Mitchum chatted with our escort as we headed away from there. The two men discussed managing potential conflicts between police procedures and monastery practices. It made a lot more sense to haul out the evidence in that cavern using our exit rather than schlepping it up the steps we had used to enter the chamber of heinousness. The fact that the ceiling around the entrance off those steps was none too stable was a problem now, too. And then there were those Krugerrands.
“Here you go, Mitchum. This must be what all the hoopla is about for Simpson and his stooges. Gold fever,” I had said, as I placed the two remaining Krugerrands in my possession into his outstretched palm. “I think someone needs to post a guard at both entrances to Owen Taylor’s hideout. There are lots more of them down there.”
Brien and I told Mitchum about that stack of barrels and the one in which we had found gold pieces. Who knew how many? Even if none of the other barrels held treasure, the ones we had found had to be worth a small fortune.
“If your guys search Larry and Gary, I’m betting one or both of them have a couple more of them.” I explained what I had done in an effort to redirect the goons chasing us by leaving Krugerrands behind. That was news to my adorable husband who beamed his approval my way. Even Mick had a kind word for me.
“Good one, Gidget. You’re almost as crafty as Opie.”
“Crafty is right. He had all of you chasing after that GPS device when he’d already claimed the prize,” Mitchum added.
“Maybe not all of it, Mitchum. Larry the diver can tell you more about what he saw when they went to that underwater site. Who knows how much more is still down there?” I offered.
“Could be,” Mitchum sighed. “Owen should have quit while he was ahead. If he’d been as crafty as he thought he was, he would have cut and run with what he had.”
“Such are the paths of all who go after ill-gotten gain; it takes away the life of those who get it.” That was our escort speaking. “Too bad people don’t take those old proverbs to heart. They don’t always work out in quite so literal a way. Your friend Owen—or Opie, is it?” He asked, turning a little toward Mick. Mick nodded. “Opie could have benefited by heeding those words. Crafty and wise are two different things, aren’t they?” Brother Thaddeus, as he had introduced himself, smiled in a congenial way. Something in his eyes told me he knew what he was talking about—from experience, rather than merely spouting platitudes.
I was dying to ask about those old ruins. They had to be as old as any I’d ever seen in California. Had the pirate Bouchard burned them down? Legend held that the local monks, like St. Albinus, had warded off marauding pirates with prayer and bribery. Early townspeople had been so convinced that the hermits had saved them with divine intervention from St. Albinus, they named their town after the patron saint known for his power to protect against pirate attacks.
Mitchum had said little when I described that blocked corridor or the human remains that had fallen along with the stooges when they crashed through the roof into the chamber of heinousness. Why was that second passageway blocked? What about the skull and those other bones?
“Duly noted. We’ll look into it.” The little sideways movements of Mitchum’s bushy mustache made me think old corridors and bones weren’t going to be a priority. If the situation had not been so chaotic already, and if I hadn’t been bone tired, I might have asked Brother Thaddeus. As if that would have done any good. Those eyes spoke volumes but he had the quiet demeanor of a man not given to idle conversation. What else would you expect from a cloistered monk?
When we arrived back at our hotel, Brien and I were finally alone. We even had time to clean up before the New Year’s eve festivities began. That included a few fireworks of our own, of course, in addition to the fabulous display put on by the hotel. Open to the locals, the beach was packed so we had watched from our veranda, instead, toasting the new year we had lived to enjoy!
Mick had accompanied us to our suite where he picked up his new clothes, “scored” as he put it, earlier in the day. Mitchum had a car waiting at the resort to take Mick into protective custody until they had a better understanding of the conspiracy afoot. Mick’s testimony might not even be needed since loose lips were everywhere. The thug we all called Larry possessed none of Brother Thaddeus’ reticence.
