“Good attitude,” Dirk said. “And when she’s working at living instead of working at working, where does she do that?”
“Huh?”
“Where does she hang out?” Savannah clarified.
“Oh, that’s easy. If she’s not here or at home, she’s at Coconut Joe’s.”
Chapter
21
“Hey, déjà vu all over again,” Dirk said as he and Savannah walked through the swinging doors of Coconut Joe’s for the second time that night. “Are you gonna order enough piña coladas again to put me in the poorhouse?”
Savannah put a hand on her abdomen and groaned. “I may never drink again. That seabreeze didn’t settle well on top of the other ones. Too much acid, I guess.”
“Good.”
“Unless you irritate me with your cheapness, son, and then I might order some Dom Perignon just for spite.”
“You order something like fancy-ass champagne, you’ll be washing glasses until dawn to pay for it. No way the captain’s gonna reimburse me out of petty cash for an expenditure like that!”
Savannah stopped and whirled around to face him. “Are you telling me, that after all the bellyaching you’ve done about buying me donuts and coffee, you’ve been dipping into the station’s petty cash to pay for it?”
“No, of course not. I just...”
Dirk was a lousy liar. Not to perps; he could lie to them all day and never break a sweat, but lying on a personal level... he couldn’t pull it off.
“Your tongue’s going to turn black and fall out one of these days, Coulter,” she said.
“Yeah, and my nose is going to grow and I won’t get my honesty badge in Girl Scouts. I’ve heard it all before.”
They had to duck and dodge through the crowd, which was at least twice as thick as before, just to get to the bar. But fortunately, once they were there, they found two empty stools together at one end.
Sitting down, Dirk motioned to the bartender. “A couple of colas here,” he said, “and pass a bowl of those nibble things down here, too.”
The barkeep wasn’t impressed. He slid their sodas and the pretzel dish in front of them, collected Dirk’s six bucks and twenty-five-cent tip, and turned his back on them.
“That’s it,” Savannah hissed in his ear. “Piss off the bartender, the fount of all local folklore, before we even get started.”
“Who needs him now? We know who we’re looking for.”
“Oh, yeah? What does Elizabeth Fortunato look like? Unless she drives through the front doors in her BMW, we might have a little difficulty picking her out of the crowd.”
“Not me. I know exactly what she looks like.”
“What?”
“She’s a babe.”
“A babe? And you know this how?”
“While you were busy making goo-goo eyes and telling that kid all those lies about how you and me are getting hitched and needing a honeymoon cottage, I was looking around the office there.”
“And?”
“There was a picture of her hanging on the wall. She was getting handed some sort of award thing by the Santa Tesla Chamber of Commerce or some such nonsense. And she’s a babe.”
“You want to be a little more specific?”
“Not necessarily. I’ll point her out to you.”
“She’s here?”
“Not yet.”
Savannah snorted and popped a couple of mini-pretzels into her mouth. “I hate it when you’re smug.”
“Now, now, don’t insult your bridegroom right before the wedding. It’ll sour our honeymoon.”
Savannah took a sip from her cola and turned to the guy seated on the stool next to hers. He looked like he had just washed up on the beach with some flotsam. He wore a faded tie-dyed shirt and peace beads around his neck. His hair hung in limp strands down his back and into his eyes, which were suspiciously bloodshot. The distinctive odor of marijuana drifted about him like a cloud.
Some guys just had a hard time finding their way out of the sixties.
“Hi,” she said to him. “Come here often?”
He focused on her with an effort, then grinned broadly with yellowed teeth, as though unable to believe his luck. “Yeah,” he said. “I do. I practically live here. How about you?”
“I live in a house.”
“But you’re here tonight.”
“How observant of you! And since you’re so perceptive, may I ask you if you’ve seen a friend of mine?”
“Is she as pretty as you?”
“Oh, some say much prettier. On a good day, she looks like Marilyn Monroe.”
Mr. Sixties began nodding his head so vigorously she thought he might tumble off his stool. “I have seen her! I’ve seen your friend. She was here.”
“When?”
“I don’t remember exactly, but not too long ago. Maybe last night or the night before, or... I don’t know, but she was here. Sat right over there on the other side of the room and drank martinis. We were all checking her out.”
“And did anybody talk to her?”
“I didn’t. She was with somebody.”
Savannah could feel Dirk leaning against her, straining to hear every word. She could even feel his warm breath on her neck. Now who was working the room, huh?
“Who was she with?”
“This other really good-looking girl. A pretty brunette. I think she sells real estate.”
“And the two of them were talking, drinking together?”
“Yeah, for an hour at least. Then they left together.”
Savannah turned to Dirk, a smugger than smug look on her face. “And that,” she said, “is what you can find out when you don’t alienate them in the first five seconds of meeting them.” But he didn’t look rebuked, chastised, admonished, or the slightest bit humbled.
He still looked obnoxiously satisfied with himself. “See,” he said, “I told you.”
“Told me what?”
“Really good-looking girl? A pretty brunette? Your buddy there just confirmed it: Elizabeth’s a babe.”
