that Dr. Mason and his wife haven’t responded to Bonnie or shown a little more concern about inconveniencing people around him. H
ow much trouble would it have been to cancel a dinner reservation? If he ordered room service, they would have done it for him if Dr. Mason had moved his surgically plumped lips to ask. I also don’t understand how he and his wife can enjoy a romantic getaway not knowing what’s happened to their dog.”

  “Gardner had an answer for that, too, when Al told him that’s why he wanted to speak to Dr. Mason. He felt it was important to notify the couple that their dog had been found. Gardner insisted that Al leave the matter to him. If the dog was in a vet’s care, why bother them since the Masons didn’t expect to see the dog for another day or two.”

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “According to Gardner, the Masons had dropped off the dog for grooming and socializing with other dogs. He told Al if he wanted to be helpful to the doctor and his wife, he should find out how the dog got away from the caregivers before he had to break the news to them.”

  “I agree with that. Is Al afraid Dr. Mason will sue the resort?”

  “That’s not the problem because the Masons left their dog in a private doggie spa. Gardner didn’t remember the name of the place, but he said he’d get back to Al with a name and address.”

  “Right away, I’m sure! Who is Earl Gardner, or better yet, who does he think he is? I don’t like the huffing and puffing, the veiled threats, or what appears to me to be misdirection. If nothing else, he’s stalling.” I was all set to settle into an angry pout when I felt a zing. Something like electricity zipped up and down my spine. “Al’s encounter with Earl Gardner happened early this morning, right?”

  “Yes, I already told you that twice.”

  “Did Al tell Gardner which vet was taking care of the dog?” Brien’s head wobbled back and forth as if he was trying to recall what Al had said. Or he could have been wondering why it mattered one way or another. Then he hit the brakes.

  “Sorry,” he said as he started moving again. “Do you think that’s how Teddy, the pushy, phony reporter, knew where to find the dog before lunchtime?”

  “It could be. Teddy’s a phony all right—there’s no publication or website that’s called the Bay Area Gazette. I found an online magazine with a name that’s close, but there was no byline by anyone named Teddy, Ted, Theo, or Theodore. Just to be sure, I emailed them and got a quick response. No one using any of those names had ever been a contributor to their eZine.”

  “You couldn’t have done much more than that without a last name. Of course, even if Teddy had given one to Bonnie, it probably would have been fake, too.”

  “A phony reporter wanting to get up close and personal with Mason’s dog so soon after Al and Earl had their chat seems too coincidental to me. We still have the license plate number that might help us locate Teddy. That’s if I can convince Deb his behavior was suspicious or threatening enough toward Bonnie to run a check on his license plate.”

  “Sorry, but that’s sort of a dead end, too. When I looked closer at the pictures I snapped as the driver was leaving, I caught part of a rental company logo. I called them, gave them the license plate number, and they said the car is in their fleet. They won’t give me any information about the driver, though, unless the police file a formal request for it.”

  “Shoot!” I was frustrated. “That’s not going to happen, is it? Deb would have to go to Mitchum, and I can already hear him bellowing, ‘Don’t tell me Gidget and Moondoggie are up to their tricks again!’ Can’t you?”

  “Or worse. He could call us knuckleheads.” That didn’t seem worse to me.

  “So, our best option, at this point, is to get someone to check that room. If Dr. Mason and his wife have been victims of foul play, the longer the crime goes undetected, the more the evidence deteriorates.”

  “If Earl’s as dodgy as he seems, that could be another reason to keep Al, or anyone else, from going in there. How do we create a disturbance?” Brien asked.

  “Pulling a fire alarm could work, but that’s over the top, even for us, isn’t it?” Brien nodded.

  “It’s illegal, too. Besides, we don’t want to give Dr. Mason a heart attack. We just want him to come to the door.”

  “Our mentor, Jessica, loves to barge in on high-living lowlifes like Dr. Mason as if she’s Columbo in haute couture.”

  “Columbo in couture—that’s pretty good. Columbo does barge in, but his goal is to harass the rich bad guys until they lose it. You’re right that Jessica wouldn’t think twice about banging on Dr. Mason’s door, hollering ‘housekeeping,’ while standing there waiting for him to answer.”

  “Jessica might even get away with it. If not, she’s a lawyer with way more money than we have. If her legal skills aren’t enough to handle the trouble caused by confronting Elliot Mason, she can hire more help.”

  “That must be why Al didn’t go for it. He can’t afford to take risks.”

  “If Earl Gardner knows Elliot Mason better than we do, maybe he’s not dodgy but scared to death of the gun-toting doctor. What kind of a plastic surgeon packs heat, assuming he was the guy involved in that brouhaha on the beach?”

