“Uh, Brien, you better let Gun Guy up for air. His name is Matthew Davis. A big shot in Human Resources he’s one of the hotel insiders.” I wasn’t sure when Brien had joined us or how much he had heard before launching his attack.
“No kidding?” Brien let Davis get his head up above water. When he had taken a breath, Brien dunked him again.
“No kidding. Davis sent us that note, and he killed Owen,” I added.
“That’s bogus!” Brien dragged Davis a few inches under water so he could get a better grip on the second thug. Then he gave thug number two a chance to gasp for air. He didn’t look like he could take another dunking. Blood was pouring from a gash he got when he fell against—no, when Brien shoved him against those rocks. Or, more likely, when that rock I lobbed, struck him.
“Brien, that one needs all the air he can get.” Brien twisted the guy around to make eye contact.
“You going to stay put if I let you keep your head above water?” Thug number two nodded in agreement. Then Brien repeated himself, asking the same question of Davis who quit struggling before also nodding.
With his muscles bulging under that tight-fitting wetsuit, Brien reminded me of the lead in one of those old Hercules movies. He wasn’t up against Titans or sea monsters, but that didn’t matter. It was still heroic. When he caught me watching him, he smiled that blazing smile of his. Reassured, I staggered over to Willow and slumped down next to her.
“You okay?” I asked. Her appearance was less scary—the color in her face more natural. She was no longer shaking all over.
“Now I am. Why on earth would Owen tell them he gave me that GPS gizmo?”
“Owen was desperate; afraid for his life, Willow. He would have said anything at that point to stay alive. My guess is that his confession had the opposite result. Davis had no more use for him once he gave them your name. What I don’t get is why do they want it?”
I suddenly remembered a story Willow had told me the first time we met. She had taken me up on the cliffs to show me this tide pool area. “That’s our own private sanctuary, now. My place where it all started, it’s your place too, Willow.” Owen had told her something like that. I had regarded Owen’s testament to Willow as sentimental or delusional. He was deluded if he believed fate had brought him to that spot and the runners’ missing swag, or that any of his other schemes would give him a future with Willow. That must be what he meant when he told Davis it was at Willow’s place. I peered over my shoulder at that cave entrance. Owen may have given that GPS device to Willow after all.
13 A Cowabunga Christmas
In two or three more minutes, and after a bit of yelling back and forth, the rescue squad was upon us. Orange suited men waded into the pool and had us up on board that rescue boat in no time flat. I was so grateful! I still had to make that pit stop and ran for it in the direction the crew leader pointed when I asked for a bathroom. You could hardly call it that, but who cared?
When I returned a while later after wrestling with my wet suit in those accommodations, I realized in my haste, I had brushed past Detective Mitchum. He stood there with a dour expression on his face. Before I could say a word, Brien rushed to my side. He threw a blanket around my shoulders and handed me a bottle of juice. I guzzled the juice, eying the detective as he eyed us.
“Merry Christmas, Detective. I take it you got our messages.” I glanced at the activity around us. First aid was being administered to Willow and to Deer-in-the-headlights Guy who turned out to be Art Abrams—a recent hire in security, according to what he told Mitchum. Matthew Davis was glaring at me from a few yards away. He wasn’t in cuffs, but a uniformed police officer stood next to him.
“You want to tell me what’s going on here? Davis has lawyered up already.” Mitchum glowered. “He claims you two are part of a conspiracy to defraud the hotel—mixed up in a scheme with Owen Taylor and his girlfriend, Ms. Calloway.”
“Ms. Calloway—are you talking about Willow, Detective?”
“Yes, Willow Calloway.”
“Arrest them, Detective. I demand you place them both under arrest this minute!” That was Davis, shouting. He had taken a step toward us before the officer restrained him.
“Cuff him, Officer Ballard. I wish those cuffs came with a muzzle. I’ve had all I can stand. Three strikes and you’re out, Davis. I told you to quit bellowing.” Detective Mitchum turned his attention back to us as he kept complaining about Davis.
