I paused a moment to admire the bright bougainvillea that spilled over walls to either side of the large canopy overhead. The arched entryway that led into the hotel lobby was completely open, blurring the lines between indoors and out. From where we stood, we could see straight through the lobby area to a view of the ocean beyond. In the distance, I heard the sound of gulls and a peal of laughter. A cross-breeze carried the scent of the sea to us along with a hint of pine and cypress reminiscent of my childhood. Delight and uneasiness conveyed in a single whiff of “home.”
Another valet waited near the doorway, watching us. Was the attendant waiting to escort us inside to check in? For a moment we made eye contact. He smiled as he pulled out his cell phone, then rushed off nearly colliding with the valet who had pulled our bags from the trunk. The young man carrying our luggage used a bit of fancy footwork to dodge the fleeing valet.
“Man on a mission,” he said, nodding in the direction his coworker had fled. “Will you follow me, please?” he asked as he strode toward the lobby.
“Man on a mission, indeed,” I harrumphed under my breath as I hustled after our guide. Not all the staff here are as well-trained as our associates at the Cat Factory, I thought, as Jack took my arm and we fell in step behind the valet. I glanced over my shoulder at the young man who was now speaking to someone on that phone.
Checking in was a breeze. The rooms set aside for us on the fifth floor were lovely, although the adjoining suites were way too big for just the two of us. Jack let out one of the low whistles he uses when pleased or surprised—in this case, both. A floor to ceiling wall of windows in the sitting room framed the blue Pacific Ocean, flanked by dark cliffs on the left. Thick woods ran down to those cliffs bordering a beautifully manicured golf course. A golf cart path snaked its way down and around resort amenities on terraces below us, running through the golf course and alongside the beach. The vibrant green of the golf course made the beach sand seem lighter than I recalled.
The same windows in our enormous bedrooms brought the outdoors inside. The rhythmic sound of the waves added to the ambiance. Luxurious baths glimmered with light bouncing off polished marble, mirrors, and fixtures. As we took the tour, I tried to relax.
“Almost as gorgeous as your place,” Jack commented as he moved between our suites, checking everything out, including me. “You doing okay?”
“Yes, It’s strange, though. I feel both relieved and disappointed that so much has changed.”
The hillside was barely recognizable with the hotel and amenities cascading down the slope to the blue water and frothy waves rolling onto the beach. An access road remained, although it was wider than the one we had used to tow a boat down to the cove. It led to an upgraded version of the old boat launch. On this side of the new boat launch, a boardwalk had been built. According to the resort blurb, it’s replete with amenities. On the far side of the launch, developers had added a small marina. It was nearly full with June running headlong into summer. Gone was a weathered, rickety old dock where we tied up small boats. We had also used that as a spot to plunge into the water, sun ourselves, and dry out after a swim. Happy times.
I scanned the beach, trying to remember the scene as it had been that terrible evening. I had waited until after dinner to describe events to Jack. As we ate, we had focused instead on our plans for visiting Corsario Cove. It was about a six-hour drive, up the Pacific Coast Highway, so we decided to take my convertible and make the most of the drive. As planned, Jack drove his car to my house since I’m already on the coast. That got our Saturday morning off to an early start, and we would arrive with plenty of time to check in and get settled in before dinner. We had decided to make it a three-day weekend so we wouldn’t have to check out until early Monday afternoon.
Later, when I had shared my story of the attack on the beach, I could tell Jack had questions. Instead of asking them, he held me. It hadn’t been a very long story, even adding a little about the frustrated efforts to find out more after I had recovered from the assault. My parents and older brothers had tried, too. Even years later, when I went back to Corsario Cove for Jennifer’s wedding, I had gone another round with the local police to no avail.
Shaken by telling Jack my story, I had started to weep angry tears as my whole body tensed and my fists balled up. It was as if I had become that furious, bewildered 20-something young woman again. Jack’s comments about forgiveness had rushed through my mind. Is my anger and resentment what held me captive to my past? How could I forgive without knowing what had happened or who to forgive?
