by Mary Mead
“All right,” I sighed. “I would appreciate it if this was between us?”
He leaned forward again. “You can trust me, Marlena. I’ll keep anything you tell me in confidence. Unless it’s illegal,” he smiled. “I am an officer of the law.”
“I know,” I said. “This may not even be important.”
“Burke?”
“Here we go,” I said, more to myself than John, and told him the whole story, from the beach and my first meeting with Burke. I glossed over the kissing part but included the threat with the comb. I brought him up to date with Paul, the incident at Kelly’s. He had seen that one. It took a while, even in the abridged version. When I finished the story I left John to think about it and went to make a fresh pot of coffee. I hoped I had not made a mistake.
Returning with two full mugs I set one in front of him and sat back down.
“Well?”
It was John’s turn. “I have a few questions,” he admitted.
“Just a few? I did better than I thought,” I said and smiled.
He smiled back. “Okay, then. When you met him, the overlook at the beach. Did he ever identify himself as a cop?”
“No.”
“These guys that were chasing him. Had you ever seen them before? Or since?”
I shook my head.
“Burke did threaten you, though.”
“With a comb,” I said.
“Implied threat is still a felony. Terrorism. Burke knows that.”
“I was never in danger. When the other guys left he showed me the comb and apologized. Explained a little. Under normal circumstances I would never have seen him again. The whole thing was a fluke. He’s an undercover cop, following the drugs. The drugs brought him here. He had no idea I was here, too. Returning my sweatshirt was just Burke, being Burke. Kind of letting me know he was around before he had to identify himself.”
“He could have come to the office and identified himself,” John said. “No need for the dramatics. Unless he had other ideas.” He looked at me.
“About me? I never saw the guy before the beach. If it wasn’t for the drugs I still wouldn’t be seeing him.”
“Come on. You’re a beautiful woman. I’m sure you’ve dealt with advances before. Have you considered maybe Burke is interested in more than the drugs?”
“Burke and I are friends, buddies. We like the same foods, we like old movies and I like his company. He’s fun to be with. Nothing more. Contrary to what Paul thinks, I have never slept with Burke.”
“Your relationship with Burke is platonic. That right?”
“Exactly.”
“Okay, that’s your view. What about his?”
“What do you mean?”
“Does Burke want more? A romantic relationship?”
That slowed me down. I took time to consider my answer. “Burke is a clown, the class cutup. He’s rarely serious.”
“That’s not an answer, Marlie. Is Burke interested in you?”
I sighed again. At least I knew I was getting enough oxygen. “I don’t think so. He jokes about it, teases me about it, but no. When it comes right down to it, no. He’s the eternal playboy. I would bet he has more than one female companion.”
“You’re not one of them.”
I shook my head. “No. We’re pals, John. That’s the end of it. He’s here a lot, on the job. He hates to eat alone and he loves old movies. We hang out. That’s it.”
“How about Paul? Have you had trouble with him?”
“That one incident at Kelly’s and you were there for that.”
“I remember. Don’t take this wrong okay? Do you think maybe Burke is just tweaking Paul’s nose? Maybe stretching the truth a little bit?”
“About me? Why? Why would he do that?”
“For some men it’s a game. If those two have always been competitive it could have started out like that. Paul could have made a remark and Burke jumped on it. Or vice versa.”
“No, I don’t see it,” I said. “That is completely off base. Paul is married. He’s never come on to me in all the time I’ve worked here. Two years.”
John smiled. “So why the sudden interest? It didn’t come up until he found Burke in your place that morning. Maybe you’re the new prize.”
“They’re grown men,” I said. “That’s silly.”
John chuckled. “Grown men are often silly, Marlie. I see that all the time.” He took a small spiral notebook out of this shirt pocket and thumbed through it. When he found a new page he took a pen from the cup on the counter. “The new locks. Was that because of Burke? Or Paul?”
“Neither. It was because I don’t like the idea of someone prowling around down here. Especially at night. I live here.”
“Well, you fixed that,” he smiled.
“Yeah, and this morning, first thing I have Paul wanting to know why his key didn’t work.”
That got John’s attention. “This morning? When did you change them?”
“Yesterday. Patrick was here and he helped. He has the duplicate keys. He was going to get them copied today for Paul and his dad.”
“Patrick? The younger brother?”
“Yes.”
“Is he here a lot?”
I shook my head. “I actually just met him. He’s been here, on the lot, helping his folks but never came in, introduced himself or anything.”
John tapped his chin with the pen. “Is the family close?”
“I guess so. I know the boys adore their mom, do anything they can for her. Paul and his dad are close. Don’t know about Patrick and his dad. I assume he would be the same.”
“How about the brothers? They close?”
“Don’t know. Like I said, I just met Patrick myself.”
“What’s your take on him?”
“From what I’ve heard, he’s the catch of the county. Permanent bachelor playing the field.”
John lifted an eyebrow, asking a question.
“I’ve had no trouble with him,” I said. “He teases me. That’s the only personal dealing I’ve had with him.”
“In what way is he teasing you?”
