Cowabunga Christmas

by Anna Celeste Burke

  “When I got back I could see that Davis guy had a gun. I didn’t recognize him, but I had seen Arty before. That’s what they called him at the hotel—Arty. He was hanging around when I spoke to hotel security about what was up with the dead Santa. I knew I had to do something because Davis told Arty to get Willow and said he was going to grab Kim next. When Arty just stood there, I figured I had a chance to end this if I could nail Davis. Then, Davis turned his gun on Arty, away from Kim and Willow. I grabbed those bottles of soda and pitched them at the rocks. They landed. Wham! Bam! Davis unloaded bullets into the rocks and I jumped him. Arty was squealing. I thought he might have been hit by a bullet, but he was coming at me. Kim threw stuff at him and gave me a chance to punch him. That’s about it, until the rescue guys got there. Oh yeah, Kim had to whack Arty in the face one more time so I could get a good grip on him.” Brien had been using gestures to illustrate and emphasize what happened during that showdown with Davis. There hadn’t been a peep out of Mitchum or his sidekick for minutes. The officer had stopped writing, several times, to gawk at Brien.

  I don’t know about them, but I had palpitations—reliving the whole thing had me breathing hard. This time I also understood how much effort Brien had made and how much risk he had taken. That many trips back and forth to the lagoon area at top speed would have been too much for most mortal men. Imagining him as Hercules, as I had done the day before, wasn’t that far-fetched. I tugged at Brien’s elbow until he slid his hand down where I could grasp it tightly.

  It was my turn. I tried to keep my voice steady as I told the tale all over again, from my point of view. By the time I was done, I was ready to bolt. So was Detective Mitchum. He let out a huge breath, slapped both knees with his hands.

  “Well, that’s a wrap. Thanks Officer Dickson. Will you let me know when their statements are ready for signatures?”

  “Sure will,” Officer Dickson said, as she stood up and left the room.

  “There’s no rush signing off on your statements. I’ll leave a message with the front desk when they’re ready. You two can swing by any time before you leave town. Skim them if you want to be sure we got it all transcribed correctly, and then sign them. Officially, I want to say thanks for being good citizens. Unofficially, I feel I should wag my finger at you about how much trouble you two got into. This could very well have turned out to be a catastrophic Christmas instead of a cowabunga Christmas.”

  “We know that, Detective. You sure seem confident this is all wrapped up.”

  “Yes Kim, all wrapped up with a pretty bow on top. This is off the record, of course. Arty is singing like the proverbial canary—cannot give us enough details about Davis and his counterfeit operation. We’ve rounded up half a dozen more members of Davis’ ring of pirates, including guys ‘fencing’ the merchandise. One of those guys was with Davis when they worked Owen over and claims Davis shot Owen. So far, the evidence says he’s telling the truth. We retrieved Davis’ gun from the tide pool and the bullets match the ones found in our dead Santa.”

  “What about what you found in that cave?”

  “More good news—the dinghy and other items in the cave let us close the books on several outstanding thefts. The resort management is delighted at the idea of eventually getting that hotel scrip back, even though nobody reported it missing to us. They’ll have to wait until the D.A. has determined whether it’s needed as evidence.” Mitchum stopped to take a breath and sip his coffee.

  “We finally caught up with Benny Abrams. Benny’s duties were more on the sale side of the counterfeit ring. He didn’t work for the resort, but met with Davis at the resort on a regular basis. One night he spotted Owen helping himself to hotel scrip, stuffing it into his Santa sack. Benny knew right away he was no hotel employee, wondered who he was, and tailed him to Boardertown. He didn’t say it, of course, but it occurred to me he might have wanted a cut of that scrip. We found a ton of it in the cave, but won’t know how much until the evidence folks have finished counting it.”

  “Maybe that wasn’t Owen’s first time helping himself to fake doubloons.”

  “Could be, Kim. I’ve never seen a place with so many security problems. That could have to do with the fact that Davis had a hand in hiring. He was more interested in filling positions to keep his scam running than protecting the resort.”

  “You should do a consult, Detective. Go in there and straighten them out,” Brien said.

