Killer Beach Reads

by Gemma Halliday Publishing

  "Alright. I'll call you back as soon as I get the names. It's shouldn't take long. Be careful."

  "Thanks, Mona."

  I disconnected the call and dropped the phone back into my purse.

  "She's going to help?"

  I glanced over at Kelly. "Yeah, she's going to find out what she can and call me back."

  Kelly nodded her head. "You know she'll find out who they are. She's great at what she does. That woman should've been a spy."

  I couldn't argue with her there. I didn't know how Mona got the information I needed, and I wasn't sure I wanted to know. Mona was, and always had been, a bit of a wild woman.

  The GPS told us that we had reached our destination, so I pulled my new black Cadillac up next to the curb and killed the ignition.

  "Nice digs," Kelly said quietly.

  Nice was an understatement. The house was a two-story, redbrick home with black shutters and a wraparound porch with several round pillars supporting a balcony above. The lawn was an immaculate green, flower beds lined the front of the house and flanked a stone pathway leading up to the front steps. A wrought iron fence circled the entire house. The gate stood open.

  "I wonder what she does for a living."

  "Let's find out." I secured my gun in the waist of my jeans against the small of my back, threw my purse strap over my shoulder, and got out of the car.

  "Maybe I should look into getting a gun," Kelly whispered as we made the walk up the stone pathway toward the house.

  "As clumsy as you are, I think we should start you out with a water gun until you get the hang of it."

  "I'm not that bad," she argued.

  "The one and only time I ever took you to the outdoor gun range you shot everyone's target but your own, almost shot me in the foot, and then blew out the tire on the safety instructor's truck proving to me that the safety was on."

  She nibbled her bottom lip to hide a smile. "Okay, maybe a Taser."

  I rolled my eyes. "What do you say we work on getting Mandy out of jail—then we'll talk about you getting your own weapon?"

  She nodded.

  We climbed the porch stairs and were greeted by a woman. She appeared to be in her early- to mid-thirties. She was tall, thin, had crystal blue eyes and long, flowing blonde hair. In other words, she was a much taller, thinner, prettier version of my blonde, barely five-feet tall, slightly round, plain-Jane self.

  "May I help you?"

  I extended my hand. "My name is Barb Jackson and this is my friend Kelly Sears."

  She took my hand. "I'm Wanda Hamilton. What can I help you with?"

  I didn't have time to beat around the bush.

  "I'm a private investigator looking into the death of your ex-husband, Derek Johnson."

  She nodded and frowned. "I wasn't surprised when his captain came to tell me this morning."

  "You weren't?" I asked.

  "Please, come have a seat." She motioned us to a set of wicker patio furniture. We each took a seat and she continued. "Derek loved his job, but he also loved women, the bottle, and gambling. He was a violent drunk and would start a fight with anyone near him."

  "Is that why you divorced him?"

  She nodded. "There were a couple of times that he came home drunk and wanted to fight. He grabbed me, or shoved me, and I was afraid, so I called the police. Naturally, his partner, or one of his buddies, would show up, calm him down, and talk me out of pressing charges."

  "We found in public records where he had been arrested, but we couldn't figure out why it hadn't made the papers," I said.

  Wanda shook her head. "That's because the last two or three times, they did arrest him, but kept everything hush-hush so that the arrests didn't hurt his reputation. He was a great cop but not so much in other areas of his life. I didn't want his reputation as a good cop to be injured, because if he was anything, it was a good cop. I simply wanted out."

  I didn't doubt what she was telling us. It was highly likely that his arrests had gone unnoticed due to a little help from his colleagues.

  Apparently, I was right. Derek had been a saint on the outside and a piranha on the inside.

  "You said he liked to gamble?"

  "And women," she smiled. "Derek's gambling problem was no secret and neither were his affairs."

  "I'm sorry, but you seem quite calm for someone who just found out that her ex-husband was murdered," Kelly said.

  Wanda shook her head, a sad smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Derek and I were a whirlwind." A far away expression lit her eyes. "My father is the owner of Hamilton Hotels."