Larry, whose real name turned out to be Ronald Chapman, was under arrest for murder, attempted murder, kidnapping and a host of other charges. Despite his lawyer’s advice to take a vow of silence, Ronald Chapman was ranting—some version of “he made me do it!” He blamed Albert Simpson for ordering the murder of Bob Goddard and telling them to pin it on Mick. The mean-eyed, muscular lowlife claimed to be afraid of the rich, refined Albert Simpson. Could be he was right to be afraid. According to Chapman, Simpson killed “Curly,” the big, bald, tattooed stooge-for-hire, in a fit of rage for losing Mick and that GPS device.
Chapman’s pal Gary Richards, with him in the chamber of heinousness, also claimed Simpson was the mastermind behind the effort to salvage the boat and the booty it held. Those Krugerrands were only part of the loot on board. If Chapman could be believed, drugs and money had gone down with that schooner from Miami.
Davis had started to talk, too, acknowledging that Simpson had been behind the plan to recover that sunken treasure and a number of other schemes, including smuggling counterfeit goods. Not that Davis was always in the loop even before his arrest took him out of commission.
Simpson wasn’t talking, so who knew where all this was headed? Even if he didn’t get nailed in a murder-for-hire conspiracy, or for killing Curly, he was bound for prison. Simpson’s fellow board members of the real estate development group that built The Sanctuary Resort and Spa were after him. They were determined to see he got all that he deserved for pilfering money from development projects. They had already begun auditing transactions involving the slick corporate lawyer, before the deaths of Owen Taylor and Bob Goddard.
“If they had only slapped that guy in cuffs sooner, Goddard’s death might have been avoided,” I groused.
“It’s too bad when things don’t work out nice and neat like that. Mean and dirty is what makes crime a crime,” Mitchum had retorted. When Mitchum joined us in our suite New Year’s day to take our statements and deliver a “complimentary update,” I was pretty sure meeting in our suite had something to do with the coffee and donuts we supplied.
The new head of hotel security dropped by with information, too. Security had picked up a shot of a resort housekeeper handing off that bag taken from our room that contained Mick’s soggy Santa suit. Gary, the newest buffoon to enter the picture, had been the recipient of that prize. He had set the small fire and sounded the alarm to get us out of our suite so she could enter our room. That way she could search it, looking for a black Santa bag, using housekeeping duties to cover her tracks if she got caught. Gary admitted he found it “disappointing” that the bag wasn’t the one that Mick had stolen from the boat with that GPS device in it. As far as we knew, that GPS thing was still floating around out there, lost, or maybe tossed out after all. I didn’t ask.
An update from Mitchum wasn’t the only complimentary update we received. Newly charged to oversee security at the resort, Alan Henderson, “Big Al” to his friends, had a nice, laid back way about him. The nickname fit him perfectly. Big he was! He was almost the size of Brien’s boss, Peter March, a mountain of a man. No buzz cut, like Peter. Big Al had a head full of hair, close-cropped, and so neatly styled I was tempted to ask him where he’d had it done.
Brien hit it off instantly with the easy-going man who responded amiably to Brien’s questions. The loquacious man had no problem keeping up with Brien, either. Mitchum was soon growing antsy and Big Al picked up on it right away.
“I’d better get out of here before Bernard busts a gut. We were on the force together, and I promise you, it ain’t pretty when he does that! Our team here at the Sanctuary could use a guy like you, Brien. If you’re ever interested in making a move
to the coast, give me a call. I’ll fix you right up! See ya’ later, Bernie.” Mitchum said nothing, nodding instead.
“Wow, thanks Al. I’ll—we’ll have to think about that.” Brien modified his response mid-sentence, after stealing a glance at me. I think my mouth was hanging open. Bernard? I never thought about the detective having a first name. I don’t know what I expected, but Bernie? Oh, yeah, Big Al had just made Brien an offer my surfer boy might find hard to refuse.
“We’ll talk about it, Brien,” I said, giving Brien’s hand a reassuring squeeze. I wasn’t totally opposed to the idea, just stunned. It was another surprising development in what had been an altogether unpredictable start to our gnarly New Year. Big Al wasn’t done yet.
“Nobody expects you to make any decisions right now. This honeymoon hasn’t turned out the way you planned. The resort management wants you to stay a few extra days—on the house. We also want to give you a ‘do-over.’ Call it a second honeymoon, compliments of the resort. Two weeks, any time you want to use them in the next year.”
