Still, Forever, Promise

by D. L. Merritt

  Mr. Caro had released the funds for The Daniel Rossi Foundation a week ago. The YMCA renovations were right on track . . . and now this. If she couldn’t get this ghost thing under control, she might not have any other option but to relocate. She had to get back to Carmel soon. The business would suffer if she didn’t.

  Her parents had taught her to find her way around obstacles in her path, rather than giving up. That philosophy had served her well in the past, but she wasn’t sure it would work this time.

  “You’re not leaving,” Brianna said as she stared at herself in the mirror. “You’ll find a way to stop her. Ms. Kennedy will soon realize she’s met her match in you.”

  But what should she do about Sarah? Riley said it was her spirit he ran into in the hall. Was Sarah still here because she’d committed suicide? Was that her punishment, to be trapped here forever? Brianna hoped not. Sarah’s life had been tragic enough without having to spend an eternity in torment. But then life isn’t always fair.

  Chapter 30

  The sun had cast its golden glow over the city by the time the judge issued the search warrant and Holcomb had merged the cruiser into traffic for the drive to the small seaside village of Carmel-by-the-Sea.

  Three hours later, he entered the downtown area with its sparkling white lights dusting the quaint shops lining the street. He gripped the wheel with sweaty hands. He didn’t belong here. He’d grown up in HUD housing on a gang-filled street in Los Angeles. This town was alien territory to him. Everything seemed . . . too perfect, too high class.

  At the stop light, he fidgeted with the seat adjustments. He couldn’t seem to get comfortable, but he knew it was more than that. This uncomfortable feeling could also be a result of his father’s constant harping. All he’d ever heard growing up was that he’d never amount to anything. He was stupid and a failure. His father’s cruel words had left a permanent scar on his self-esteem. But he’d proven his father wrong, hadn’t he? He’d climbed the ranks to lieutenant through perseverance and hard work. His position gave him a sense of empowerment. He’d never abused his authority, but it was a heady feeling to know he could unnerve people by his presence alone. Didn’t he have the highest closed case rate in his department?

  His only regret was that his father hadn’t lived long enough to see his accomplishments. But then it wouldn’t have made any difference. In his father’s eyes, he could never do anything right.

  Holcomb drove through the pristine city with its flower-filled planters and hanging baskets littering the walkways and storefronts of art galleries, family owned businesses, and eclectic restaurants. He felt like a foreigner here, and they treated him like one.

  “Humph.”

  “Whatcha say, sir?”

  “Nothing. Almost there.”

  “Where’re we headed?”

  “The Golden Rectangle.” The section of town where the rich and famous lived, and prominently nestled between the beach and Carmel’s main street. He passed expensive cottages and stopped the car in front of a quaint condo. A van with the logo of a local locksmith on the side waited in the driveway. He wanted to make no mistakes with this case and would follow standard protocol to the letter.

  With Deputy Gray behind him, Holcomb strode through the vine-covered brick archway and banged on the leaded glass door. He announced their arrival and waited. When no one answered, he peeked in the windows. When he was certain no one was at home, he motioned for the man in the van to approach.

  As they waited for the locksmith to do his magic, Holcomb scoped out the area for potential danger. He was amazed that the stars seemed brighter, the air fresher. He hadn’t expected that. An owl hooted in the distance, the sound peaceful, relaxing, though he never relaxed when he was on the job.

  Within minutes, the door was unlocked. Holcomb and Gray donned gloves before stepping into the entryway. The condo looked more like a model home, furnished in the latest style with polished pecan floors. Holcomb resisted the urge to take his shoes off, and barged in.

  The entry opened into the great room, complete with hand-hewn beamed ceilings, a skylight, and a stone fireplace. Floor-to-ceiling cabinets lined one wall. A 60-inch Plasma TV dominated the center shelf.

  The country kitchen was to the left, separated from the great room by an island with five barstools. French doors led out to a private patio built around a Monterey cypress. A deep-seated desire for this lifestyle had Holcomb conjuring up visions of sitting here in the evening holding a scotch and water, his wife cooking his favorite, meatloaf, and watching the glorious sunsets while listening to the ocean waves. Of course, he no longer had a wife. His job was his wife.