  “I might just do that,” Mitchum retorted. “Anyway, once Benny was on to Owen he says he hung out, mingling with the surfers, until he found out Owen was pilfering their goods. That’s when Benny went to Davis and told him what was going on. How do you like that—Owen was a scammer scamming the scammers? Good one, huh?” Detective twinkle-toes had returned. He was tap-tap-tapping away as he sat. Those antsy feet of his did a happy dance on the floor beneath the interview table.

  “Not so good considering it got Owen killed,” I murmured.

  “So Mick didn’t turn Owen in?” Brien asked.

  “It doesn’t sound like it. Nobody’s mentioned your friend Mick, and he hasn’t turned up in Boardertown or anywhere else we’ve searched. We’ve quit looking for him.”

  “What about the counterfeit merchandise Owen stored away and was selling on the internet?”

  “Actually, that’s the only part of this twisted tale that really makes me sad—except for the part about you two coming this close to a honeymoon tragedy.” Mitchum held up two fingers and peered at us through a half-inch opening between them. He had a point, but I still felt torn between lamenting our actions and snarling at the detective. Brien was feeling something, too, because he tightened his grip on my hand.

  “The guy at the hotel with Davis when Owen was shot and then tossed off the balcony helped us out with that. He directed us to a storage unit belonging to the owners of Corsario’s Hideaway. You were right to be suspicious that they let Owen off the hook so quickly. I’m sure now they didn’t want us to take a closer look at what Owen was doing in there after hours. I doubt we would have known what to look for anyway. They got rid of the merchandise—dumped it, right away. The cyber evidence is another matter.” Mitchum paused, his sad eyes drooping in sync with his mustache.

  “Their unprincipled, morally bereft teenage son decided to go into business with Owen. The adolescent computer geek set up the online auction site Owen bragged to Willow about. The sleazy nerd’s parents shut it down, but I guess in cyberspace that’s not the end of it. I don’t know what charges will be brought against the kid. Heck, his parents might be in trouble with the D.A. since they helped destroy evidence and cover up dumb and dumber’s criminal exploits. The Hideaway has been closed while they try to figure out how much trouble they’re all in.”

  “That explains it,” Brien said. The detective tilted his head one way and then the other.

  “Explains what?”

  “Why they were closed when we dropped by for lunch,” Brien replied.

  “What were you planning to do there?” he asked.

  “Eat lunch, Detective,” I snapped. That was mostly true. It had been lunchtime when we dropped by, and we were hungry. If forced to tell the truth in its entirety, I would have to admit our curiosity led us there. We didn’t tell Detective Mitchum, but we even circled the block to get a gander at the back side of the place. All locked up tight.

  “Now you know you have to go somewhere else to eat lunch when you’re in town, and why. We’re done here. You two go have a wonderful honeymoon, a cowabunga New Year, and a happy marriage. All that’s way more likely to happen if you do as that thug Davis told you to do and leave it alone. We’ve got this under control. There are a few loose ends to tie up—let us worry about that.” He stood up. We did too.

  “A gnarly New Year sounds better, Detective.” Mitchum stared at Brien like he had just spoken Klingon instead of English with a dab of surfer. You’d think he’d be getting used to it by now. I intervened.

  “We’re leaving, Det
ective. And we’re leaving it alone, too. You should know that Mick is still out there flapping around in the breeze. He doesn’t realize that you’ve found Opie’s stash and commandeered that GPS device. He claims he’s going to go get it. Do you want us to call and tell him to let it go, or do you want to do it?” Up on his feet, Mitchum was doing that antsy two-step again. What is it with this guy’s feet, I wondered?

  “That’s one of the loose ends we have to tie up. The GPS device wasn’t in the cave—a spear gun, fishing net, fins and snorkel, all sorts of gear like that, but no GPS device. Loads of weird stuff too, including rusty canned goods, nails, metal bands from an old barrel, junk he must have brought up when he was out fishing or picking up contraband. That Owen was a pack rat. It could be mixed up in all that junk that they’re still sorting through. I’m sending a team back out there to do another search, too. We don’t really need that GPS device, though. I’m convinced Owen was trying to impress Davis, playing the big shot once he got nabbed plundering that latter day pirate’s loot. Davis is as big a sucker as anyone else when it comes right down to it. Owen could have been playing Davis with a wild story that he and his partners had struck it rich. He might as well have said they found the legendary Mad Monk that haunts the cliffs, or were about to capture Corsario Cove’s very own creature of the black lagoon. Who could possibly believe a guy as dumb and desperate as Owen Taylor had found buried treasure? Give me that phone number and I’ll call this Mick guy. Does he have a last name?”