“That’s enough for now. No more tonight.” Jack had said as he placed a finger to my lips, and then kissed me. Pulling me close, he had kissed my cheeks where those salty tears burned. I had rested my head on his shoulder. Miles, who had come to check on me when my tone of voice betrayed my distress, climbed into my lap, curled up into a ball and purred.
I’m not sure how long the three of us sat there with that other Miles—Miles Davis—playing in the background. His off-kilter trumpet wailed at the world for me. I had almost pulled the plug on our trip. I was glad I hadn’t. Sharing my story with Jack had left me feeling less burdened. Now that we were in the Cove, I wanted to hear his questions and hoped to find answers for a few of my own.
“That’s where the old dock used to be.” I pointed to the spot. “That night we would have been over here, to the left—not far from that fire pit on the beach. See?” I pointed to a spot down on the beach and almost directly in front of us. We had made a fire that night. Danny and I had built it in a shallow hole in the sand already blackened from other fires on other nights. Even with the light from that fire, we hadn't seen them coming.
“The line of sight wouldn’t have been as good as it is now. That wooded area extended out farther on the left, so they could have used it as cover to get pretty close to us. Back then, brush and clusters of trees covered the slope in spots from down there on the beach all the way up to where we are, here, on the hotel level. It was patchy, but we didn’t have as clear a view as we do now to the access road.”
“That’s where they found Harwell’s pickup truck—parked up the road, close to the turnoff from San Albinus, right?”
“Yes, I presume that’s why Danny and I didn’t hear them arrive. If they had parked closer to the beach, we might have heard the truck engine or the doors slam when they got out of it. I don’t recall hearing anything like that.”
“I’m betting they wanted it that way. They ambushed you and Danny.”
“Ambushed is the right word. I’m not sure how else to describe being grabbed from behind and wrestled down to the ground. Danny, too, I guess. From the way he yelled, someone must have jumped him. I tried to scream, but whoever yanked me backward choked me, and nothing came out. Then I fell, cracked my head hard and blacked out. It all happened so fast."
"You never had a chance against that sneak attack, Georgie."
"True, but I doubt we would have been worried even if we had heard them coming. We were expecting company. My brother Gil, his girlfriend Angie, and others. Every once in a while, we caught noises coming from Boardertown—the polite word locals use for the surfer community that’s still down there in the woods. Tommy Harwell and his pals had much worse names for the place. The police raided the surfer village later that night after Gil and Angie found me alone and unconscious on the beach. In fact, that was the first place the police went looking for suspects once the ambulance had taken me to the hospital.”
“I’m not surprised. Strangers often arouse suspicion even though it’s more often people we know who can get close enough to hurt us. Like you and Danny, many of us never see it coming until it’s too late.”
I scooted over next to Jack as we stood on the gorgeous veranda outside my room. The happy buzz of voices drifted up from a golf cart that zoomed by below us, along with the aroma of food being grilled down on the beach. How could I have lost so much in such a paradise? I asked myself as I slipped an arm aroun
d Jack’s waist. He pulled me close.
“It’s also often true that it’s those closest to us who will do everything in their power to keep us safe and help us heal. I’m going to have a talk with the local police while I’m here. I’m not sure what evidence they still have from that night or what’s happened to it since, but I’d like to find out. There’s a Detective Mitchum in charge of homicide, now, in San Albinus. The guy wanted to take it down a notch when he accepted the position here after retiring from Sacramento or Fresno or somewhere more urban. He’s got a good track record. Maybe he can help us get a better idea of what happened to you and why.” I hugged Jack a little tighter.
“Thanks. I’m glad you’re willing to do it. I’m happy to talk to the detective if he asks.”
“I won’t ask you to do that unless it’s necessary. It’s no fun telling your story over and over again—even decades later. I don’t want you to get your hopes up. There are new techniques for picking up evidence—fingerprints, DNA, fibers or other trace elements transferred to the victim from the assailant. It’s a longshot, but maybe there’s something that can help figure out who attacked you and Danny. Of course, there’s no guarantee that you’ll get justice, even if you find out who did it. Your attacker and Mark’s killer could be dead.” He let go enough to make eye contact. I smiled up at him, marveling for a moment at the mere fact of his presence in my life.
