by Susie Gayle
My heart skips a beat. There’s only one reason why Sammy would be calling me, and it’s if something bad happened—at the Pet Shop Stop or otherwise.
“No, I’ll take it,” I say quickly as I reach for the phone. Sarah frowns as I cradle the phone to my ear and drive with my other hand. “Sammy, what’s up?”
“We have a problem,” he says.
“With the pet shop?”
“No. The other problem,” he says gravely. “Your ex-wife is snooping. She’s been to see Rachel Stein, and this morning she was sniffing around Savage’s place and asking questions.” He pauses before he asks, “Will, does she know about us?”
There’s only so much I can say with Sarah in the car. “A little.”
Sammy sighs deeply. “That’s not good, Will.”
“It wasn’t me,” I say simply. “She… heard things.”
Beside me, Sarah stares directly ahead, but I know darn well she’s hanging on every word.
“As soon as you get back, we have to deal with this,” Sammy says. “Let’s hope no one else does in the meantime.” He hangs up before I can ask what he means by that.
I drop the phone back into the center console. Great. I should have known this would happen; Karen doesn’t know the meaning of the word “covert.” Her style is to kick in doors and demand answers.
“What was that about?” Sarah asks quietly.
“Nothing,” I murmur.
She doesn’t say anything more. Instead she just stares out the window in silence.
***
We arrive back at the motel to see a police cruiser parked in front of the door to our room, and our favorite pair of officers knocking on it. When they see us pull in, they both turn and beam an identical wide smile in our direction.
“That’s kind of creepy,” I say.
“A little bit, yeah,” Sarah agrees.
“Hi, folks!” one of the twins says brightly as we get out of the car. “We came by with some good news. You want to tell them, Roger?”
“Sure!” says (by process of elimination) Roger. “We found Victor!”
“Really? Where was he?” I ask eagerly—because for a moment there, with their enthusiasm and the way they say it, I assume they found him alive.
“Get this,” says Rory. “We tore up that whole beach, looking…”
“And we didn’t find anything else, right?” Roger says.
“Then one of our guys has an idea…”
“A great idea…”
“And he was right! Victor was under Julia.” Rory folds his arms triumphantly.
“Wait, what?” I ask, confused.
“Whoever killed them buried Victor beneath Julia,” Sarah explains.
“Oh. In the clay?”
“Yup,” Rory confirms. “Must have taken a long time.”
“Hours and hours,” Roger adds.
“Of course, it’ll be hard to confirm it’s Victor, since we don’t have any records on him…” Rory admits. “But one thing’s for sure. We’re looking at a double-homicide.”
“Hmm,” Sarah says casually. “I don’t know. I mean, are you really sure it’s murder?”
Roger scoffs. “A crushed skull usually is.”
“Roger,” Rory hisses. “Ix-nay on the ause-cay of eath-day.”
“Ooh. Sorry. Pretend you didn’t hear that, folks.”
“Anyway,” Rory says loudly, “this means that you two will be back in your beach house in no time. Just give us one more night to clean up the big ol’ mess we made, and we’ll call you.”
As they leave, I grin at Sarah. “Clever. Now we know a cause of death.”
“Thank you.”
“And now we know Victor wasn’t the murderer.”
“That we do.”
“So where do we go from here?” I ask.
“I think we need to make a couple calls.”
CHAPTER 13
* * *
Back in the motel room, I call Anna Estes, the twenty-two year-old granddaughter of the late Mario Estes Sr. and owner of our beach-house retreat.
“Hi, Anna. I’m sure the police have contacted you by now.”
“They sure have,” she says, with a hint of humor in her voice. “I get the feeling you lead a very interesting life, Will.”
“Trust me, there’s greener grass,” I retort. “Listen, Anna, I have a favor to ask. It looks like there was a cleaning service or something that came by before we arrived.”
“Not a cleaning service; they’re a property management firm,” she tells me.