  That explained the extraordinary house she lived in. Hamilton Hotels were luxury hotels for the über-rich. In other words, I'd only ever seen them as I drove past to get to the Motel Six.

  "My car was rear-ended and Derek was the responding officer. I hadn't been injured and I got the hot cop's number, so it wasn't a bad day for me." She smiled. "We married after only two months of seeing each other, but after about six months it was no secret to anyone that Derek loved my money more than he loved me." She sighed and leaned back in her chair. "I confronted him about large withdrawals he'd made from the bank account. That's when I discovered his gambling, then came the affairs. It wasn't long after that he started coming home drunk. I loved the Derek I met that first day, but as time wore on, and I realized that the love in the relationship had only ever been one-sided, that killed any feelings I'd ever had for him."

  "I'm going to be honest with you, Ms. Hamilton." I took a deep breath. "Our friend and coworker was arrested this morning for Derek's murder."

  Wanda frowned. "Pardon?"

  "She didn't kill Derek. We were with her at the club last night, but she's been arrested. We're working to find who really killed Derek before our friend goes down for a murder that she didn't commit."

  "I see." Her expression softened. "And you're sure your friend didn't kill him?"

  "Positive."

  She relaxed back into her chair. "A detective came to talk to me this morning. Black, I think he said his name was."

  "Detective Black." I confirmed.

  "That's right." She nodded. "I'll tell you what I told him. Derek liked to gamble and drink more than anything else. How he stayed a cop this long, with his problems, I have no idea. The last I heard he was in some trouble with a bookie out of Long End. He came to me about a month ago, asking for a loan. He was drunk and got rough. I told him to go to hell, and that was the last I saw of him."

  "Did you happen to catch the name of the bookie?"

  "Of course," she said. "His name is Dickie Myers."

  "Do you know him?" I asked, leaning forward in my seat. If we could find a reason to suspect someone like a bookie, it would take some of the heat off Mandy. But what we really needed was evidence.

  "Yes," she laughed. "We're not great friends, but we've met several times." She leaned forward and placed her forearms on the table. "I'll let you in on a little secret." Her expression became serious. "In my father's line of work, you meet all sorts of people. Dickie frequents our hotels, especially the one on the strip in Vegas. Dickie has his fingers in a lot of pies and not all of them are legal. He's always been a gentleman to me, probably because he and my father have become friends in recent years, but I'll warn you as I warned Derek, don't cross Dickie."

  CHAPTER SIX

  "What do you think?"

  I steered the car back onto the highway and headed back toward the office. I wasn't sure what I thought. Wanda had been a fountain of information about Derek. She'd given us a solid lead with the Dickie Myers angle, but how far we'd get with it, I had no idea.

  "The bookie is a good angle, but how far will we get with it? It's not as if he'll simply tell us outright that he killed, or had someone kill, Derek."

  Kelly flipped her visor down to block the afternoon sun. "I know that, but we still need to question him. At least ask him about Derek. Wanda said he was a gentleman, perhaps he'll give us something that will help us."

/>   I frowned. Dickie might be a gentleman, but many a gentleman had been known to go off his rocker and commit murder. I didn't put it past a bookie out of Long End to bust a cap in a couple of nosy female private investigators. But, in the end, Kelly was right, and Mandy was depending on us to prove her innocence.

  "I know it's a risk, but I'd like to get a look at Derek's place."

  Kelly looked at me as if I'd peed in her favorite shoes. "Are you crazy? Surely his place is crawling with cops, or family, and you want to search the place?"

  I shrugged. "Mona hasn't called back with the names of the witnesses, and at this point, we don't have any other leads. We have Derek's home address from our search on him this morning. We'll just drive by, and if no one is there, I'll stop and take a look around. You don't even have to come in. You can keep lookout."

  She didn't look any more relieved at the idea of being a lookout but waved her hand in the air. "Okay, fine, whatever you think is best. I'll be your lookout. But you go in and come right back out. I can't deal with you and Mandy both being in jail."

