“You forgot I was coming to work on your car today, didn’t you?” Ben said.
“It kinda slipped my mind, but I’m so glad it didn’t slip yours,” Drue said, tugging at the hem of the shrunken T-shirt she’d thrown on first thing that morning, trying to cover the exposed skin of her abdomen above her gym shorts. She gazed past Ben at Jonah. “What are you doing here?”
Jonah’s face flushed. “Ben asked me to give him a hand.”
Both men wore grease-stained T-shirts and jeans. “We had to take a starter out of a wrecked car at the junkyard. It’s kind of a two-man job,” Ben said.
“Right,” Drue said hastily. “Do you want to come in?”
“Nope,” Ben said. “We just need your car keys, so we can get started.”
* * *
Drue typed the name Larry Boone into the search bar of her phone and waited. Thirty-two entries appeared. She sighed. If she was going to track down the man who’d harassed Lutrisha Smallwood, and possibly Jazmin, she really needed a laptop computer. That would go on her wish list, right after a new roof for the cottage.
She went back to the search engine and redefined her search, narrowing the location to St. Petersburg, Florida, and this time netting only five names.
One by one, she discarded the possibilities until she came to a Larry Boone who’d been named employee of the month at a local hardware store in 2018.
The citation was from a newspaper in Brooksville, a small town about an hour north of St. Pete. The story was accompanied by a photo of the man. This Larry Boone was white, balding, with a generous paunch and a dark eighties-porn-star mustache.
Drue gazed down at the tiny photo. Could this be Scary Larry?
She cursed herself for not asking Lutrisha Smallwood for her phone number. Then she pulled out a new index card and jotted down what little information she had from the article. Now what? Should she just call and ask for Larry Boone? What if he came to the phone? What would she say?
Before she could further ponder her line of questioning, she heard the front door opening.
“Drue?”
It was Jonah.
He had his head stuck inside the door. His hands and face were smeared with grease, and sweat dripped from his hair. “Hey, can I use the bathroom?”
“Come on in,” she said. He followed her through the living room and she gestured toward the bathroom. “Wait right here,” she said. A moment later she was back with a roll of paper towels.
“Thanks,” he said, wiping his hands on a wadded-up towel.
“I’m in the kitchen if you need me,” she told him.
* * *
Jonah appeared in the kitchen doorway a few minutes later. “This house is really awesome. It reminds me of my aunt and uncle’s house at Rehoboth Beach.”
She looked up from her notecards, trying not to act annoyed at the interruption. She reminded herself that he and Ben were doing her a huge favor.
“Rehoboth Beach?”
“In Delaware. My rich uncle was a lawyer in D.C. They had a house down the shore, as they called it, and they’d invite my family for a week every summer. My sisters and I looked forward to that all year round. For that one week, we thought we were rich too.”
“I stayed here with my grandparents for two weeks every summer for as long as I can remember,” Drue said softly. “Even after my mom and I moved over to Lauderdale, I’d come back here to Sunset Beach every year.” She looked around the kitchen, at the toast crumbs on the yellow Formica countertop, and the faded daisy-print valance over the sink window. “I still can’t quite believe that they’re gone and it’s really mine now.”
“It’s cool that everything’s so original. Especially all the wood walls. It’s solid, you know? My crappy little garage apartment in town is all Sheetrock. I hate Sheetrock. You bump up against a wall and it’s instantly gouged.”
Drue felt herself thawing despite her own stern resolve to keep her distance from him.
“So, did you grow up in Florida? I assumed you did, since you went to UF.”
“For law school,” he said. “I’m originally from Seneca, South Carolina. I got my undergrad degree there.”
“Where? Clemson? South Carolina?”
“I wish,” he said, flashing a lopsided grin. “No, I went to a dinky community college so I could live at home. I’ve got twin sisters who were only a year younger than me, so paying tuition for three was a stretch for my parents.”
“How’s it going with the car?” Drue asked. “Do you think the new starter is going to do the trick?”
