by GA McKevett
She stepped inside what turned out to be a very small office. One desk, two folding metal chairs, and a wastepaper basket were all the Island Protection League appeared to own in the world.
The walls had probably been white at one time but were now a dingy gray. Their only adornment was a poster of a sea lion touching noses with her adorable pup.
But the lady sitting behind the desk, who stood to greet Savannah, was the exact opposite of her lackluster surroundings.
Savannah figured the woman was around fifty, an elegant, blond woman, with graceful bearing and intelligent green eyes that met Savannah’s with a scrutiny that would have made a more timid soul uneasy.
She was wearing a royal blue suit, a cream blouse made of crepe de chine, accented with a blue-and-black scarf twisted loosely around her neck. Her only jewelry was a pair of small, gold hoop earrings.
As she walked around the desk, Savannah noticed how well the perfectly tailored suit showed off her figure. Savannah also decided that she’d be glad to have a shapely pair of legs like that at any age, but especially at fifty.
“I’m June Glenn,” she said, offering her hand. “How may I help you?”
Savannah returned the firm, confident handshake and answered, “My name is Savannah Reid. I’d like to talk to you a few minutes, if you have some spare time.”
Dr. Glenn chuckled and motioned for Savannah to sit on one of the folding chairs. “Time, Ms. Reid, is probably the one thing I have the least of.” She glanced at her watch. “I have an appointment in fifteen minutes, but until then, you have my full attention. What’s on your mind?”
“William Northrop,” Savannah said bluntly.
Savannah had decided that if she only had fifteen minutes, there was no time to pussyfoot around. She might as well get down to business.
She noticed that the woman’s warm, friendly green eyes went a bit cold at the mention of Northrop’s name.
“What about him?” Dr. Glenn asked.
“I understand that you and your organization have, shall we say, differences with him.”
“He’s determined to destroy this island; we’re determined to save it. Yes, I suppose you could say we have differences.”
“Would you tell me more about that?” Savannah asked.
The green eyes swept over her, evaluating. “Perhaps. First I’d like to know who you are—besides your name—and why you want to know about this.”
Savannah drew a deep breath; then she said, “I’m a private detective from San Carmelita. My new husband and I were here on Santa Tesla, honeymooning, when we saw a woman shot and killed.”
“Amelia Northrop.”
It wasn’t a question, Savannah noticed.
“Yes. Amelia Northrop. So you know it wasn’t an accidental drowning.”
June Glenn smiled, just a little. “I make it my business to know most of what happens on this island. It’s been my home for many years.”
“Then you may also know what happened to William Northrop two weeks before that.”
“He was also shot.”
“That’s right. I spoke to him about it less than an hour ago.”
The doctor’s cell phone on her desk buzzed. She reached down, picked it up, and looked at the caller ID. Then she turned it off.
“Did he tell you that I shot him?” she asked.
Savannah was a bit taken aback by her bluntness, but she welcomed it. If everyone she interviewed was this straightforward, her job would be far easier.
“He didn’t accuse you personally. But when asked who his enemies are, who might want to do him harm, he named your organization.”
“My organization.” Dr. Glenn looked around the shabby office and shook her head. “My organization consists of exactly what you see here, plus two drawers in my desk at home, four volunteers, a beat-up SUV, and a few boxes of equipment in my garage. We’re woefully underfunded. We hardly have the resources to oppose someone like Northrop and his multimillion-dollar company. I can’t imagine why he would name us as a threat.”
Savannah gave her a pointed look of her own. “Bullets don’t cost that much.”
“I didn’t shoot him. When it comes to violence against the person of William Northrop, I’m afraid the height of my ambition is to slap him. And that’s only in my most reckless fantasies.”
“Why is that?” Savannah asked, knowing the answer but interested in hearing this lady’s side of the controversy.
“Because he’s a soulless mercenary who would destroy this island for monetary gain. If he has his way, he’ll build a monstrous complex on some of the most pristine, beautiful beaches in Southern California.”