I felt my heart beat a little faster, and even grew a little misty-eyed. Sometimes, good fortune still gets to me. I was never going to be one of those people comfortable enough to “depend on the kindness of strangers,” like that Blanche DuBois chick in A Streetcar Named Desire. Mr. P’s moments of largesse had always come at a price. Not Jessica Huntington’s, however, so I had learned to say thanks. My brain was already calculating how many more days we could hide out without imposing upon our friends and coworkers. Somehow, I managed to speak up before my chatty blond surfer dude hubby could reply. He was deep in thought, perhaps imagining all those perfect waves he had yet to ride.
“Thank you. That’s an offer we will accept, right Brien?” I didn’t have to ask twice. He swept me up in his arms and spun me around right there in front of Big Al and Bernie-bust-a-gut-Mitchum.
“Exactamente! Our most excellent honeymoon adventure continues and we get a do-over! I told you this was going to be a gnarly New Year, didn’t I?” I was a little breathless as he clutched me in those sweet, brawny arms of his. When he put me down, I caught my breath as the door shut behind Big Al. I was ready to say goodbye to Mitchum, too, but I did have one last question for him.
“How did those stooges find us in that cave?”
“The same way we did later—using the GPS signal on your phone. The guy trailing you knew you’d spotted him, Kim, so he let you all go and then called in your location to those two who tracked you into the caves. They took another route in there. Another bit of misdirection on Owen’s part led them to believe they knew where you all were headed and how you were getting there. They ended up in a chamber above you and the loot. They spooked the bats, the bats spooked you, and they heard the racket when you sent those barrels flying. A comedy of errors that could have ended in tragedy.”
“Well, without that series of errors, we might not have found the Krugerrands, Detective.”
“I’ll give you that one, but I’m sure I don’t have to tell you…blah, blah, blah. I quit listening at that point, refocusing long enough to say goodbye a few minutes later. Brien walked him to the door of our suite and then rejoined me on the veranda. We sat for a few minutes, listening to the roar of the waves. I inhaled the salty air as the breeze blew through my hair. A sunny new year rippled before us on the horizon.
“Here’s one thing I don’t get, Brien. It’s hard work being a crook like Simpson or Davis or Larry. Why not just put all that effort into making money on good things—like building this gorgeous resort?”
“I don’t know, Kim. That Mr. P you worked for was the same way. He had so much talent, produced great music—so why run all those nasty sidelines? They don’t call it dirty work for no reason, do they?”
“You’re right about that. Larry had to crawl through bat guano to do his dirty work. I mean, how much worse could it be to work for a guy like Bob Goddard at the bar or in some other regular job?”
“I see it like this, Kim. Some people just like doing bogus stuff—get this ‘hee-hee-hee’ feeling when they put one over on someone.” Brien and I were lounging, side-by-side, with a cold drink in one hand I still had one hand free. I spoke as I reached out to cover Brien’s hand with mine.
“Yeah, Jessica calls it ‘duper’s delight.’ I saw it on the face of that screwy rich chick, Libby Van Der Woert one day when she was destroying all the good things in her life.”
“Then there are guys like Opie, in a hurry to score big even though he already had—scored big, I mean. He had it all and didn’t even know it.”
“Willow tried to tell him that. He wasn’t the first guy to pass through Sanctuary Grove who got restless with the little grass shack way of life. She would have done just about anything for that dope.”
“He found out too late what real happiness is. All this luxury is awesome, don’t get me wrong. I’d be stoked living anywhere as long as I’ve got my Gidget. I’d work hard to do that, too, wouldn’t you? Love is the most excellent adventure of all, isn’t it?”
“How’d you get so wise, Moondoggie?” I gave the man no chance to answer that question. I jumped up and set upon him, smothering him in kisses. I vowed to do everything in my power to make this the gnarliest new year ever! Brien had told me that sometimes the gnarliest waves aren’t just the best waves but the most challenging. Who knew where the new year would take us or what we’d face? We’d surf whatever wild waves life offered up together! Later that evening as we watched the sun set I had a new question for Brien.