“Could you… give me their number?”
She laughs a little. “Most people relax on their vacation.”
“I guess I’m just not that kind of guy.”
“Alright, Will. I’ll do you one better; I’ll give you my account number with them. If they ask, tell them I authorized whatever information you need.”
“Thanks, Anna. You’re the best.”
Once I hang up with her, I call the property management firm and put it on speaker so Sarah can hear. This is all based on her notion anyway: why hide the bodies at the Estes beach house? To which I had suggested it was because it was vacant most of the year, but Sarah reminded me that there are dozens of beach houses along Angler Cove’s coast that are likely a similar situation, so why this one in particular?
“Hello, ma’am,” I tell the receptionist. “My name is Will Sullivan, I’m a real estate agent and I’m working with one of your clients, Anna Estes, on the sale of her beach house in Angler Cove. Now, I need to work up a complete seller’s disclosure, so I’m hoping you can help me with some records.”
Sarah smiles, impressed by my ruse. The receptionist agrees and asks me to hold while she pulls them up.
“It looks like we’ve been managing that property for eight years now,” she tells me. “Would you like me to email the records to you?”
“No, that won’t be necessary. I just need to know if there were any peculiarities that are worth reporting in a disclosure. The seller seems to remember an incident occurring around 2014?”
“One moment, let me look…” She places me on hold for a solid minute or two, and then comes back on the line. “Hello, sir? Yes, it seems that in March of that year there was a break-in; the locks had to be replaced. But nothing was damaged or stolen. Our inspector believes it was squatters. I can send you the report, if you’d like—”
“Nope, that’s all I needed, thank you.” I hang up quickly. “Squatters,” I repeat to Sarah.
“Or squatter, singular.”
“When Whitney kicked Victor out of their house—”
“He needed a place to go that was vacant.”
“And who would’ve known that the Estes house wasn’t being used?” I ask.
Just like the twin cops, Rory and Roger, we both think it and say it at the same time.
“Diego.”
***
When we arrive at the restaurant, Diego is outside, kneeling as he writes the lunch specials on a chalkboard sandwich sign on the sidewalk. Beside him, panting on the stoop, is the pudgiest little pug I’ve ever seen.
“Aw, puppy!” Sarah exclaims as she rushes forth to pet the dog, Basket perched precariously in the crook of her elbow. Rowdy tugs on his leash in my hand to sniff out his fellow canine.
“Ah, my friends! Back a third time, huh? My grandmother’s recipes are too good to resist.” He chuckles softly. “But I’m afraid we aren’t open for lunch yet. You have…” He checks his watch. “About a half hour to go.”
“Hi, Diego. We actually didn’t come for lunch,” I tell him. “We came to talk.”
He frowns. “Okay. What would you like to talk about?”
“Sarah,” I whisper. “Focus.”
“Sorry, I’m a sucker for adorable dogs.” She scratches the fat little pug under her chin once more before she stands. Rowdy, waiting patiently for her to get out of the way, eager
ly sniffs at the smaller dog.
“Her name is Carnita,” Diego says with a smirk.
“You named your dog Meat?” I ask.
“Technically, ‘Little Meat.’ Once upon a time, she was much smaller, if you can believe it.”
I shake my head. “Anyway, um, we need to talk.”
“Hmm,” he says. “Is this about the police finding the second body that they believe is Victor? News usually travels quickly to my ears.”
“Yes,” I tell him. “It is about that. See… we know a few things that the police don’t.”
“For instance,” Sarah says, “that you attacked Victor the night Whitney broke off your engagement.”
“And that Victor was squatting at the Estes beach house,” I add.
“And that as a friend of the Estes family, you likely knew when their house was vacant.”
Diego’s eyebrows meet in the center. “Okay,” he says slowly. “I admit that I did attack Victor. I was angry. And yes, I told Whitney and Julia that no one was at the Estes house. That was before I knew what kind of person Victor was. So what does that mean?”
