by Susie Gayle
“Meh,” I murmur, being a very mature adult. She shoots me a dangerous look so I quickly clip Rowdy’s leash to his collar.
Outside, the weather is stunning and despite not being on the beach, we can still smell the sea, all of which makes it really difficult to stay grumpy. Sarah’s right, as usual; a walk is a good idea. I feel a little lighter with each step.
“It’s probably just going to be for the one night,” I shrug after a few minutes. “Right?”
“Definitely,” she agrees, cradling Basket in the crook of her elbow. “Then we’ll be back at the beach house, and we’ll still have four more days to enjoy our vacation. This is just a tiny hiccup.”
“The tiniest of hiccups.”
We walk on for another minute or so in silence, until Sarah pipes up and asks, “So what do you think? Do you think Victor killed Julia and buried her, or do you think someone killed both of them?”
As much as I really, really hate to say it, during our silence I was totally thinking about the same thing. “I’m not sure,” I admit. “We don’t have enough information to make any guesses.”
“True,” Sarah agrees. “Should it worry us at all that we can be so cavalier about the topic of murder?”
“I think we should be more worried that this kind of thing keeps happening around us,” I tell her. “I mean, this is what—the fifth or sixth time now inside a year?”
“Sixth,” she confirms.
“Weird.”
“Yeah.” Another minute or so of silence. Then Sarah says, “You know, we’ve got a day to kill. Could be fun to try to figure this thing out—”
“Let me stop you right there,” I tell her. “First, I thought we were on the same page regarding what fun is; I might be wrong now. Second, this is our vacation. The last thing I want to do is go trying to solve a three-year-old murder. Rory and Roger seem perfectly…” I clear my throat. “Capable.”
“Totally capable,” she agrees unconvincingly.
“If we have a day to kill, we’ll kill it at the naval museum or wine-tasting or something.”
“Sure, okay,” Sarah relents. “We could always go visit Diego again, kill some time there—”
“New vacation rule,” I interject. “Let’s stop saying ‘kill.’”
She laughs a little. “Agreed.”
***
We get back to the motel room at around seven p.m. to find our boys napping on the bed, Rowdy curled in the shape of a shrimp with Basket in the center, nestled against his warm belly.
The naval museum was very cool, and even though I’m not a wine guy, I enjoyed just being out and about with Sarah and, more importantly, getting our minds off of the nasty business going on at the beach house.
Sarah stretches and groans. “That was a very nice afternoon.”
“It was,” I tell her. “But I’m starving. We haven’t eaten all day.”
“Diego’s?” she asks.
“Diego’s.”
The motel is closer than the beach house is, so we decide to walk hand-in-hand the few blocks to the little pink-stucco restaurant… only to find the door locked and the sign flipped to “closed.”
“Aw, bummer,” I moan.
Sarah cups her hands around her eyes and peers inside. “I can see him in there…”
“Sarah, he’s closed—”
She waves her hand. “He sees me.”
“Come on, let’s not bother the guy—” Too late. A bolt slides aside and the door opens.
Diego smiles weakly. “My friends, you came back. Please, come in.”
“Okay,” Sarah says.
“You’re not closed?” I ask.
“I closed early to the public, but for you? I insist.”
“We don’t want to inconvenience you—” I start to say.
“Will, he insists. Come on.” She takes my arm and leads me inside. Confused and hungry, I relent.
Diego locks the door again behind us. There’s no one else inside but the three of us, and all the chairs are turned upside down atop the tables. “Please,” he says, “choose anywhere you like.” There’s a hint of sadness in his voice, or maybe a lack of enthusiasm that he had yesterday.
“Are you alright, Diego?” I ask.
He waves a hand in the air. “Eh, I’m fine. I learned the news of the discovery on your beach this afternoon and it… dredged up some memories.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” Sarah asks. I definitely pick up on the hopeful lilt in her voice.
Aha. Now I see what’s going on here. Sarah played me like a fiddle.
CHAPTER 7
* * *
As Diego whips up some food in the kitchen, I lean across the table and hoarsely whisper to Sarah, “You duped me!”
“What?” she asks innocently.
“You did all the stuff I suggested we do this afternoon, and then you casually suggested we come back here, just so you could chat with the guy that knows everyone in town!” I accuse.
She shrugs a little. “You would make a heck of an investigator.”
“That’s beside the point. This is supposed to be our vacation!”
She bats her eyelashes dramatically. “Are you mad at me?”
I cross my arms stubbornly and look away.
“Oh, come on, Will. You can’t tell me you’re not the least bit interested.”
“This isn’t a game. It was a woman’s life.”
She scoffs. “I never said it was a game. I don’t mean to come across like that.”
“I know you didn’t,” I murmur, my tone softening.
“If you really don’t want to know, I’ll drop it. But we’re here, and this guy is clearly upset by it, so… what would it hurt to talk to him?”
I sigh. “Fine. But only because he seems like he could use someone to talk to.”
Diego sweeps up to the table with a large round serving tray laden with food. “Here we have some tortillas, some queso, empanadas, and pork chili verde—my grandmother’s recipe, very delicious.” He lays out the spread before us and my stomach rumbles.
