“When I came back around to the front of the hospital in my Santa suit, you two were leaving.” Mick pointed to Brien and me. “They didn’t notice, but those guys were right behind them, Detective. That’s when I decided to follow them.” What an absurd little parade that must have been, with Santa bringing up the rear.
“They were just wandering around town. I tried to get Gidget's attention once before she went into that boat junk shop.”
“It’s not boat junk, Mick. And I didn’t see you.” I spoke directly to Mitchum as I explained.
“Mick is talking about that little shop downtown with the nautical theme. When you interviewed me at the police station, I told you I’d been in there, remember? If I had seen Mick, I wouldn’t have told you he was missing, given you his cell phone number, and asked you to find him.”
“You sicced the police on me?” Mick wore an indignant expression on his face. A hard look to pull off with his black eye and still-puffy lips. It came across as weirdly pouty.
“I didn’t sic the cops on you, Mick. We were worried about you. Mitchum made us promise to stay out of it and let the police follow up on the loose ends. You were a loose end. I never saw you.” Mick interrupted.
“When you went to that boat shop, I whistled and yelled ho-ho-ho at you. You ignored me.”
“I didn’t hear you, either, Mick. Trust me, if I had spotted a Santa in San Albinus whistling and waving me down, I would have done something about it.”
“That doesn’t sound too stealthy, Mick, if you were trying to stay off the radar of those two cove-runners tailing us. Santas don’t just go around waving and whistling at hot Babes, like Kim.” Brien winked. I blew him a kiss. Mitchum rolled his eyes.
“Whoa, you could be right, Brien. I wondered how those guys following you decided to make a grab for me. Maybe that was it.” He shrugged before chowing down on the donut in his hand.
“It never occurred to you to go to the police station and tell me that a pair of cove-runners were following your friends?” Mitchum asked, shaking his head. “You were downtown when I met with your honeymooning surf buddies later. Why didn’t you walk in and join us?”
Mick crammed more of that chocolate donut in his mouth and washed it down with coffee before answering. Should I have ordered more? We were making our way through the dozen donuts fast. Not unusual with my hunky Brien at the table. Mick and the detective were keeping up with him!
The lovely, handmade confections were scrumptious. A delight to the eye, too. Each one adorned with colorful holiday decorations and arranged on a silver platter. Who could blame my Brien for helping himself to another one?
He caught me watching him, smiled, and did this thing where he slings his blond hair back out of his eyes, and it falls into place. That always gets to me. I wanted to throw Mick and Mitchum off the veranda and help myself to my favorite confection in the room. Mick’s voice grated on my nerves as he finally replied to the detective’s query in a whiny tone.
“I never saw them go to the police station. This is the first time I’ve heard the cops were looking for me, thanks to Kim.” He glowered at me.
Ooh, scary, I thought. I folded my arms and scrunched up my face at the beat up guy in a fluffy white bathrobe, with frosting on his lips. He looked away.
“I followed Kim and Brien to Corsario’s Hideaway. When they went around back, I went with them. A few minutes later everything went black.” Mitchum’s eyes darted from me to Brien and back to me. Before I could get the words “another donut, Detective?” out of my mouth, he was huffing and puffing.
“I don’t remember you mentioning that you went around to the back of the bar. As I recall, you told me you cruised by the place looking for lunch.” I squirmed a little under his gaze.
“That’s true.” It just hadn't been the whole truth. Hey, we hadn’t taken that vow to leave it alone, yet! In all honesty, we had gone to the bar hoping for more than just lunch, although Brien had been in the mood for a burger.
Since Owen had worked at Corsario’s Hideaway until shortly before his death, Brien and I hoped a coworker might know what the heck Owen was doing with a marine GPS device and where he could have stashed it. Not that we had thought too far ahead about how to broach the subject. I had counted on the willingness of locals to engage in a little gossip.
The story of Owen’s dismal end was everywhere the day after Christmas. It had turned up right away on local TV. “A Dead Santa at the Sanctuary Resort” was front page news in The Habit, the town’s paper, and was being broadcast on other social media outlets. By the time we were in San Albinus with the cove-runners and Mick tagging along behind us, another big story had hit the news: “Santa killers nabbed for piracy.”