“I blush,” I said. “It’s not my fault. For some reason Patrick finds that funny. He goes out of his way to see if he can make me blush.”
John smiled and made a note. “Anything off color? Out of line?”
Again I shook my head. “Nah, not really. General teasing. I’m already getting used to it. Helps me keep from blushing. It’ll wear off. Always does.”
“I gather you’ve had this problem for a while?”
“Since I was a child. I inherited my mother’s fair skin and my father’s temper. Not a good match for a young lady. My mother had to correct me. Often.”
“Well, I can’t arrest him for teasing. Anything else?”
I sighed. “I told you I may be way off base. Something just doesn’t add up. What are the odds? Burke is a cop, working undercover with the DEA tracking drugs. One shipment of those drugs winds up in a storage facility owned by Paul, a friend of Burke’s going back to high school. Mrs. Murphy comes in with a carton marked exactly the same as the cartons containing drugs. Someone is coming in and out of the office after hours. Too many connections.”
“I agree,” he said. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Trusting me,” he smiled. “With Burke a cop, and Paul your boss, you’re kind of stuck in the middle.” He leaned to take my hand and squeeze it. “For the record, I’m a good cop and I am not involved in this mess. Only time will prove it, Marlie. It will. I promise you.”
I returned his smile and relaxed. “Do you think I’m nuts?”
“No, I don’t. Who’s doing what to who may take a while to figure out but I will figure it out. Right now, there’s no proof of a wrong doing.”
“What about those men? The ones who were killed?”
“I didn’t say there was no wrong doing, I said there was no proof. I don’t believe in coincidence. Let me run some
background checks, see what I can find. In the meantime, I’ll notify the task force about the tape on the carton.” He looked into my eyes. “My report will say I noticed it and had you open the unit so I could take pictures. That’s close to the truth. I’ll keep your name out of it. Fair enough?”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.”
“One more thing. Did Patrick get the keys duplicated?”
“I think so. Patrick said Paul hunted him down for his.”
“Paul tried to get in the office last night and his key didn’t work. Did he say why he wanted in?”
“He said he needed the month’s receipts to see how we were doing.”
“Does he do that often? Is that part of the pattern?”
“No. I send a weekly report every Monday. Includes deposit history.”
John made a note. “Okay, then. Let me run some checks on the players and see if anything comes up. One last question. Did you have duplicate keys made for the apartment?”
“No. I have both of them. One on my keyring, the other in my car.”
“Smart woman,” he grinned. “I don’t know what’s going on, Marlie, but I am good at my job. We’ll figure it out.” He put away his notebook. With a last smile he made for the front door. “I’ll let you know if I find anything. Remember, I saw the carton first.”
My turn to smile. I was happy as a clam at high tide. Someone else shared the load.
As a reward to myself and a cowardly retreat I packed a small bag, locked the now secure front door Saturday morning and drove down to San Luis Obispo for the weekend.
I love the town, its quirky little shops and its excellent restaurants. I got a room at The Apple Farm on the edge of town, tossed in my bag and headed out. It felt good to be away, to be outside and stretch my legs. There’s a lot of physical mileage in my history. Always feels good to get out and move. Wandering the tree lined narrow streets relaxed my mind as well as my legs. I stopped for a sandwich, a cup of tea at another place, and bought a bag of salt water taffy.
Back at the inn I had a nice dinner in the main dining room and retreated to my room. After a hot shower I curled up in the four poster bed with my Kindle, more relaxed than I had been in weeks. I slept like an old dog on a sunny porch.
A basket of warm muffins was served to my room for breakfast in bed. With that start on the day I was on the road for home. With the top down on the Mustang the wind blew out the last of the cobwebs. I tuned in the oldies station and sang most of the way home, the wind blowing half the words back down my throat. Traffic was light, the sun was shining and I fell in love again with the area.
By afternoon I was home, as relaxed as warm butter and almost as toasted from the sun. My lips curled in a smile as I dropped down the last curve to Jade Beach, wondering why I didn’t do this more often.
Until I turned into my street and saw the police cars.
Sunday is the quietest day of the week in Jade Beach. The cannery is closed, the deckhands are sleeping or hungover and a general calm pervades the salty air. Beach Storage is a block from the harbor and we still get the noise. Except for Sunday. That’s the slowest day of the week. Not today. I had to park across the street from the gates. My parking place was occupied by a Sheriff’s cruiser, the handicap spot by a Monarch squad car. An ambulance backed up to the open front door.
I jogged across the street towards the office where I ran into Paul. Literally. I was half a step inside at the same time he bolted out the door, slamming into me and knocking me backwards. I spun around, got my hands down to break my fall and caught my balance before I actually hit the ground.
“Watch out!” Paul yelled, staggering back from the impact. He called me a name before his eyes widened with recognition. Regaining his own balance he was in my face. “Where the hell have you been? You’re fired! Get your stuff the hell off my property! Now!”
Spittle flew from his lips as he yelled, punching the air with a stiff finger pointed at me. I backed out of range just as a heavy hand clamped down on Paul’s shoulder and he went down on one knee.
John Kincaid held him there and looked over at me. “You okay?”