She glanced up at the picture of the sea lions on the wall. “There are animals and plants here on Santa Tesla that aren’t found anywhere else on earth. But Northrop couldn’t care less. The islands along this area of the California coast are essential to many species of waterfowl, not to mention the seals and sea lions. But Northrop figures he needs a casino more than they need a place to breed and raise their young. It’s unconscionable. And we’ll do anything to stop him.”
“Anything?”
“Short of killing him? Yes.”
“Did you send him death threats?”
“Death threats?” Dr. Glenn looked genuinely shocked. “We most certainly did not.”
Savannah thought for a moment. She believed that the gracious woman in front of her was speaking the truth, as she knew it. But how often does a person completely know those around her?
“Among your volunteers,” Savannah said, “is there anyone whose outlook might be a bit more, say, militant than yours?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Anyone you might have had to dismiss for that sort of thing?”
“No. We carefully screen everyone who wants to join the league. We’re determined not to have anyone like that besmirching and undermining our cause with violence.”
“Okay. Please think carefully. Is there anyone you can think of who might have wanted to join your organization, but he or she was refused on those grounds?”
Dr. Glenn thought only a moment before her eyes widened and a horrified look crossed her face. “Oh no!” she said.
“What is it?”
“There was a man last year . . .”
“And?”
“He came to us from another group, an organization in the San Fernando Valley. They did a lot of illegal things to bring attention to their cause. They vandalized and stole property. They threatened researchers at laboratories, and they were suspected of bombing a major research facility in Anaheim.”
“What’s his name?”
Dr. Glenn hesitated. “I don’t want to cause him any problems if he’s an innocent person.”
Savannah gave her a long, searching look. “Dr. Glenn, if you wouldn’t allow this man into your organization, you must have had a pretty good reason.”
“Actually, I didn’t have a solid reason,” she said. “I just had an instinctive distrust of the man. I rely on my hunches. They’re usually accurate.”
“Mine too. And if you had a sense this man was a problem, that’s enough for me to conduct a discreet investigation of him. Don’t worry. It won’t come back to you or your organization.”
Dr. Glenn thought it over for what seemed like forever to Savannah. Finally she said, “Okay. His name is Hank Jordan.”
“Does he live here on Santa Tesla?”
“Part-time, I believe. If I remember correctly, he said he works as a handyman at one of the motels on the other side of the island.”
“Do you recall which one?”
“No, I’m sorry.”
Savannah stood to leave. Once more she looked around the office and its sparse furnishings. Something told her that this was one charitable organization that spent every available cent on the work at hand, and not on anything frivolous . . . like a comfortable chair for its president.
She glanced up at the picture of the mother sea lion and its baby,
and she decided that she liked Dr. June Glenn. A lot.
“Thank you for the good work you’re doing here,” she said. “Some friends of mine gave my husband and me a honeymoon stay at the lighthouse. The next time I go up in the light, I’ll look down on those beautiful beaches and think of you keeping them that way.”
Dr. Glenn stood, too. She smiled and nodded. “And I thank you for the work you’re doing. It was terrible what happened to Amelia, and what happened to William, too, for that matter. I hope you catch the person or persons who did it. Threats and violence are no way to get what you want in this world.”
Savannah sighed, thinking of all the abusers she had arrested when she’d been a police officer. They were individuals who believed that threats and violence were exactly the way to get what they wanted.
“I wish everyone lived by your code, Dr. Glenn,” she said. “There’d be a lot less pain and misery in this sad ol’ world of ours.”
Chapter 14
Savannah and Dirk dropped by the “vacation compound,” where the rest of the gang was hanging out, expecting to find them all lounging beside the magnificent pool. They couldn’t imagine anybody resisting that temptation.
But when they got out of the Jaguar and walked down to the pool area, they found no one at all swimming, sunning, or bubbling in the hot tub.
