Clues in the Sand

by Terry Ambrose

  The old woman stroked the fur of the little ragamuffin and looked squarely at the deputy. “I’m not senile, Adam. I’ve known you since you were not much bigger than Mr. Tibbs.” She nodded at the dog. “Let me think for a minute. I want to make sure I get everything right.”

  “No problem.” The deputy waited as Isabelle seemed to compose her thoughts. He fidgeted with his notepad, and Rick felt a bit sorry for the poor guy. He’d never thought about the disadvantage of growing up in a small town, of knowing people your entire life. Of always being four-years-old to some people.

  “Would it be better if I left?” Rick asked. “I’ll understand if that’s the case.”

  “I’m not shy, either, Rick. You can all settle down for a second; let this old woman get her thoughts together.”

  Rick looked around the shop as he waited for Isabelle. Most displays in the shop were for dog and cat toys or snacks. But there were also supplies for other house pets. Then there was the grooming area, which he’d heard was the bulk of her business.

  “Traci and I go for a morning walk,” Isabelle said. “She’s doing her best to keep me active.” She winked at Traci, then continued. “We were just starting out when I saw one of your guests, Miss O’Connor. She was on the beach and walking pretty doggone fast.”

  The deputy looked up from his notepad and stared at Isabelle.

  “What? Does it surprise you I still have a memory, Adam? I remember seeing her quite clearly.”

  “I’ll be darned.” Adam paused from his writing to look at Isabelle, then Traci. “You put her in a different location, right?”

  “We should stick to what you know firsthand,” Rick said.

  “Traci was on her phone at the time. You’d sent her a text message that had her all smiles.” She winked at Traci, who brightened visibly.

  Deputy Cunningham cleared his throat. “Right. Let’s keep going.”

  “Anyway, Miss O’Connor was moving fast. And I’m quite sure it was near the beginning of our walk because it was only a few minutes later that I saw your Miss Potok.” Isabelle stopped and gave Rick a critical stare.

  An uncomfortable prickle crawled up Rick’s neck. Reese definitely wasn’t his. Not these days, anyway. He cleared his throat and said, “She’s only a guest.”

  “If you say so.” Isabelle sputtered, then continued, “She’s never said an unkind word to me, but I’m sure you know the stories about her. Watch out for her, Rick. She’s trouble.”

  Rick raised both hands and shook his head. “I told you, she’s a guest. That’s all.”

  Isabelle scratched behind Mr. Tibbs’ ears, let him lick her face, then straightened up. “Good,” she said.

  Deputy Cunningham cleared his throat. “Um, can we get back to what you saw?”

  “Right. I also saw Allan Spaulding. He was somewhere on the way out towards the lighthouse. He waved to me.”

  “You went all the way out there?” The deputy gaped at Isabelle with his pen still poised over his notepad.

  “No, Adam, I said we walked towards it. Not all the way. Traci says we go about a mile-and-a-half round trip.”

  “Where was Reese headed when you saw her?” Rick asked.

  Isabelle shook her head. “I have no idea. It wouldn’t surprise me if she and Miss O’Connor had some sort of tiff. They both looked pretty unhappy.”

  The ragamuffin squirmed and Isabelle shot a disapproving glance at Rick and Deputy Cunningham. “Now look what you’ve done. You’ve upset Mr. Tibbs.”

  CHAPTER 19

  RICK

  Isabelle Murdoch sat on the stool behind the grooming station. She crossed her pudgy arms over her chest and gazed up at Deputy Cunningham. “Well, Adam, you happy now?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The deputy glanced at Rick and said, “Thanks for breaking this loose.”

  “It’s no problem,” Rick said. But Isabelle’s statement did create one problem. Rick kept coming back to the same conclusion—someone was railroading Flynn O’Connor. He had to steer things in the right direction while staying in the mayor’s good graces. That was going to be tricky business.

  For the third time since Isabelle had called Deputy Cunningham, the welcoming bell over the front door jangled. Michelle Steele stumbled into the room, glanced at Rick, Adam, and Traci, and said, “Is Isabelle okay?” Barely a heartbeat later she clamped her hand over her mouth and stammered, “I...I’m too late, aren’t I?”