“It means,” I tell him, “that you were one of only three people that knew he was squatting there. It means that the night he and Julia were supposed to run away, you might have been there too. And… when you saw the two of them, you might have thought that it was Whitney.”
Diego scoffs. “No. No way. They may have been identical, but after you spend so much time with them, you grow to learn the subtle differences. I could always tell them apart.”
“Could you?” Sarah asks. “Whitney told us that the night you attacked Victor, you mistook Julia for her?”
The color drains from Diego’s face. “She… she spoke with you? Three years of ignoring me completely, and she spoke with two strangers? I don’t believe it.”
“I’m sorry, Diego,” Sarah says quietly. “But was she telling the truth?”
He looks skyward, as if the right answer is written up there somewhere. “Yes, okay? One time—only one time—I confused the two of them.”
“Diego, why did you neglect to tell us earlier that they were twins?” Sarah asks cautiously.
He shrugs. “Because everyone around here knows that. I forgot that you are out-of-towners. That’s all.”
“Are you sure?” I ask him. “Or is it because you saw them and thought that it was Whitney and Victor running away together? Diego… did you accidentally kill the wrong twin?”
Diego stares at me, his eyes unmoving for what feels like forever. As much as I really want to look away, I hold his gaze.
Finally he says, “Now I see.” He scoops up his chubby little pug. “Come, Carnita.” Without another word, he slips inside the restaurant.
Sarah lets out a sharp breath. “God, that was intense. We just accused a man of murder and he didn’t bat an eyelash.”
“I know. The way he just stared at me… it was jarring.”
“What should we do now?” Sarah asks. “Do we call the police, or do we follow him inside…?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t actually confess.” I jiggle the door handle. “It’s locked anyway. Let’s just think a moment before we do anything.”
We don’t have to think long. Not even two minutes later, we hear the scream of a siren, and then a police cruiser screeches to a halt right outside the restaurant. Rory and Roger Heathrow scramble out, but they both pause when they see us.
“What are you two doing here?” they ask.
“What are you two doing here?” I reply.
“I called them.” Diego swings the door open and steps outside with Carnita in his arms. To me, he says, “You told me you own a pet shop?”
“That’s right…” I say, thoroughly confused.
Before I can react, he pushes the chubby pug into my arms. “You don’t owe me anything, but will you find a good home for her? Maybe Whitney will take her in. She always loved this dog.” He turns to the two officers and holds out his wrists. “I would like to confess to the murders of Julia Weatherby and her lover, Victor.”
CHAPTER 14
* * *
Sarah and I just sit side by side on the bed in our motel room for a long time, the three animals—Rowdy, Basket, and now Carnita—behind us, napping in a pile.
“I can’t believe that just happened,” Sarah says quietly. “He just… openly admitted it. Went without any fight or argument.”
“He was such a nice guy, too.” I sigh. “But I guess he realized there was no other option for him.”
Sarah turns to me somberly. “Will, I am so sorry I pushed you into this. I don’t know why, but I got it in my head that we’d somehow be closer if we solved this thing together. Back in Seaview Rock, you always tend to figure these things out on your own…”
“That’s not true at all,” I tell her. “I am the first to admit that you’re smarter than me. Probably by a lot. You’ve helped me way more than you think.”
She leans her head against my shoulder. “I thought we’d feel good about this, but to be honest, I just feel really, really crappy.”
“Me, too.”
“Maybe you’re right. Maybe we should just go home,” she says glumly. “I don’t know how we can enjoy the rest of our vacation after all this.”
“Let’s take some time to think about it. Besides,” I jerk a thumb behind me, “we still need to do something about Carnita.”
“True. And Whitney deserves to know what happened.”
***
We leave Basket and Rowdy at the motel and drive back up to the Weatherby house near the jetty with Carnita in tow, riding shotgun in Sarah’s arms. Neither of us speaks much until we arrive at the old place and knock on the door.