So they headed up to the house.
When they walked into the kitchen, they saw Tammy and Waycross huddled together at the table. Their heads were nearly touching as they laughed and talked. Both were working away at their computers. Sheets of paper were spread out around them—bits and pieces of information that the two of them had collected, relating to their numerous suspects.
“Hey, just look at those younguns,” Savannah whispered to Dirk. “Ain’t they sweet?”
“They are,” Dirk replied. “An airhead and a carrottop. They’re perfect for each other.”
“Shhh,” Savannah said, poking him with her elbow. “You’ve gotta stop calling her that. She’s smarter than three of you and one of me all rolled up together.”
“Three of me and one of you?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m not sure, but I think I was just insulted.”
“Maybe you could locate two more of you and the three of you could decide.”
Tammy spotted them and said, “Hey, you honeymoon lovebirds! What are you doing back here again?”
Dirk walked over to her and tugged on a strand of her hair. “We wanted to find out what you two dug up for us and to give you another shopping list.”
“ ‘Shopping list’?” Waycross asked.
“A list of stuff we want you to find out for us.”
Waycross’s ruddy face lit up with a big smile. “You betcha. This spyin’ on folks and finding out all their dirty laundry’s fun! Of course, we do the same thing back home, too, but we don’t get paid for it.”
Savannah walked up behind him and put her hands on her brother’s shoulders. When did this little freckle-faced, curly-headed kid, who had been so dear to her heart, become a man? She could distinctly recall wrestling with him in Granny’s backyard . . . and winning, too.
Feeling the rounded hardness of his muscles under her palms, she knew such victories were forever in the past. Now she was “Big Sis” in name only.
Dirk walked to the other side of the table and sat down. Savannah joined him.
“So, what’ve y’all got for us there?” Savannah asked them, nodding toward the mess of strewn papers.
Waycross reached for some that were closest to him and shoved them across the table to her. “This stuff is about your designer purse knockoff guy.”
“Not just purses,” Tammy said. “Watches, scarves, wallets, you name it. They were even selling fake perfume that had carcinogens in it! Can you imagine? He’s got an army of fly-by-night vendors who unload tons of it in Los Angeles and New York City. It’s very big business.”
“Yeah, we found Amelia’s report on the Internet and watched it,” Waycross said.
In a sad tone, Tammy added, “She was a really pretty lady. Had a passion for what she did, too. You could see it all over her. She was really enjoying exposing that guy.”
“Yeah, well,” Dirk said, “it might’ve gotten her killed. I’m fairly sure that’d come under the category of ‘Not Worth It.’ ”
“You said yesterday that Xenos is out on bail. Do you know where he’s staying until his trial?” Savannah asked.
“Of course I do.” Tammy reached for another piece of paper and gave it to Savannah. “There’s his home address in Malibu.”
“Malibu, huh?” Dirk said. “Who’d think fake Chanels and Rolexes would sell well enough to buy a place in Malibu?”
“Some people wanna look like caviar on a bologna budget.” Savannah folded the paper and stuck it in her pocket. “They think they’re just buying a purse to impress their girlfriends, but a lot of that money’s going to organized crime. In Xenos’s case, some of it’s finding its way to the Middle East and anti-American terrorist groups.”
“So much for a cute, little, victimless crime,” Dirk said. “Personally, you couldn’t give me one of those knockoff girlie purses.”
“How about a fake Rolex?” Waycross asked him, a grin on his freckled face.
Dirk hesitated, thinking it over. Then he glanced at Savannah and Tammy, who were giving him a don’t-you-dare look. “Nope,” he said. “You couldn’t give me one of those crummy things. No way. I’d rather be dragged across an anthill. Killer ants! Naked!”
“Eeew.” Tammy wrinkled her nose. “There’s a visual I could’ve done without!”
“What sort of record does this Xenos guy have?” Savannah wanted to know.
