Detective Frank Bunson? The chief's blue-eyed boy, and the town's number one womanizing, backstabbing prick.
"Did you know she was seeing someone else?" I asked Vance.
He looked down at the floor. "I thought she might be. I'd heard rumors."
"Did you ask her?"
"No."
The lights flickered and died, again. After about five seconds, they came back on again.
"What's with the electricity?" Vance asked, looking a little annoyed, like he needed someone to blame and figured it was my fault. "Is it always like this?"
"The power company's working on the lines. They sent out a notice warning about possible interruptions. It's been going on and off like that all day. Anyway, what did Chief Fox have to say about your new information?"
"That he doesn't have a Fred. They have a Frank, but it couldn't be him because he's married and comes from a family with a high regard for moral values."
I was tempted to set the record straight by saying Frank was twice-divorced, both times for physical and mental cruelty. His only family was his fat pig of a brother, who had the reputation of being able to supply anything at the drop of a hat from a line of top-grade coke to a high class Vegas-style hooker, or even fake documents for anyone who had a need. As for moral values, I'm afraid Frank got missed when they were handing those out.
"I hope that wasn't his reason for closing the case." Foxy could be pretty weird when he chose, but this would be a new low even for him.
Tim shook his head. "There were other reasons, such as not being able to find a single lead to follow, no activity on her cell or any of her credit cards since the day the witness saw her parking her car, but we already knew all that. Then he said he'd been about to call us because he was in possession of what he believes to be conclusive evidence Petra went for a swim and got swept out to sea.
"He said it's not the first time similar accidents have happened in this area. He went on about high waves and a strong undertow, how people should pay more attention, and never swim alone plus a whole lot of other stuff. I was trying to get my head around the idea of Petra being dead, so I'm afraid I wasn't listening properly. I don't care what evidence he has, I don't believe she is. Dead, that is. It's just not possible."
"What's his evidence?"
"A pair of expensive designer sandals that look exactly like the ones Petra is wearing in the photo Vance gave him, along with a designer change purse containing a few bucks and her driver's license. He said a woman found them this morning, lodged between the rocks at the far end of the beach. They were all crusted with salt and the leather was distorted from being soaked in seawater, so I could see they'd been there for quite a while."
"What about her clothes?"
Tim sighed. "No idea. The witness who saw her park her car said she was wearing a white sundress, but it wasn't found with the sandals. The chief figures it could have been stolen, blown away by the wind, or washed out on the tide."
"Sounds like he has all the answers," I murmured.
"He said they've done everything possible, but given what they know and the total lack of anything further, he has no choice but to cold-case the file as 'Missing, Presumed Dead.' If any new evidence comes to light, they can always reopen it.'"
As an ex-cop, I wasn't about to argue with what sounded to me like hard evidence, but I had to wonder if my good old buddy Frank was somehow involved. If so, was there a chance Foxy could be covering up for him? Or was I allowing my dislike of Foxy to color my thinking by jumping to conclusions about Frank being involved? Frank was far from the only cop on the local P.D. with a reputation for chasing women.
I looked over at Vance, who was now leaning his fashionably skinny, six-foot frame against the kitchen counter. Then back at Tim who was a little heavier, but with him, the extra weight was distributed in all the right places.
I mentally licked my lips, then warned myself not to get distracted by the speculative looks Tim kept sending my way, the sexy curve of his ass or the intriguing pout of his bottom lip. We both know who we are, and while it's not illegal to be gay, crushing on a potential client would be both stupid and counter-productive. If I'm to take the case, I need a clear head. "So, in spite of everything the chief said, you guys don't believe she's dead?"
"I don't know what to believe," Tim admitted with a sigh.
Vance pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and sat down. "Everything the chief said sounded possible. Even so, I don't know what to believe, either. I didn't think a person could just vanish into thin air quite that easily. The chief said it happens more often than most people realize."
I had a feeling this was going to be a long night, so I suggested my visitors adjourn to the living room while I brewed a pot of coffee. When it was ready, I put everything on a tray and joined them.
Vance was stretched out on the sofa, while Tim had turfed Albert and George, my two black-and-white Persian cats, from their favorite spot and taken possession of my recliner. The cats were now sitting on the ottoman, giving Tim evil looks. Tim and my brother looked exhausted, ready to fall asleep, and for a second, I wondered if I should just turn out the light and pick things up again in the morning. Then Vance opened his eyes.
"That coffee smells good."
"It's Kona. Help yourselves to milk and sugar," I invited, as I pushed Vance's feet off the sofa and sat down beside him.
I couldn't argue with the chief's decision to close the case, or what he said about people vanishing without a trace. It happened. Sometimes accidentally, sometimes by design. And from what little Vance and Tim had told me, I didn't know enough to have any feelings either way.
I waited while Vance and Tim fixed their coffee, then I asked, "What exactly do you want me to do that hasn't already been done?"
