Murder on Treasure Island (Peyton Brooks' Series Book 7)

by M. L. Hamilton

  “The dog’s fine.” He slumped down further on the couch.

  Tag took a menacing step forward. “My partner told you to get the dog some food. Do it!”

  Benny blinked at her, then he scrambled off the couch to obey.

  Peyton waited until he was out of the room before crossing between the couches and stopping in front of Helen. Pushing aside a number of empty soda cans, she took a seat on the coffee table.

  “You sure you’re not sick? I could get you to a doctor if you need one.”

  Helen shook her head. “I’m just hung-over, s’all.”

  “Helen, did your dad fly to Vegas?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What airline did he fly with? Can you give me the name?”

  She twisted the blanket in her hands. “I can’t remember.”

  “Did he write it down anywhere?”

  “No.”

  “How long have you lived here?”

  “‘Bout six months.”

  “Benny too?”

  “Yeah.”

  Peyton gave her a critical look. “We really need to talk to your father.”

  “I told you I’d call as soon as he gets home.”

  “Okay, but if you need anything between now and then, you call me, you hear? You call me.”

  Helen nodded.

  Peyton rose and moved toward the door. They passed Benny in the paneled hallway and Peyton stepped in front of him, forcing him to halt.

  “That dog had better be off the leash when I come back and he’d better be fed.”

  Benny chewed on his inner lip, but he didn’t respond.

  Keeping her eye on him, she and Tag walked to the door and stepped out, closing it behind them. The dog was eating a bowl of kibble as they headed toward the Mustang. Peyton paused to scratch his ears, but Tag went to the gate and opened it. Peyton followed her a moment later.

  After they climbed inside the Mustang, Tag stared at the mobile home. “You think Lowell’s really in Vegas?”

  Peyton shrugged. “Who knows, but we’ve got to confirm it.”

  “Where do we start?”

  “I’ll call Stan Neumann, our tech guy, and see if he can track down a plane ticket. In the meantime, why don’t I buy you a beer at my place?”

  “Your place?”

  “Yeah, I wanna see my dog.”

  “You have a dog?” Tag looked less than thrilled.

  “You’ll love him. He’ll help you overcome your fear.”

  “I’m not afraid, Fluffy,” said Tag in an aggravated tone. “I just don’t like them.”

  “Then he’ll help you get over your dislike.”

  Tag faced forward, dismissing Peyton. “That’s gonna take a lot of beer.”

  Peyton laughed and started the Mustang.

  * * *

  Peyton scooped Pickles up the moment they entered the house. He wiggled and whimpered in her arms, kissing her. She hugged him tight. Lord, she missed the little guy and his unabashed adoration.

  Tag gave her a sidelong look as she stepped past her into the living room. “How much does this cost you in rent each month?”

  “I own it,” said Peyton. “Well, as Jake always reminds me, the bank owns it, but they let me pay them for it.”

  “How do you afford it on a cop’s salary?”

  Peyton settled Pickles on the couch and went to the kitchen, opening the refrigerator. She wasn’t sure what was inside, but it didn’t hurt to look. She found two beers in the back and pulled them out. “When my dad died, he left a pretty good insurance policy. Mom said he wanted me to have my own place, so she gave me the down payment.”

  She carried the beers to Tag and handed her one. “Make yourself at home.”

  Pickles jumped up, placing his two front paws on the arm of the couch. Tag walked to the other end and sat down, opening her beer. Pickles ignored her, focused on Peyton.

  She scratched his ears. “So what about your family?”

  Tag lowered the beer and glanced over at her, bracing her forearms on her thighs. “Two parents, younger brother. All live in Seattle. Parents have been married for almost 40 years.”

  “Do you miss them?”

  “Yeah.”

  Peyton sat down on the arm of the recliner. “You get to see them often?”

  “As often as we can. Ain’t got no problems there.” She chewed her gum and shook her head. “People always think I’m so touchy because they weren’t supportive or something, but that ain’t it. When I told them I was gay, my dad said cool, my mom said it was about time I told them, and my brother said, no duh.”