  Isabelle stood so Michelle could see her, then strode forward and embraced the young woman. “I’m fine. But you’re late to the party.”

  Michelle backed away, but continued to clasp Isabelle’s hand. “I had a customer who told me Traci’s shop was empty. Then I realized Adam’s car was double-parked out front and…”

  She stopped abruptly when Rick reached out and touched her shoulder. “It’s okay, Michelle. Nobody’s judging you.”

  Her jaw dropped and Michelle backed away from Isabelle. She covered her mouth with both hands, then tugged on the red-and-yellow scarf around her neck. Her cheeks flushed until they nearly matched the red in the scarf. “Oh, God, my mother’s always judging me. Telling me I need to be more assertive. That’s why she sent me to your place with those stupid cookies.”

  Isabelle let out a whoop and clucked her tongue a few times. “Did Flora do that to you again, Michelle?”

  Michelle didn’t answer, but clutched her arms around her and avoided eye contact.

  “It’s okay,” Rick said. When she looked at him, he added, “Really.” Then he glared at Isabelle. “Be nice.”

  “Killjoy,” Isabelle cackled.

  Rick shook his head and stepped around Michelle. He hoped once he was gone her embarrassment would fade away. “I have to go see Francine.”

  As Rick closed the door behind him, he waved goodbye. Out front, he breathed in the morning air and snickered at the sight of Howie Dockham’s motorized wheelchair with its bright yellow pennant waving in the air. Rick had learned firsthand what the pennant meant—fair warning to all. For kicks, Howie liked to race around town, challenging out-of-town drivers—and sometimes, those walking—at intersections. The old stamp collector had nearly run Rick down during their first encounter.

  Scoops & Scones was only two doors down, and Rick still wasn’t sure how things would play out with the mayor. At the very least, he intended to tell her he would not reprimand Alex. When Rick entered the shop, he was surprised to see his guest, Allan Spaulding, in the midst of a heated conversation with Francine. From the man’s tone, Rick wished he could do an about-face and leave.

  “It might be worth your while to test out a few things,” Spaulding said. His nose turned up a bit as he gazed around the shop. “Quaint. But it needs a little variety.” He cocked his head in Rick’s direction. “Don’t you think?”

  Rick still had his hand on the doorknob. It felt like his best friend right now. “I’m sorry, I seem to have come into the middle of…something. I’ll come back later.”

  “Nonsense,” Francine said. “Allan was advising me to stock some of his glassware.”

  “It’s hardly common glassware. These are handblown works of art.”

  “They appear quite ordinary to me,” Francine chirped. She smiled at Rick’s guest and fixed him in her sights. “As is that shirt you’re wearing. Which discount catalog did you order it from?”

  “It’s not from a catalog,” he snapped. “You have no taste. I’ll bet Rick knows the difference, don’t you?”

  Wow. How had he stepped into this mess? “It’s very nice, Mr. Spaulding. It looks expensive.”

  Francine made a humphing noise, which Spaulding ignored.

  “Not terribly, if you know the right people. I have all my shirts custom-made by a tailor in Honolulu. I helped tutor him in economics after we met in business school, and thanks to some guidance on my part, he did well. He even asked me to fly over for the opening of his shop in Waikiki. By the way, you can call me Allan since we’re outside of your workplace.”

>   “And you might soon be neighbors.” Francine rolled her eyes, then her smile faded. “Tailors are a dime a dozen.”

  Rick’s guest snorted and shook his head. “Not this one. What are you, one of those Ivy League snobs or something?”

  “My daughter is currently at Wharton. She’s top of her class.” Francine flashed a self-satisfied smirk to both men.

  “Wharton’s a good school,” Allan said. “If you don’t mind throwing money away. Berkeley is a much better value. Number seven in the nation. That’s where I got my business degree.”

  Francine flipped her hand nonchalantly and trilled like a songbird. “Wharton is number one.”

  Rick stared at the mayor and his guest. Were these two seriously going to do battle over which school was best? They sounded like a couple of juvenile delinquents. He cleared his throat. “Why don’t we just say they’re both good schools?”

