No Place Like Home - A Camilla Randall Mystery (The Camilla Randall Mysteries)

by Allen, Anne R.

  Doria tried to smile. She looked around her. She could see the path back to the main part of the camp, and heard the children's voices. It wasn't far if she had to make a run for it.

  Joey kept on. "Of course, if I was going to kill anybody it would be that Bonzo. Every time I get settled someplace nice, he comes along to mess it up. If somebody popped him, my life would be a whole lot easier. "

  Doria's stomach tightened. Ronzo was missing. Just like Tom. That's what Marvin said last night.

  She kept seeing the image of Joey coming out of the willows with his shovel.

  What if that hadn't been a raccoon he was burying?

  She didn't know this man Hobo Joe. She knew Joey Torres, an idealistic kid who hadn't existed for forty years.

  She might very well have spent last night in the arms of a murderer.

  Chapter 76—Doria's Biggest Fan

  Plant looked as if he might explode. Or maybe hit Marvin with his coffee mug.

  "Camilla, are you and Marvin saying that Dorothy—the woman who helped Silas cook that lamb last night with Doria Windsor's recipe—that was the real Doria Windsor? Are you sure?"

  "I'm not—exactly." I hardly knew what to say. "I mean, I guess Marvin knows if it's his dress or not."

  Marvin showed Plant the Manners Doctor dress Dorothy had been wearing.

  "And you think Doria Windsor took this dress?" Plant's voice still held a lot of skepticism.

  Marvin sighed. "I know she was in my house recovering from a tummy tuck and her own suit was at the dry cleaner, so yes, I think it's pretty likely. I might have done the same thing. She obviously had tired of my hospitality. I must admit to being a terrible cook. And I did feed her a lot of Jell-O. But I thought she liked the Jell-O. She said she did."

  "Why was she at your house?" I finally managed to ask the obvious question. "Are you a friend of hers?"

  Marvin shook his head sadly.

  "Well, I thought we were friends, but who knows what goes on in her airy little head. I rescued her. She was sleeping in the garage of the burnt-down house. Totally down and out. On Oxycontin and who knows what else. She told me somebody had stolen her car and I took her at her word. I've always adored her. A total fan. Have you seen my house? It's all Doria's designs."

  Fandom could easily go over the line into creepiness. Maybe that's why Doria left.

  "Why didn't you tell the authorities she was still alive?" Plant said. "They've spent millions trying to get her body out of the ocean."

  Marvin sighed. "You know how I feel about 'the authorities', Plantagenet. Besides, Doria wanted to wait until she was in good health to announce her 'resurrection' as she put it. She was planning to talk to lawyers and that sort of thing. She had money somewhere. Jewelry she was going to sell. She wanted to look her best before she appeared in the media. I'm sure you understand the dangers of not being prepared for that, Camilla."

  I gave him a stony look. The pictures of me on Ronzo's blog had not been flattering.

  Plant gave a huffy snort. "Marvin, do you have any idea how many laws you've broken? We probably all have. She's a known fugitive."

  "Not known to us," I said. I didn't want Plant to start throwing blame around. "She told us her name was Dorothy Castelo. She was totally disguised. Anyway, how can a dead person be a known fugitive?"

  Plant dithered. "I don't know if we should go looking for her or call the police. Do you suppose she might be wandering around, having a morning constitutional or whatever?"

  Marvin jumped up. "Don't call the police, for God's sake. What would you say? 'Oh, officer, a dead woman came to our house last night and cooked lamb, and didn't stay for breakfast.' You're the one who would get arrested."

  Plant leaned against the granite counter, glaring over his coffee cup. "What do you suggest we do, then, Marvin?"

  "I suggest we try to find Ronzo, who may very well be in the clutches of Doria's husband, who I am convinced is not dead. In fact, he may have snatched Doria from this very house. He probably knows the layout, if he ever visited here."

  "Harry here? No he never visited our house." Plant looked a bit disgusted at the suggestion. "He had no interest in our property, which relieved Silas…well, except the motel near Ragged Point. He kept hammering Silas to sell him those grungy old cabins. Silas wouldn't sell for sentimental reasons, even though I kept telling him he should. Harry was offering way over market value. But I suppose he would have paid in phony securities. So it's probably good Silas won that fight…"

  "The Raggedy Inn?" Marvin grinned and his eyes widened. "Oh, my God. I forgot Silas owns the old Raggedy Inn!"