“He’s been ranting almost nonstop since we dragged his miserable behind on board. I have no doubt you two can provoke anyone into fits of senseless blabbering. It’s the intermittent commands to do my job his way that I can’t stand. I don’t buy his self-serving hero routine, either. A hotel executive, in a wetsuit on Christmas day, with no one but a low level member of the resort’s security team out to apprehend hotel guests? No way!”
“If you fish around in that pool area, Detective, you’ll find a gun the civic-minded hotel executive was wielding until a few minutes ago. I’m betting the bullets match the ones the coroner removed from Owen Taylor. Before you all came along Davis was ranting about Owen, not me or Brien or Willow.”
“Find Benny, Detective.” That was Willow yelling to be heard over our conversation and other noises on board the boat.
“Who’s Benny?” Mitchum barked.
“Benny Abrams—he’s your brother, right Art? They must be in on this together, Detective.” Art Abrams shut up as Willow made that point.
“What about it, Abrams? Don’t tell me you have nothing to say now.” Mitchum turned to us, complaining again.
“He’s been whining and whimpering, sniveling and shivering. We just can’t do enough for him—wants a blanket, water and a lawyer.” Mitchum turned to speak directly to the jumpy-looking young man.
“You must be used to better service at the hotel, eh Abrams?” Abrams looked at the detective, then at Davis before speaking.
“She’s right, Detective. Benny’s my brother. Find him and he’ll explain all of this. I’m not going to prison for murder. I didn’t know about that or the gun, I swear!”
“I already told you to shut up or else.” Art wailed as Davis stepped forward and gave his mewling sidekick a swift kick. The officer yanked Davis hard. So hard he pulled him right off his feet. The hotel exec landed flat on his behind with a thud that shook the boat. He immediately began muttering about police brutality. A member of the rescue team that had been administering first aid went to check on Art Abrams who was bleeding again.
“That’s assault and battery, in addition to whatever else we charge you with, Davis,” Mitchum boomed. “Okay, so who’s Benny?”
“Benny is Benny Abrams, apparently. He was out on the surf with us this morning and turned up later as Davis’ wheel man. He took off that way in a motorized dinghy or a small boat.” I waved in the direction Benny had fled. “I’m sure he’s back on dry land by now.”
As I spoke, I scanned the cliff tops. For a second my heart stopped. I could have sworn I saw Santa standing up there. Holy Moly, now I was seeing poor Opie’s ghost. Detective Mitchum was on the phone, putting out a BOLO—‘be on the lookout’—for Benjamin Abrams.
“I also need a diving team out here to retrieve a weapon.” Mitchum gave the dispatcher our coordinates and was about to end the call. I leaned in closer to the detective, hoping not to be overheard by Davis. I tugged on his arm to get his attention.
“Detective, while you’re at it you should get someone out here to stand watch. There’s a cave entrance that needs to be guarded until you can get a team inside and collect the booty.” I stole another glance at the top of those cliffs. Whew! No Santa.
“Hang on a second, will you?” Detective Mitchum held the cell phone he had been using against his chest.
“Now what? Are you going to stand there and tell me you’ve stumbled across pirate treasure?” He was shaking his head. I thought about it before I answered.
“That’s not far off, Detective. A treasure trove of evidence,
that’s for sure.”
“I’d listen to her if I were you, Detective. Kim never makes stuff up.”
The detective opened his mouth to chew me out. I took a step closer and turned my back to Davis. I pulled that phony doubloon from a pocket in my wettie and showed it to Mitchum.
“There’s a lot more of it in that cave, Detective.” Mitchum got back on the phone.
“Send a couple extra guys to collect evidence, too, will you?” He lowered his voice. “Tell them to come prepared to collect it from a cave in the cliff.” He paused. “I’m not going to repeat myself. You heard me. Get a team here quick!” Mitchum ended the call, slipped the phone into a pocket, and then made eye contact with me.
“We need to talk. You’re going to start at the beginning and tell me the whole story.”
Mitchum walked away and spoke to the crew leader on the rescue skiff. They dropped a marker buoy over the side to help the police investigators find the spot. After another brief discussion, a member of the rescue team climbed off the skiff and waded into the tide pool. He kept moving until he took up a post outside that cave entrance.