  “Never said they weren’t,” Allan shot back.

  Francine patted the back of her coiffed hair and nodded. “Very well. If you concede.”

  She straightened up and smiled directly at Allan. Rick only wanted to ask Francine a couple of simple questions. Instead, he’d turned into a referee.

  “I need to get going.” Allan glanced at the door, then at Francine. “Nice to have met you.”

  Rick recognized Francine’s mayoral smile as she reached across the counter to shake Allan’s hand. “Likewise, I’m sure.”

  If Alex were here, she’d say these two needed a time-out. Between Allan with his I’m-better-than-you attitude, and Francine with her I-hate-you-but-need-to-be-nice smile, he’d had more than he could handle.

  At the front door, Allan jerked it open with a bit more force than necessary. Francine’s prized bell, the one she told everyone had once belonged to Thomas Jefferson, clanged in protest.

  Allan turned and grinned at Francine. “Sorry. Door stuck. You should have someone do a little maintenance around here.” He turned away and left.

  The smile fell from Francine’s face, and she glared at Rick. “The man is a self-absorbed, egotistical blowhard.”

  “As you said, Francine, he could soon be a neighbor. A new voter.”

  She sighed. “More likely, he’ll run for mayor himself so he can add that to his resume. Which, by the way, must be quite voluminous. The man definitely believes in quantity, not quality.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Well, as he was attempting to coerce me into purchasing his glassware…” Francine frowned and shook her head. “He was having difficulty coming up with the appropriate terminology. In all likelihood, he has none of the degrees he professes to hold.”

  “Lots of people with speech impairments finish their education. I knew a very good reporter who was dyslexic.”

  “I find him quite obnoxious. That’s all I’ll say on the subject. Now, are you ready to continue our discussion from this morning?”

  “Yes, I am. I came to find out why you feel there’s a problem with me helping Deputy Cunningham.”

  “It’s not a matter I can discuss.”

  “Don’t you mean won’t discuss?”

  “I spoke correctly the first time.”

  “Are you being pressured, Francine? It’s not like you to clam up.”

  “All I can tell you is there are people who want to see justice served swiftly.”

  “People. The only people I can think of who’d have a problem with clearing Flynn O’Connor’s name might be those at Exploration International. Is Reese Potok behind this?”

  “I’ve said more than I should. Leave it alone, Rick. None of us like coercion, but we don’t want to upset the apple cart now, do we?”

  “Oh, we wouldn’t want to do that,” Rick said. He mimicked Francine’s smile, not because he’d changed his mind, but because she’d helped him make a final decision. He was not about to let this go. If someone wanted to get Flynn O’Connor convicted of murder, she needed someone on her side. He was going to make sure if she went to trial, it would be for the right reasons.

  As he stepped out of the shop, Rick contemplated what to do next. He had several questions for Marquetta. Since she knew everyone in town, he trusted her to guide him on how to keep himself out of hot water. Right now, he needed to find the attorney she’d told him about and get her suggestions about how to handle Francine. He looked in the direction of Dolphin Avenue, where Reese Potok stood on the corner talking on her cellphone.

  He could not pass up an opportunity like this. Everything else would have to wait because he was dying to find out what Reese was up to. Tailing her on foot in Seaside Cove should be easy.

  CHAPTER 20

  RICK

  As Rick watched Reese talking on her phone, he noticed how animated she appeared. At one point, she began to pace in small circles. Though she seemed oblivious to what was going on around her, Rick didn’t want to risk discovery. He hurried up the stairs of Isabelle’s Pet Shoppe to hide out. After a few seconds, he went down the steps and ran straight into Reese.

  “Isn’t this a coincidence?” Rick asked. “What are you doing at Isabelle’s?”

  “I might ask you the same question. You have a no-pet policy.”

  Reese held his gaze. Hers was confident and flirtatious, as though she were daring him to come closer. Without shoes, Reese stood half a head shorter than Rick. But as she usually did when she left the B&B, she wore take-me-now heels that brought her up to within a few inches of eye level.