  "We prefer the 'Ragged Point Motor Hotel and Cabins'." Plant's tone had a touch of sarcasm. "It used to be quite charming, back in the 1940s and 50s, Silas tells me. It has a nice little beach for swimming. We go up sometimes in the summer. But the buildings are pretty much in ruins and the road washes out every winter. Plus it's on well water. Silas would have to get a water permit to rebuild, and those can take decades. Harry was insane to want to buy it. Especially for the price he was offering."

  "Nobody lives there?" Marvin sprang from his chair. "That's where he is. Don't you see?"

  "You think Harry Sharkov is alive and hiding out at Silas's old motel?" I could see Plant's brain wheels turning. "But that road is private. There's a big iron gate. You couldn't get most vehicles past it. What kind of car was your Fantasia driving?"

  "A boat." Marvin's expression got businesslike. "I'll bet that's where Ronzo went in his kayak. Maybe some fisherman spotted Fantasia's boat up there." He looked at me. "Can I talk you two into doing a little kayaking? I know where we can rent some…"

  Plant stood. "I hate to admit it, but you're making sense, Marvin. What do you say, Camilla? A nice morning of paddling along the coast?"

  The truth is the ocean terrifies me. Luckily I had a couple of very good excuses.

  I held up my bandaged arm. "One-armed kayakers don't get very far. Besides, I have a business to run."

  Plant came back to the here and now. "Sorry. Of course, and…"

  "…And I've got to get ready," I said, finishing his thought. "I have a feeling my lovely new employee Dorothy Castelo probably won't be showing up for work."

  Chapter 77—Lucky and Co.

  Doria couldn't let go of the thought that Joey might have killed Tom. Ronzo too.

  She had to make a move. Lickity split.

  She'd be an idiot to stay a minute longer with a man who admitted he wanted to kill two people.

  Two people who were now missing.

  If Joey had killed Tom and Ronzo, he would think nothing of killing her.

  Who knew—he could be preparing to dig her grave with that shovel right now. It would be the perfect crime, since nobody knew she was alive except Marvin, and he probably wanted her dead, too.

  She could hear the people in the camp more clearly now. Somebody shouted to Tyler that he'd be late for school. Normal human life was going on only a few yards away.

  When Joey went for his "shovel break," she decided to go. Just go. Run. She'd figure out a plan later.

  She scurried down the path through the willows. She didn't have time to get her purse out of the tent. She'd have to leave the Oxy behind.

  Great. Lucky wouldn't have a reason to kick her out.

  Better to live with pain than a murderer.

  She strode into the camp and was immediately greeted by a rapturous Toto. She picked him up and petted him.

  "Hi everybody," she said with careful friendliness. "Good to see you!"

  Lucky, who'd been tending a Coleman stove, walked over to Doria and looked her in the eye.

  "Dorothy, right?"

  Dorothy nodded.

  "You sober?"

  "As a Mormon judge." Doria beamed Lucky a big smile she hoped didn't look too phony. "I wanted to say hello. You and Bucky helped me a lot last week. I wanted to thank you. I stayed at Joey's campsite last night. We're old pals from high school."

 
; "Ya don't say," said Lucky, looking her up and down. "You look a lot more together than you did last week, that's for sure. You need a shower?"

  This was an odd question from a woman whose hair looked as if birds had been nesting in it, but Doria answered politely that a shower was always welcome.

  "Get in the van then," Lucky said. "Bucky's taking folks into the Day Center on Prado Road. They got breakfast, too. And you can use the phone if you're looking for a job."

  "Actually, I have a job." The words came out almost before Doria realized her wonderful luck. She did have a job. Working for Camilla in that little store. If she could only get there. Camilla would ask why she hadn't spent the night up at the house, but she'd think up some story on the way.

  "Oh yeah. Where?" Lucky looked skeptical.

  "In Morro Bay. In a bookstore."