We'd had no chance to chat up anyone that day. Not a soul was around, and the bar owner had posted a sign that the local hangout was “CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.” Brien and I had done a teeny-weeny bit of snooping, hoping that the bar owner was inside. No luck when we knocked on the back door.
“As we told you, the place was closed. We took a look around. That’s all.”
“Kim’s telling you the truth. Nobody was there when we went to the front door. Kim and I went around to the back, just to be sure. I wanted to try one of their burgers.” I made an effort not to reveal my surprise hearing Brien tell that little white lie. He looked innocent enough as he spoke those words. It could be he was speaking sincerely. Burgers are, after all, a dietary staple.
“Yeah, well it’s all water under the bridge now, isn’t it? Let’s give Mick, here, a chance to get on with it. You may think that cops sit around all day eating donuts and drinking coffee. Not so.” With that he reached for donut number three or four—I had lost count.
“You can believe what Brien and Kim are saying. I was there, too. When they banged on the back door, no one answered, and they walked on down the alley. I was hiding behind a dumpster when I saw this old guy stick his head out of the back door, trying to see where Brien and Kim had gone. Before he could shut it again, one of those sneaky cove-runners came out of nowhere. He had a gun and pushed his way inside. That’s when somebody behind me stuck a stinky rag over my face, and I went down, fast.”
“Chloroform—you got knocked out with chloroform?”
“I don’t know what it was. It had a funny smell, and I was totaled!”
“Does that matter, Detective?” I asked.
“Yes. We found a rag in the bar that still had traces of chloroform on it. Using that stuff can be tricky. You’re lucky they didn’t kill you when they kidnapped you.”
“Whoa, kidnapped. I didn’t think about it like that. That was a kidnapping, wasn’t it?” Mick stopped to ponder that thought, putting down the donut he held. “Kidnapped and almost murdered,” he muttered, drifting off into space. Mitchum shifted in his seat about to say something when Mick snapped back into focus.
“When I woke up, they had me tied up with duct tape again. Like the day before in Willow’s shack. They were smacking that old guy around and asking him questions about Owen and that GPS device. I pretended like I was still conked out. He kept telling them he hadn’t seen it, but might have thrown it out when he emptied a storage unit Owen had used. That old guy tried to give them the keys to the storage place so they could look for themselves. They asked him where he’d dumped the stuff, he tried to tell them and even offered to show them. While one guy worked that bar owner over, the other one searched the bar. He didn't trash it like Willow’s shack, but he wasn't careful, either, if you know what I mean?”
“Yeah, it was easy to tell someone had searched the place. What happened next?”
“They decided to give it a rest, quit beating on that old guy, and called somebody. The boss, I guess. I overheard the cove-runner—the one I had seen before—telling whoever he was talking to all about Opie's storage unit and the dump. The other guy went into the kitchen and made food. I was starving. I hadn’t eaten since morning, and it was getting dark outside by then.” The ide
a of being held that long without food got to Brien.
“No food. That’s bogus.”
“Tell me about it... I decided I'd better quit pretending I was out cold.”
“Bogus, whatever... I don’t need the blow-by-blow right now, Mick. What I want to know is how you got from Corsario’s Hideaway to a boat? What boat? Where?”
“Well, it wasn't too long after they brought us food. Once they knew I was awake, they sat me up to eat and started asking me questions. Who was I? What was I doing out there behind the dumpster? Before I could answer them, that old guy told them to leave me alone. He said I was just some homeless guy who bums around and comes up to the back door for food. I wasn’t sure what to say since I’m not homeless and I don't beg for food. It turned out I didn’t have to say anything else right then. The bar owner's cell phone rang. They just let it ring, but lost interest in me and asked Joe Schmo...” Mitchum interrupted.
“Bob, Bob Goddard is his name. It sounds like that old guy tried to help you out. Show a little respect for the dead why don’t you?” Twitch, twitch.
