by L. J. Parker
The big SUV’s brakes squealed; it snaked to the left in a short spin that clipped the Explorer’s rear bumper. Cassie heard a plastic crack! and pushed harder into the headrest anticipating being spun into something that would trigger the airbag.
The Explorer lurched a couple feet clockwise from the impact, but Cassie wasn’t going fast enough to be forced all the way to the curb. It was actually easy to get straight again, even on the wet surface, and that was an education in Coastal driving. In Vegas it would have been impossible to stop; pollution from car exhaust collects for months in the cracks and crevices of the streets, then rises to the top on those rare occasions when it rains, and turns the surface into oily slime.
The SUV straightened in the lane beside her. Cassie could see the silhouette of the driver’s head and shoulders through the dark window glass. Her stomach clamped into a knot as he raised his hand to show his third finger; he could have pulled a gun and blown her head off and nobody would have seen him.
His message delivered, he jammed his accelerator and snaked back and forth a couple times, wheels spinning with a high pitch whine, and finally got himself straight enough to leave.
Cassie peered through the windshield trying to read the Texas license plate as he drove away, but the numbers blurred through the curtain of rain. It was a Lincoln Navigator, she could see that much, but only for a couple seconds.
She sat there a bit longer trying to calm her heart. Then a new realization crept in -- the signal light three blocks behind had just changed from red to green; she needed to get out of the way before someone else smashed into her from behind!
The Explorer rolled forward when Cassie pressed on the gas and slowly accelerated. Cars still passed her as they approached from behind, but that was all right, she was busy re-hearing that cracking plastic sound in her head. She hoped there was insurance on the rental car to cover the damage. She should probably pull over somewhere to look at it, but she wasn’t about to get out of the car in this cloudburst. Besides, it was safer to be somewhere a long way from here if the jerk was mad enough to come back looking for her.
That idea spurred her to almost normal speed in spite of the rain and streaking windshield.
Another ten minutes passed. The downpour stopped as suddenly as it had started. Visibility returned to normal; low hanging clouds lifted swiftly, and catches of clear blue sky with ribbons of sunlight began to show through. Cassie could finally take a deep breath without her lungs being on fire.
She saw the entrance to Bayside Pier about a block in front on the right, and the traffic signal at West Bend Boulevard, and finally the familiar parking lot of Bayside Park. Three and a half miles later Cassie turned into the hotel parking lot and found an open space near the side door.
She sat perfectly still for a full minute after shutting off the engine, still working to calm her racing heart. Nothing to get excited about, ha-ha. Well, not now anyway; it was over.
Damage to the Explorer’s bumper was less than expected; the rounded corner was cracked, not separated from its holding bracket, just a tiny hole in one spot about the size of a half dollar. Enough that Cassie needed to contact the rental company and report it.
She spent less than two seconds deciding NOT to contact Dorothy Kennelly and tell her about it.
One more deep breath, then Cassie went into the hotel through the side door and straight down the long hall into the lobby. The friendly desk clerk who handed out the map this morning was gone. Behind the desk now was the older woman who checked them in yesterday when Dorothy and Cassie arrived.
The Desk Clerk’s eyes rolled when she spotted Cassie coming from the side entrance into the main lobby.
“How’s the best way to get a weather report so I’ll know when to expect rain?” Cassie demanded. She was not in the mood to deal with anybody’s attitude; she just wanted information.
“Hotel guests can get Doppler on channel 44 in their room.”
“Okay, but how about a daily weather report? If I have to leave here at seven in the morning, can I find out whether it’s expected to rain before I come back at four?”
The older woman blinked a moment. Cassie thought she was giving the “You’re too stupid to talk to” eye, but then she smiled, and cranked her dark penciled eyebrows up. “You must be Ms. Crowley from Las Vegas.”
Okay, here we go again. “Yes,” Cassie said with poorly hidden impatience. “I was born there and have lived there all my life. We have schools and churches and neighborhoods like every other city, you just have to get away from The Strip to find it.”