  "Well la-di-da," said Lucky. "Yeah, you and Joey are two of a kind. He's got his whole damned tent filled with those books."

  Young Tyler emerged from a tent, carrying a backpack, looking neatly groomed, dressed in jeans and a tee-shirt like any normal kid going to school.

  "Are you riding to school in the van?" Doria asked.

  "Na." Tyler rushed past her toward the path to the road. "The school bus stops up on Edna Valley Road. Gotta go."

  A man's voce called from the tent. "Got your arithmetic homework, son?"

  Tyler looked stricken, ducked in and came back with a couple of sheets of paper and ran off.

  A weary-looking man came out after him. One side of his face was scarred and his left hand and arm were missing up to the elbow.

  "He's a good kid," the man said. "A great kid. And he's a whiz at math. I don't know how I got so lucky."

  'Lucky' wasn't exactly the way Doria would describe the man. But she supposed luck was relative.

  Bucky's voice boomed from the other side of camp. "The shower express is heading for Prado, folks. All aboard!"

  Dorothy walked toward the van.

  "Hey Dorothy—where are you going?"

  Joey emerged from the willows.

  Doria froze. Did he know what she suspected? She fought the urge to run into the van and pretend she didn't hear him.

  "You're gonna leave?" His voice was full of hurt.

  Her heart gave a lurch. What if he was innocent? Was she going to abandon this man again, the same way she had forty years ago?

  "Let the lady get a shower, Joe," Lucky said. "For goodness' sake, she's only going in to Prado."

  Joey ran to Doria and grabbed her hand, pulling her back as she tried to get up into the van. He gave her a look that nearly broke her heart. He knew she wasn't coming back.

  "Don't leave, Dorothy," he said. "I can't lose you again."

  Chapter 78—Rat Bastard

  I had no idea how I was going to get the store ready for customers. The place was a mess, in spite of the work the two Jens did before they left yesterday evening.

  And Dorothy. Dorothy had offered such remarkable help.

  Especially for a dead woman.

  That was all so hard to believe. Marvin/Marva's revelations seemed so outrageous. But there was enough truth I found it hard to dismiss them.

  And Plant, poor Plant, had agreed to go sleuthing with him. I guess his curiosity about Doria and Harry was strong enough that he'd decided he could put up with Marvin for a day of kayaking. I had no idea what they thought they'd find. Ronzo on some beach with a missing prostitute and Harry the Shark? And maybe old Tom? It all seemed preposterous.

  I needed an employee. Shelving and dusting one-handed was a long, tedious job.

  But I'd better get used to it. This was my store now—or at least the paperwork had started to make it mine, and this was going to be my life for some time.

  At a quarter to ten, somebody started knocking on the front door. Hard. Three strong raps and then three more. I wasn't ready for customers yet, but figured if people wanted a book, I should accommodate them. Who knows, I could have a repeat of yesterday. Who knew how long a reach Ronzo's blog had?

  I opened the door and in waltzed Dorothy.

  Or Doria Windsor.

  Or whoever she was.

  She wore no make-up, but her hair looked fluffy and recently blown dry. She wore an oddly masculine-looking navy jogging suit, but lots of older women wore those suits everywhere. Not a trend I particularly liked, but it was totally normal.

  I guess I was staring. I caught myself and tried to smile.

  "You were expecting me, weren't you?" Dorothy spoke in conversational tone of voice. "I thought you said I would officially start at ten this morning."

  "I did," I said. "But that was before you disappeared into the night. What happened to you?"

  Dorothy picked up a pile of books and started shelving them. She talked over her shoulder in a breezy tone.

  "Oh, I like an early morning walk. Then I took the bus into town so I could shower."

  This sounded almost plausible, so I let myself believe for the moment she might not be the woman Marvin thought was Doria Windsor. I wondered if the jogging suit she wore was one of Plant's she'd found in the closet. It looked a bit familiar. It was odd she would have Marvin's Manners Doctor outfit, though. Maybe she'd been fooling Marvin all along, and Marvin had been feeding Jell-O to a perfect stranger.