He glanced over her shoulder. “And... there she is now.” Savannah turned to see a woman walking into the bar, who was, indeed, a babe—if you were attracted to shapely brunettes with stunning smiles.
Not exactly her type, but she could see why Dirk and the old hippie were impressed. She also noticed that at least two dozen of the other male patrons were following the newcomer’s every movement as she walked around the bar, greeting almost everyone she passed.
Apparently, Elizabeth Fortunato was a well-known and well-loved citizen of Santa Tesla Island.
Dirk nudged Savannah. “I’ll handle this one.”
“I’m sure you’d love to,” she muttered.
They waited until Elizabeth had sidled up to the bar, ordered a drink, and had it in hand before they fought their way through the crowd to her side.
As he wished, Savannah allowed Dirk to take the lead. He tended to get along better with sexy female realtors than he did with grumpy bank managers and their gargantuan guards.
“Ms. Fortunato?” he said. “Could we please have a private word with you?”
Discreetly, he slipped his badge from his pocket, cupped it in his palms and showed it to her. Elizabeth’s eyes widened. She nodded and motioned toward the back of the room.
Again they swam, like salmon fighting their way upstream, through the mob until they reached the rear of the bar and a single unoccupied booth. Elizabeth slid into one side and Dirk and Savannah into the other.
“What is this about?” Elizabeth said, obviously worried. “Has something bad happened? My family...?”
“No, nothing like that,” Dirk assured her. “It’s nothing to do with you personally. We were just hoping you could help us.”
“And you are...?”
“Detective Sergeant Dirk Coulter, San Carmelita PD, and this is my friend, Savannah Reid. She’s a private investigator who’s helping me with a case I’m working on.”
Elizabeth reached across the table and shook their hands. “What sort of case?”
“Homicide.”
“Oh, wow, that’s serious.”
“About as serious as it gets,” Savannah added.
“Who is the victim?”
“A fellow named Sergio D’Alessandro.”
Elizabeth thought for a moment, then nodded. “I think I read about that in the paper a few days ago. Didn’t he own some sort of exclusive spa or something?”
“Yes,” Savannah said, “the Mystic Twilight spa and another new place called Emerge. You didn’t know him?”
“No. Never heard of him until I read that article in the paper. I thought it said he died of natural causes, though. A heart attack or something.”
“We thought so at first,” Dirk replied. “But now we know differently.”
Elizabeth took a sip of her cosmopolitan and said, “So, why did you come to me? What do I have to do with your investigation?”
“We need to get in touch with someone,” Dirk said, “just to talk to her about a few things. And we think you might have seen her recently.”
“Oh, really? Who?”
“A woman named Suzette Du Bois.”
She shook her head. “No, that doesn’t ring any bells. Sorry.” Savannah said, “She may have been using another name.”
“What does she look like?”
“That’s easy,” Dirk said. “She’s a Marilyn Monroe wanna-be.” Elizabeth caught her breath, reached for her glass and took a long drink before setting it down again.
Savannah watched her carefully. The woman was clearly stalling for time, her mental gears whirring as she considered her answer. “You’ve seen someone like that recently?” Savannah said. “Maybe had some sort of business dealing with her?”
“I might have.” Elizabeth glanced toward the exit door of the bar, then back at them. “Why?”
“Like I said before,” Dirk replied, “we need to talk to her. She’s not a suspect at this time, just a... person of interest.”
A person of interest, my eye, Savannah thought. If Dirk lays hands on the woman she'll be wearing handcuffs for bracelets in a bunny rabbit's heartbeat.
Elizabeth squirmed in her seat, obviously miserable. “I don’t know what to say to you. I own a very successful agency here on the island. I do business with a lot of people.”
“Have you done business with the woman we’re talking about?” Dirk prodded.
“I may have. But people here trust me. Believe it or not, but even in real estate, some of the business I handle is quite personal. I have a reputation for being a discreet person, and I don’t want to damage that by betraying my clients.”
“We’re not asking you to betray anyone,” Savannah told her. “Just give us a hint as to where we might find her.”
Dirk was beginning to lose his patience, hotsy-totsy or not. Savannah could feel him tensing beside her and knew that he was about to switch from solicitous to aggressive and cranky.
Elizabeth took another long, deep drink, and Savannah could see that her hand was shaking. “I may have sold her a house recently.”
Savannah said, “And did she come up with a substantial down payment for the property?”
She nodded.
“Like maybe over three hundred thousand?”
Again, a reluctant nod.
“Must be nice digs,” Dirk said, “if that’s just the down payment.”
Elizabeth didn’t reply.
“And you met her early yesterday morning when she arrived here on the island?” Savannah asked.
“Yes.”
“We thought so. You were seen helping her move boxes from the ferry’s loading dock into your car.” Savannah got a tingling, deep in her belly... the kind she got during an interrogation just before a perp confessed or ratted out a no-good buddy. “Did you take her and her stuff to her new house?”
Suddenly, Elizabeth slid out of the booth, nearly spilling the remainder of her drink. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but I’m a professional. This—this is a big deal for me. There’s a lot of money involved, a large commission that my agency needs right now. And like I said, it’s a small community. The last thing I need is to have word get around the island that I turned over one of my clients to the mainland police.”