  “A guy like Matthew Davis, that’s who—as dumb as Owen and even more desperate, Detective.” Mitchum stared at Brien as he spoke those insightful words, a look of surprise on his face. “Myers, Detective—his name is Mick Myers.” It was my turn to look at Brien in surprise. I didn’t know Mick’s last name. No name had accompanied the caller’s number on Willow’s phone. I read out the numbers as Mitchum wrote them down.

  When we stepped back out onto the street, I took a deep breath of fresh air. I was delighted to get out of there and put this whole mess behind us. Owen’s troubles had drawn him into an abyss—even before that horrible last plunge into the deep end of a swanky resort hotel pool. Coincidence had dragged us into Owen’s misbegotten life of harebrained schemes. When Mitchum had uttered those words about a buried treasure, I felt a shiver run down my spine. A shiver comprised, in part, of curiosity. Fear, too.

  I’m no stranger to trouble. Brien and I had both pitched in on criminal investigations before, so tangling with bad guys wasn’t entirely new, either. For the first time in my life, though, I wondered if indulging my curiosity was always a good thing. I reached for Brien, touching him for reassurance. I had more to lose, now—more than ever before.

  “What do you think, Brien? Will they wrap up those loose ends?”

  “Who knows?” He shrugged and slung his hair back. Then he stepped closer. “It doesn’t matter, Kim. We have a honeymoon to finish and a gnarly New Year to kick off.” Brien bent down and kissed me—a kiss that started out sweet and morphed into a toe-curler.

  “Cowabunga, Baby!” he whispered as he wrapped his arms around me and held on tight.

  “Cowabunga, Baby!” I replied, renewing a silent vow to leave it alone.

  Thanks for reading COWABUNGA CHRISTMAS! I hope you’ll take a minute to leave a rating or a review on Amazon and Goodreads. Kim and Brien will be back soon in GNARLY NEW YEAR! To find out when it will be released signup at: http://www.desertcitiesmystery.com Check out the giveaways, recipes, other news, and blog posts, too!