“Won’t you join us?” Sarah asks.
He smiles wide. “I’d be delighted.”
After he pulls up a chair and we sample a few of the dishes, Sarah casually asks, “So, did you know Julia Weatherby?”
Diego looks away. “I knew her, yes. We were not particularly close, but we were… linked. I was once engaged to her sister, Whitney.”
Sarah and I exchange a glance. “Is that so?” she says slowly. “Will you tell us about her? I don’t want to think of her as just a body in the sand. If that makes sense.”
He nods slowly. “I understand.” He shifts in his chair and lets out a heavy sigh, as if settling in for a long tale. “The Weatherby sisters were well known around Angler Cove for their beauty. But all through their twenties and even into their thirties, they never married. They lived together, did everything together; it was as if all they needed was each other.” He motions toward the six-stool bar at the far end of the restaurant. “They spent many evenings at that bar, flirting with tourists. Julia would always drink red wine, and Whitney would always drink white.” He smiles at the memory.
“Then one day I mustered the courage to ask Whitney on a date. See, out of the two, she was the adventurous one, the bold one, and I was desperately attracted to her. She said yes, and what followed were the best two years of my life. We were engaged by the time Victor came around. Have you heard this name?”
“Yes,” I tell him. “The police are looking for… him.” I pause briefly because I almost say “his body” instead of “him,” but as Sarah pointed out, until they find anything he could still be out there somewhere.
“Victor was a drifter. He rolled into town without a penny to his name, but he was dark and mysterious and devilishly handsome. Everyone who met him liked him; even me, I’m sorry to say, at first. He attracted Julia’s attention immediately… but I noticed Whitney’s eye wandering
more than once.” Diego glances down at the table, and in the dimly lit restaurant a shadow passes darkly over his face.
“So what happened?” I ask, leaning forward, forgetting for a moment that there’s so much sumptuous food on the table.
“Victor and Julia enjoyed a whirlwind romance for about three weeks, maybe a month. Two days before they disappeared, Whitney came to me and, with no explanation, she…” He winces, as if the memory causes him physical pain. “She broke off our engagement. She said that she never wanted to see me again.
“Two days later, Julia and Victor ran away—or so we thought. They left Whitney a note. She was devastated, utterly heartbroken by the loss of her sister. When the police’s search yielded nothing, she became a shut-in, a hermit. She refused all of my calls and visits. The only way anyone knows she’s still alive is because she continues to collect her mail and deliveries.”
“She’s still here? In Angler Cove?” Sarah asks, almost excitedly.
Diego nods. “Yes, she lives in the family house she used to share with her sister, near the jetty.” He shakes his head sadly. “So you can see, hearing about Julia reminded me of it all, and ever since I heard I’ve been reliving it in my head.”
“I’m so sorry, Diego,” Sarah offers.
He forces a smile and rises from his chair. “Excuse me. I should clean up the kitchen.”
As he leaves, a thought occurs to me. “Diego, if Whitney is a shut-in, there’s a good chance she doesn’t yet know that her sister was found, right?”
“That depends on whether or not the police have been to see her, I suppose… though if her reaction to her sister being missing is any indication, I believe the news of Julia’s death might just kill poor Whitney.”
CHAPTER 8
* * *
“It doesn’t add up,” Sarah says as soon as we get in the door of the motel room. We managed to get through all of dinner without talking about it, and even walked back in silence, but we both knew we were both thinking about it. I barely have the door closed again before Sarah pipes up.
“Diego said that he suspected Whitney had her eye on Victor,” she continues. “She breaks off the engagement, and then Julia and Victor conveniently abscond together.”
“Abscond?”
“It means ‘leave in a hurry.’ My point is, Whitney is obviously the murderer. She became a shut-in afterwards, either out of guilt or to avoid suspicion.” Sarah claps her hands once and adds, “Boom, solved.”
I shake my head as I tug off my shoes. “Sorry, sweetie, but that’s way too easy. The police would’ve thought the same thing. They must have questioned Whitney when Julia disappeared.”
Sarah shrugs. “There was a note. They packed their stuff, emptied her bank accounts, right? The police might not have looked very hard. Besides, I didn’t get the impression that Whitney’s potential interest in Victor was public knowledge.”
“Even so, in my experience, the most obvious answer is usually not the right one. What about Victor himself? His body hasn’t turned up yet. He was a drifter. How do we know he wasn’t just trying to get Julia to take all her money out of the bank with the promise of running away together so he could rob her, kill her, and hide the body?”
Sarah frowns. “Wow, that’s dark.”
“Just saying. How does anyone even know if Victor was his real name?”
“Hmm. Fair point.” She crosses to the bathroom, calling out to me as the sink runs. “Airs uning ell, oo.”
“Finish brushing your teeth, then talk,” I call back to her.
A few moments later, she spits and repeats, “I said, there’s something else too.” As I change into pajamas, she tells me, “I don’t think Diego is out of the realm of possibility.”
My mouth drops open a little bit. “How can you say that? He is one of the nicest people we’ve ever met.”
