by D P Lyle
“You happen to know if they’re home?” I asked.
Rucker’s gaze devoured Nicole for the third or fourth time until he managed to tear it away and look back at me. “I don’t stick my nose in my tenants’ business.”
“The perfect landlord,” Ray said.
Rucker’s eyes narrowed. “You being a smart-ass?”
“Just making an observation.”
“What you want with them?” Rucker asked.
“Thought you didn’t stick your nose in other folks’ business?”
“Listen, Jack—”
“Ray. The name’s Ray.”
“Like I give a hot shit.” The ash fell onto his plaid shirt and he brushed it away. “Why don’t you folks get on up outta here?”
“As soon as we chat with the brothers we’ll do just that.”
Rucker had apparently run out of words. He took a step back and closed the door.
We circled the building and climbed the metal stairs. Number 22 was the third door. No answer to my knock.
Nicole cupped her hands around her eyes and peered through the gap in the front window curtains. “Looks quiet in there,” she said.
“What now?” I asked.
Ray massaged his neck. “Guess we’ll come back later.”
I heard footsteps on the stairs and turned that way. A young woman. A very pretty young woman. She stopped when she saw us. Surprise on her face.
“Morning,” I said.
She hesitated, obviously confused. “Who are you?”
“I’m Jake. This is Nicole and Ray. You?”
“Heather.”
“You know the Wilbanks brothers?”
“Yes.”
“Know where they might be?”
“Why are you asking?”
Ray stepped forward. “Need to chat with them.”
Her gaze bounced away, then back to him. “About what?”
“Routine stuff.”
“You guys cops or something?” Heather asked.
“No,” I said. “Private investigators.”
Confusion cut deeper into her face.
“We just need to ask them about a case we’re working on,” Nicole said. She smiled.
Heather seemed to relax a little. “Well, I’ve got a couple of questions for Darrell myself.”
“About what?” I asked.
Another hesitation. “I was supposed to meet him and Darnell at the marina this morning. They didn’t show so I thought maybe they got back early and might’ve come back here.”
“Back from where?” I asked.
“Fishing. They headed out early yesterday morning and were supposed to be back at dawn.”
“Who are you?” Ray asked. “How do you know them?”
“I’m Darrell’s girlfriend.”
“Don’t you hate it when guys stand you up?” Nicole asked. A woman’s touch seemed to relax Heather further.
“Darrell’s pretty good at that,” Heather said.
“Honey, they’re all good at that,” Nicole added.
Heather laughed. “Ain’t that the truth.”
“Who’d they go fishing with?” I asked.
“I don’t know. Some bigwig with a big boat’s all I know.” Now her brow furrowed.
“What is it?” Nicole asked. “You looked worried.”
She sighed. “It’s all so strange.”
“What’s strange?” I asked.
“Everything. I mean, I went with them out to the beach yesterday. Early. Way too early to be up and around. Four in the morning. Out by the old fort. Two guys picked them up in a motorboat and took them out to the big boat.”
“What big boat?”
“I don’t know. Darrell called him the ‘boss man’ or ‘big man.’ Something like that.”
“No name?” I asked.
“Darrell said I didn’t need to know that so he wouldn’t tell me.”
“Why’s that?” Ray asked.
“I don’t know. It was all so weird. Darrell made me promise not to say a word to anyone about it.” She sighed. “And here I am telling you.” She shook her head. “I should learn to keep my mouth shut.”
“We can keep a secret,” I said.
“And the other strange part—I followed them out there. Darrell was going to leave his car for some guy to use while they were out fishing.”
“Any idea why?”
She shook her head. “All I know is that the trip was also business. Some big deal Darrell and Darnell were doing with the boat guy. He wouldn’t tell me anything about it. Just said they’d make a lot of money.”
“So, let me get this straight,” Ray said. “Darrell and Darnell met some guys on an isolated beach, middle of the night, to go on some fishing/business trip with some mysterious dude who owns a big boat?”
“Sounds strange, doesn’t it?”
“Sure does. And you don’t know who that person is?”
Heather shook her head. “Not a clue.”
“Did you see this boat?” I asked. “The big one?”
“No. As soon as we could hear the little boat’s engine coming, Darrell ran me off. Said they’d be in trouble if the men in the boat saw me there. So I left.”
“Did you see the boat pick them up?”
“No. Like I said, I took off.”
“Did you happen to go by and see if Darrell’s car was still out there? By the beach?” I asked.
She shook her head. “That never occurred to me. But I know Darrell said someone was picking it up for some job or something. Darrell doesn’t tell me a whole lot.”
“We’ll check it out,” Ray said. “What kind of car does Darrell drive?”
“A Honda Accord. It’s gray and has a damaged front fender. You know that rust stuff ?”
“Primer?” I asked.
“Yeah. Left front fender.” A look of concern crept into her face. “Why’re you looking for Darrell and Darnell? Are they in some kind of trouble?”
“Not that we know of,” I said. “It’s a case we’re working, and we were hoping they might be able to help.”
“I see.”
“Do you know Raul Gomez?” Ray asked.