"Just find her," Vance said, struggling to control a yawn and stand up, but failing on both counts. "I'm so fucking exhausted I can't think straight, and I have an important appointment with some money people in a few hours. I have to get back, but will it be okay if Tim stays here with you? Just for tonight, of course. From the size of this place, it looks like you have lots of room."
I do have lots of room. Four bedrooms, in fact. But I wanted to catch up on some badly needed sleep, not spend the entire night salivating over what I couldn't have. Since I couldn't suggest Tim go find himself a motel, I smiled and said, "Sure. He's welcome to stay if he wants. There's a bed made up."
"Good. He knows everything I know, so whatever questions you have, you can ask him."
I could see Vance was in no condition to tackle the hazards of either the Coast Highway or the freeway alone, so I got all brotherly and said, "I trust you're not driving yourself?"
"No way." He grinned, then ruffled my hair, making me feel like an over-protective parent. "Don't worry, kid. I have a car and a driver, and Tim has his own vehicle." He quickly finished his coffee, succeeded in getting to his feet on the next attempt, and headed for the door. "Keep me posted, okay?"
After watching from the front window as the taillights of my brother's limo disappeared from view, I fetched a notepad and pen from the kitchen and poured myself more coffee. There are a few things I still prefer doing the old fashioned way and one of them is making handwritten notes.
"Have the cops released your sister's car?"
"They had no reason to keep it, so I called the rental company and they said they'll collect it."
"I don't suppose the chief happened to mention the name of the woman who found your sister's stuff?" I asked, looking straight at Tim.
"He may have. I don't remember." He ran the tip of his tongue along his upper lip, and I forced myself to look away.
I figured the action was involuntary rather than deliberate, but it affected me in ways I didn't want to think about. I don't get a lot of action in my line of work, so I tend to over-react when I see something I want.
"In that case, you need to call him tomorrow. Say you'd like her name so you can send her a thank you n
ote."
"Why would we bother with her? She doesn't know anything."
"Because..." I sighed. Dealing with people who take everything at face value and think the world is full of Boy Scouts and model citizens doing their civic duty is not only difficult, it makes me wonder what planet they're from. "It all sounds a little too pat for me. What happened to Petra's cell and her credit cards? They weren't in the car, and if she left them with her other stuff at the beach and they were stolen, why haven't they been used? And why didn't the thief take the change purse, too? Sounds to me like a deliberate plant."
"The chief didn't mention anything like that."
"He wouldn't, not without the evidence to back it up. And since he doesn't have a single shred of anything usable, he can't go wasting department funds chasing rainbows. He has to tell it like it is. I guarantee what he thinks is a whole different story."
Tim straightened up in his chair and jutted out his chin. "You can't possibly know that for sure. The chief was very open and helpful when he talked with us. If he thought Petra's stuff had been planted, he would have said."
Oh, joy! Just what I need--a client who's as innocent as a lamb, stubborn as a mule, and looks delicious enough to eat. "You're right. I don't know for one hundred percent sure what he thinks, but I can make an educated guess. As a professional investigator, it's my job, something I do all the time. In fact, before we go any further, we need to get something straight."
"And that is?"
"If you want me to find out what happened to your sister, we do it my way. If you want to argue or second guess me at every turn, you're on your own."
"I'm not allowed to give an opinion?"
"No." I wasn't sure why I was being such a miserable hard-ass. I'm not usually like this, so I figure it's either a subconscious effort to punish him for being so damn attractive, or a deliberate attempt to rid myself of a very real temptation.
"No?" The look on his face was an interesting mixture of indignation and shock. I have no idea what the dude does for a living, but whatever it is, I get the impression he's the one who does all the telling. "But surely, since I'm the one paying your fee, I should be entitled to voice an opinion now and again. Especially if I feel it would be helpful."
I captured his gaze and held on tight. "The only thing I need from you will be answers to any questions I might have. If you're not comfortable with that and want to tell me how to do my job, then you'll have to find yourself another PI."
"Vance said you're the best. If anyone can find out what's happened to Petra, it's you."
His words were followed by a smile and another speculative look that gave the impression he was trying to cruise me, but not, I suspected, for the best of reasons. I hardened my heart to the flirtatious look as well as the flattery. "As you said, you're the one paying the bill, so it's up to you who you hire to do the work."
The way he stuck out his bottom lip when things weren't going his way drove me nuts. It filled my head with weird ideas, like how great that hot mouth with those full lips might feel wrapped around my cock. I shifted to ease the sudden tightness of my pants.
He hesitated for a moment, took a deep breath and said, "Oh, all right. I want you to find my sister, not waste time by engaging in a pissing contest. So, ask away, and I'll do my best to answer."
I leaned back and put my feet on the coffee table. "Basically, there are three ways a person can vanish without a trace. They meet with the kind of freak accident the chief figures happened here. They're the victim of foul play, meaning she was either kidnapped or murdered. Or she arranged her own disappearance. You don't believe it was a swimming accident, so I need you to tell me why?"