“We’re almost there,” Jonah said. “Ben went to pick up some lunch for all of us.”
“What? No. I was going to buy lunch,” Drue said.
“Too late.” He paused, looking hopeful. “Is it okay if I look around?”
“There’s not much to see,” Drue said, leading him into the hallway. “You’ve seen my pink bathroom,” she said, gesturing toward the open door.
“My aunt’s bathroom had a mint green toilet, sink and tub,” Jonah said.
Her bedroom door was open. She was secretly thankful she’d made her bed. “Master bedroom,” she said.
“Man,” he said, stepping inside to look out the window. “What an incredible view. If I lived here, I’d never miss a sunset.”
“I try not to,” Drue said, deliberately herding him out of the room. Having him just steps from her bed gave off way too intimate a vibe for her.
Drue opened the next door. “Guest bedroom,” she said. “Right now it’s storage for my kiteboard gear and other random crap. Eventually, I hope to use it as an office.”
“Do you do a lot of kiteboarding?” he asked, running his hand down her favorite Naish board.
“It was pretty much my life, right up until I screwed up my knee,” she said. “From the time I got my first board in my teens, it’s all I thought about. I dropped out of college to go pro, even had a few endorsement deals, but shit happens, ya know?”
“You must miss it, right?” he asked.
“I still dream about it sometimes,” she admitted. “Hitting kickers, that’s a trick, and doing rails. I miss the adrenaline, being really good at something.” She shrugged. “Anyway, most women peak at this sport in their twenties. So my competitive days are gone.”
She pointedly closed the door on the room and her past.
He followed her back to the living room. “This room reminds me of one of those old movies,” Jonah said, running his hand over the curved back of the rattan settee.
“This was all the original furniture my grandparents had in here,” she said. “After my grandmother died, Dad put it all in storage because he was renting the house out.”
“I can’t even imagine what a house like this would rent for now,” he said.
“I don’t think the rent was very high. The same tenant, some old dude named Leonard, lived here for cheap because Dad didn’t want to spend a lot of money on maintenance. When I moved in, it was a dump.”
“You could have fooled me,” Jonah said.
“Fresh paint and sweat equity,” Drue said.
“How old is this place?” he asked.
“Late 1950s?” she guessed. “My grandfather built it himself, with scrap lumber and stuff he scrounged from construction sites around Ybor City. According to my mom, it took him years to finish building it, because he paid cash for everything.”
“So, you’re part Cuban?”
“On my mom’s side.”
“I wondered where you got your olive skin and dark hair.” He touched a lock of hair that had come unfastened from her ponytail.
Drue felt a tiny spark travel down her spine. Her face flushed beet red. The front door opened then, and Ben stepped inside.
“Lunch is here,” he announced. “Burgers for everybody.”
* * *
“I’ll get the table cleared off and we can eat here,” Drue said, shoving her scribbled index cards into a file folder.
“What
are you working on?” Ben asked, opening the bag and distributing foil-wrapped burgers. He glanced down at the folder and the scattered pages of notes.
“Nothing,” she said hastily.
“You brought a case home, didn’t you?” Jonah said, his tone teasing.
“Yeah,” she admitted. “I know you guys warned me not to, but it’s that criminal negligence case against the Gulf Vista. The housekeeper who was beaten and strangled. Jazmin Mayes.”
Ben’s eyes widened. “Oh shit. You’re going rogue? That’s a terrible idea.”
“I gotta agree with Ben,” Jonah said. “It’s been two years. Zee looked at that case backwards and forwards. There’s nothing there.”
“Yes, there is,” Drue insisted. “I know there is. I’ve read the case file. I’ve talked to the mother again. I’ve even been to the hotel and checked out the laundry room where Jazmin was killed.”
Ben sipped his beer. “When was this?”