We headed back to the dock area a short distance away. A crowd had gathered. Up the slope, on what must be the access road leading to and from the dock, I could see the flashing lights of police cars, ambulances, and rescue squad vehicles. More Santas mingled among the resort guests and staff who stood on the beach and lined the small, crowded boardwalk. I blinked a couple times as we disembarked. These Santas didn’t go away. Thank goodness they weren’t more ghostly figments of my imagination.
Art Abrams got carted off on a stretcher and put into an ambulance. That vicious kick had done damage. Davis demanded to be taken to the ER, too. A hospital must have been preferable to a jail cell, likely to be his next stop even with his lawyer meeting him at the ER. Davis was transported to the hospital in the back of a police SUV, rather than putting him in the same ambulance with Abrams.
Willow was loaded into a second ambulance, also headed to the ER to get thoroughly checked out. She had scrapes including two deep gashes. The one on her leg needed stitches. She might also have suffered a concussion and a sprain or a fracture in one ankle. Given the dive she made, she was lucky her injuries weren’t worse. Mitchum assigned a uniformed officer to accompany her to the hospital and stay with her until events got sorted out.
The detective escorted us, as we walked back to the hotel. On the way we filled him in, informally, on all we had discovered. I was exhausted and my arms hung at my side like wet noodles. Brien and I told our story ‘tag team’ style. When I left something out or lagged, Brien picked up the tale.
I began with what we had learned about Owen Taylor from talking to Willow and Mick. We explained who Mick was, and I wondered aloud about his absence. It seemed odd he, of all people, had disappeared once the bullets started flying. Given his apparent interest in Willow and self-proclaimed tribal leadership role, I was dumbfounded the Kahuna hadn’t been at Brien’s side. He might at least have shown up at the dock to check on Willow’s well-being. I didn’t go into all that, boy-girl stuff with the Detective. Instead, I stuck to the facts, or what we understood to be the facts about Owen and his missteps.
That included his stumbling upon the counterfeit ring, being run by Davis, the Abrams brothers, and who knew who else at the resort. I also raised the possibility that Mick might have squealed on Owen, given the trouble going on at Sanctuary Grove.
“Mick might be able to tell you more about who’s involved in running goods through the cove, Detective,” Brien interjected.
“I hear you. It sounds like I need to send an officer to Sanctuary Grove to round up Mick, the Kahuna, or whatever he calls himself. Do all of you use several names?” Mitchum asked. “Never mind, don’t answer that.” Brien stopped walking for a second, but said nothing. I kept moving and picked up our story before Brien could express bewilderment or irritation now that Mitchum was back to asking questions that he didn’t want answered.
“You might want to have another chat with the bar owners where Owen worked before he got picked up for a B&E.” For a moment Mitchum looked like he was going to ask how I knew about that B&E. He let me continue. I explained what Owen was doing in that Santa suit, hauling sacks of goods with him to an unknown location.
“According to Davis, Owen claimed he still had a stash of stolen counterfeit goods that he offered to return. If they’re not in that cave, they must be in town. That’s why you need to talk to the bar owners. They were awful quick to let Owen off the hook on that B&E charge. Owen also told Willow he had a partner selling the stolen counterfeit goods online. If that’s true, Owen must have enlisted a helper who had a computer and computer skills. That also required access to the merchandise. Photographs have to be taken of the items that are posted on the auction site. Then, they have to be packaged and shipped to the winner of the auction.”
“Like eBay. I’ve got it.”
“Yes, like eBay, Detective. Davis must know where the goods are since Owen tried to give them back. Good luck getting information from Davis with his lawyer at his side. I’m sure his lawyer is as slick as he is.” I flashed on Owen in his Santa suit, up against the likes of Davis and whoever else he had with him in that hotel room. Opie had no chance. I stopped talking.
Brien stepped in and told Mitchum about the incident with Bad Santa and that note still sitting in our room. We promised to bring the note with us to a more formal debriefing in San Albinus the next day. That respite had let me catch my breath and get my emotions under control. I wanted to recount my conversation with Davis for Mitchum and pass along the slimy exec’s ruthless disclosures while they were still fresh in my mind. I gave him a quick rundown of events once I stepped out of that cave. There were several points I wanted to make.