“Not really. I’ve met him a couple of times. Do you think they might be off somewhere with him?”
“Do you?”
She shrugged. “Maybe. I mean, I know they did some work with Raul.”
“What kind of work?” I asked.
A sigh. “I don’t know. Like I said, Darrell don’t tell me shit about his business.”
“Looks like we have a problem here,” Ray said. “You see, Raul’s dead.”
Heather wavered, took a step back. “What? Dead?” Tears welled in her eyes. “I don’t understand.”
“We don’t, either. But someone shot Raul.”
Her face screwed down in a futile attempt to control her tears. Didn’t work. “Is Darrell in danger?”
“Maybe.”
She sniffed. “Who? Why?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Ray said. “And you’re going to have to tell the police everything you just told us.”
“No. I can’t do that.”
“Not much choice. Detective Morgan’s in charge and he’ll definitely knock on your door.”
“I won’t do it.”
“You will,” Ray said. “Otherwise you’re obstructing an investigation and you don’t want to go there.”
“Shit.” She sniffed back tears. “My parents will go ballistic.”
“Sorry,” Ray said.
“Can’t you just forget about this? Let me go home?”
“I wish we could but that’s not possible.” He pulled out his cell phone. “I’ll let Morgan know you’ll be home. Right?”
She nodded. “Okay.”
“And I’ll get him on finding Darrell’s car.” As he dialed, he walked away, his back to us.
“You okay?” Nicole asked. She walked to where Heather stood and placed a hand on her shoulder.
&nb
sp; Heather shook her head. “No, I’m not okay. I don’t know what the hell’s going on.” She wiped away tears with the heels of her hands. “None of this makes any sense.”
“One more question,” I said. “Did you see anyone else that morning? Out on the beach?”
“No.” She shook her head, and then hesitated, gaze upward as if recalling something. “Actually, I did. As I drove back up the road I passed a jogger. A woman.”
“What’d she look like?”
“It was dark so I couldn’t see much. Just a glimpse in my headlights.”
“And?”
“She looked like a runner. Lean and fit with long legs is about all I remember. She had on a white top and dark shorts.”
“How tall?”
“Maybe my height, if I had to guess. Five-six. I think she had short dark hair. Oh, and she had in earplugs and one of those arm bands that hold an iPod.”
“Do you think she might have seen any of this? The men or the boat?”
“It’s possible, I guess. She was maybe a mile up the road when I passed her. But she was moving pretty good and was headed that way.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
TAMMY HORTON HAD finished her walk on the beach and an hour of Pilates, and now stood in the kitchen eating an apple and staring at Walter through the French doors. He lay in a lounge chair on the deck, his back to her.
Last night they had had a long talk about Barbara, their marriage, their future, everything. It had actually been good. Cathartic, as they say. In the end Tammy had said that she loved him, forgave him, and even understood how these things happen. Even that she was glad it was Barbara and not some young floozy. That Barbara had been classy and a good person and she could see his attraction to her.
But this morning she felt the anger rising again. Fretful sleep and dreams that held images of Walter and Barbara rolling around together had relit the fire. Her first thought, as she lay there in bed, Walter softly snoring beside her, was to revisit last night’s discussion. Say the things she had avoided saying last night. The hateful things that could do irreparable harm. That couldn’t be taken back. Didn’t she deserve that bit of revenge?
Instead, she decided exercise might be the best medicine. She slipped from bed, careful not to disturb Walter.
She had begun her walk angry, no, infuriated, with Walter. Still creating blistering words in her head. Still wanting to singe his ears, to make him pay for his betrayal. But halfway through her two-mile loop up the beach and back, the sharp edges of her rage began to smooth and then the Pilates tamped them down to a manageable level.
She dropped the apple core into the compactor and stepped out on the deck. Walter apparently didn’t sense she was there since he sat quietly, staring out over the beach. To see him there, doing nothing, was odd. Walter never had downtime. Couldn’t tolerate it. Didn’t believe in it. Had to always be on the move or doing something. Whether in the office or at home, he always had his briefcase open and was reading, writing, studying, whatever it was that lawyers did.
But right now he seemed beaten. Like he didn’t have the energy to do anything. Or was it a lack of interest?
Was it Barbara’s death that ate at him? Was it guilt for his betrayal of her? Was it the weight of him being a suspect? But that seemed to have died down a bit. Detective Morgan had dropped by just yesterday and said as much. That Walter wasn’t completely in the clear but the evidence they had so far suggested that it was someone else.
The only disturbing thing about his visit was that Morgan had asked Walter about Raul Gomez. Had he heard from him and seen him recently? Of course Walter hadn’t. Not since he threatened Walter for not being able to get his brother off. That had been a few tense months. Knowing that a cold-blooded killer’s brother was pissed at you. Tammy had slept poorly, waking in the night, sneaking to various windows, gently parting the curtains, careful not to move them too much, and checking the street, the beach, anywhere Raul might be sneaking up on the house. Of course, she never saw anything. Eventually, as Raul never did anything or contacted them in any way, the fear lessened and life returned to normal.
“You okay?” she asked.