  Peyton laughed and took a sip.

  “They’re definitely not the problem. It’s me. I just don’t like people.” She leaned back on the couch, shifting into a more comfortable position. “So, weren’t you going to call the tech guy or something?”

  “Right.” Peyton settled her beer on the table and reached for her phone. She placed the call to Stan. He picked up after the second ring. “Hey, Stan, sorry to bother you on Sunday.”

  “I love hearing from you, Peyton. No problem. What can I do for you?”

  “We need to search the manifests on all outbound planes from SFO to Vegas for a Lawrence Lowell. Can you do that?”

  “I’ll need a warrant, but that shouldn’t be too hard to get. I’ll start working on it right away. What window of time do you want to use for the search?”

  “Let’s do the last two weeks.”

  “I’ll get right on it. Hey, how are you?”

  “Good.”

  “Still staying at your mother’s?”

  Peyton glanced over at Tag. Pickles was crawling toward her on his belly and Tag was watching him warily, but she hadn’t moved yet.

  “Yeah, still with my mother.”

  “Oh, okay. Well, I’ll try to have something to you by tomorrow morning. Okay?”

  “Sounds good. And thank you, Stan.”

  “Anytime, Peyton. Goodbye.”

  “Goodbye.” She hung up and watched as Pickles rolled over on his back, exposing his furry belly.

  Tag glanced up at her, but before she could say anything, the door opened and Jake walked through.

  “Hey, strang...er.” He caught himself when he saw Tag. He shut the door and settled his keys and wallet on the sofa table. “Is everything okay at your mom’s?” He gave her a pointed look.

  Peyton wryly nodded her head. “Everything’s fine at Mom’s.” She motioned to Tag. “Jake, have you met my new partner, Tag Shotwell?”

  Jake shook hands with her over the couch. Pickles jumped up on the back of the couch, trying to get to Jake, so he picked him up.

  “Tag, this is our CSI, Jake Ryder.”

  “Pleasure,” said Tag.

  “Same here,” answered Jake. Placing Pickles back on the couch, Jake wandered into the kitchen.

  “So what brings you here?” he called.

  “I wanted to see my dog.”

  He carried a beer back into the living room, leaning against the counter. Before he could answer, the door opened and Maria walked through, followed by Cho. Both of them had their arms full of grocery bags.

  “Oh, good, you got Jake’s message,” Maria said to Peyton.

  Peyton frowned and glanced back at Jake, but he was busy texting. Suddenly, Peyton’s phone chimed in her hand. She looked down at it to see a text message from Jake. Maria’s making dinner and she wants you to come.

  Peyton showed Maria the phone.

  She glared at Jake as Cho went around him into the kitchen with his bags. “I’m grilling steaks. I saw Marco at the precinct and he’s coming over as soon as he finishes up. Abe’s already on the way.”

  Tag slid forward on the couch. “I should probably go. I’ll just call a cab.”

  “No,” said Peyton, “stay.”

  “Yeah, stay. I’ve got plenty of food, and then after dinner you and I can talk about brown.” Maria gave her a narrow-eyed look, then followed Cho into the kitchen.

 
; Tag glanced at Peyton. Brown, she mouthed.

  Peyton vehemently shook her head.

  At moment later, the door swung open again and Abe appeared in full Abe-regalia: canary yellow slacks, a purple and yellow silk shirt, and cowboy boots in highly polished black.

  “Wait until you see the drink I have planned for us tonight!” he announced, then swooped down on Peyton and gave her a kiss on the cheek, while juggling his bag of bottles. “Hey, Tag,” he said, throwing her a smile.

  Tag lifted a hand in greeting.

  When he disappeared into the kitchen, Peyton leaned toward Tag. “Never drink anything Abe makes.”

  Tag gave her a questioning look, but Jake moved to the other end of the couch and took a seat. “So Tag, where are you from?”

  “Seattle.”

  “I like Seattle, except the rain. Lots of rain.”

