by Robena Grant
“The murder victim came from Cancun, didn’t he?” Dena asked softly.
Jack stood. Someone had leaked Juan’s information. Even Dena shouldn’t know that much. He didn’t answer her question. Cancun kept repeating in his thoughts. Now he remembered he’d seen it written on that health spa pamphlet Janelle had given him. So, no secret there, maybe his Deb wasn’t involved after all. And four months ago he hadn’t even asked Juan to come out of retirement.
“Come on, Dave. There’s work to be done.” Jack held out a hand to Dena. “Thanks a million. You might have given me my first lead.”
“I didn’t put Debbie under suspicion, did I?” Dena asked. “I know her, she’d never do—”
“No. Don’t worry.” Jack prayed for more reasons than he wanted to admit right now that Deb was innocent. “There’s a loose connection, maybe.” He turned to Zeke and shook hands. Though he figured Deb wasn’t connected to Juan’s murder, he had to find out for certain, and he wouldn’t leave any loose threads. “I might want to talk with your employee later.”
“Sure,” Zeke said. “Manny would be happy to help.” Then he clapped him on the shoulder with one hand. “Glad you could stop by. I’ll call you. We could have a round of golf.”
Jack nodded. To hell with golf. He needed to get his ass back to the spa and make some enquiries. He had a case to solve, and if his instincts and Dena’s instincts were right, Deb was either guilty as hell, or in a shit load of trouble.
And when had he started calling her Deb? He’d better watch himself. He’d gotten a bit too close, and that was stupid. How in hell had he ended up sleeping with her? And thinking about making babies? Shit.
From now on he was staying alert, and he was asking questions. A ton of them.
Chapter Sixteen
Debbie picked up the yellow legal pad and pen, and sat on the bench in the dolphin therapy room. This would be the best place to make her notes as she wouldn’t be visible from the street.
So far she’d compiled a list of everyone who knew about her dolphin therapy or who had worked on it with her before it was up and running. Rachel and Janelle had helped to brainstorm the idea. Zeke and Dena had been privy to early sketches. A local artist had painted the mural on the wall—Manny was a friend of Zeke’s, a really nice kid with a great future. They’d all been sworn to secrecy until the big unveiling. Debbie sat back and tapped the pen against her closed mouth. That took care of everyone in Almagro.
Then there was the video guy in Cancun. Oh, yeah, and the travel agent who’d booked the trip. She lived in Palm Desert.
Debbie chewed on the end of the pen, thought for a moment, and tried again to recall every step in the building process. Darn it, she wasn’t done with Almagro after all, because there was also the company where she’d bought the bed, and the lighting expert who was a young guy, and a friend of Manny, the artist.
She took silent inventory. The other bits and pieces of furniture she’d already owned. Some she’d brought in from her home, other things from massage rooms. There were so many people involved with this tiny ten feet by ten feet room. Darn it. She reminded herself to remain calm and carefully went over everything again. She’d found the royal blue blankets at the mega store out on Highway 111, but she was sure that was the last item, at least for the town of Almagro.
Oh, no. What about Wendy’s mother, Betty?
This was so hard. Debbie blew out a puff of air. Every time she thought she’d compiled a complete list another item cropped up. Betty had told her to check out a friend’s business in Cancun, because she’d bought the blue canvas cushions from his factory for her dressing room seats, and for the outdoor sitting area in the little courtyard garden at the back of the boutique. Also, Betty had wanted new ones, or new custom covers, and wondered if Juan had any new colors. Debbie and Rachel had loved the store and purchased the little white bench there.
She jumped off the bench and stared down at it. Then she smoothed out the dent her butt had made in the cushion. The blue was good in here, and it rounded out the feeling of being on a boat in the Caribbean. A thought niggled at her, but wouldn’t materialize. Her cell phone rang and she snatched it up off the bed, still staring down at the cushion.
“We’re here, Mom.”
“Okay.”
“Give us half a minute and we’ll give the after-hours bar knock on the back door.”