“I know,” the Clerk said, still smiling. “My brother is a maintenance engineer at Sam’s Town out on Boulder Highway. I take it nobody warned you we have a little daily rain shower during late summer.”
“Every afternoon?”
“Usually around noon, sometimes a little later. Just keep an eye on the horizon offshore. You’ll see a band of clouds moving in from the Gulf about an hour before it starts. Most of the time it doesn’t last long. Just stay where you can be away from the lightening, because that’s pretty normal too. I’m sorry nobody told you. You look like you got caught unprepared.”
Cassie cringed and mumbled something about an understatement, remembering the sticky mess on top of her head; no wonder the woman looked at her like she was a street waif when she came in. Okay, so forewarned is forearmed, as Noreen Crowley says. Cassie will pay attention to the sky the rest of the time she’s here on the coast.
But right now she had to hurry to make those phone calls.
Chapter Ten
Wet clothes felt like cold fish in the air-conditioned hotel room. Racing the clock, Cassie laid the satchel on the bed and shed her clothes, then stood for just a minute under a hot shower before changing into something dry.
The room had been cleaned while she was away; four fresh towels stacked in the chrome rack, a new little bar of soap on the counter, the bed was made and the coffee cup left on the dresser was gone. Cassie stepped back and checked – yup, two fresh cups wrapped in paper and two new packets of ground coffee sat next to the pot. She could get used to this lifestyle except for the cost.
She stood just a moment in front of the mirror to fluff her shaggy spikes back where they belonged, and threw the damp clothes over the shower rod. She needed to locate a Laundromat soon. Her supply of clean clothes would not last at the rate of two outfits a day.
Her stomach growled, full of acid after the road rage experience and because she was hungry. Her workout buddy at the gym back in Vegas had warned her more than once: ‘if you go through the exercises to get really fit, you have to properly feed those muscles on a regular basis or they’ll rebel in some nasty ways’.
There was no time to run down to The Galley Café -- bright green digits on the TV box reminded her it was almost four o’clock. A call after 4:30 would go to voicemail at Lawrence Baylin’s assisted residence.
Cassie turned off the bathroom light, and quickly scanned the Room Service Menu. She would have to settle for the Daily Special, which the man who took her call assured was the fastest way to get delivery. “No more than twenty minutes,” he promised.
Now the clock glowed 4:06. She dug Lawrence Baylin’s index card from her bag, and dialed 8 for long distance. The hotel operator came online to confirm Ms. Crowley was authorizing Long Distance charges; yes, Cassie answered. She waited again through a series of clicks, several minutes it felt like, before there was finally a ring tone. The digital clock rolled to 4:09 before another operator picked up, asking for her name.
“Cassandra Crowley calling for Dr. Lawrence Baylin,” Cassie told her.
Two more minutes passed before she heard his raspy voice. “Hello, Cassandra, it’s so nice to hear from you this soon. What is your question today?”
“Hello, Dr. Baylin, how are you doing?” Her best-practiced phone etiquette, learned in the now defunct Marketing Admin Assistant job.
“Very well dear, but let’s get on with the
important questions, shall we? They’ll be calling me to supper in a few minutes so we don’t have much time.”
The digital clock advanced to 4:12.
“Dr. Baylin, I received a letter from the attorney’s office today. It’s a Power of Attorney, and I understand what that is. But it seems like a lot of authority for this job. Was that intentional? Or am I misunderstanding--”
“Yes, it was entirely intentional, Cassandra. I understand from Dorothy that your background in business is commiserative with our needs. This is the best way to insure you receive cooperation from anyone who doubts your authority. Rosalie and I have complete trust in your instincts and honorability. What else?”
“What else? Uh . . .well . . . I . . . uh . . .” It wasn’t Cassie’s place to tell him about Brady Irwin’s situation and the Police coming to Baylin House last night, and she didn’t want to bother him with her damaged rental car issues; she couldn’t imagine he needed to know that Rosalie invited one of her charges to meet Cassie for some unexplained reason. “Enjoy your supper, Dr. Baylin. I’m sure I’ll be calling again in a day or two if that’s all right.”