  “What do you want me to do, sir?” Deputy Gray asked, interrupting the lieutenant’s fantasy.

  “Take a look in the master bedroom and then the bath. I’ll check out the office.”

  The deputy vanished down the hall.

  The office was sparse, spotless, and sterile. There were no family pictures or anything of a personal nature.

  Holcomb switched on the desktop computer to check for recent internet searches.

  Damn! It’s password protected. I’ll take it back to the precinct. The tech geeks can take a look at it and see what they can find.

  To the left of the computer was a sticky note with one word written on it—Restoril. If he remembered right, Restoril was a benzodiazepine. The drug that killed the Rossis.

  Now that’s what I’m talking about. Come on. I know there’s more. Where is it?

  On the right side of the desk was a calendar with a reminder for an appointment at the end of the week.

  He checked the desk drawers and found a tablet, pens, stapler, and loose change. Nothing out of the ordinary.

  He went back to the calendar and flipped back to earlier months noting appointments with her hairdresser, manicurist, and dinner dates with friends. He checked the month before the accident. Pay dirt. She’d had an appointment with an out of town doctor.

  Why would she go to a doctor in San Francisco and not Carmel? Unless she’s hiding something . . .

  He grabbed a pen from the middle drawer and circled the doctor’s name and phone number before moving to the file cabinet, where he rifled through the drawers until he found a folder containing bank statements. Her balance had stayed around five thousand until two months ago, when it jumped to over five hundred thousand, right before the Rossis’ murder.

  There were no statements for this month yet. He made a mental note to have Deputy Gray check her most recent transactions. Follow the money. That’s always the rule.

  “Sir?” the deputy shouted from the other room.

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s so neat in here. Are you sure she hasn’t moved?”

  Holcomb refused to admit that he’d been wondering the same thing. “Find anything in the bedroom?”

  “Not yet. I’m checking the closet now. How ’bout you?”

  “Some possibilities, but we need more for the DA to issue an arrest warrant.”

  “I’ll keep looking then.”

  Holcomb tore the page from the calendar with the doctor’s name and number, shoved it in an evidence bag, and headed to the bedroom to help his deputy.

  Deputy Gray poked his head out of the closet when he heard the lieutenant come in. “I’ve checked all the drawers already and under the bed. Nothing there.”

  “Did you check the bathroom for medicine?” Holcomb asked, as he meandered around the room looking for anything out of the ordinary.

  “Yep, nothing but Midol and eye drops. Were you hoping to find a bottle of benzos lying around waiting for us to find it?”

  Holcomb chuckled. “One can only hope.”

  Gray stepped out of the closet, his mouth agape, carefully holding a syringe. “Sir, I-I think I’ve found what we need.”

  In a cautious exchange, Gray passed the syringe to his superior.

  “Where did you find this?”

  “Stuck in one of the 100 purses in the back of her
closet,” the deputy replied.

  Holcomb inspected the syringe. A drop of liquid remained inside. “Whatever it is, it’s odorless,” he said as he held the barrel of the syringe near his nose. “Bag it. We’ll have the lab analyze the contents. If luck’s on our side, it’ll be the same drug that killed the Rossis.”

  Holcomb wanted to do his happy dance. The noose was tightening. He’d always had a sixth sense when it came to closing in on a suspect. He felt sure it wouldn’t be long now.

  He would talk to the doctor in San Francisco and check the suspect’s financial records first. He’d also have Deputy Gray pull her phone records, and have a forensic team scrub the place. Even if they didn’t find any new evidence, he had enough to present to the DA. He should be able to get an arrest warrant in the next day or two.

  They retraced their steps through the house and made sure to lock up. As they walked to the cruiser, a chilly blast of sea air ripped across the driveway. The lieutenant had a sense of foreboding, a warning of things to come.