“Sure.” Panic rose in the back of Debbie’s throat and she swallowed hard. With her cell in hand she hurried down the hall to the back door. It will be fine. It will be fine. There are only fifty steps from the truck to the back door.
She squeezed her eyes tight, and tried to blot out the vision her overactive imagination was playing out: gunshots, blood, her daughter and best friend falling in slow motion onto the pavement. She’d seen too many episodes of CSI: Miami. Her heart pounded, and sweat dampened her brow and her underarms and trickled between her breasts. She rubbed hard at her chest. The knocks on the door sounded, one, then three, one, then three. No peephole. Damn it. Tomorrow she’d have a peephole installed. She pulled in a deep breath, slid the bolt and stepped back.
Rachel and Janelle hustled inside. Ralph yipped, and Rachel put a hand over his snout. “Shush, baby,” she whispered.
Debbie took a quick look up and down the alley. All was quiet. She shut and bolted the door, relieved to find the women hadn’t been shoved through the entrance by a gun wielding old, white, bald-headed guy.
“Did you see anyone…anything suspicious?” she asked, and fanned with one hand the heat of panic flushing her face. At least she wasn’t wheezing. She thought about that. It seemed since she’d had sex with Jack her wheeze had disappeared. Her cheeks heated even more.
“Relax, Mom,” Janelle whispered, and hugged her.
“Where should we sit?” Rachel whispered.
“The dolphin therapy room,” Debbie said, and ushered them down the hall. Inside the room they huddled together for a moment, hugging each other, kissing cheeks and patting backs, and murmuring comforting thoughts. “Sit on the bed.” Debbie lifted her notes off it, and then sat on the bench.
“What’s that?” Rachel whispered.
“It’s a list of everyone who worked on this room. Jack asked for it. Not sure why. Do either of you know of anyone else?” She handed over the legal pad and the two women huddled together, scanning Debbie’s hastily scribbled notes.
****
Jack took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. There was nothing worse than a cowboy with hat hair, other than bed hair, of course. He knocked loudly and waited at the front door of the spa for Debbie to open up. He’d circled the mall twice by car to check out the back of the boutique and the spa parking area.
Now he gauged the activity in the outdoor mall, not too many pedestrians. The restaurants were busy though. So far there was no cause for alarm. Wanting to give her nothing to be afraid of, he’d called first, of course. But he hadn’t wanted her to open up the back door where she wouldn’t be able to see him. Tomorrow he’d put in a damn peephole.
“What the hell?” Debbie dragged him inside, and then she locked and bolted the front door. “You could have been in danger standing out there like that.”
Three hysterical women, and one snarling dog, converged on him and almost flattened him against the interior wall. They all spoke at once. That was more than he could deal with today. “Ladies,” he said sharply, and raised both hands, palms outward. “I need to speak with Deb, alone.”
“No, we’re in this together!” Janelle said, and pulled her mother tight to her body.
“No way, big boy,” Rachel said, with a shake of her head, her wild red hair swinging about her face. “You scared the hell out of Debbie. We came here to save her. Now you’ve got all of us or none of us.”
“Save her?” Jack asked, and frowned. The women had distressed expressions. What the hell had happened? “From what?”
“Everything, everyone, the white, bald-headed guy, I dunno
,” Rachel said with a shrug.
Jack rubbed at the side of his jaw. Ah, to hell with it, nobody seemed like they were leaving anyway. It would have to be a group discussion. In fact, he doubted he had any say in the matter. They all stood identically with one clenched fist propped against their right hip, glaring ferociously like he was the enemy, or speaking so quickly he couldn’t make out what anyone was saying. Ralph was tucked under Rachel’s left armpit, his head resting on her forearm, and with his little slightly crooked teeth bared a growl rumbled in the back of his throat.
“Hold on,” Jack said. “I can’t think with you all yapping at once.” Had Dena gone against his wishes, called to warn Debbie that he’d initially been suspicious of her and her business? There’d be hell to pay if she had.
“What is this all about, Jack?” Rachel asked, and took a step closer.
Ralph snarled.