“I really hope she just answers this time,” Sarah murmurs. “I don’t think I have the patience for the whole rigmarole.”
I knock again, and Sarah calls out, “Whitney? It’s Sarah Cummings.”
A few seconds later, Whitney’s voice floats out to us, muffled by the door. “Now what do you want, Sarah?”
“I have to show you something.”
We hear Whitney sigh as if annoyed, and then the half-dozen locks being undone, and finally she opens the door two inches. “What do you want to show—” Her one brown eye in the small crack of the door falls on the dog. “Is that Carnita?”
“Yeah.”
“She’s so… fat.” Whitney opens the door, but only enough that her slight figure still fills the opening. “Why have you brought me…? Oh.” Her face falls. “Oh, no.”
“I’m sorry, Whitney,” Sarah says. “The police found Victor’s body, and Diego confessed to the whole thing.”
She covers her mouth with both hands. “No. No, no, no. That’s the last thing I wanted.”
“I can’t imagine how hard this must be,” Sarah offers. “But… before he turned himself in, he asked us to bring Carnita to you, to see if you wanted to take her in.”
“I… I… I can’t…” Whitney stammers, shaking her head.
“I know it’s hard, but this pup needs a home now. And… maybe you could use a friend,” Sarah suggests.
“No, you don’t understand,” Whitney protests.
“Just give her a little nuzzle and see if you don’t change your mind.” Sarah holds the dog out. Whitney shrinks back suddenly, but not fast enough—Carnita’s little pug tongue flicks out and lands a sloppy kiss on her cheek.
“Oh, no!” Whitney dashes into her house, the door still open. Carnita wriggles out of Sarah’s grasp and runs in after her. From somewhere inside, Whitney shrieks. “Get it out of here! Get it out!”
Confused, Sarah and I step into the house. From somewhere nearby, we hear water running.
Whitney cries out again. “Where did it go? Get it out!”
“Whitney?” I call out. I turn a corner to see her furiously scrubbing her cheek in a dirty kitchen sink. She turns to me, her eyes wide and already
a little red. Pink red bumps have already begun to rise on her dripping wet cheek. “Please get it out,” she pleads.
I pull Sarah by the arm out of the kitchen. As quietly as I can, I tell her, “Go outside and call the cops.”
“I don’t understand…”
“Please, just do it. We don’t know what she’s capable of.”
“Will, you’re not making any sense—”
“Sarah. She’s allergic to dogs. Don’t you see?”
“Oh. Oh! Oh my god!” Sarah suddenly comes to the same conclusion I have. “Be careful, please.” She hurries out the front door, and I close it behind her.
CHAPTER 15
* * *
Neither Whitney nor Carnita are in the kitchen. In the few seconds that I sent Sarah outside, the woman vanished, and the dog is nowhere to be seen either.
“Whitney?” I call out. “Will you please come talk to me?” No answer. I check the living room, and an adjacent den, but there’s no sign of her. She must have gone upstairs.
“Please don’t hurt the dog,” I say loudly. “She didn’t do anything wrong.” And please don’t hurt me, I think. I stand at the foot of the stairs, daring myself to go up. For all I know, she could be waiting around a corner with a weapon. It would be incredibly stupid of me to go up, wouldn’t it? But there’s an innocent pup somewhere in this house, and a woman that committed a double-homicide.
“Whitney, I’m going to come upstairs, okay?” I call out. “Whitney.” I scoff. “Let’s stop with that. We both know who you really are.”
I wait for a reply, any sound at all, but I don’t hear anything, so I continue. “You want to know how I know? It was in the details. Diego said Whitney always drank white wine, and Julia always drank red. And Whitney loved Carnita; you’re allergic to dog saliva.” I pause. Still nothing. “But most important, you’ve been careful these three years not to be seen, especially by anyone close to you—like Diego. The average person wouldn’t be able to tell, but he would know right away that you’re not Whitney.”