He didn’t move, but said, “I’m fine.”
“Not going to the office today?”
“I canceled everything. Don’t want to deal with other people’s problems just yet.”
She walked to his side, resting a hand on his shoulder. “I meant what I said last night. I forgive you.”
“Not sure I can forgive myself,” Walter said. “It was wrong on so many levels.”
Tammy squeezed his shoulder. “I can’t argue with that but just know that it’s behind us now.”
“Is it? Doesn’t feel that way to me.”
“Give it time.” She gave his shoulder another squeeze. “I mean, I’m still mad at you, at Barbara, even at me, but it’ll fade with time.”
He looked up at her. “You? Why on Earth would you be mad at you? You didn’t do anything.”
“I must have. Why else would you need someone else?”
Walter reached up and laid his hand over hers. “It wasn’t like that. It isn’t like that. You know I love you. And I’ll make all this up to you somehow.”
Neither said anything for a minute.
“Want something to eat?” Tammy asked.
“Not right now.”
“Let me know when you do.” She pulled her hand from his. “I’m going to hit the shower.”
But she never made it that far. As she walked through the foyer toward the curving staircase that led upstairs, she saw a black Channel 16 news truck parked across the street. The side sliding door was rolled back, a cameraman sitting in the opening, working on his equipment. A young female reporter sat in the passenger’s seat, checking her makeup in the visor mirror. Tammy couldn’t remember her name but had seen her on TV many times.
Were they setting up to do a remote? Right here in front of her house? The hell they were.
She stormed out the door and marched toward them. The cameraman looked up, the reporter stepped out of the van.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Tammy asked.
“Are you Mrs. Horton?” the girl asked.
“Yes. And you’re intruding on my privacy.”
“I’m Sharon Morrison. Reporter for Channel 16.” She extended her hand to shake.
Tammy ignored it. “I don’t give a damn who you are. Get out of here.”
Tammy now noticed the cameraman was settling his camera on his shoulder and directing it her way. One hand automatically went to her hair. She should have showered first. And put on some makeup. People couldn’t see her on TV looking like this.
Then reporter Sharon was speaking to her again. “Mrs. Horton, all I want to do is give Mr. Horton a chance to tell his side of things.”
“His side is that he didn’t do anything wrong. He had nothing to do with what happened to Barbara Plummer.”
“That’s what Detective Morgan said when I interviewed him yesterday,” Sharon said. “But weren’t Mr. Horton and Mrs. Plummer involved?”
“No. We’ve been friends with the Plummers for years. That’s it.”
The cameraman now had Tammy in full focus, and Sharon had her handheld mic extended toward her.
“My sources tell a different story,” Sharon said.
“Your sources are wrong.” Tammy glared at her and then at the cameraman. “Now I suggest you leave immediately or I’ll call the police. This is a private community.”
Not waiting for an answer, Tammy spun on her heels and headed toward her house.
“But, Mrs. Horton,” Sharon continued in her wake, “a few answers from Mr. Horton would clear all this up.”
Tammy extended her middle finger over her shoulder as she slammed her front door. She wondered if that’d make the six o’clock news.
* * *
My cell phone chimed. Caller ID said it was Tammy. Answer or don’t answer? That was always the dilemma with her. A
nswering meant a tirade about something trivial, even stupid. Not answering meant a series of calls until by attrition I would answer and go through the tirade, anyway. I answered.
“Jake, get over here.”
“Why would I do that?”
“There’s a news truck out front. That female news girl and her cameraman.”
“Make sure you have your makeup adjusted before you go out, then.”
Nicole and I were sitting at a table at Captain Rocky’s. She smiled at me. How did she always know when it was Tammy? Could it possibly be me grinding my teeth?
“Damn it, Jake, get over here and run them off.” Tammy was getting wound up now.
“I think you’d be better at that than me.”
“I tried. They want to talk to Walter.”
“Then let them. Old Walter can fight his own battles.” I sighed. “Look, I’m a little busy right now.”
“Doing what?”
“I have a business to run.”
I mean, Nicole and I were at Captain Rocky’s. And I do own it. But I wasn’t working. We were having lunch. I saw no need to share that with Tammy.
“But—”
“But nothing. Either have Walter talk to them, or, like I told you before, close your door and don’t engage with them. They’ll get bored and go away.” Tammy didn’t immediately respond so I took advantage of the opportunity. “Talk to you later, I’m sure.” I disconnected the call.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
HERE’S THE THING about guys—we like watching women undress. I don’t mean strip clubs, though I’ve been to a few of those over the years. I swear, only a few. Never much cared for them. Mainly because of the creeps that hung around in there. And the music was usually too loud and the drinks too weak and too cheap—not in price, but in the brands of alcohol they poured. Then there were the dancers. Not that many of them weren’t attractive, or at least had tight bodies, but I always felt uncomfortable. Like I was witnessing a slow train wreck. I figured most of them were there because they lacked the skills or the opportunity or maybe simply the drive to be anywhere else. Of course the money was good so there was that.
But the kind of disrobing I’m talking about is the one-on-one variety. Usually a prelude to sex. Like last night.