  Kelly keyed Derek's address into the GPS and within five minutes we were parked outside a small apartment complex downtown. The building looked respectable enough. What lawn there was appeared well-manicured, the building was covered in a fresh coat of white paint, and the parking lot was new.

  "The sign on the manager's office is flipped to closed, so questioning him is out." I grumbled. "I was hoping to talk to him."

  "I don't see any cops," Kelly said as she peered around the building.

  I fished a pair of rubber gloves out of my purse and shoved them into my pocket. "There's a possibility that they didn't come here. I mean, he wasn't killed here, and they have Mandy in custody, so why would they still search the place?"

  Kelly shrugged. "I guess you're right. According to this," Kelly looked at the paper she held, "His apartment is the next to last one on the left." She pointed to the apartment door on the second level.

  I secured my gun against my back in the waist of my pants. The cold metal gave me a sense of security. "I'll be out in five minutes." I got out of the car and closed the door.

  "What if there's trouble?"

  I leaned down and looked in the driver's side window. "Hope there isn't."

  Kelly gaped at me. "You've got to be kidding me," I heard her call out behind me in disbelief as I jogged across the parking lot and climbed the stairs leading up to the second floor balcony. The laughter of children playing at a nearby park sounded faintly on the air as I made my way to the apartment Kelly had indicated.

  There was the possibility that some of Derek's family, or possibly a girlfriend, were inside, so instead of letting myself in, I knocked on the door and waited. When no one answered, I pulled a rubber glove out of my pocket, slipped it on, and wiggled the doorknob.

  Locked.

  I glancing around me discreetly then reached into my pocket and pulled out my trusty lock pick set. I stood close to the knob, slid the long metal pieces into the lock and wiggled them about.

  I wasn't the best at picking a lock, but desperate times call for desperate measures. It seemed like eternity before I heard the telltale sound of the lock disengaging. A sigh of relief slid past my lips as I twisted the knob and let myself in.

  Once the door was closed behind me, I pressed my back against it. The apartment was shrouded in darkness with the exception of the light over the kitchen island. Apparently Derek had left it on the last time he was here. Its light spilled over the dark hardwood. I stepped deeper into the apartment and peered around. The furniture, from what I could see, was a rich chocolate brown, with matching dark wood side tables. The curtains were a matching tan, and there was a thick throw rug scattered before the sofa. Derek's apartment was nice, and surprisingly clean.

  Say what you will about our dead guy, he had good taste.

  I hurried past the living area and down the hallway toward what I hoped was the bedroom. The first door on the left that I passed was open. I peeked inside to find the guest bathroom. The next door was open and obviously a guest bedroom.

  The last door was at the end of the hallway and was shut, which obviously made it the master bedroom. If there was anything here to help me figure out who killed Derek, it had to be in there.

  I twisted the knob, pushed the door open slowly, and slipped inside. The room was dark. I could only make out the faint shapes of the bed and nightstand.

  Against my better judgment, and at the risk of someone seeing a light on in the dead guy's apartment, I felt along the wall and flicked the light switch. Bright light filled the room. I blinked my eyes until they adjusted to the sudden change in light, then took in my surroundings.

  The theme in the bedroom was the same as the living area. The bed was king-sized, solid wood, and decorated with a chocolate brown linens and comforter set. The nightstands were dark wood and topped with an ornate lamp with a beige shade. There was an entertainment center with a large television, and beneath, several books lined one of the shelves.

  I knelt down to read the titles. Most of the books were about either guns or gambling, or crime novels.

  Standing, I moved toward the dresser and began pulling out drawers. There had to be something in this place to give me some clue as to who killed him. The first drawer was nothing but socks, underwear, and gym shorts. I felt around but found nothing.

  I slid the drawer back into place and pulled out the second and found T-shirts and gym shorts.

  I felt through the next two drawers but came up empty. I slid the drawer closed angrily, then hurried to the nightstand. After rifling through them both and coming up empty-handed my head began to hurt. Too many thoughts, too much stress, and not enough time. I pinched the bridge of my nose, counted to ten, then took a deep breath.