  Peyton used that moment to extricate herself and went to her room. She wanted to pick up a few things while she was here and this seemed as good a time as any. She grabbed a bag out of the bottom of her closet and went to her dresser, picking out some clothes. She wasn’t sure what she and Marco were going to do on a permanent basis, but she wasn’t going to analyze it right now.

  As if her thoughts had conjured him, he stepped into the bedroom. “Hey.”

  “Hey, yourself. How was work?”

  He gave a grimace. “I did paperwork all day. That’s all I am now. I’m paperwork.”

  Peyton laughed. She wanted to hug him, but she could hear voices in the living room. “Tell Defino you’re dyslexic,” she teased.

  “That’s a legitimate learning disability, Brooks,” he argued.

  “Yeah, for people who are dyslexic, D’Angelo.”

  “How was your day? I see you’re packing, so that must mean good things for me.”

  “It means I want a clean change of clothes and something to sleep in at night.”

  “I like what you’ve been sleeping in,” he said, stalking her.

  She placed a hand in the middle of his chest and held him off as he encircled her waist with an arm. “Behave yourself. I’m making in-roads with Tag and I don’t want her to think we’re sleeping together.”

  He gave her a disbelieving look. “We are sleeping together.”

  “She doesn’t need to know that right now. Besides, do you want Cho and Maria to find out?”

  “I don’t really give a damn. I hate sneaking around.” He tried to pull her closer, but she held him off.

  “You can control yourself.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong.” He started to lower his head toward her and Peyton knew she was going to give in.

  “Do I need to chaperone the two of you?” came Jake’s voice from the doorway.

  Peyton used the distraction to slip out of Marco’s hold and put the bed between them.

  Marco gave a growl of frustration, then turned and headed toward the door, glaring at Jake as he moved past him. Jake made a face at him in return, but he offered him a cold beer.

  After he was gone, Jake nodded his chin at the bag. “So you’re just here to restock supplies?”

  Peyton zipped up the flap. “And to get my dog.”

  Jake eyed the bag. “He’s not in there, is he?”

  “No.”

  “Good. He stays with me.”

  “No, Jake. We agreed to only a week. I miss him. I want him with me.”

  “You’re busy. You don’t have time for him right now. Besides, he’s my best friend.”

  “I know that, but he’s my dog, Jake.”

  “One more week.”

  “No.”

  Jake gave her a look that promised mischief. “Hey, Maria, did Peyton’s mother call this morning?”

  “No, why?” came Maria’s response.

  “I don’t know, I thought I heard the phone ring.”

  “I didn’t take a call from her.”

  “Hm, I’m pretty sure she called. What do you suppose she wanted, since Peyton’s been staying with her all week?”

  “I don’t know. Stop shouting at me and come talk to me in the kitchen.”

  Jake gave Peyton a challenging look.

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  He held out his hands. “What are you going to do if she calls here and wants to know if you’re all right?”

  “Jake…”

  He shrugged.

  “This is blackmail.”

  “It’s leverage.”

  “I’ll get you back.”

  Jake smiled. “I know you will, but until then, I’ve got your dog, my pretty.”

  “What’s with all the stupid Wizard of Oz references?”

  Jake frowned, then walked away, shaking his head.

  When Peyton came out of the living room, she saw Abe strolling between the couch and the coffee table. As he passed Tag, he deposited a bright red drink in her hand. It was garnished with two red jellybeans. As Abe completed his pass, headed back toward the kitchen, Tag’s gaze lifted to Peyton.

  Peyton walked over to her and took the drink from her hand, moving toward the kitchen without breaking stride. Abe blocked her and took the drink back, making the same pass between the couch and table, placing the drink in Tag’s hand again. Peyton gave him a disbelieving look.

  “What is it?” asked Tag, holding it up to look at it.

  “It’s called a Fireball,” he said, circling behind the couch.

  “What’s in it?”

  “Fireball cinnamon whisky, ginger ale, and grenadine.”

  Tag brought the drink to her lips, then hesitated. Looking up at Peyton, she said, “Whisky sounds about right. Sorry.”

