Seaside Secrets

by Dana Mentink

  “Mr. Gruber, I am sorry to have bothered you,” Torrey said. “I’ll contact you if we have further questions.”

  Gruber nodded and strode away, whistling.

  “He’s lying,” Angela insisted.

  Torrey rubbed a hand over his fleshy cheeks. “Right now I have nothing that proves anything happened other than Lila decided to check herself out. You two need to come with me to Lila’s room and we’ll see about this card you say you found.”

  You say you found. Torrey thought she was lying. Or crazy.

  Was she? Or was Torrey involved in whatever had just happened? He was on a first-name basis with Gruber. Her palms grew cold and sweaty as they headed to the elevator. As they passed each floor she worked on breathing, trying to calm her rattling nerves. Dan’s arm slid around her.

  She wanted to push away, but she desperately needed that grounding touch. She shot a look at him.

  He winked. A silly gesture that reassured her more than a volume of words. He believed her. He knew she was not crazy. Dan Blackwater was standing with her. She was not alone, at least in this.

  They found the orderly with a broom and dustpan, sweeping up the shattered remains of the vase and fallen roses.

  Angela edged past Torrey. “It should be here on the floor.” She searched. Nothing. Dropping to hands and knees she checked under the bed and in the broken glass in the dustpan.

  “Where is it?” she asked the orderly.

  “What?”

  “The envelope that came with the flowers.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. I just got here.”

  He was tall, a good six feet, whip thin with a face pockmarked by acne.

  “Are you sure you didn’t see it?” she asked.

  His tone grew surly. “Are you saying I’m lying?”

  “She’s just asking a question,” Dan said.

  “I do what I’m told,” he said. “They tell me to clean, I clean. No one told me to make an envelope disappear.”

  His smock was loose fitting, covering baggy pants that no doubt had pockets. She had no reason to accuse him or suspect him even. She stepped back and allowed him to finish sweeping up.

  Torrey called for the nurse, who said she’d never seen any envelope, but she had been distracted by Lila’s violent bolt from the room. The woman appeared bewildered by the whole affair.

  They continued upstairs. Dan took them to where he’d seen the sock.

  His mouth opened in surprise. She crowded in close behind him to look. There was nothing there, no sign of the sock.

  They approached Dr. Lane, who emerged from an exam room, scribbling on a chart. She looked at them over the top of her glasses, gaze lingering for a moment on Lieutenant Torrey. “Another problem?”

  “The sock is gone,” Dan said, gesturing to the stairwell.

  She stared at him. “I told the floor staff to leave it, per your orders. We’ve been using the other stairwell when necessary.”

  “Well, it’s gone now,” Dan said.

  Dr. Lane summoned the shift nurses and custodian. No one claimed responsibility for removing the sock.

  “I apologize for the confusion,” Dr. Lane said to Torrey. “There was a sock there,” she told him, “just as Dr. Blackwater said, but I can’t tell you what happened to it. I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you for your time, Dr. Lane,” Torrey said.

  Lane excused herself, and, as she passed, Angela noticed that her forehead was damp with sweat. Was it warm in the hallway? Angela’s hands were still ice-cold from her earlier encounter with Gruber so she could not accurately tell. Again her mind swiveled between suspicion and fear that she was becoming paranoid.

  Once they were alone, Torrey folded his arms across his barrel chest. “No sock, no envelope, no bloody fingerprints, no witnesses to corroborate Gruber or his brother being in the stairwell.”

  “Gruber did something to Lila Brown,” Angela insisted through gritted teeth. “And he’s lying about everything. His brother’s involved, too.”

  “Nice story. Look, I don’t know what game you’re playing here, but you are the stranger in Cobalt Cove.” His cheeks took on a reddish flush. “You arrive in town and accuse a longtime resident of harassing a woman with no shred of proof to your claims.”

  Dan moved forward. “Lila’s in danger. Her car blew up. That’s got to be enough proof of danger for you.”