“Thursday night. I went over there with … a friend. And I talked to another housekeeper. Jazmin told her mother that a white guy, another hotel employee, was sexually harassing her. She complained to somebody in management, but obviously nobody did anything. This other housekeeper told me she was harassed too. And she gave me the guy’s name. Not long after Jazmin was killed, this guy mysteriously quit the hotel. Or got fired, the girl didn’t say.” She got up and filled a glass with ice cubes and water and drank it rapidly.
“And get this. It’s the same girl who discovered Jazmin’s body.”
“Did Zee talk to this person?” Ben asked.
“Yes, but at that point she was scared to tell him everything she knew. She didn’t want to make waves. After the grandmother hired Dad to file suit, the hotel management called a staff meeting to tell the employees that if the hotel had to settle a multimillion-dollar lawsuit, the hotel would have to close up and all the employees would lose their jobs.”
“Real subtle way to make sure people kept their mouths shut,” Jonah said.
“Still doesn’t mean the firm has a legit action against Gulf Vista,” Ben said, wiping his hands on a paper napkin. “The girl was on the clock. Like it or not, it’s a worker’s comp case.”
Jonah shrugged. “The man has a point, Drue.”
Ben pushed his chair away from the table. “You don’t have a case. But you do have, I believe, a car that will start. Want to see?”
“More than anything,” Drue said.
* * *
Ben slid behind the steering wheel. With a ridiculously dramatic flourish, he stuck the key in the ignition and turned.
The Bronco’s engine roared to life.
“Hallelujah!” Drue exulted. “OJ has come back from the dead!”
Ben gave it some gas and the motor, miraculously, did not cut off. He got out of the car and Drue impulsively threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek.
“My hero!”
Ben looked at Jonah, who shrugged. “Looks like our work here is done, Batman.” He picked up his toolbox and headed for Ben’s car.
“Wait,” Drue said. “I need to pay you for the starter. And lunch.”
“Forget it,” Ben said. “I’ll let you take me to dinner one night instead.”
“Just name the night,” Drue said, following him to his Honda.
25
March 1976
The two women turned heads as they walked into Mastry’s Bar, and not just because they were in their work uniforms—white polyester dresses, white hose, white shoes. Both Colleen Boardman Hicks and Vera Cochran were stunners, Colleen with her blond hair, deep tan and short skirt, and Vera with her luscious curves and Cupid’s bow smile.
The lunchtime crowd at Mastry’s was almost exclusively male: some retirees, the geezers who showed up when the bar opened at nine for their breakfast beers; office workers, in dress shirts and ties; cops; mailmen; and a smattering of tourists who’d wandered in off Central Avenue in search of a cold beer and a spring training ball game on the television.
Colleen pointed to a booth at the far wall, and they slid in on opposite sides of the table.
“How did you even find this place?” Vera asked, looking around the dimly lit room.
“Somebody told me they have the best burgers in town,” Colleen said.
“I hope our patients won’t complain when we come back smelling like the inside of a carton of Salems,” Vera said, waving her hand at the smoke cloud that enveloped the room.
“Don’t be such a prisspot,” Colleen said.
The waitress arrived at the table to take their order.
“I’ll have a cheeseburger, medium, with pickles and mustard. No onions. Do you, uh, have Mateus?” Colleen asked.
“You’re gonna drink wine? In the middle of the day?” Vera looked shocked.
“Not today she’s not,” the redhead said. “We don’t serve wine. You want something else? Beer? Maybe a Bloody Mary?”
“Never mind,” Colleen said. “You’ve got Tab, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, then just a cheeseburger and a Tab. Remember, no onions.”
“Got it.”
“And I’ll have a plain burger and a Fresca,” Vera said.
“You girls want fries or no?”
“Yes,” Vera said.
“No thanks,” Colleen said.
The server brought their soft drinks, and the two women sat back and looked around. The walls of the bar were covered with dozens of stuffed and mounted game fish, predominantly tarpon, and old autographed black-and-white photos of baseball players, mostly St. Louis Cardinals, who frequented the bar during spring training games at nearby Al Lang Field.