  Whoever she was, it was great to have her. The customers started parading in—not like yesterday, but way more than I would have been able to handle on my own. We didn't even have time for a lunch break until after two, when I sent Doria to the corner deli for some fish tacos.

  Just as she arrived with a bag smelling of red snapper and garlicky pico de gallo that nearly made me drool, a couple came in, laughing and holding hands, looking like honeymooners. They asked for the travel section. As I was helping them find local tour books, I thought of Ronzo—the one I met and trusted, not the blogger who had humiliated me.

  I did want to know what happened to him after he talked to that fisherman.

  Maybe Dorothy and I should read that notebook of his.

  When the honeymooners left, I asked if she'd like to get her purse so we could try some more decoding of Ronzo's Gregg shorthand over lunch.

  She looked stricken. "My purse? My purse is…I didn't bring it today. Are you sure that notebook is in there? I…"

  Poor Dorothy looked as if she might cry. Maybe it was hunger. I told her there was no problem and it could wait. She seemed so upset, I sent her into the back room for some coffee.

  A moment later, I heard a horrific scream. The sort of scream you hear from women in movies who have found the latest victim of a grisly serial killer.

  I rushed back, terrified she'd found the dismembered Tom in the fridge. Or Marvin's "girl". Or Ronzo. Or all three.

  But instead, I saw nothing but Dorothy, collapsed onto a pile of unopened book boxes, staring at the old fashioned phone-answering machine—an ancient plastic thing that still used little cassettes to record phone messages.

  "The light…" she said in a choked whisper. "The red light was flashing. I thought I should listen—to see if it was important." Dorothy's face looked fragile and lined, as if she'd aged in the past few minutes.

  "Are you okay?" I asked. "Do you need a doctor?"

  She shook her head. "It's him. Your Ronzo."

  "Ronzo called? He left me a message?"

  What an idiot. Why hadn't I checked the stupid store machine? I relied on my cell so much, I assumed nobody would call the landline. I pressed the button to replay the message. It had come in on Tuesday, when I was still in the hospital. Whatever it said would be old news.

  Dorothy nodded. "He says…Harry is alive. And he's got a girl with him, the rat bastard."

  Ronzo's voice started to play—

  "Camilla, did you get my call last night? I guess you're mad. Like I said, I lost my iPhone in…kind of a bar fight. I'm calling from a public booth. I'm up in San Simeon. I'm going out with some guys who've got a couple of kayaks. They're waiting." Ronzo spoke in
a raspy whisper. "You gotta call Skinner. His number is in my blue notebook. Tell him I heard stories from some fishermen out in the bars last night. They've seen Fantasia's dad's boat. And they've seen Harry. I'm pretty sure it's him. Harry Sharkov and the girl. He's alive, hanging with a bunch of dangerous-looking dudes. South Americans, maybe. Tell Skinner I'll be in touch."

  The earlier call followed, from Monday night.

  "Camilla, it's Ronzo. Lost my cell, so I don't have your number. I got in a fight. Kinda. Drunk fishermen can be pretty tough on a guy with a Jersey accent. I hope you'll come by the motel. I stopped at the store, but it was closed. Looked like something weird went down. Let me know if you're okay."

  Dorothy was still huffing and puffing as if she'd been in a bar fight too.

  "Are you okay, Dorothy? Or I guess I should say Doria?"

  It was pretty obvious by her reaction that she was indeed Harry Sharkov's wife.

  She fought to catch her breath.

  "South Americans. I thought it might be those damned Colombians. That makes sense. I even thought maybe they'd started the fire. Harry went down to Colombia twice in the past few months, and he didn't even tell me until he got back. He said it had something to do with his crazy boat business."

  "What crazy boat business?"

  "Submarines. Personal submarines—for like, two people and a crew. Insane. I told him I couldn't think of anything closer to Hell than being stuck underwater…"

  "Narco-subs?"

  I'd seen a special on those things on the local news. They were being built in the depths of the Colombian jungle to ferry narcotics and arms for terrorists.

  "Yes. They're totally down-market now, but Harry wanted to make luxury ones—for celebrities to travel secretly. I guess they use ordinary engines and leave very little wake…Harry wanted—" She stopped herself. "Harry wants. He's still alive, the bastard!"