“Sure. After that phone call, they got real concerned about who knew Goddard was at the bar. He said his wife knew, and she’d be around to look for him if he didn’t answer the phone, or get home soon. That’s when they decided to get us out of there. I scarfed down the scrambled eggs as fast as I could. I thought it might be my last meal for a while, maybe forever, if you get my drift. The guy with the gun had these real mean eyes. I think they were trying to decide what to do with me when they called the boss again. The guy on the other end was screaming this time. When he ended the call, the mean-looking guy made Goddard call his wife and tell her he was going to be late. I have to hand it to that old man, he was real convincing. He apologized for not calling sooner and told his wife he had found a problem with the books—taxes or something. Goddard told her to go ahead and eat dinner and not to wait up for him because he was going to be late. I don’t know if she fell for it or not.”
“She did. It wasn’t until the next day when Goddard still wasn’t home that she checked on him. That’s when she called us. A couple of uniformed officers reported the mess at the bar as a possible burglary even though there was no evidence of breaking and entering, and nothing of value seemed to be missing.”
“Except Goddard,” I said, trying not to sound too sarcastic.
“True. Under the circumstances, the wife filed a missing person’s report even though Goddard hadn’t been gone 24 hours yet. The next day when we figured out that rag had chloroform on it, we changed it from attempted robbery to a suspected kidnapping. We did what we could to track him down. Of course, we didn’t have much to go on and didn’t realize they had taken Goddard out on a boat. How’d that happen?”
“A third guy showed up in a few minutes. It was dark out by then when they hauled us out into the alley and shoved us into a van. Some jerk knocked me out again. Guess that means I lucked out twice in one day if that chloroform can kill you. When I woke up, I was locked in the world’s smallest bathroom. I must have slept some, too, because it was morning by then. My luck ran out a few days later.”
“Uh, if your luck had run out, Mick, you wouldn’t be sitting here with us.”
“Yeah, that’s true, isn’t it? They were going to kill me, and I got away. That was a lucky break.” I searched for something reassuring to say—something about it being more than luck, but I couldn’t think of a thing. When Mitchum’s phone rang, we all jumped. Even Mitchum. His mustache and eyebrows registered surprise, and his feet started tapping nervously as he dug out his phone.
“I’d better take this. I told them no calls unless it was important.” Mitchum went inside to speak to the caller in private.
“I need to use the facilities,” Mick announced, as he struggled to sit up. I grabbed the tray he held before its contents went flying.
“Me too,” Brien said, making a run for it before Mick could get up out of that chaise. “You’re next, Bro.” After drinking all that coffee, I needed to queue up. A few more minutes and I’d be doing a tap dance like the detective. When I came back, Mitchum had rejoined us and wore a grim look on his face.
“They’ve found another body. A John Doe, with no I.D., but they’re running his prints.”
6 STOOGES
“I’ve got a team at the scene—on the beach a few miles south of where we found Goddard. What can you tell me about the guys that grabbed you, Mick? You said you recognized one of them and had seen him with Owen. When and where?” We were down to our last donut and out of coffee. By the despondent expression on Mitchum’s face, more sugar and coffee wouldn't help much at this point.
“Uh... let me think. I saw the guy with Opie—uh, I mean Owen in the fall, October. They were standing on the dock down there.” He gestured toward the cove with the bottle of water he held in his hand, now that the coffee was gone. “I was out to catch a few waves at dawn, so it was early. Owen and this other guy looked like they had already been out in the water.”
“How did you know that?” I asked.
“They were standing near a dinghy—Owen’s, you know?”
“The one he stole, you mean. A brazen thief, your pal Owen, wasn’t he?” Mitchum stamped his feet.
“Or stupid and reckless, Detective. Willow claims he was a big dope.” I shrugged. Why was I defending the guy? Calling him stupid and reckless wasn't much of defense against being labeled a brazen thief. I liked Willow. She must have seen something in Owen Taylor to fall for the guy like she did.
“Heck, maybe not that dumb, with all those noisy, stinky things buzzing around out there. Guests at the resort can rent one for the day, even if they don’t own one. What’s one more? Since they all look alike, who's going to spot it as stolen? That guy was craftier than he seemed.”