“I understand. When the police arrived that night, they had no idea they were dealing with murder. Other than that pickup truck, there was no sign of Tommy or his brother. It wasn’t until Mark’s body washed up on the beach the next morning that they realized the incident was more than a lover’s quarrel or a brawl over a girl. The Corsario Cove equivalent to a scene out of West Side Story, according to my brother Gil.”
“West Side Story ended in murder. I get what you’re saying. There was more of that ‘boys-will-be-boys’ sentiment forty years ago about what’s regarded as assault these days. Still, you were nearly killed. You had bruises on your neck, were bleeding from a gash in your skull, and had suffered a concussion. Not to mention your clothes were torn as if the attacker had intended the assault to be a sexual one. Surely that must have caused the team of police investigators who showed up at the scene to treat the matter seriously.”
“All two of them. It was a small police force back then. Mainly, Gil and the police wanted to get me to a hospital, fast. I’m sure they saved my life that night.”
“I don’t doubt that. You’re lucky you didn’t have permanent damage from that head injury. It sounds like you were out long enough, even after they got you to the hospital, for it to be a miracle you came out of that ordeal whole.” I didn’t feel whole, then or now, but I didn’t say that.
“My point is, that I won’t get my hopes up. Who knows what evidence they gathered that night? Gil told the police about the trouble between Danny and Tommy and that Tommy’s truck was sitting up there on the access road. Even my brother thought, at first, that maybe a fight between the two of them got out of hand, and they both ran for it when they heard Gil coming. I was furious that he believed Danny would have left me alone like that!”
“I hear you. From the way you describe Danny, he didn’t sound like a man who would have run away, even if he had been responsible for Mark’s death. And I don’t believe he would have left you like that unless he ran to get help if he thought he had chased off the assailants.”
“The closest place he could have gone for help back then would have been the surfer village down near the beach. When the police went through Boardertown, they hassled the residents, searched the place, and asked if Danny or the others had been there that night. No luck. Maybe they went back again after Mark's body washed up on the beach the next day. How much evidence could they have found on his body after he had been in the water overnight? My parents told me that a blow to his head had nearly killed Mark, but an autopsy revealed water in his lungs. He was still alive when he went into the water. They found small amounts of Mark's blood, along with some of my own, on Danny's guitar that someone had tossed into the fire. I don’t believe they got prints from it—not even Danny’s."
"Still, that must have led them to suspect Danny was Mark's killer."
"Yes. They asked me if Danny had used it to hit Mark or me. Danny had that guitar nearby when the attackers jumped us from behind, so he could have used it to fight them off, but he would never have hit me. If Danny had fought off two attackers with that guitar, why would he have run away? If he had gone to get help, he would have come back when help arrived."
"Good point," Jack muttered. A decades-old weariness crept over me. How many times had I gone over and over what I recalled of the events that occurred that night? Not just during the investigation that followed but year after year.
"I have no memory of someone ripping my shirt or breaking the zipper on my pants. Danny certainly didn't do that. The Police Report noted the condition of my clothes, but no one knew what happened to them after the hospital staff removed them. Since I never saw the attackers, I couldn't confirm that Tommy or Mark had done it, either. With Mark dead, Tommy and Danny both gone, who was left to say what happened? It’s like I have all these little puzzle pieces in my head and my mind keeps trying to fit them together with no luck. Not all the time, now, like I did in the beginning. I can go months before the memories get triggered and the process starts up again.”
My eyes wandered along the beachfront, past colorful umbrellas, beach towels, and small clusters of people—some in motion and others reclining. As I turned away to go inside, I stopped, sucked in my breath and spun back around.
“Georgie, what is it?”
“A man with binoculars. Down there, near that terrace of pools. See? Where the cart path heads back up here toward the hotel.” Jack scanned the area where I was pointing. Several men were around, but none held binoculars.