“He suspected something between Whitney and Victor. Maybe it was all in his head, but what if he was right?” she calls back from the bathroom. “What if Whitney broke off their engagement to be with Victor?”
I roll my eyes. “Okay, that might be motive for him to kill Victor. But that doesn’t explain why he would kill Julia.”
“Maybe he found out about their plan to run away together, and he knew it would break Whitney’s heart and he’d never get her back.”
“So his solution would be to kill them both? That doesn’t make sense.”
She comes back into the room and studies my face. “Well, one thing’s for sure.” She points at me and grins. “I know that face. You’re into this now.”
“What? I am not.”
“Admit it. You’re totally into it.”
I shake my head. “I’m just humoring you and your weird fascination with all this.”
Unfortunately, she’s right. I’m into it.
***
I wake up the next morning again disoriented. I’m not at home in my rented house on Saltwater Drive. I’m not in a beach house. Oh, right. I’m in a motel, under a bedspread with seahorses embroidered on it.
And I’m alone. As I come to and glance around, I notice that neither Sarah nor Rowdy is anywhere in the room with me. There’s a tiny lump beside me under the bedspread; when I poke it gently, Basket peers his fluffy little head out and glares up at me for interrupting his nap.
“Did Sarah take Rowdy out for a walk?” I ask the cat.
Basket yawns and squeaks in response. I take it as a yes.
I stand and stretch, and then part the curtains over the window slightly to look out. A short ways beyond the parking lot, in a stretch of grass, Sarah holds Rowdy’s leash in one hand and a cell phone pressed to her ear in the other, with her back to our room.
“Hm. Wonder who she’s talking to.” I slip out the door quietly—as not to disrupt her call. Definitely not to eavesdrop.
As I step up behind her, I hear her side of the conversation.
“Will doesn’t think it could be the sister,” Sarah tells the person on the other line. She pauses a moment, and then laughs a little. “I know. He says it would be ‘too easy.’”
I clear my throat and Sarah jumps a little, spinning suddenly. Then she smiles. “Hey, good morning.” To the phone, she says, “Will’s up. Gotta go. What’s that…? Okay, sure.” She hangs up. “Seems like you’re getting used to this whole sleeping-in thing.”
“Who was that?” I ask.
“Karen,” she tells me, her brow furrowing. “She called me to say hi, and then one thing led to another and I told her about this little mystery we’ve found here—”
“It’s not a mystery. It’s an open murder investigation,” I say, perhaps a little too harshly.
“I know that,” Sarah says curtly. “But she’s helped you before. I figured it couldn’t hurt to bounce ideas off her.”
“I just don’t think we should be telling people about it, that’s all.” I can’t say what I’m really thinking, which is that I’m hesitant to tell Karen anything since she already knows too much about the blackmail scheme going on back in Seaview Rock, and I’m afraid of what she might find out still—she’s smart enough to know where to look and who to talk to.
We head back toward the room, Rowdy wagging his tail happily, when Sarah adds, “Oh, by the way. She wanted me to tell you that you should see your accountant when you get back.”
I freeze. “Is that what she said, exactly? I should see my accountant?”
“That’s what she said. Are you okay? Is there something I should know about the pet shop?”
“No, no,” I wave a hand. “Everything’s fine. You know, they all work in finance. They all know each other. She’s probably just passing a message through Karen.”
I fake a smile and head immediately to the bathroom, where I splash some cold water on my face. I’m certain that Karen’s seemingly straightforward message has nothing to do with my actual accountant, the one that handles the Pet Shop Stop’s finances. No, it can only mea
n one thing: Karen now knows about Rachel Stein, the CPA and town councilwoman who is also involved in the blackmail plot. At the last council meeting, Karen saw me getting out of Stein’s car after a desperate attempt by me to convince her that I wasn’t a part of it. She must have put two and two together and followed that lead.
And now she’s passing cryptic taunts through Sarah? I thought we were supposed to be friends.
There’s always a small part of me that wants to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, and that part pipes up and suggests, Maybe she’s just giving you a message to let you know that she’s looking into things, and looking forward to a friendly conversation when you get back.
“Yeah, right,” I mutter aloud to myself.
One thing is for sure: my attempt at a relaxing, worry-free vacation has failed miserably.
CHAPTER 9
* * *
I come out of the bathroom to find Sarah sitting on the bed, waiting for me. “I thought we might grab some coffee. I saw a place a couple blocks away last night—”
Before she can finish her thought there’s a sturdy knock on our motel room door. We glance at each other quizzically before I cross the room to answer it.
“Good morning, folks,” says one of the twin police officers from yesterday—Roger or Rory, I can’t tell. “We just wanted to check in on you and figured we’d drop by personally.”
“Uh, thanks,” I say awkwardly.
“We really hope this doesn’t sour your opinion of Angler Cove,” says the other. “We’re really a great little town…”
“With thriving tourism,” his brother adds.
“Lots to see and do.”
“A healthy nightlife.”
“When there aren’t murders,” the one on the right adds.
“Right, when there aren’t murders.”