“Any plans for the weekend?” Colleen asked. She’d spotted the two men at the end of the bar, but was trying not to glance their way.
“Nothing special,” Vera reported. “My sister talked me into babysitting for her two brats. What about you?”
Colleen rolled her eyes. “Dinner party at the in-laws’. It’s Rosemary’s birthday. Not my idea of fun.”
“What have you got against Allen’s family?”
“They hate me,” Colleen said. “Everybody thinks Dr. Hicks is so great, you know, because he’s this beloved doctor, big in Rotary and at the yacht club, but believe me, he is such a phony.” She lowered her voice. “It’s an open secret at Bayfront that he’s screwed half the nurses working there.”
“You’re kidding!” Vera said breathlessly.
“It’s the truth. Of course, I guess you can’t blame him, because most of the time Rosemary is zonked out of her gourd.”
“She drinks?”
Colleen looked around, then lowered her voice. “She likes vodka, because she thinks you can’t smell it on her breath. And diet pills even though she’s a size four. One guess where she gets the pills.”
The server set their plates on the table. “Here you go.”
“Thanks so much,” Colleen said, flashing her brilliant smile. She picked up her knife and cut the cheeseburger into quarters.
Vera watched, then did the same. “I get why you don’t like them, but what do his parents have against you?”
“Where do I start?” Colleen asked. “They don’t approve of the fact that I bleach my hair. They think I dress trashy. They don’t like me working as a dental hygienist. But mostly they hate the fact that I’m not the girl they had all picked out for their baby boy Allen.”
“Really?” Vera dabbed a french fry in the puddle of ketchup on her plate. “Did they actually have somebody else in mind?”
“Oh yes,” Colleen said. “Morton’s partner’s oldest daughter, Suzanne. Miss Perfect. Miss Debutante. Miss Sun Goddess beauty queen.”
“And then you had to show up and make Allen fall in love with you, and spoil everything,” Vera said, giggling.
“Yeah. Something like that.” Colleen stood up and slung her shoulder bag strap over her arm. “I’ve gotta find the bathroom. Be right back.”
She walked sl
owly toward the back of the room, as though she had no idea where the ladies’ room was, although, of course, she’d used it when she’d been here three months ago. And she’d used it four more times, each time she’d come back to Mastry’s.
He was watching her. His partner was watching too. They’d turned halfway around on the bar stools, waiting for her to pass by.
Should she speak, or wait to see if he would?
His partner, the shorter, older one, reached out, brushing her arm with his fingertips.
“Look here, Officer Campbell,” he said. “Isn’t this our damsel in distress from the Dreamland?”
“I believe you’re right,” Brice said, a slow smile spreading across his face.
She stopped, blushed, looked away. “Oh hi.”
“Everything okay at home now?” the partner asked, his eyes stern.
“Just fine, thanks,” Colleen said, feeling the blush creep down her neck and across her chest. “It was a misunderstanding. Really.” She could feel Vera watching her, wondering why she was talking to these two cops.
She gestured toward the corner, where the ladies’ room was located. “Okay. Good to see you. Gotta go now.”
Colleen forced herself to walk slowly, until she’d entered the bathroom. She pushed the stall door open, locked it and sank down onto the toilet. Her pulse was racing, her nerves jangling. She was breathing so fast she thought she might hyperventilate.
“Oh God,” she whispered. “Oh God.” She fingered the tiny gold cross she wore on a fine chain around her neck, absentmindedly turning it over and over between her fingers as she rocked back and forth.
Brice, she’d noticed, was no longer wearing a wedding ring. Was that a good sign?
Finally she stood up, adjusted her hose, smoothed the skirt of her uniform. She stood in front of the sink, washed her hands and reapplied her lipstick.
* * *
“Everything okay?” Vera asked, when she got back to the booth.
Colleen grimaced. “Swell. Aunt Minnie just showed up.”
“Yuck.” Vera craned her neck to see the two officers, who were standing now, putting money on the bar.
Sunset Beach Page 16