  “I understand you were on the beach the morning of the murder,” Rick said. She blinked and, for once, Rick thought he might have taken her by surprise.

  “Yes. I was there.”

  Her momentary shock seemed to fade, but still, her pale blue eyes gave away nothing. Eyes were supposed to be the window to a person’s soul. The color of hers reminded him of the sky on a clear day. They were one of the things that had captivated him about her from the moment they’d met. No more, though. He’d since come to believe there was no window, no soul, only a cunning mind plotting her next move.

  “Did you see Flynn O’Connor?” Rick asked.

  “She was coming from the jetty area. It looked like she was in a mad dash to get someplace in a hurry.”

  “How close to the jetty were you?”

  A slight smile played across Reese’s lips as she chewed on a fingernail in a way that he might have found seductive in another woman.

  “I wasn’t judging distance,” she said. “I didn’t know there was going to be a test.”

  “Humor me.” Rick stared at her until her smile faded.

  “I was about halfway between the wharf and the jetty,” she huffed.

  “You’re sure?”

  “As I can be. Like I said…”

  Rick waved away her comment with a swipe of his hand. “I know. You didn’t realize there was going to be a test. Which direction was she going?”

  “When I saw her she was headed toward town.”

  “I’m trying to figure out what her interest in the San Manuel might be. There seems to be a fundamental difference between what you’re doing and what she is.”

  Reese puckered her lips and seemed to think for a moment. “If you’re asking me how a museum does what my investor does, I can’t tell you. A museum would need private funding to finance this sort of operation.”

  “Obviously, someone with deep pockets is behind you, too. You’ve been spending quite heavily from what I hear. You once told me all you wanted was the recognition of finding the San Manuel. What’s changed? Are you now in this for the money?”

  “You know what? I don’t like your insinuation. Why I’m looking for the San Manuel is none of your concern. Now if you’ll pardon me, I’m busy.”

  Rick watched as she whirled around and strode away. He heard the door open behind him, turned, and saw Isabelle standing there.

  “Thanks for cutting her off,” she said.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “She’s been trying to cor
ner me.” Isabelle cackled. “If she believes she can intimidate this old woman, she’s got another think coming.”

  “Why would she want to intimidate you?”

  Isabelle’s cheeks tightened into a grimace. “You’d have to ask her that. Like I said, she’s been trying. She hasn’t succeeded so far.”

  Reese was now a block and a half away and headed in the direction of Dolphin Avenue. It was time to find out exactly who she was going to see. “If you’ll excuse me, Isabelle, I have something I need to do.”

  He waved a quick goodbye and jogged after Reese until he was about a half block behind her. She took a right on Dolphin.

  When he arrived at the corner, Rick scanned the street. Old Victorian homes converted to professional use lined the east and west sides. On this block alone were one of the town’s two dentists, the only doctor, and an accountant. Reese was nowhere in sight, which meant that unless she’d jaywalked or sprinted away, she had to be in one of the offices on this side.

  H. Jordan Lane’s office was across the street—and it seemed highly unlikely Reese could have made it there, climbed the stairs, and entered in the time it had taken him to get here. He also wanted to trust Marquetta’s assessment of Jordan. There was only one way to be sure.

  Rick crossed to the west side and stood in front of the second house. It was a modest, forest-green Victorian with white trim, two front windows, and a double-door entry. In the middle of the lush, green lawn, a sign read, H. Jordan Lane, Attorney at Law. He sucked in a breath and climbed the short flight of steps to the front porch. Deep down, he prayed for himself and Flynn O’Connor that Reese was not inside.

  A young woman with dark hair smiled at him from behind a dinged-up, gray metal desk. There were several matching filing cabinets against the back office wall. After seeing the impeccably maintained exterior of the structure, 1950s garage-sale chic definitely wasn’t the look Rick had expected here on the inside.

  The black frames of the young woman’s glasses had an “Audrey Hepburn plays the librarian” look. She appeared to be mid-twenties and wore her hair tied up in a bun on top of her head. Very prim and proper. When she spoke, her voice had a welcoming, singsong quality. Friendly, yet professional.