Seaside Secrets

by Dana Mentink

  “Yeah?” Dan said. “What do you know about Harry Gruber?”

  Bill’s smile stayed in place, but Dan thought he detected a stiffening in the man’s wide shoulders. “Runs a trucking company. They transport back and forth from Mexico and all that. Opened the clinic here a year or so ago. Brother’s a dentist at the clinic.”

  “I already knew that part.”

  He shrugged. “Gruber funds the clinic. He’s a good guy, right?”

  “You tell me.”

  “Sure. Good guy.”

  Dan held Bill’s gaze with his own. “What’s the real story, Bill?”

  “Real story is I’m a hot dog vendor and that’s all. I got no gossip to spread, huh?” A couple of bodyboarders strode up, wetsuits unzipped and speckled with sand. Dan stepped back to allow them to order. He wasn’t going to get anything further from Bill.

  Angela accepted the foil-wrapped dog with a polite thank you, and they helped themselves to condiments. He was amused to see that she piled on everything from jalapeños to sauerkraut. He stuck with mustard, swathing the thing in extra napkins to avoid any mess. They scored his favorite spot on a bench overlooking the cove. The shore was still busier than usual with out of towners who had come to enjoy Beach Fest and decided to make a weekend of it, but it was quieter than a restaurant would be and that was better for her.

  The wind whipped at Angela’s hair, and she tried to keep it out of her towering hot dog mess. Her laughter was warm, light and airy like the sprays of foam that danced above the waves. He handed over a napkin to catch the condiments that threatened to slide off the hot dog.

  “I guess I got greedy,” she said. “I’m not actually hungry enough to eat all this, but old habits die hard. My dad used to take us to watch the Padres play and he said a proper hot dog was merely a platform for all the toppings you could fit on top.”

  “Sounds like my kind of guy. I’d love to meet him.”

  A shadow darkened her green eyes to olive. “He’s dead. He was murdered just before Christmas.”

  Dan nearly dropped his hot dog. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry. Did you... Was the murderer caught?”

  “Yes, and that’s a blessing, but it still doesn’t bring my dad back.” She sighed. “That’s why I’m part of this investigation thing. It was my dad’s business. It just felt right to help keep it running. It means the world to my sisters.”

  “I get it.”

  After a few moments, Angela walked over to the trash and threw away her half-eaten hot dog.

  He felt like kicking himself for asking to meet her father. The memory of her laugh lingered. You will find joy again, Angela, he wanted to tell her. Someday.

  She stood with her face to the wind, looking out onto the water. For a moment, he imagined himself putting his arms around her, sheltering her body with his. What would her hair feel like, whisking against his face? The soft curve of her shoulders tucked in his embrace? Then he blinked back to reality.

  “Ready to go to the clinic?”

  She nodded, and they retraced their steps back to the parking lot.

  They passed Bill, wreathed in steam from his hot dogs. As they went by, Bill ducked his head and began wiping down his cart with vigor. No smile. No eye contact.

  Gruber was a good guy?

  Instinctively Dan moved closer to Angela.

  Yeah. Right.

  * * *

  Dan let them into the darkened clinic with his key. “Closed on Sundays,” he said. “The building used to be the old Cobalt Cove library, and the hospital in town was a college. Eventually they built a nice library there, too.” The clinic was a three-story structure with ornate molding along the roofline and a redbrick front. The first floor had been turned into a reception room, lined with filing cabinets.

  “Second floor is the clinic where we see patients for minor injuries and basic health care. Third floor is divided between dental and eye care. Three doctors total, two opticians and one dentist—that’s Peter Gruber.”

  “So Peter and the other doctors on the third floor are private practice?”

  “Yes, but they all do pro bono work on Saturdays for the clinic. Lila donates her time during the clinic days. Peter pays her for the rest.”

  “That’s kind.”

  “Yeah. The clinic was started up about ten years ago by a church group, and Harry took over the funding of it last year when they couldn’t continue. After his wife died, he bought the building, set his brother up on the third floor, along with the eye doctors, and he lets the clinic operate rent-free on the second floor.”

  “Why?”

  Dan frowned. “Up until now, I’d say it was a philanthropic gesture, but I’m not sure anymore.”

  “Harry has no love of doctors,” she mused. “You sure he doesn’t make money off it somehow?”

  “Not off the clinic. The private practice guys pay rent, but Harry funds the clinic.”

  He led her to the stairs. “I’ve got a cubicle office upstairs where I keep my own files.” He flicked the light switch. Nothing happened. “That bulb goes out all the time. I think it’s wiring in this old building. I keep meaning to fix it myself.”

  He heard the smile in her voice in spite of the darkness. “Are you any good at electrical stuff?”

  “I can restart a heart,” he said, a touch indignantly. “How hard can it be to rewire a lightbulb?”

  Her soft laugh told him that it had been an arrogant statement, and he shot her a rueful smile. He heard AnnaLisa’s voice in his memory.

  “You’re a surgeon, not a superhero.”

  Deep down, he didn’t believe it. When he held a scalpel in his hands, he felt the power, given straight from God. The power to heal if he was only clever enough, to save lives if his fingers were agile enough. His gut throbbed.