“Davis admitted—no, it’s more like he bragged about beating Owen senseless. If I heard Davis correctly, though, Owen made another claim about a big deal in the works before he took that beating. He could have been talking about that hotel scrip in the cave. There’s a lot of it missing from the resort, apparently.” I didn’t tell Mitchum how I found that out either. Fortunately, he didn’t ask.
“That’s part of what’s hidden up on a ledge, off to the right as you move inside that cave. It’s hard to believe that’s what Owen regarded as his big score, but who knows? Whatever Owen told Davis in that hotel room has something to do with coordinates saved on a marine GPS device. That’s what Davis was trying to get from Willow at gunpoint.”
“Could be that device contains coordinates leading to the cave where you found Owen’s fake doubloons.”
“It’s possible, Detective, but I think there’s a good chance that device is in the cave. Why hide a device in the place the device is supposed to help you find? That makes no sense.”
“Quite the corundum, huh, Detective?” We stopped walking. It took me a minute to sync my mind with Brien’s so I could translate. I peered into his deep brown eyes.
“Conundrum Brien—is that what you mean? Like a big riddle?”
“Yeah, a huge one. Not just where Owen hid it, but why Davis is willing to shoot people to get it.” We started walking again, close enough to the hotel now to hear Christmas music coming from inside.
“What makes you think the GPS device is in that cave?”
“Davis said Owen told him he left that device with Willow—at Willow’s place. Davis searched Willow’s shack earlier, the first time he pulled that gun on her. He must have thought that shack was Willow’s place. I’m pretty sure Owen was talking about that cave and pool area, instead.” I relayed what Willow had told me about her conversation with Owen. Mitchum nodded his head as though he understood.
“That Davis guy is a first-class dirt bag. Don’t let him get away with this, Mitchum.” Mitchum’s mustache moved up and down—twitchy-like.
“You’re not telling me how to do my job now too, are you Brien? A good haircut and manicured nails don’t fool me. Nor do I resp
ond well to a guy so used to being the boss he assumes everyone he meets works for him—including me. Art Abrams has plenty to say about Davis. I bet his brother Benny will too, once we pick him up. The County Sheriff will get jurisdiction over Davis and his band of murderous thieves, but I won’t forget that Davis murdered a guy and ripped off a bunch of people in my town. San Albinus deserves better.”
“Thanks, Detective. I don’t want Opie haunting me.” I said it like it was a joke. That made Mitchum and Brien smile, but that fleeting image of a ghostly Santa still hovered. I also felt like I was forgetting something. It was now mid-afternoon. We had been out in the water for more than two hours when we heard that awful scream and those shots fired.
I was tired, hungry, and stressed out, although relieved that this ordeal was over. Nobody else was dead and Mitchum was motivated. He planned to head back out to join the crew collecting evidence from the tide pool and cave area. That gun would be a big help to get Davis to come clean—if they could find it. We were at the steps that led back up to the hotel level when it dawned on me that we had left our boards behind.
“Brien, our boards—they’re still back at the lagoon. So much for our cowabunga Christmas! This is not how I planned for the day to go.”
The girly-girl side of me was threatening to betray me right there in front of Mitchum. I couldn’t believe that after all we had been through the past two days I was on the verge of tears, now! I fought to hold them back.
“I’m afraid to ask. What’s a cowabunga Christmas?”
“Don’t ask if you don’t want to hear the answer, Mitchum!” Brien smirked, and then went on. “It’s the most epic Christmas anyone could ever have. We had one, too. The most awesome morning surfing! It’s not every day you catch waves like that, Kim, trust me. You stood up on your board and had your first ride ever.” I tried to smile.
“Almost a whole minute,” I said. “It was pretty awesome, wasn’t it?”
“Hey, and you wanted our first Christmas together to be memorable. It is, right?” Mitchum was getting antsy—doing that shifty foot thing he had done the day before.
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