“Let’s sit in the dolphin room,” Jack said. He checked to make sure the front door was bolted, and then dragged another chair into the room. Debbie sat on the bench; he sat astride the chair, leaning his chin on the top of the backrest. Rachel and Janelle sat on the edge of the bed. There was a boring looking hat and a brown wig beside them. He wouldn’t ask. “Now, here’s the thing.” He looked across at Debbie. “Did you make that list for me?”
She nodded and handed it to him. “I have some ideas.”
“Hang on a sec.” He scanned the list. His eyes fell on the word Cancun and he froze, hardly daring to breathe. Oh shit, she’d bought a cushion and a bench from a place in Cancun. Had something been smuggled inside the package? He glanced up at her, his eyes questioning.
Debbie blinked hard and held his gaze. “I think there’s something to do with—”
“How many times have you purchased items in Cancun?”
“Well, that’s what I was about—”
“Answer the question,” he said softly.
“Are you accusing me of doing wrong?” She stood and glowered at him. “Last I heard it wasn’t illegal to purchase items in Mexico. The damn thing had to be shipped home.” She waved a hand toward the bench. “It went through customs for sure. Nothing gets out of Mexico without—”
“That wasn’t my question,” he said, and stared back, unblinking. If she knew how much illegal stuff did get across the borders undetected, she might not be acting so high-handed. But he wasn’t here to discuss that.
“Fine.” She glared down at him. “I’m not saying anything without my lawyer.”
The sound of the buzzer on the front door cut through the tension in the room.
“I’ll see who it is.” Rachel slipped out into the foyer.
“Don’t let anyone in,” Jack yelled after her, and reached for his gun. He should follow her, but he didn’t want to let go of this moment with Debbie. She remained standing, and he watched her expression, understanding that he had to be one hundred percent sure that there was nothing under-handed going on here. He rubbed his hand across his mouth and waited, keeping his hand on the gun and his eyes locked with her defiant gray ones. At least she didn’t look away. That was a plus.
“The mailman.” Rachel shrugged as she came through the door into the dolphin room. “He’s gone. He shoved the letters through the slot.” She put the mail on the end of the bed and stood behind Debbie and massaged her shoulders gently. Jack rushed over and checked through the mail.
“What the hell?” Debbie stared open-mouthed.
“We aren’t sure it was the mailman. Explosives,” he said and shrugged. “All clear.”
Rachel held her tight. “We’ll have to get to work,” she said softly. “Will you be all right here, hon?”
“I guess,” Debbie said, and shot a look Jack’s way. “But is it safe for you guys to go to the bar? I mean maybe Janelle should stay—”
“Mom! I’m not five years old.”
Debbie nodded, and lowered her eyes. “Okay, sure. But be safe.”
Jack knew she was upset with him, but it seemed that much of the fight had gone out of her. What that was about, he wasn’t sure. And much as he would have preferred to do the massaging, not Rachel, he knew Deb would resist his touch. In that last tense couple of minutes he’d made his decision. Her reaction had been appropriate. He’d hated to test her, to even suggest she might have done anything illegal, but he’d had to be certain. It felt good. He believed her, he trusted her. And as soon as the ladies left he’d come clean with Debbie, about everything.
He was one hundred percent sure she’d had nothing to do with Juan’s murder. He knew that. Hell, he was so sure he’d even tell her his real name. It felt so damn good to let go and give in and trust someone again, that he almost smiled with relief.
****
Debbie kept her arms gripped tight over her chest and sat back on the bench. She kept her mouth pressed tight and ran the name through her mind. Jackson David Fischer. She liked it. The name suited him. She closed her eyes for a second and then pulled in a deep breath. “So, you’re not FBI, but I guessed close enough. DEA, it’s almost the same thing.”
“You’re right. But there are good reasons why we go undercover. You have to understand, this wasn’t about you and me, or me lying to you.”
She nodded. While she understood that on one level, she was still miffed that he hadn’t confided everything until he’d figured out she was innocent. The nerve!
Jack glanced at his watch. “I have a few other things I’d like to discuss. That is, if you’re willing, or at least interested. No pressure.”
“Go ahead.”