“I agree with you, Brien, except that he must have been the only one out there at the crack of dawn like that. He did take precautions to hide the thing in the cave when he wasn’t using it, so that was uh, uh...” I couldn’t bring myself to call it crafty, “less dopey. You found his dinghy in there, right Detective?”
“Yes, yes, along with all that junk Owen had stashed in there. Maybe he was off his rocker—one of those hoarders. What kind of a description can you give me of the guy with Owen, Mick?”
“He and Owen both had on wetties—another reason I figured they had been in the water. The dude with Owen also had diving gear.”
“As in scuba gear?”
“Yeah, Brien. Owen had his snorkeling stuff, but that dude with him was all tricked out Sea Hunt style.”
“Sea Hunt—you mean that old TV series?” I asked. I hadn’t ever seen it, but I had seen Jaws, and plenty of underwater exploration shows. Like the ones searching for shipwrecks and engaged in salvage. Hmm. The salvage word flashed like a neon sign in my mind.
“Exactly, Gidget. That Lloyd Bridges was a badass.”
My heart beat faster. What if the police hadn’t just found junk in that cave? Maybe salvage had something to do with Owen’s scheme. One of his schemes, that is. Besides stealing counterfeit goods from the pirate ring operating in the cove and selling them online. Oh yeah, and in addition to helping himself to fake doubloons issued to guests at The Sanctuary—hotel scrip accepted like money here at the resort. Willow had been right about Owen being up to his neck in schemes.
“I'm sorry to interrupt, but has anyone taken a close look at that junk you hauled out of the cave? You know, somebody knowledgeable about salvage like that guy who owns the nautical shop in San Albinus? What if Owen discovered something of value, and it’s mixed in with what you’ve already logged into evidence or what’s waiting to be processed?” I barely got the words out before he waved me off.
“The answer to your question is no, but I’ll take your suggestion under advisement. No more interruptions, though, please?” He gave that mustache of his what looked to me like a thoughtful tug, despite warding me off. Mick took that to mean he should continue his sto
ry.
“At first, I thought maybe Opie had finally been nabbed by the cove pirates he was ripping off. They seemed to be having a serious talk. It's not like they were going at it or anything, but Opie wigged out not too long after that conversation.” Mick shrugged and took another sip of water.
“Well, that could have been because Willow was pressuring him to straighten up and fly right. That must have been around the time she broke up with him.”
“It could be. Who knows?” He shrugged again. Willow’s a touchy subject. I'm convinced Mick has a “thing” for her, so I let it go.
“Mick, why are you so sure the diver with Owen was one of the cove-runners involved in the counterfeit ring?” Brien asked.
“Because I had seen him a couple of other times with the crew hauling stuff to the dock they had unloaded from a boat out in the cove. I was curious, but it wasn't my business. Live and let live, you know?"
"Geez, I don't think they share your opinion about that, do you? It's in your best interest to give me something to go on so I can catch up with this guy before he catches up with you!"
"I agree. He’s definitely violated the code. After seeing him again, up close and personal, as my kidnapper, I’d say he’s in his thirties. Dark, curly hair and mean brown eyes, with a mean old dog look on his face to match.” Mick grimaced, baring his teeth. On his messed up face it looked more pathetic than mean.
"See this tooth right here," he said pointing to one of his bottom teeth. "His was gold. Just like a pirate, huh?" Brien nodded, agreeing wholeheartedly with Mick.
I'd seen lots of rappers and wannabe rock stars in Mr. P's studio with gold teeth. Some had jeweled ones too. It didn't mean pirate to me. Mitchum, who was taking notes, didn't say a word, but motioned for Mick to continue.
“He's kind of a little guy, now that I think about it. Shorter than the bald, tattooed dude with him when they were following Kim and Brien around in San Albinus. Shorter than Owen, too. They were standing right next to each other, looking at Owen’s GPS device that morning after the dive. Owen was 5’8” so the diver’s 5’7” or less. Beefy, too. Nothing like Brien here, but way beefier than me. He can throw a punch, Detective." Mick reached up and touched his face as he made that comment.
Gnarly New Year (Corsario Cove Cozy Mystery #2) Page 4