  “We’re investigating that, if you recall, Doctor.”

  “You should look for Lila,” Dan told him.

  “Don’t tell me how to do my job,” he snapped, chin thrust out. “We will look for Lila, but as of this moment, there is no proof that a crime has been committed in this hospital. Stay out of this investigation, and stay away from Harry Gruber.”

  He turned on his heel and marched out.

  Angela finally allowed herself to be led back to Dan’s truck.

  “Gruber snatched her—he must have,” she murmured. “Maybe the orderly or the nurse took the envelope and the sock. They might be helping Gruber.”

  “There’s still the big ‘why’ here. Why would Gruber go after his employee?” Dan stared out the windshield without turning the key. “And how would he have forced her into a car or his trunk without anyone seeing? Lila was scared, but able-bodied enough to run down four flights of stairs. She would have fought.”

  “His brother was there. Two men against one woman.”

  “Maybe.” He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Maybe she got by him.”

  Angela chewed her lip. “Dr. Lane and Lieutenant Torrey. I got the oddest sense that they know each other.”

  “Probably. They’ve both lived in Cobalt Cove for a long time.”

  “What type of surgeon is Dr. Lane?”

  “Started as a urologist in her early days. Now she’s a kidney transplant specialist. There were times when our paths crossed.” His voice faded away.

  “When?”

  “If a patient didn’t survive, if they were an organ donor, she consulted.”

  She looked into his gray eyes, which had darkened to a pewter, and knew he was in the grip of memories, bad ones. “That must be hard, to lose a patient.”

  He blinked. “I remember every one I lost in peacetime. Some were harder than others, but none of it could compare to what happened in Kandahar.”

  And then she was holding his hand, squeezing to show what she could not say. Before she would have prayed; now she could only listen. I know you lost so many in Afghanistan. Too many. I’m sorry. So sorry.

  As if he read her mind, he answered, “In Kandahar, there was a constant flow of wounded. Often I saw soldiers on the worst days of their lives. The last day they would walk, the final moment they would see, the beginning of a tortuous road. Those were bad, but the others...” He swallowed. “The ones that didn’t make it, the ones I couldn’t save. I knew they were with God, but their family’s pain, their worst nightmares, were just beginning.”

  She knew. Her pain, her worst nightmare, began when Julio had died in her place. Tears crowded her eyes. It was probably only a few moments, but it seemed like a very long time they sat there in his truck, side by side holding hands, allowing grief and memory to swirl between them like the steel-blue waters of Monterey Bay. When it became too much, the pain too strong for her to endure, she pulled away.

  Realizing her face was wet with tears, she patted her pockets and located a tissue. “It’s only ten-thirty,” she said, checking her watch, steering them back onto safe ground. “My family won’t be here until tonight. I guess I should go back to the hotel and try to do some research.”

  “Or we could go find Tank.”

  She blinked. “How? We don’t know where to look.”

  “I went to the clinic this morning and pulled his fil
e. I know his address.”

  Her mouth fell open. “And what were you going to do with that info?”

  “Find him. Talk to him. Tell him I’d help him so he wouldn’t involve you in trouble.”

  She glared at him. “You shouldn’t be doing things on my behalf and especially not without my knowledge.”

  He regarded her with a maddeningly calm expression. “Okay. I’m going to talk to Tank. Now you have knowledge. Do you want to come or not?”

  “But Lieutenant Torrey told us to keep out of the investigation—”

  “Tank is a former patient. I have a right to check on him. Besides, I’m perfectly comfortable disobeying orders when necessary.”

  She could not repress a smile at the outright cockiness. “You’re arrogant—you know that?”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  “By whom?”

  “Plenty of people, but notably my former fiancée, AnnaLisa.”

  “Did she also mention that you’re bossy?”

  “Repeatedly. Bossy, freakishly neat, overly competitive and a sore loser with a limited fashion sense.” He grinned. “Now that we’ve got that established, are you in or out on the Tank visit?”