I nodded.
John reversed his hold on Paul and helped him up.
“I’m gonna talk to my dad,” he said, his face crimson. “Your job is in Monarch. Not here!”
“You’re wrong, Paul,” John said, dropping his hand. “This is part of my jurisdiction, too. Along with the Sheriff’s department and Highway Patrol. You calmed down now?”
Paul shook himself like a wet dog. “I don’t have to calm down. This is my property.”
“Wrong again. This is a crime scene. Until it’s released it’s my property.”
“You’re gonna be looking for work, too,” Paul threatened.
“I was looking when I came here. Now I want you off the property, Mr. Murphy. The facility is temporarily closed.”
“You can’t do that. My customers need to get to their stuff. You’re inhibiting my business. I’ll call my lawyer.”
“You do that. You call from home. For right now, this is my crime scene and I need it cleared. I’ll let you know when you can reopen. Until then it’s off limits.”
Paul’s color deepened. I was afraid he was going to stroke out. Even the whites of his eyes had gone pink. He glared at John, his mouth hanging open. Without another word he turned around and left, shoving me out of the way with his shoulder as he passed. I resisted the impulse to kick his butt.
“You sure you’re okay?”
I turned back to John. “Yeah, I’m good. What’s going on?”
“There was a break in,” he said. “Where were you?”
“In San Luis.”
“What time did you leave?” He glanced at his watch.
“Yesterday. I just got back. Was anything taken?”
John looked me in the eye, his face serious. “Do you know Steve Harris?”
I nodded. “Yeah, he’s the weekend guy. He works here. Why?”
“He’s dead, Marlie. He was killed.”
My knees went weak. “He’s dead?”
John nodded, watching my face. “I’m sorry, honey.”
“What happened?”
He took my elbow and tugged me inside the office, guiding me to a chair used by customers who have to wait.
Four other men occupied the office, all of them behind the counter. One was taking pictures with a digital camera, one crouched before the recording unit, his head almost inside the cabinet. Another was brushing the door knob to the back room with a paint brush. The fourth was picking up scattered papers from the floor, sliding them back from a deep brown splotch on the carpet. Some of the papers were stained crimson or brown in spots and streaks.
The men worked quietly, their sounds mostly rustling or the squeak of shoe leather as they shifted position.
“You okay? You want some water?”
I shook my head. “No, I’m good. What happened?”
John squatted in front of me and dropped a hand on top of my folded ones. “Mr. Harris was shot. It looks like a robbery. Was there cash in the office?”
“We keep a hundred on hand to make change, mostly small bills. He might have taken a payment or rented a unit, I’d have to look at the daily log.”
“No large amounts?”
“Not this time of the month, no. Around the first is the busiest. Even then, most of our payments are by check or credit card. We rarely have more than a couple of hundred in cash.”
Another man interrupted and John excused himself. I stayed put but my eyes roamed the office. So familiar. So warm and welcoming. I had decorated it myself, from the carpet to the plants to the paintings on the walls. Even the rug behind the counter that was now a splotch of dark brown. Through the window I saw the ambulance leave. No siren, no lights.
John was back shortly. “Come on, let’s step outside,” he said, a hand on the back of my waist turning me towards the open front door.
When we were outside I t
ook a deep breath and blew it out. “What happened, John?”
“Here, Marlie, sit down,” he pointed at the bench.
I sat and he took a seat beside me, picking up my hand and holding it.
“Steve Harris is dead. He was shot.”
Tears squirted into my eyes and I blinked. That nice old man. His only fault was talking too much. Because he was lonely. A single hot tear slid down my cheek.
“Was it a robbery?”
“You’ll have to tell us. We don’t know if anything is missing. From the looks of it Steve was either carrying a stack of paper or fell back into one. Those pages on the floor are blank.”
“He was probably loading one of the printers or the fax machine. We keep reams of blank paper in that cupboard, the one with the door open.”
“Is there a backup for the recorder? In another room?”
“No. There’s only one. In the cabinet.”
John shook his head. “It’s smashed. The disk is gone. The forensics team is going to take it, see if they can get anything off of it. Doesn’t look good. We’ll canvas the customers, see if anyone heard anything.”
“If they did I’m sure they would have reported it.”
“No one has come forward yet.”
Tears flooded both eyes. “Did he suffer?”
John squeezed my hand. “No. It was quick.”
I sat there, my hand folded inside John’s and sent up a prayer for Steve. In a few minutes I freed my hand to wipe my eyes and my chin where tears dripped freely down the front of my shirt.
“Come on, let’s get you upstairs. There’s nothing for you to do now. We’ll lock it up when they’re through in there. A hazmat team will come clean up when forensics is done.” He stood up and took my arm. “Come on, Marlie.”
I let him guide me upstairs.
I put on a pot of coffee, my answer to every situation, and got down some mugs. When the coffee finished I filled a couple of mugs and joined John in the living room.
He put away his notebook when I sat down and picked up his coffee. “Thanks, I needed this. I only had one cup this morning. My brain doesn’t function till about the third one.”
I nodded. “I know that feeling. When did you get here?”