  The only place left to search was the closet. I hurried over to the closet door, flicked on the light, and stepped inside.

  Jeans, winter clothing, jackets, and coats hung in order on one side of the closet while boots, tennis shoes, and a couple of smaller boxes sat atop a shelf along the opposite wall.

  I'm a short girl, and there was no way I was going to be able to reach those boxes. I searched around and spotted a step stool shoved off in a corner. In a hurry, I grabbed it, climbed up to the top rung and grabbed the two boxes.

  I pulled the top off of one and was completely let down to find nothing more than a new pair of running shoes. I hastily replaced the lid, then went to work opening the second box.

  Bingo.

  I gently removed what appeared to be Derek's gun. I sat the gun aside. The only other item in the box was a little black book. I pulled it out and flipped through the pages.

  I was just replacing the gun when a car horn sounded.

  I knew right away that it was Kelly.

  I shoved the gun back into the box, tossed the boxes back onto the shelf, then slid the stepladder back into place. Stuffing the book into the waist of my jeans under my T-shirt, I hit the light switches and ran from the bedroom to the door. Once there, I eased the door open, peered out the crack at the parking lot below, and spotted the biggest hunk of trouble possible.

  Tyler. And he was talking to Kelly.

  His back was to the apartment, and Kelly was doing her best to keep him engaged.

  What were my choices? Hide in the apartment, and hope Tyler didn't find me, or confront him and let him know that I'd just broken into a murder victim's apartment. Neither one sounded good to me. My brain was working in overdrive when I spotted the building manager's office at the bottom of the stairs.

  I sprinted across the balcony, down the stairs, and slid into the office as quietly as possible.

  "May I help you?"

  "Um, yes." I tried to calm my voice. "I'm looking for the building manager."

  The young lady behind the desk smiled at me and shook her head. "I'm sorry, but Mr. Jacobs isn't here. I'm just filling in taking messages until he gets back. I'm Lucy. I do some maid service for s
ome of the tenants."

  Maid service, huh? Perhaps she did some maid service for Derek?

  "Did you happen to work for the guy in 22B?"

  She nodded. "It's sad what happened to him." She shook her head. "I didn't work for him long though. Just a couple of months." She flipped her long black hair over her shoulder. "Why?"

  She smiled kindly at me, but her dark brown eyes were assessing.

  "I'm a private investigator. Barb Jackson." I held out my hand. "I'm looking into Mr. Johnson's murder. Did you see anything odd concerning Mr. Johnson recently?"

  "Like what?"

  "Maybe someone visiting his apartment that you've never seen before. Had he argued with anyone? Anything that stuck out to you?"

  She pursed her lips and shrugged. "No. Derek was a nice guy. He had women over. Often." She rolled her eyes.

  "How often did you work for him?"

  "Couple of times a week and on Saturday afternoons. That's the only time I ever cleaned while he was home."

  The bell over the door chimed. I didn't have to turn around to know who was standing behind me. If I hadn't already seen Tyler in the parking lot, the expression of lustful appreciation on Lucy's face would've been a dead giveaway.

  "Barb."

  Turning on my heel, I faced him and smiled sweetly. "Tyler."

  "May I speak to you outside? Excuse us a moment," he said to Lucy. She shrugged one shoulder and retook her seat behind the counter.

  He took my elbow and led me outside. The sun shone down on us. I held my hand up to shield my eyes.

  "What are you doing here?" he scowled down at me. I could see the vein in the side of his neck ticking.

  "Talking to Lucy. What are you doing here?"

  His frown deepened. "Did you go into Derek's apartment?"

  "Did you?" I deflected the question.

  "Stop it, Barb. I know you, and I know you'll do whatever it takes to prove your friend innocent, but you need to stop and let me do my job."

  He gazed down at me, and his expression softened. "I don't want to see you get hurt, Barb."

  "Is there something you're not telling me?" That feeling of unease flitted through my gut. He was definitely keeping something from me.