“But—” Dirk reached for her arm, but she brushed his hand aside.
“I’ve told you all I can,” she said. “I’ll have to ask you to continue your investigation without me.”
Dirk thrust his card into her hand. “Take this,” he said, “in case you change your mind. Call me any time.”
She wadded the card into a ball in her fist. “I won’t change my mind.”
A moment later, she was gone.
“I’ll betcha she’s laying down rubber getting out of that parking lot,” Savannah said.
Dirk reached for the half-finished cosmo and sighed. “I’m losin’ my touch with the dames, Van. Just ain’t as smooth as I used to be.”
Savannah thought back over the years, remembering a younger Dirk with a lot more hair, a bit less tummy, bigger biceps. A guy with a big heart, but hardly any manners, precious little sensitivity, and hardly a clue about how to deal with the fairer sex... or the rougher one, for that matter. He was just a bear with a Buick, a Smith and Wesson, and a house trailer. That was Dirk Coulter, then and now
She hugged his arm—which still had pretty nice biceps— leaned over, and kissed his cheek. “Ah,” she said, “don’t worry, big guy. You’re ever’ bit as smooth as you ever were.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely.”
As they left Coconut Joe’s and walked out front to catch a taxi, Dirk glanced at his watch. “Oh, shit,” he said.
“What now?” she asked, expecting the worst. And with Dirk, “the worst” could be pretty bad.
“It’s after eleven. We missed the last ferry home.”
“No way!” She looked at her watch. Unfortunately, he was right.
“We’re going to have to stay here tonight.” He groaned. “And the captain’s gonna be madder than hell with me when he finds out he had to pay for a hotel room.”
“Two hotel rooms.”
“One hotel room with two beds.”
“Two hotel rooms. Don’t argue with me, boy. Granny Reid raised me to be a lady.”
“Does she know you pee behind bushes on a stakeout?”
“Ouch, that hurt!”
“I meant for it to.”
“One room with two beds—that’s all I’ve got. Take it or leave it,” said the heavily tattooed, multipierced clerk behind the desk at the island’s only motel with a “vacancy” sign.
They were sure. The taxi had driven them from one end of Santa Tesla to the other looking.
“Come on, Savannah,” Dirk said, tapping his fingers on the countertop. “What other options do we have? It’s after midnight. Everything else is closed. And without a car, it’s not like we can even sleep on the beach.”
“All right, all right,” she said. “But if my Gran ever finds out about this, or any of the guys at the station, you’re deader than a hamburger patty. I mean it.”
The guy behind the counter chewed on his toothpick thoughtfully and gave Dirk a “You ain’t gonna get any, fellow” look. “Gimme the key,” Dirk told him.
“Do you need help with your luggage, sir?” the clerk asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Do you see any suitcases here, smart mouth? Do you?”
The guy grinned and shrugged. “Just asking.”
“This ain’t what it looks like.” Dirk barked as he snatched up the key.
The clerk snickered. “I never thought it was.”
“Hand me your T-shirt, boy, and make it snappy,” Savannah called from the bathroom.
“Why?”
“Because I need something to sleep in and needless to say, I didn’t pack any pajamas.”
“So sleep in the buff.”
“I do not sleep nak
ed.”
“Oh, hell, Van. I won’t look. Just come to bed.”
“It’s not a modesty issue, you nitwit. It’s an earthquake thing.”
“An earthquake thing?”
“Yeah, I haven’t slept nude since the Northridge quake, and I ain’t gonna start tonight, so peel off that T-shirt and hand it here.”
She heard a big sigh, then some trudging steps. Opening the door a crack, she reached her arm out. He shoved the shirt into her hand.
“There. Happy?”
“Moderately.”
She slipped the shirt on and looked around the tiny bathroom, at her panties, bra, and socks drying on the shower rod next to his socks and boxers. She had done the laundry in the sink... his, too, which she felt pretty darned virtuous about.
She spit the minty gum she had been chewing in lieu of a tooth-brushing into the toilet. At the moment, she felt a bit like a she-bear, and it was his fault for not getting her to the ferry on time.
Okay, she admitted, it might be her own fault, too. She had a watch and had also gotten wrapped up in the case and forgotten. Oh well, it couldn’t be helped now.
She turned out the light and stuck her head out of the door. “You decent?”
“I’m in bed and covered up, if that’s what you mean.”
“Yeah, well, stay that way. I don’t want to wake up in the middle of the night and see you traipsing around in the altogether or whatever.”
“If I have to go to the bathroom to take a leak, and I frequently do at night, I just might be traipsing, as you call it, so you just better keep your eyes closed all night.”
She settled between the sheets of the bed next to his and pulled the blanket up to her chin.
The digital display from the nightstand clock cast a sickly green light around the room, enough for her to see that he was lying on his side, his back turned to her, facing the window.
Every now and then a bright light shone on the other side of the curtain, then disappeared just as quickly.
“That’s the lighthouse,” she said softly. “Abigail would love this. She’s crazy about lighthouses. I can see why. They’re really quite romantic when you think about it.”
Corpse Suzette Page 22