"Because..." He hesitated, searching for the right words. "I guess it's because she's so cautious about everything in her life, everything she says and everything she does. She never gives you a quick yes or no answer on anything. It's always let me think about it and get back to you. There's no way she'd do a spur-of-the-moment thing like take off her clothes at a public beach and go for a dip in the ocean. What if she was recognized? What if someone took her picture and put it on the 'Net? It could mess with her professional image, and there's no way she'd risk that. It's completely out of character."
"Wasn't the hair tugging routine spur-of-the-moment?"
"I'm told that's how stunts are meant to look."
"And how do we know it didn't give her a taste for another impromptu adventure?" I wondered aloud.
"We don't," Tim snapped, a touch of ice in his voice. "I may not know her well, but well enough to know it would be completely out of character. Any coffee left in that pot?"
"If there is, it'll be cold. I can make more if you want, or there's beer or a soda."
"A cold beer sounds great."
After fetching two cans of my favorite brew and handing one to Tim, I said, "So what about possibility number two? Did she have any enemies, disgruntled ex-husbands, boyfriends or anyone else who might want to do her harm?"
"Not that Vance or I know about. And I can't imagine why anyone would want to hurt her or kidnap her either. She's not rich or famous enough for that. But supposing she was kidnapped, we'd know about it by now, surely?"
"One would think so." I decided against scaring the hell out of the guy by reminding him women get kidnapped for reasons other than money. For one thing, I have no reason to suspect anything along those lines. I might if her car had been abandoned in an out of the way spot, but there was a witness who saw her park it on the street and walk away.
"So we're left with the only other option," I said. "She arranged her own disappearance."
Tim frowned. "Why would she do that?"
"From what Vance said about the fight they had, there could be any number of reasons. She could have just been venting, and she could have meant every word she said. The movie business is tough. She may have reached a point where she could no longer cope. Or she had a problem she couldn't or wouldn't deal with."
"Such as? It would have to be something pretty big."
"Not necessarily. Could be that PR stunt and getting arrested, which Vance says she was fine with, upset her more than anyone realized. Maybe Vance was pressuring her to move in with him. If she isn't interested in him that way, or there's someone else in her life, what if she couldn't face telling him? People run away from what they see as insurmountable problems every day of the week. There's nothing unusual about it."
"You think it's what Petra did? She solved her problems by disappearing down a rabbit hole?"
"You have a better idea?"
"Vance said she wanted to quit. She could be hiding out for a few days while she figures out what she wants to do."
"She could, if it was just a few days. It's not. From what you and Vance said, it's been over a month."
"I know. If it was something simple, she'd be back by now."
"Okay, so you don't believe she drowned, and as far as anyone knows, she had no enemies. So let's assume what she told Vance about wanting to quit is true. Going by what we know to this point, I'd say she doesn't want to be found. And if she's as cautious and private as you and Vance say she is, then she left nothing to chance. Disappearing isn't quite as easy as it may sound. It takes a lot of careful planning, and it wouldn't be the first time a cleverly placed red herring was used to throw any followers off the scent."
Tim finished his beer and put the empty can on the table. "You figure the purse and sandals were intended as a red herring?"
"I wouldn't discount it."
"If you're right, what chance do we have of finding her?" he asked, a trace of panic in his voice. "We have no leads and no idea where she may have gone. All we can do is walk around in circles and hope we stumble on something."
"That's where you're wrong, bro," I chastised gently. "No one's perfect. They always manage to leave a loose thread if you have the patience to look for it. Ours could be the woman who found Petra's things on the beach. We have to find her and have a chat."
> "What for?" Tim slapped a hand against his thigh in a gesture of impatience. "She can't tell us anything."
"And you know this how?"
He threw up hands. "Okay, I don't. It just doesn't seem too likely."
"Maybe you're right, and all she knows is what she told the police. But we won't know for sure until we find her, and that's our number one priority. First thing tomorrow, I need you to call the chief and get her name."
"Can't you call him?"
I wasn't about to explain why that was a bad idea or that it would be a total waste of my time, so I said, "It's better coming from you. Petra is your sister, ergo you're the one who wants to thank the lady for finding her stuff."
"When I get the name, you'll go talk to her?"
"No, you'll have to do that, too. I don't want the cops thinking I used you to trick information out of them. It would be bad for business. I also need to find the witness they said works in the area and saw your sister park her car."
"You think he knows more than he told the cops?"
"I have no idea. That's why it pays to double check everything." I swallowed a yawn. "I don't know about you, but I need sleep. So, if there's anything you want from your car, you better go get it now."
While Tim went outside to fetch his overnight bag, I collected the used mugs and empty beer cans, put them on the tray and took the tray out to the kitchen.
When he returned, I locked the back door, but didn't bother resetting the alarm. If he decided to go back outside for whatever reason, I didn't want the damn thing going off and waking me up. "If you want to come with me, I'll show you where you'll be sleeping. There's an extra blanket in the closet if you're cold, and there are soap and towels in the ensuite. If you need anything else, I'm in the room across from you."
Missing, Presumed Dead Page 2