  “As if it’s not bad enough guys like him have all those sharp objects like scalpels and needles. Let’s see what Bonnie tells us. The doctor could have called her this afternoon, and we’re getting all worked up about nothing.”

  “Nah. She would have notified us, Brien. Bonnie knows how disappointed we’d be to make a trip to pick up Archie if his owners had already contacted her.”

  “That sounds right to me, too. After this conversation, I’m even more convinced Archie shouldn’t go anywhere, except with us. If Teddy was looking for him, it could be because someone’s afraid Archie can identify whoever tossed him overboard.”

  “That’s a good reason to grab Archie if the same guy shoved Archie’s owners overboard, too. I bet neither of them could swim as well as Archie.” Brien nodded.

  “Especially, if the guy knocked them out or weighted them down before they went into the water.” We drove for several minutes in silence. As Brien pulled into the lot at the animal hospital, I reached a conclusion.

  “It’s time we disturbed Dr. Mason and his wife. I’m not sure how yet, but we’ll come up with something.”

  5 Surprises!

  “Agreed,” Brien added as he parked close to the clinic door. The parking lot was nearly empty. I jumped out of the golf cart and ran to the entrance. When I tried to enter, the door was locked. My heart sank. Had Dr. Mason come for Archie? Or worse. What if Earl Gardner claimed the Masons sent him to retrieve Archie or whatever his name was, and Bonnie had handed him over to Gardner?

  “What’s going on? Where is everyone?” I asked.

  I leaned in closer to the glass and shielded my eyes, hoping to get a better view inside the clinic. When a buzzer went off, I jumped about a foot off the ground. I didn’t come down straight enough and banged my nose against the glass.

  “I’m sorry! Are you okay?” Brien asked, turning me around to face him. “There’s a sign that says, ‘press the button after hours.’ So, I did.”

  “Yeah, I’m okay,” I said, rubbing my nose. Then I spotted Bonnie coming toward us with a leash in one hand. Archie was trotting along behind her. When Archie saw me, he bolted for the door, stood up, and woofed at me through the glass. Bonnie reached out and hooked the leash to a harness he wore, and then gave him a command to sit. He very obediently did as he was told, and she let us in.

  “Am I ever glad to see you,” I exclaimed as I knelt next to Archie and buried my face in his fur, trying not to go all girly and cry.

  “Mom, here, was worried about him,” Brien said as I stood.

  “Foster mom,” I muttered. “Brien’s right, though. Did Teddy come back?”

  “No, but the word is out that he’s here. I’ve never had so many inquiries about a lost dog in a single day. Phone calls and visits from the press—even a TV crew. Some guest at the resort recorded Brien’s heroics on video, although no one has mentioned your name. Nor have they identified you as a resort em
ployee. The credit for the rescue goes to ‘an alert surfer.’ Sanctuary Grove Surfer Saves the Day or some headline like that.”

  “That’s fine with me. I prefer to remain in-cog-ni-to.” Brien counted out the syllables as he spoke each one. “Let the credit go to the surfers. Those dudes can use some good gossip about them for a change.” Unfortunately, we’d stepped into the back room as Brien uttered the word “dudes.” The parrot belted out an ear-splitting squawk.

  “Hola, amigo!” Screech! Screech! Brien came to a halt as he and Pepe locked eyes—well, sort of. Pepe angled his head sideways to stare at Brien. Brien responded by doing the same, arched one eyebrow, and fixed his gaze on Pepe. Archie moved next to Brien and woofed at the parrot.

  “Cállate!” Pepe bellowed. Archie, who’d woofed in a friendly manner, stepped back as if wary or disappointed at the rebuff.

  “Basta, Pepe! Enough!” Brien commanded in Spanish and then English. “That’s rude! No one’s going to like you if you keep insulting people…and dogs.” I held my breath, hoping Pepe wouldn’t go ballistic or that Brien wouldn’t poke the finger he was pointing at Pepe any closer to the bird’s cage. My head already hurt from the pitch and volume of the parrot’s screeching. I was floored at what Pepe said next.

  “Okay, Pal.”

  “That’s a first,” Bonnie said. “Are you sure you don’t want to give him a good home, too?” Brien appeared to be considering the option, but as soon as we walked away, Pepe started up again.

  “Donde esta?” Pepe bellowed and then squawked. “Donde esta, amigo?” When he asked “where are you” a third time, Pepe added a decidedly improper noun to his question instead of amigo. What followed was a vulgar rant. I gasped. Apparently, I’d picked up more Spanish than I realized while living and working in LA.

  “And that’s a first for me,” I said. “A fowl-mouthed tirade from a parrot who could make a sailor blush. Pardon the pun.” Brien backtracked and faced off with the parrot again.