“It is, and I’ll be expecting it. Have a good evening, Cassandra. Goodbye for now.”
Wow, that was embarrassing! Next time she called Dr. Baylin, Cassie would make sure to have a list of questions written down.
For the next five minutes she browsed the Rentals Magazine, noted four potentials, and put an asterisk beside the name Bayside View. Their ad showed them across the street from Bayside Park, offered beach access, covered parking, laundry in every unit, and the address was on Sandy Lane, which she recognized.
She called them first. “Yes, we have two Executive Units available if you’d like to come see them tomorrow morning? The rental office closes at 4:30.”
Cassie asked about the price and wrote it down, indicating she might stop by after work tomorrow afternoon. The emphasis was on MIGHT. The rental rate was more than she expected.
The second location said they were sorry, they wouldn’t have an Executive unit available until the end of next month, but they did quote a rate much less than Bayside View’s price.
The third location turned out to be on the other side of downtown from Baylin House. Traveling through that much traffic every day did not appeal at all. The last number, according to the ad, was less than a mile from University Mall. On closer inspection of the city map, Cassie saw the faint yellow dots outlining a branch campus of TSU. She dialed, but after fifteen rings there was still no answer.
That was just as well because as she was hanging up, her room service dinner arrived. The digital clock rolled to 5:00pm. Cassie sat down at the table with the tray, and clicked on the TV.
Nothing relevant was in the Evening News; no mention of the homicide case or Detectives Gorduno and Baxter. Maybe that was good; it would be awful for Rosalie to hear anything on TV while everyone else was trying to keep it from her.
Cassie ignored the sports report and concentrated on her dinner served under a shiny dome, ‘Pork Stew in Bread Bowl’, an interesting dish with large chunks of meat and vegetables in thick gravy that kept everything moist, but not soupy. The Bread Bowl was edible while it was warm – she tore off a piece and nibbled on it while she went through the Rentals magazine again.
This time she located each address on the map before she added the phone number to her list. It was too late to call any of them tonight, but she collected four new candidates to contact tomorrow.
She had stalled as long as she could; the digital clock read 6:07.
It was time to take her licks and get it over with. She had to report damage to the rented car.
The phone number on the contacts card rang six times before a switchboard operator picked up. Cassie made it about half way through an explanation before the operator cut her off, snapping that she needed to speak to a Claims Agent. When he answered, Cassie launched into an account of the incident again.
This time she was able to finish before he pointed out that she should have stayed at the scene and immediately filed a police report, not driven off and waited several hours to report an accident.
Cassie didn’t think he was correct – it wasn’t a real traffic accident, just a clipped bumper in a rain storm, and anyway, she couldn’t go back in time and fix her error, so what did she need to do now?
“So the next best thing is to phone a report immediately to the local police there in Cordell Bay,” he instructed. “You should expect an order to come to the station to sign a formal report.”
“All right,” Cassie said. “I’ll make that call next.”
“Good. The Claims Adjuster in that area is Mr. Dale Acton; he will contact you tomorrow to take photos, and then he’ll determine whether you need a different car for the remainder of your contract.”
This was not what Cassie wanted to hear! “Look . . . the bumper is only cracked, not ripped apart. There’s no reason to exchange cars, and I don’t have time to hang around waiting for anyone. I’m here on a job and I have to leave for work by 7:30 tomorrow morning.”
“The law is the law, Ms. Crowley. You have to file a police report to make a claim on your Rental Car Insurance, and our Adjuster has to verify it. Otherwise the full cost of repair will be your responsibility.”
“All right,” she sighed. “Tell your Adjuster I’ll be here at The Marlin tomorrow evening after work.”
“I’ll give Mr. Acton that information. Do you have a cell phone number? He could set up an appointment time with you.”