“Brien, where do you think that walled off passageway leads?”
“Whoa, you won’t believe this but I was wondering the same thing, Gidget. Fine minds think alike, don’t they? How about that GPS device—where do you think that went?”
To be continued…
Thanks for reading Gnarly New Year Corsario Cove Cozy Mystery #2. I hope you’ll leave a review on Amazon and Goodreads with feedback about Brien and Kim’s latest adventure in Corsario Cove.
Join me at my website http://www.desertcitiesmystery.com to keep up with all the news, giveaways, blog posts and new releases. Brien and Kim will be back in Epic Easter Corsario Cove Cozy Mystery #3, soon!
In the meantime, why not check out the books in my other series? Here’s the first chapter from Murder at Catmmando Mountain, Georgie Shaw Cozy Mystery #1…just to get you started.
murder at catmmando mountain
by
anna celeste burke
1 purrfect murder
“It’s such a marvelous world...
a MARVELOUS MARLEY world!”
Doing PR—public relations—for a cat isn’t easy. Working in any capacity for a very famous cartoon cat might sound like a dream job, but it’s not. The Furry Caped Avenger, Catmmando Tom, may be a superhero, but his megalomaniacal creator is an altogether different kind of character. Maximillian Marley loves animals. People, not so much, even though they’re the lifeblood of Marley’s pastoral theme park, Arcadia. It’s the two-legged visitors that pay the $100 admission fee for adults and $50 for children under twelve.
On occasion, their pets are welcome, too. All of the enchantment produced by other divisions of Marvelous Marley World Enterprises relies on hard-earned cash people dole out. That includes visits to the Marvelous Marley World Resorts, as well as purchases of videos, movies, and merchandise featuring Marvelous Marley World characters.
As I reviewed our current PR agenda, I straightened my posture to shoulder the burden. Super cat cartoons, movies, and merchandise had made Max Marley very wealthy. A host of animated animal characters had followed on the furry heels of Catmmando Tom’s acclaim. A few human characters, often cast in supporting roles, were included in the projects produced at Marvelous Max Studios. The theme parks and resorts were next. The first Arcadia was built here in Orange County, California, near our World Headquarters. Each iconic character has a special place in Arcadia, a fantasyland of dreams and adventures, built around relationsh
ips between super pets and their owners. In Max Marley’s imagination, it wasn’t always clear who owned whom, however. Most of the time his stories involved super pets rescuing their beloved humans and endangered animals from ne’er-do-wells of one species or another.
Uncle Max, as he prefers we call him, demands that his theme parks and resorts be kept in perfect order. Nevertheless, a surprising number of “faux paws,” as we refer to them around here, require attention day in and day out. Inadvertent offenses to park guests, like when the beloved Sir Dartmouth the Lion-Hearted Lion bumped into a toddler, knocking him to the ground. Characters stepped on toes, whacked guests with an unguarded tail, or otherwise offended them. Birthday parties didn’t always measure up to expectations. Guests panicked about stolen items that turned out not to be missing at all, or to have been lost, not stolen. Food that was too hot, too cold, or too something, required rapid intervention by park rangers. In their spiffy Legion of Purrfect Park Rescue Ranger outfits, they roamed the park assisting guests. They were on the front lines when it came to catching problems, or when called into action by another Marvelous Marley World “family” member who spotted a problem.
Once in a while, a dysfunctional member of the Marley World family caused a problem deliberately. Pirate Pete, a smart-mouthed parrot, had become too mouthy, several times before Marvelous Marley World management replaced the guy wearing the brightly colored feathered suit. The use of profanity by “associates” or “family members,” as Marvelous Marley World’s corporate handbook refers to employees, is forbidden in the park and resorts. A drunken Poacher Pierre, perhaps too much into the role of the bad guy character he portrayed in animated films, had gone on a bottom-pinching spree one day. It had taken a whole squad of park rangers to escort the cackling character out of the park. That had been a mess to clean up, although many of the women had been more amused than angered by the incident.
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