  When the lights of Carmel twinkled in the rearview mirror, Holcomb took a deep breath, relieved that life would soon be back to normal.

  Chapter 31

  The scents of cinnamon and fresh coffee drifted up from the kitchen. Brianna woke with her stomach rumbling and dragged herself out of bed, not sure if she was ready to face Charlene and the questions that were certain to come. She kept reminding herself that she shouldn’t feel guilty; she’d done nothing wrong. Feeling somewhat vindicated, she wandered downstairs.

  Charlene sat at the table with a coffee cup in her hand, her back to the door. Earbuds dangled from her head, and Brianna grimaced as her guest belted out an off-key version of whatever was playing on her iPod.

  She tiptoed to the kitchen, relieved that her chat with Charlene had been postponed—at least for now.

  Brianna had never developed a predilection for coffee. Even though it did smell delicious, it never tasted as good as it smelled. She ransacked the pantry for a packet of green tea and put a pot of water on the stove to boil.

  Minutes later, teacup in hand, she tapped Charlene on the shoulder.

  “Damn it, Bree!” she yelled, sloshing coffee on her lap.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” Brianna said.

  Charlene blotted at her clothes with a paper towel. “You’re just in time. The cinnamon rolls are almost done.” She glanced at the teacup in Brianna’s hand. “I would have made you a cup, but I wasn’t sure when you’d wake up. When I checked on you, you were out cold.”

  “I’m still not sleeping well.”

  “Does it have anything to do with a gorgeous stud named Riley? I know he kept me awake, all hot and horny.”

  “Really? Sometimes you can be so disgusting.”

  “Just honest.” Charlene took the rolls out of the oven, not missing a beat. “And talking about being honest. Were you being honest when you said you weren’t interested in Riley?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then he’s fair game?”

  “He’s not an animal, but yes, we’re just friends.”

  “You looked pretty chummy when you arrived yesterday. I thought—”

  “Well, you thought wrong.” Brianna wandered over to the oven to take over icing the rolls.

  “What kind of business did you have that you needed Riley’s help?” Charlene said, leaning against the counter.

  She’s like a dog with a new chew toy. I’m not in the mood for this.

  Hoping to veer her off the topic, she gave Charlene a partial truth. “I use his father’s hardware store for my supplies. I met up with Riley, and he offered to help.” She didn’t mention he’d spent the night or their excursion to Charleston. Ben deserved to know first. “And I doubt he kept you awake. I heard you snoring all night. That’s why I couldn’t sleep, if you want to know the truth.”

  “I do not snore,” Charlene said.

  Charlene’s indignation made Brianna smile. “Yes, you do. You sound exactly like Ben.”

  Charlene mumbled something under her breath and tossed a roll on her plate.

  “If you need proof, I’ll tape it next time.”

  Charlene gave her an evil look and changed the subject. “Have you heard from Lieutenant Holcomb lately?”

  An uncomfortable silence ensued. “Yesterday.”

  “He’s a stubborn old coot. Shouldn’t he be retired or something? I’ve talked to him three times already.”

  “You have? I thought you only talked to him the day he came to the condo,” Brianna said.

  “He asked me to come to the precinct twice after that.”

  Why hasn’t she mentioned this before? The lieutenant seemed to suspect her. Was it because of something Charlene said? “What did he ask you?”

  “Mostly about you and your relationship with you mom and dad. I told him the same thing I told him the first time. I didn’t know anything. He needs to concentrate on finding who’s responsible instead of talking to your friends and business associates.”

  Brianna didn’t know Holcomb had been snooping into her personal life. She wasn’t sure how to respond and changed the conversation to the agenda for the day.

  Two cups of strong tea and breakfast restored Brianna’s usual good temper. The two friends reverted to their normal camaraderie as they discussed a strategy for convincing Dr. Callahan to become affiliated with Eve’s Eden, and made notes on the qualities they needed to look for in the applicants they’d be interviewing.

  “By the way, I have the gala at the YMCA this evening. Would you like to come?” Brianna said.