“No, I don’t have a cell phone.”
“He’ll see you at the hotel then. You do understand the contract stipulates a $50.00 deductible due immediately for any damage claim. I have processed that charge on the same credit card used for the rental contract, so you’ll see that on your statement with today’s date.”
Cassie would probably regret that since she couldn’t be sure whether the car was on her card or Dorothy’s. Either way there was nothing she could do about it.
Next, she made the call to Cordell Bay Police Department. After listening to another recitation of traffic law, common sense, etc. etc., Cassie agreed to appear in person tomorrow to fill out a formal report. “It will have to be after two o’clock,” she told the Desk Sergeant who answered the call. “I need to finish my work shift. And I need an address where to . . .”
“In the south end of City Hall. You’ll find a map inside any Cordell County phone directory. Use the south parking lot and enter through the doors in the southeast corner of the building.”
Nothing excited Cassie less than going back to the City Hall complex tomorrow, especially after listening to another round of should-haves. But she confirmed, again, that she would be there.
After that, she definitely was not in a mood to work on Rosalie’s manuscript, or on the handful of papers she got from Sydney Owen.
She phoned Las Vegas and spoke to her parents’ answering machine. “Hi, it’s me. A little after seven o’clock here in Texas and I just realized it’s only five there in Vegas and you’re not home yet. Just letting you know all is well here. I started working with Rosalie Baylin this morning and we’re going to get along fine. I’ll call back in a day or two, hopefully with a new phone number because I’m looking for a temporary apartment that--.”
The beep sounded to signal the allotted time for recording a message had expired. Maybe someday when Cassie calls, somebody will actually answer the phone. But she wouldn’t call back tonight. She needed to relieve her stress, not add to it.
She checked Channel 44 to make sure there were no rainstorms in the area. Then she shoved the room keycard into her bra for lack of pockets, slid her feet into thong sandals, and went downstairs. Exit to the beach was through the back doors of the lobby, then across a concrete patio.
The Cabana Bar & Grille bordered one side of the patio with soft lights under a thatch roof, bamboo décor, and Tiki-lights. A few patrons sat at the bar talking quietly.
; Music was low volume, heavy on the drum and bass guitar; Cuban, Cassie thought, or something from the Caribbean Islands. Could have been Voodoo music for all she knew because it was incredibly sensual. She left her sandals at the concrete edge, and moved barefoot toward the water, digging her feet in the sand to the beat until she couldn’t hear it anymore.
At the water’s edge, she turned and strolled lazily on the flat wet surface, walking south to the end of the man-made beach. A three foot concrete barrier wall extended into the water to mark the hotel’s private property. Beyond the barrier the shore held no sand, only mud and broken clam shells, but it was crawling with native life visible in the shadowed pools.
Cassie sat down on the wall to watch minnow-sized fish darting in and out of the shallows. Two hermit crabs sparred over an empty shell near the barrier, and she watched them until the sun completely disappeared below the horizon and then until it was too dark to see.
Maybe it wasn’t the most fruitful way to spend her evening, but it certainly was relaxing. She slid off the wall and took her sweet time strolling back to the hotel entrance.
The Cabana Bar was still open, dimly lit with a few silhouetted heads, music rumbling with the same exotic vibrations.
A few yards short of the lobby door she saw a familiar figure.
Dark hair, dark eyes, perfectly proportioned, everything that stoked fire in all the right places thanks to the dreamy mood she was in now anyway. He was sitting on a stool at the bar, turned toward the beach with one long leg stretched to the floor, one elbow resting on the bar, creased denims and a short sleeve western shirt, both filled out in a way that would have made Cassie look twice even if she hadn’t been in the mood she was in. He tilted his head, his eyes boring into hers. At least she thought they were; it was hard to see well into the mostly dark bar.
Cassie’s heart thumped hard with recognition. She returned the nod, nothing too friendly in spite of a smoldering sensation under her skin. Then she continued into the hotel lobby.