Waycross gathered up a stack of papers. “Let’s just say, if we taped these-here papers together, our good buddy would have hisself a rap sheet a lot longer than your arm.”
“Assaults galore,” Tammy said. “He’s been arrested twice for murder, but he never went to trial for those. He’s served a total of seven years.”
“Lovely,” Savannah said. That was just what she wanted, to chase down and question some terrorist-funding thug on her honeymoon. Or any other time, for that matter, she thought.
“Maybe we won’t even have to look for him,” she said, thinking aloud. “With any luck, it’ll be this crazy conservationist.”
“Conservationist?” Tammy was all ears.
“That’s right,” Dirk said. “We need to talk to a dude named . . .” He turned to Savannah. “What was it, Van?”
“Hank Jordan. From what I heard, he’s a handyman for a motel on the other side of the island. He’s been involved in animal protection groups that use violence to make their points.”
Tammy started clicking away on her computer. “I love animals as much as the next person,” she said, “and more than some. But I never understood the people who do that awful stuff in the name of compassion. Don’t they see how they’re undermining their own cause?”
“Reckon some folks can’t see the nose stuck right there on the front of their faces,” said Waycross.
Tammy laughed uproariously.
Savannah smiled and shot a look at Dirk, who rolled his eyes.
Waycross had made a halfway-good funny, but it wasn’t all that funny. Unless, of course, the Love Bug had nipped you behind the right ear.
“Let’s see who can find ’im first,” Waycross challenged Tammy as his own fingers started to pound away on his keyboard. He grinned across the table at Savannah. “She done taught me all of her tricks, and now it’s gonna come back to bite ’er.”
“You don’t know them all, buddy boy,” Tammy said. “I could still show you a thing or . . . Oh! Wait! I’ve got him!”
“Dang it!” Waycross closed his computer with a snap. “She’s just too good for me.”
Oh, Lord, Savannah thought. Do we sound as sappy as that? Heaven forbid.
“Well? Where’s he at?” Savannah asked Tammy.
�
��The Island Lagoon. Just like you said, on the other side of the island. Although, I’m looking at a picture of it here on a travel advisory site, and I don’t see an oversized mud puddle, let alone a lagoon.”
Waycross leaned across her shoulder and stared at her screen. “There it is.”
“Where?”
“In the logo. It’s one of the O’s.”
Tammy squinted at the screen. “That’s a pretty bad logo.”
Waycross nodded. “And a pretty bad motel, too. Me and Tammy could go check it out for you, if you want us to.”
“Why, Brother Waycross,” Savannah said, her drawl thick, “are you suggesting that you’d like to take my pretty young assistant to a seedy motel?”
Instantly Waycross turned as red as his curls. “No! Of course not! I’d never take Miss Tammy here to no nasty motel! I mean, I wouldn’t take her to . . . I mean . . . shoot. You know what I mean.”
Tammy reached over and patted him on the shoulder. “I know exactly what you mean, and so do they. Don’t let them tease you. Once they get started, they don’t know when to quit.”
“Tell me about it! You oughta growed up having her for a big sister! It was awful! She was bossy and kept after me all the time to do right. She was worse than Granny!”
“You got me back, putting that frog in my underwear drawer.”
He snickered. “Yeah. That was a good ’un. It was worth that trip behind the henhouse with Granny and her hickory switch.”
They heard the sound of voices coming from the living-room area, and footsteps. Ryan and John had returned.
They walked into the kitchen, greeted all sitting at the table, then raided the refrigerator.
John began assembling ingredients from the cupboard and refrigerator, including a cucumber, some mint, ginger ale, and a bottle of some sort of alcohol from the bar. “Anyone for a Pimm’s?” he offered.
“Is it booze?” Tammy asked.
He smiled. “Most assuredly.”
“Then no. We’re working,” she replied with utmost seriousness.
“So you teetotalers won’t go for a beer either?” Ryan asked as he pulled one out for himself.