“Sorry, I don’t see anyone with binoculars.”
“He was looking up at us—at me. I could have sworn it.” As we continued to watch, one guy who had bent down to tie a shoelace stood and greeted a member of the hotel staff. He held nothing in his hands. My heart rate that had sped up slowed as Jack put an arm around me.
“Is that the guy who had the binoculars?” The longer I paused, the less confident I became.
“It’s difficult to say from this distance. He seems familiar, but maybe that’s because we passed him in the hotel lobby when we checked in, or I saw him get on or off the elevator. Who knows for sure? I'm sorry. I'm losing it.”
“I doubt that. Let’s unpack and get cleaned up. Jennifer and her daughter will be here for dinner, soon.” I followed him back inside, shut the screen door, leaving the glass doors open. I hoped the fresh sea air would clear my frazzled mind.
“Good idea, Jack. I need to pull myself together if I’m going to offer Meredith support.”
“Don’t worry about that, either. Just being here for Meredith is enough for now. When she's ready, she’ll remember the gesture you’re making, and she'll reach out.”
“If Meredith wants to wait, that's fine with me. Talking about one murder is enough for me for today. Not much of a romantic weekend, huh? Do I know how to show a guy a good time or what?”
“I’ve already told you that I’m in this for the long haul. I believe we have a second chance at the kind of love we both thought we had the first time around. That’s worth waiting for and if it takes a little work, so what? I’ve never been afraid of hard work.”
“That goes for me, too” I responded as I reached up and kissed him. All the sad old memories of this place dissolved into that kiss. One way or another, I would close the book on the mystery of Danny’s disappearance. Then I froze in Jack’s arms. Music coming from somewhere below us made my heart pound and my head spin.
“That song! It’s Love Notes in the Key of Sea,” I gasped, running out onto the veranda. “It can’t be!”
4 Chamber Made
I couldn’t say
for sure who was more on edge during dinner—me or Meredith. Meredith fidgeted from the moment she sat down. That provoked Jennifer, who at one point reached over and clasped Meredith’s hand to stop her from clanking one piece of silverware against another. I felt like doing the same thing—not disciplining Meredith, but clanking silverware. I needed some outlet to express my growing uneasiness about the incidents here at the resort.
Meredith looked remarkably well for a young woman recently assaulted and left for dead. Fortunately, she had been found by a couple of Good Samaritans who called for help. A shiver hit me again as I flashed on my close call. What if no one had found Meredith? What if Gil and Angie hadn’t shown up when they did all those years ago?
When I complimented Meredith on her appearance, she said only one word, “Makeup.” Jennifer explained that she had used it to help Meredith cover the remnants of scratches and bruises on her face. Jennifer’s voice wavered as, in a hushed tone, she added that the turtleneck shirt Meredith wore hid the worst of it—the aftermath of a stabbing meant to kill her. Meredith’s hand tugged a little at the turtleneck as though it felt uncomfortable.
Talking about it had to be difficult, so I changed the subject by commenting on our lovely surroundings. Only Jack showed no distress as I introduced him to Meredith. That changed once Jennifer’s friend, Carolyn Chambers, swooped down on all of us like a bird of prey.
“Oh my God, Meredith! You’re home!” She flailed her arms, almost taking flight as she dashed toward us squawking that greeting. Her dark, hawk-eyes had spotted us right away, and she had waved the moment we entered the restaurant. Minutes later, when we had been seated at our table, Carolyn had flown straight for us, leaving an older woman at her table sitting alone.
“Speaking of makeup,” Meredith muttered under her breath. The makeup Carolyn wore was distinctive. Smoky eyeshadow, with the eyeliner drawn out to points in the corner of her eyes, added to the predatory sense that hung about her. So did her long red fingernails. A woman in her thirties, her brow already displayed the telltale signs of Botox.
Love Notes in the Key of Sea Georgie Shaw Cozy Mystery #2 (Georgie Shaw Cozy Mystery Series) Page 3