  Angela thought that Dan Blackwater just might be one of the most infuriating and completely charming men she had ever met. “I’m in,” Angela said, buckling her seat belt. “Let’s go.”

  SEVEN

  They drove to the tiny rented house on the edge of Cobalt Cove, almost at the town limit. The street was lined with parked cars and old pines that dumped needles in clumps on the cracked sidewalks.

  “Tank’s place is one-twenty-seven.” Dan pulled the truck to the curb, next to a one-story stucco house with barred windows and a wild scalp of lawn. An elderly lady walked past leading two tiny dogs, eyeing them carefully as she did so.

  “Neighborhood watch?” Dan said.

  Join the parade, Angela thought. Why did it feel as if everyone was watching them? Shaking off the ripple of anxiety, she got out and headed for the front door. She rapped on the metal, the sound echoing.

  A dog barked in the neighbor’s yard, wet nose visible through a knothole in the warped wood. Angela knocked again. “It’s Navy Chaplain Angela Gallagher,” she called. “I’m a friend of Tank’s, Mrs. Guzman. Please open the door.”

  She leaned close. “I think I heard someone,” she whispered to Dan. Seconds ticked by.

  “Please, Mrs. Guzman,” she tried again. “Tank’s in trouble and we want to help.”

  The door opened a crack, grating against the fastened security chain. A young woman with wavy dark hair peered out, frowning. “What do you want?”

  “We need to talk to Tank,” Angela said. “Are you Mrs. Guzman?”

  “My husband is not home.”

  “Where is he?” Dan said.

  Her eyes grew more fearful. “Who are you?”

  “This is Dr. Blackwater. He’s a surgeon. He treated Tank at the clinic.”

  Dan peered down at her, bending a little. “Tank spoke of you, Mrs. Guzman. Your first name is Cora, right?” Dan offered a smile that even Angela had to admit was charming. “Tank told me you were going to scold him solidly for fighting in the bar. He said he didn’t deserve such a good woman.”

  Cora’s expression softened with the hint of a smile. “He doesn’t,” she murmured.

  Dan’s charm was a powerful thing, Angela noted. It was the kind of quality that used to attract her—confidence, a man who was clear on what he wanted and needed in life. Someone who enjoyed his blessings and shared them readily with others. Focus, Angela. She pressed the advantage. “Mrs. Guzman, has Tank told you about what is going on?”

  “He’s gotten into some trouble. He’s going to straighten things out. It will be okay. Thanks for your concern, but we’re fine.”

  “Did he tell you that he’s afraid Harry Gruber is trying to kill him?”

  Her lips thinned. “Gruber is a monster.”

  “How so?” Dan leaned closer. “What exactly has he done to Tank, Cora? Please tell us.”

  From next door, a baby wailed.

  “Tank told me not to talk about it,” Cora said.

  “We need to know so we can help him.” Dan offered another devastating smile. “All we want to do is help him and you. We’re not working with Gruber. I can assure you of that. I’m a doctor and she’s a chaplain, like we said. He came to Angela for help, but he ran before we got the story. Please, Cora. Tank needs us whether he knows it or not.”

  Cora hesitated. “Gruber knew Tank needed the money. It’s wrong to take advantage of someone’s desperation,” she said. “That’s a sin.”

  “Did Gruber loan Tank some money?” Angela said. “And now he wants the loan repaid?”

  “He—” Cora broke off as a tan truck rumbled up the street. As the vehicle creaked toward them, Angela’s chest tightened. The sign on the scratched door read “Gruber and Gruber Trucking.”

  It rolled closer, the silhouette familiar, the long nose, jutting chin, balding head.

  The driver was Harry Gruber’s brother, Peter.

  Angela’s palms went cold. The truck crept along until it was even with the house.

  Peter did not look at them, merely inched his way along the street with excruciating slowness. The message was clear. Watching you. Every move you make. Cold, hard fear roiled through every muscle and nerve.