  Peyton sighed. “So am I.”

  * * *

  Genevieve took her keys out of her purse, but paused before unlocking her door. She turned and faced Jimmy Bartlet. It had been nice to be taken to dinner, to eat in a restaurant with cloth napkins and real silverware. It had been even nicer to have a young man show so much interest in her. That hadn’t happened since she came to San Francisco.

  “Thank you,” she said, smiling at him.

  He tucked his hands in his pockets and cuffed the bottom of his shoe along the carpet. “My pleasure. Can I see you again?”

  “I’d like that. A lot.”

  He looked up at her, then leaned forward, pressing his lips to hers. His kiss was sweet, gentle, respectful. She liked it. She liked a lot about him. Closing her hands on the lapels of his jacket, she pulled him closer, tilting her head to deepen the kiss. His hands moved to her hips and drew her in even more. He was as tall as she was and they fit together nicely. He was warm and solid and she realized she hadn’t let anyone hold her for a very long time.

  Just as she was thinking of asking him in, her phone rang in her purse. She pulled away, feeling her heart catch. She didn’t want to answer it. She wanted to go on kissing Jimmy Bartlet in the hallway of her safe apartment complex.

  He gave a sigh of frustration and took a step back. “I should probably go.”

  She wanted to ask him to stay, but she didn’t want to look desperate and she knew that was how she’d look.

  “Can I call you?” he asked.

  “Yes, I’d like that.” She managed to make her voice sound normal. The phone continued to peal happily. She was going to have to change that ringtone. The joy of it seemed ominous, knowing who was on the other end.

  “Night, Genevieve,” he said, taking a step back.

  “Night, Jimmy.”

  He gave her a final nod, then turned and strode down the hallway toward the elevators. Genevieve almost called him back, but her phone suddenly went quiet. Somehow the quiet was worse than the ringing.

  She turned and fumbled to unlock the door, then rushed inside and shut it again, turning all the locks. Walking to the coffee table, she settled the bag on top of it and sat down on the couch. For a moment, she prayed he wouldn’t call back, then she became afraid. If he didn’t call, he’d go back to killing and it would be her fault. She didn�
�t want that on her conscience.

  When the music started again, she scrambled for the bag and tore it open, fishing out the phone and thumbing it on. She pressed it to her ear and closed her eyes. The pounding of her heart was so powerful, it almost made her dizzy.

  “Hello?”

  “I don’t like it when you make me wait,” came his voice.

  “I’m sorry. I couldn’t find my phone.”

  “I suggest you keep it handy from now on.”

  “I will.”

  “So what should we talk about today?”

  “Tell me about your wife.”

  “What’s there to tell?”

  “I read your letter. Did you marry Missy?”

  “Yes. When I came back from the Marines.”

  “Where were you stationed?”

  “Uh uh un. That information is classified.”

  “Was Missy living in the same house when you came back?”

  “No, she’d left to go to college.”

  “How did you find her?”

  “We wrote, kept in touch.”

  “Did you have children?”

  A pause on the line. Genevieve gripped the phone tighter. “No, we couldn’t have children.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “For what? It wasn’t your problem.”

  “That’s what people say to show empathy.”

  “I don’t need your empathy. Stick to factual questions.”

  His mood swings scared her. “When you say Missy left you, what do you mean? Did you get divorced?”

  “I don’t believe in divorce. It’s too easy. People divorce like they change their underwear.”

  “Okay, then when you say she left you, what do you mean?”

  “I mean she wasn’t present in my life. I really hate when our conversation gets circular.”

  “Did she die? Is that why she wasn’t present in your life?”

  “Have you ever lost anyone to cancer, Ms. Lake?”

  “My grandfather.”

  “Then you know they leave you long before they die.”

  “So she died from cancer?”

  He paused again. Genevieve held the phone away to see if the call was still connected.

  It was.

  “Are you there? Look, I feel foolish calling you the Janitor. What should I call you?”

  “This fishing expedition is not even remotely disguised.”