  Here’s a sneak peek at what’s to come...an excerpt from Chapter 1 of GNARLY NEW YEAR

  ~~~~~

  1 New Year’s Eve

  The week between Christmas and New Year has always been anticlimactic for me. Not that I ever made a big deal out of Christmas. Growing up poor and then hitting the streets as a teen didn’t leave me with the wherewithal to deck the halls, if I’d had halls to deck. Still, there’s so much hoopla going on around you it’s hard to ignore. Despite my bah-humbug attitude about all the hustle and the bustle during the holiday season, I have to admit the celebratory spirit touches me. For weeks there’s more color, bright lights, cheery music, and the excitement is palpable. Then, bam! It just stops and you’re face-to-face with the end of another year.

  After our most recent misadventure, I won’t ever complain again about an uneventful week following Christmas. I was relieved, in fact, that the past week had been everything a honeymoon should be—filled with romance, relaxation, excellent food, spa days, and no more visits from surly detectives. Yay!

  Surfing, too! Brien and I woke up early, checked the surf, and if it looked decent we grabbed our boards and hit the beach. I was getting better at handling my surfboard on and off the water. Not that I possessed the panache my hubby displayed as he gloried in riding the waves.

  My hubby—can’t believe how easily that term of endearment rolled right through of my mind, like it was old news. I stopped to savor the prospect of being an old married woman. What would it be like to have years and years of shared memories like the ones we were storing up now, day by day?

  I gazed at the surf this morning, still not adept at reading the swells rolling into the cove. I liked what I saw. The stunning black cliffs stood out against a glittering riot of color created by the sunrise. I could see a single figure in black out on the beach, alongside a surfboard that stood upright in the sand. It could have been Willow. She was back. They told her to cool it after recovering from injuries sustained in a standoff with a gunman. She did. In a few days, though, she was out in the cove with us.

  Could it be Mick? From this distance I could not tell. There was still no sign of him. Everyone agreed that was odd for the would-be tribal leader of the make-shift surfer community, Sanctuary Grove. We were all curious, but the residents of Sanctuary Grove decided to abide by his ‘live and let live’ edict and wait for Mick to turn up on his own. Besides, Detective Mitchum with the local police in San Albinus had promised to track Mick down. He intended to tell Mick there was no need to continue searching for a missing GPS device that had belonged to a now dead member of Sanctuary Grove. The cops were on it. One of several loose ends they were wrapping up after discovering modern-day pirates running amok in Corsario Cove. The scummy pirates had help, too, from staff at the spectacular Sanctuary Resort & Spa we had chosen as our honeymoon destination.

  Brien and I were sticking with our vow to ‘leave it alone,’ and refrain from pursuing those loose ends as we had been told to do. That doesn’t sit well with me. I don’t like being told what to do by the bad guys or the good guys. Still, it was the right thing to do. We had so little time left to indulge ourselves. Soon, Brien and I would have to return to the desert near Palm Springs. He would go back to his job with a high-end private security firm, and I would resume my position as a legal assistant at a posh law firm on El Paseo—the desert’s answer to Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills. We’d be back to hustling and scrambling to find quality time—heck, any time just for just the two of us.

  I sighed, and picked up the phone to call room service. We needed coffee. Coffee would get Brien up on his feet so we could decide if surfing would inaugurate our celebration of New Year’s Eve. If not, we had other options. The resort had activities planned all day with dinner, dancing, champagne and fireworks set to close out the evening and the year. Our reservations had been made for that event when we booked our honeymoon trip. Soon after I placed an order for coffee, there was a knock at the door.

  “That was quick. Too quick,” I muttered.

  “Oh hell, no!” I said. A peek through the peephole revealed Santa standing there. “Go away, Santa, you’re too late—Christmas is over!” Not that the resort seemed to agree with me. Santas still roamed the grounds, distributing gifts and belting out tributes to the Christmas season. Every once in a while I got creeped out by it—thinking about our recent experiences with folks decked out like Santa. I also couldn’t shake the memory of a ghostly glimpse of Santa
standing up there on the cliffs overlooking Corsario Cove as a rescue boat whisked us away. I chalked it up to the stress of the day. Willow had not been alone in that standoff with a gunman.

  When I peeked again I was almost eyeball to eyeball with Santa. That was so creepy, I yelped! Brien heard me even though I had shut the French doors that separated the sitting room from the bedroom in our luxurious suite. He came running. Half asleep, and not realizing the doors were shut, he bumped into them. I could see him rubbing his nose through panes of glass that weren’t completely covered by billowy voile curtains. I ran to open the French doors for Brien. Santa pounded on the door again.

  “Brien, are you okay?” Not waiting for a reply, I continued. “Santa’s at the door—I told him to go away.” Brien, wrapped in nothing but a sheet, tripped as he took a step toward the door. He caught himself before falling and threw the long edge of the bed sheet that had been dangling on the ground, over his shoulder. That gave the sheet he wore the shape of a Roman toga. Santa knocked again.

  “My wife told you to go away, Santa!” Santa stopped pounding. Brien peered through that peephole. “He’s still there. Call security, Kim. No, wait... wait!” Brien slipped the chain off the door, slung the door wide open and Santa fell in, landing face down on the floor of our sitting room!

  To be continued...

  While you’re waiting, why not check out the books in which Brien and Kim first appear? Meet them for the first time in the Jessica Huntington Desert Cities Mystery series, Books 1-3 are out now!

  A DEAD HUSBAND http://smarturl.it/deadhus

  A DEAD SISTER http://smarturl.it/deadsis

  A DEAD DAUGHTER http://smarturl.it/deaddau

  AND THERE’S THE AWARD-WINNING PREQUEL TO THE JESSICA HUNTINGTON SERIES...

  LOVE A FOOT ABOVE THE GROUND

  http://smarturl.it/LOVEABOVE

  Just to get you started...here’s the first chapter from A DEAD HUSBAND!