  And the ability to let a life slip away, in spite of his extreme effort.

  You’re only as good as God allows you to be, hotshot.

  And sometimes, he was not good enough. Not a superhero. Not even a good enough surgeon to save a life. Not good enough to save Julio’s.

  Angela clasped his arm. He realized he must have been lost in thought. “Sorry.”

  She gave him a squeeze. “Glad I’m not the only one who wanders away sometimes.”

  He straightened. “Let’s go.”

  They passed a paneled opening, boarded up.

  “Basement. Floods when it rains.”

  They headed up the darkened stairs, holding on to the old wood railing to feel their way up. Emerging onto the second floor, he was about to turn on the lights when he froze.

  A whirring sound echoed through the still space.

  “What is that?” Angela whispered.

  “A shredder.”

  “From the third floor? Does anyone work Sundays?”

  “Not to my knowledge. I’m going to go up and see,” he whispered. “Stay here.”

  “I’m going, too.”

  He wanted to argue, but instead he continued on, Angela following. The old wood stairs creaked in spite of their care. He winced, hoping the sound of the shredder would cover their progress.

  The grinding of the shredder grew louder. He could feel Angela tense behind him. He put out a hand. She gripped his palm, her skin icy to his touch.

  He wanted to reassure her, but he didn’t want to risk alerting the Sunday shredder of their presence.

  They moved up another step, and the wood creaked loudly under Dan’s weight. The sound of the shredder ceased abruptly.

  She crept up onto the step next to him, mouth close to his ear.

  Whatever she was about to say, he never heard. The door slammed open and Dan was yanked off his feet and pulled into the darkened office.

  EIGHT

  Angel
a stumbled forward, clutching for Dan. She ricocheted off the slammed door. Reeling, she fell backward, tumbling down three steps before she could regain her balance, banging her elbows and shoulder into the hard wood railing. Panting, she righted herself.

  “Dan,” she yelled as she charged back up the steps, slamming palms first into the stairwell door. It was locked. She pounded on it, screaming. “Answer me!”

  There was no response. Pressing her ear to the cold metal she heard a muffled crash. Throwing her shoulder at the panel did nothing. Shut tight. Without stopping to think, she ran back down the stairs to the first floor on shaky legs. Tumbling out into the reception area, gasping for breath, she dialed the police.

  “I need help.” She gave the address.

  “What is the nature of your emergency?” the dispatcher inquired.

  “There’s an intruder at the medical clinic and a doctor’s in trouble. Please hurry.” It was the best she could manage. She knew her voice was high and tight, edging into the panicked range.

  “We will send someone right away. Exit the building and stay on the line, ma’am.”

  But Dan was locked on the third floor. Hurt? Unconscious? Was Harry Gruber up there? His brother? Was Tank? Her mind spun with so many thoughts it dizzied her. The minutes ticked by in a whirling confusion. Fighting against the paralysis that gripped her body, she forced herself into action.

  She ran to the elevator, slamming a hand onto the button. The seconds ticked by as the machine creaked on its way to meet her.

  Her mind shrieked at her to run, to flee. She was walking helpless into a trap, to certain capture. A gleam of brass from the receptionist’s desk caught her eye, the blade of a letter opener.

  Not helpless. Not that. Hardly daring to let herself think it through, she snatched up the blade. Would she be able to use it? To stab someone? Her skin was prickled in goose bumps. When the elevator door opened, she leaped through, punching the third-floor button.

  As she clutched the makeshift knife tightly, her heart hammered a violent rhythm against her chest. What was she thinking? What did she plan on doing when the elevator reached its destination? How could she protect herself and Dan with a letter opener?

  Terror circled high and tight in her chest. She heard roaring, but she could not tell if it was the memories of the past or the slamming of her own pulse through her veins.

  The elevator reached the second floor. Waves of sensation rippled through her, leaving her nauseous and shaking. It was dark save for the weak lighting and the gleam of the buttons marking her ascent. Shadows crowded her vision, and she thought she might pass out. Then the elevator would deliver her unconscious into the hands of her enemy. Breathe, Angela. Keep breathing.

  What had she done? Whoever was on the top floor would be waiting for her inevitable arrival. Waiting and ready.

  She reached for the buttons to hit the emergency stop, to reconsider, but the machine was already making its way to the third floor.

  What if Dan was...?

  She swallowed hard. God help me, she tried to say, but the words stayed stuck in the mire of her fear. There was only terror, which had begun to override her senses.

  The letter opener trembled in her hand, and the metal walls seemed to close in on her. She realized she was pressed against the back elevator wall, breath shallow and rapid, palms ice-cold.

  Ding.

  The elevator doors slid open. She did not move. Through the gap she could see nothing but a darkened office, empty and quiet. Her hand jerked toward the close-door button. Run, get away, live, her body screamed.

  But Dan?

  Where was he? Could she flee and leave him there? Would he die like Julio for getting involved with her?

  In a rush, on trembling legs, she stepped out into the office.

  She listened over the roaring of the blood through her veins. The elevator doors slid closed behind her. Cut off now. No escape the way she had come.