  Angela heard Tank’s wife suck in a breath, and then she slammed the door. The bolt grated home.

  “Cora, wait,” Angela called.

  Silence.

  They turned to watch the truck.

  The unsmiling Peter gave them a grim salute as he drove away.

  Dan strode to the curb, but Peter had already driven on by.

  Though Angela knocked again on the door, Cora would not answer. She scrawled her cell number on the back of a business card and shoved it in the crack of the door. Dan was still staring in the direction the truck had taken.

  “You know, I’ve always thought of Cobalt Cove as a sleepy little town, sort of a coastal Mayberry.”

  “And now?”

  “Peter. Harry Gruber. Tank. Lila.” He turned a thoughtful gaze on her. “I’m beginning to get a real bad feeling.”

  Though her own nerves were still hitched tight, his erect posture, the muscled shoulders and the determination on his face brought her a small measure of reassurance.

  “I’m going to go back to the clinic and comb through Tank’s computer records again,” he said. “There wasn’t much, but maybe I missed something. Lila’s notes should be there, too.”

  She nodded, thinking that a private eye should have suggested that, but she was not a private eye. She was not even sure she was still a chaplain. The sadness of it tugged at her along with a surge of depression.

  “Score one for the Grubers, but they haven’t won yet.” He touched her forearm in the jovial, friendly way that made her pulse kick up in spite of her good sense. “I’m starving and it’s lunchtime. Want to go get a bite?”

  Yes, her mind said. “No,” she replied. “Um, I should go back to the hotel and wait for Marco and my sister.”

  “They won’t be here until evening, like you said.”

  “I could do some computer research.”

  He raised a mischievous eyebrow. “You’re faking, Chaplain. You don’t know what to research any more than I do.”

  Her cheeks burned. “I...I don’t like crowded places.”

  “Then I’ve got the perfect solution.” He opened the passenger door with a flourish. “Onward.”

  She tried to find an excuse to avoid spending any more time with Dan. By the time she thought of a good reason, she was already sitting in the passenger seat, buckled in, being driven back toward the b
each. The merry glint in his eyes brought back a memory, her encounter with Dan before Julio had died.

  He’d been playing basketball on the makeshift court behind the hospital. She’d been on her way out after praying with a soldier who had requested her presence.

  Dan had called out. “Hey, Chaplain. Need a player here. My guys are getting creamed. How about it?”

  She’d laughed, declined, reconsidered and then played a vigorous game where she’d scored four baskets and earned the nickname of Swisher. He’d invited her back to play again the next day, and she’d been looking forward to it. But the next day brought bullets instead of basketball, and Julio’s death.

  Everything that had transpired since she had arrived in Cobalt Cove had tested the limits of her self-control. Would she have another panic attack? Run in a frenzy when the next car backfired or burst into tears at the sight of someone who looked like Julio? She imagined her humiliation at having Dan witness yet another episode. Worst of all, he knew the root of her unraveling was guilt, pure and simple. Guilt that Julio had offered up his life for hers.

  She tried again to come up with an excuse, but instead she found herself relaxing in the seat as Dan turned on some music, old gospel hymns.

  “Helps me think,” he said. “Used to play it...” He trailed off.

  In Kandahar.

  Ironic, as that was when she’d stopped listening to music, the day Julio was killed. The silence grew wider and deeper until she couldn’t hear from Him anymore, either.

  He reached for her hand. How did he know? Why should he care?

  Still, she let his warm palm remain cupping her fingers until they pulled up, once again, at the beach.

  * * *

  Dan purchased two Red Rocket hot dogs from Bill, the heavyset vendor with his graying hair pulled neatly back into a ponytail.

  “Hey, Doc Man,” Bill said as he handed over the food. He jutted a chin at Angela, who stood a few feet away, making a phone call. “That’s the minister lady?”

  “Chaplain,” he said. “How did you know that?”

  “Small town,” Bill said. “News travels fast. I hear everything.”