  “I didn’t bring anything formal to wear.”

  “You can borrow something of mine. We’re about the same size.”

  With less than two hours before the doctor’s appointment, Brianna got up and put her dishes in the sink. “You can have the bathroom first,” she told Charlene.

  “Are you sure? I had it first last night.”

  “Go ahead. I need to make a phone call anyway.”

  As soon as Charlene disappeared around the doorframe, Brianna walked into the reception area to call Connie Smith.

  “Morning, Bree. What can I do for you today?”

  “I’d like to call Mrs. Burke about the house.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong. I found some items in the attic, and I wanted to know if Mrs. Burke knew who they belonged to.”

  “I’m not allowed to give out client’s phone numbers without their permission. Let me give her a call, and I’ll get back with you.”

  Brianna hung up and made her way upstairs to take her turn in the bathroom.

  After a cold shower, she stared at her reflection in the mirror. There were faint blue circles under her eyes. Great! I’m supposed to meet Riley today, and I look awful. She dug through her makeup bag for concealer. She hesitated before throwing the unused concealer back. Why do you care how you look? It’s Riley. But she did care, and took it back out, dabbing it under her eyes.

  Dressed in a new navy blue pantsuit, tailored white shirt, and black heels, she turned from side to side, viewing herself in the full-length mirror. When she was satisfied with the results, she went in search of Charlene and found her in the living room with a stack of ad slicks scattered across the coffee table.

  Brianna sat next to her and flipped through the photos and drawings. Charlene had produced a mock-up newspaper ad, a circular, and a billboard poster. She’d always been impressed with Charlene’s ability to tap into her vision and recreate it with little effort. Today was no exception.

  “You know, it’s sometimes spooky how well you know me. These are perfect,” Brianna said.

  “Why are you surprised? We’ve always thought alike.”

  “Hmm. We do, don’t we?”

  They spent the next hour going through each ad before choosing which one to use first.

  The chiming of the doorbell startled them. Time had flown by, and the doctor had arrived early. Brianna’s han
ds shook as she hurried to the entryway, Charlene on her heels. Dr. Callahan’s affiliation could make or break the spa. She opened the door with a smile she reserved for potential clients.

  No sooner had he stepped inside than Charlene cut in front of her to introduce herself. Brianna, though annoyed, kept smiling. This meeting was too important to let rivalry interfere.

  Dr. Callahan asked to have a tour of the facility before discussing business. Charlene hooked her arm through his and took the lead. Brianna followed like an obedient child, huffing under her breath. Charlene always seemed to make her feel like an employee rather than the owner.

  They escorted the doctor through the first and second floors. Brianna explained each room’s arrangement and function. Dr. Callahan rarely spoke throughout the tour, but Brianna thought he seemed impressed with the layout.

  They ended up on the second floor where she received her first visible reaction. The doctor’s face lit up when he walked into the room allotted for his personal office. She watched him walk to the window and look out at the view. He trailed his hand across the elaborate mahogany desk and matching credenza, and smiled.

  Charlene continued to manipulate the conversation, flirting and stroking the doctor’s arm with her fingertips. The doctor seemed to enjoy the attention.

  Brianna kept quiet and allowed Charlene’s powers of persuasion to work on the good doctor. From the way he responded, it looked like her plan had worked. He couldn’t keep his eyes off Charlene or her cleavage.

  With a winsome smile, Charlene said, “If you’re ready to put your John Henry on the agreement, we’ll head back down.” She tugged on the doctor’s arm, leading him toward the stairs.

  “Char, he might have some questions.”

  “I’ve seen everything I need to see. Where do I sign?”

  Charlene had a smug look on her face that cut Brianna to the core. She acts as if this is all her doing. We need to have a serious talk. Her condescending attitude has to go.

  Dr. Callahan signed the contract without negotiation. He agreed to spend every Wednesday at the facility taking consultations with spa clients. With his affiliation came the added benefit of purchasing top-of-the-line equipment and supplies. Brianna couldn’t be happier that they’d conquered this milestone.