  It was silent at first.

  Then the squeak of metal. She edged forward past a cubicle where there stood an empty exam chair. Trays of dental tools, wrapped and sterile sat waiting for the next patient. She passed a second cubicle, also empty. The squeak sounded again, louder.

  In the far corner of the office was a final cubicle. It was dark and quiet, save for a soft scuffling coming from that space. In vain she listened for the sound of approaching sirens. Forcing in a breath, she willed her feet to move closer. Each step drove the fear to new heights.

  Help him, Angela. Help Dan.

  One more step and she peeked in the cubicle.

  Dan was slumped in a chair, someone bending over him. He was unresponsive, injured in some way, perhaps bound?

  “Don’t touch him,” she ordered.

  The bending figure straightened. It was Peter Gruber.

  “The police are almost here,” she said. “Get away from him.”

  Peter’s face remained expressionless, but he held up his hands, palms toward her, and did as she asked. Keeping a close watch on Peter, she edged closer to Dan and grabbed his shoulder.

  “Dan?”

  He groaned and stirred. She could see a developing bruise on his cheekbone. Hurt but alive. The relief almost choked her.

  Peter leaned on the edge of his desk, watching her. He was taller than his brother; his thinning hair was on its way to matching Harry’s bald dome. Everything from the shape of the nose to the cock of the head marked them as siblings.

  She wished her hands were not shaking so badly. “What did you do to him?”

  “I pulled him into the office, and he smacked his head on the desk. I was about to check his pupils when you arrived.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “I work here. Why are you here?” A hint of anger threaded through. “I thought you were some derelict trying to break into the office. That’s why I yanked open the door and grabbed Dan. You shouldn’t be here.”

  Dan groaned again and opened one eye. Blinking, he shook his head. “Angela?”

  She squeezed his shoulder. “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” He touched his cheekbone gingerly, eyeing Peter. “You could have just opened the door and asked what we were doing.”

  “And you could have called on the phone and arranged to speak to me like a normal person.”

  “We’ve got reasons not to trust you,” Dan said. “You were driving past Cora’s house earlier, scaring her.”

  “I was being cautious. Lots of kids in the streets. You’ve got to be careful with kids.”

  “What were you doing in Harry’s truck?” she said.

  “I help my brother out doing deliveries when I can. Clean his teeth, too.” A hint of a smile. “I’m a dentist, you know.” He said to her, waving a hand around. “Hence the dental office.”

  She still clung to the letter opener. There was no way she was going to trust Peter Gruber any more than she trusted Harry.

  Torrey and another officer pounded up the stairs, hands on their guns. Breathing hard, Torrey crossed the floor. “What’s going on?”

  “I came to check on something. Heard what I thought was an intruder,” Dan said.

  “They sneaked up the stairwell and I figured it was a burglar.” Peter shrugged. “I knocked him off his feet and dragged him into the office and slammed the door.” He smirked. “I think I defended myself pretty handily against two people breaking and entering.”

  “It wasn’t breaking and entering. I have a key,” Dan said.

  Torrey lowered his gun. “Working on a Sunday, Dr. Gruber?”

  Peter shrugged.

  “And you, Dr. Blackwater? Decided to put in a few hours tidying up some paperwork?”

  Dan stared at Peter. “I guess we’re both hard workers.”

  “I guess so,” Peter
said.

  Gruber did not look in the least nonplussed. “About time you got here, Torrey,” he said.

  “Came as soon as we got the call.”

  Angela glanced at the paper shredder and the file next to it with the neat label Guzman. “Why were you shredding this file?”

  She heard a soft sound behind her, the turning of a knob as the door to a small storage room opened.

  She gasped in shock when Lila Brown stepped out.

  “He wasn’t,” she said. “I was.”

  * * *

  Dan tried hard to focus in spite of the pain throbbing in his face. Lila was dressed in baggy clothes a couple sizes too big for her. She was pale, lips chapped.

  “Why did you run from the hospital?”

  “I got tired of being there. Checked myself out,” she said.

  “That’s not true.” Angela put down the letter opener she was holding. “Someone sent you flowers and a lock of hair in an envelope.”

  “Are we back to that again?” Torrey said.

  Lila stood stiffly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “It was the Grubers, wasn’t it?” Angela said. “They’re trying to scare you. Are they threatening to hurt your son?”

  “My son is nobody’s business but mine.” Lila snatched the file from Angela’s hand. “I checked myself out. I resigned my job here, so I came to tidy up. Dr. Gruber was here working, too. He...persuaded me not to quit.”

  “How did he do that?” Angela said. “By scaring you?”

  Peter’s face remained expressionless, but his eyes hardened like two flints. “By offering her a raise. She’s a good employee. I don’t want to lose her.”

  Angela picked up the folder. “And this file? You just happen to be shredding Tank’s information? The day after you were begging him not to meet with me? I heard you on the phone—remember?”

  “You misunderstood.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Someone tried to blow you up,” Dan said. “Lila, if you’re scared, let us help you.”

  “Or the cops,” Torrey said. “That’s what we’re paid to do.”

  “I’m fine,” she said. “I just want to be left alone.”