“Well, I think there are clues that link your spa in some way to my ex-partner, Juan.” He stared at the floor. “It was Juan Hernandez-Saurez’ body in that Dumpster.”
“But that’s who owned the store where I…” she said and stopped. “You’ve known all this time?” She glared at him when he nodded. What the hell else hadn’t he told her?
“He was my partner—retired for several years—but I asked a favor of him. Then I had to identify his body. We needed to keep his identity out of the press so we could catch the bastard who did it.”
“I’m sorry. He was your friend and partner,” Debbie said softly. Shame for her outburst spread through her body. It must have been horrific for Jack to have found his partner in that condition. She closed her eyes briefly, feeling his pain, recalling the memory of what she’d seen that night. “How can I help?”
Jack rubbed a hand over his jaw for a moment. She saw the raw pain, the sadness in his eyes, and the dark circles beneath them that spoke of a week of sleepless nights. No wonder he’d slept so deeply last night.
“The dolphin therapy video was made in Cancun,” he said. “I think there’s a connection, yet your trip and your purchase of that bench were made months ago.”
“Yes, but it was purchased at Juan’s store. That’s significant.”
Jack nodded. “Juan yelled dolphin, almagro, and azul over his cell phone as he was murdered. He’d dialed and barely gotten the words out before I heard screams. I knew it was a code. The big question is for what? I can’t figure out if azul refers to blue in Spanish, or if it refers to the restaurant Azul, in Palm Springs.”
“That’s all you’ve got?”
“That, and some questions regarding our friend Trigger.”
“And his connection to the Azul restaurant,” Debbie murmured. She chewed at her lower lip for a moment. “Then we’ve got the guy with the white hair who tried to run us off the road, an attempted break-in at the spa, someone with a bald head tailing you, and—”
“Hang on.” Jack said. “Your phone’s ringing.”
Debbie grabbed her purse and reached inside for the phone as the ring tone of Sonny and Cher played. She’d have to change that damn thing. It was Rachel who’d put it on there in honor of the Palm Springs ex-Mayor, Sonny Bono. She didn’t make eye contact with Jack. Jackson. But picked up her cell phone and checked the incoming call.
“It’s Rachel,” she said. “I’d bet
ter take the call.”
“Sure.”
“Hi, what’s up?”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Rachel blubbered. “Oh, dear god, I…Deb I couldn’t do anything.” Rachel continued to cry and she screamed again that she was sorry, so sorry. A tingle of fear ran up Debbie’s spine.
“Slow down Rachel. What happened?”
“I should have been more careful…should have watched more closely…he leaped out of a van and grabbed Janelle…and—”
“No!”
A pain gripped at Debbie’s heart and her hands started to shake. Unable to form words, her entire body shook. She handed Jack the phone and sat back on the edge of the bed, shaking her hands like she was trying to air dry them as the tears spilled out and ran down her cheeks.
“Noooooo,” she wailed, and wrapped her arms tight around her chest and rocked her body as yet another wave of tears flowed down her cheeks. She swiped at the tears and tried to concentrate, but she couldn’t stop shaking.
“Speak slowly, Rachel…please,” Jack said. He kept his voice low and steady.
Someone had kidnapped Janelle from the parking lot at Cliffs restaurant. Debbie was certain it had to be Trigger. Anger boiled in her chest, and she glared at Jack through her tears. It was his damn fault. He’d put her only daughter in jeopardy. Damn him and his stupid drug investigations.
Rachel’s words kept swirling through Debbie’s thoughts and she rocked her body again to stop the pain from destroying her. She needed to be strong for Janelle. She lifted her head and scowled at Jack again. Her tears had stopped, but her eyes burned like crazy. She could hear the excitement in his voice, eager now that he had something concrete to work with. Calm swept through her and she paid attention to Jack interrogating Rachel, knowing how hysterical Rachel would be at the other end of the line. She needed to listen, and to plan.
“Did you call 911?”
Debbie looked up at Jack’s question. He nodded at her, reached over and stroked her arm. She flinched, and noticed his bewildered reaction to that. She didn’t exactly pull away from him, but she sure as hell didn’t want him touching her either.