We slipped out and I led the way up toward the portal Dante had taken me to the night before. We found the water, and the beautiful framework holding flowering vines that followed it downstream. The statue of Don Ramon Valdez was there, looking arrogantly over his waterways, but no matter how hard I looked, I couldn’t find the head of the spring which Dante had tried to talk me into diving to find Sami. Was I blind or had he had me under some sort of spell?
I looked back in the direction of the restaurant and something gleaming flashed at me for a second. Someone was watching us with binoculars. At least, that was what it looked like to me.
“What exactly are we looking for?” Jill asked me, and I didn’t have an answer for her.
“Never mind,” I said. “Let’s go up beyond the crest of the hill and take a look for whatever Sandy might have hidden up there. We’ll act very blasé and lackadaisical, like tourists seeing the sights, until we get where we can make a run for it out of view.”
“Okay fearless leader,” Jill said, happy again by now. I made a quiet vow to make sure she was able to stay that way. After all, it was the way I liked her best. Why would I try to push her buttons? Sometimes I really annoyed myself.
We stayed away from the bungalows, then followed the water feature as though enchanted by it – and that was mostly true. The water sparkled in the sun and gurgled like a baby and suddenly it disappeared back into the rocks and it seemed to have vanished altogether. I knew it had to be down there somewhere, but it was pretty good at hiding all evidence of its existence when it wanted to.
I turned away and we hurried up the path. When we were out of sight from the restaurant, we dashed over to a line of shrubbery that concealed a dirt trail heading out into the wilderness. And that was where we were headed.
Jill was breathing heavily by now and trying very hard to mask it. That made me feel even worse about teasing her and I purposefully slowed us down by stopping to look at pink and yellow wildflowers blooming along the edge of the path.
“Where are we going exactly?” she asked.
“Good question. I’m looking for something that looks like it could be a hiding place Sandy might have used earlier.”
“You mean when she was totting that gun?”
I made a face. “We don’t know if it was a gun. It could have been….”
“I’ll bet it was a shovel,” she said casually. “I bet she was using it to bury something she didn’t want the cops to find at her place.”
I turned and stared at her. The scene I’d seen through Bebe’s binoculars flashed into view in my mind and I nodded. It could have been a shovel. A nice new and shiny shovel.
“Brilliant!” I said. “Okay, we’re looking for fresh dirt, then.”
And that wasn’t easy. We walked on and on and didn’t see anything from the path. Of course, it was nuts to think she would have buried it right out in plain sight. So we broke up, Jill took one side of the path and I took the other and we zigzagged our way back toward the top of the hill. Nothing.
I was beginning to wonder if this was really worth it and Jill was rapidly losing interest.
“It’s hot,” she complained. “We should have brought those cold drinks we left in the car.”
I was about to respond when I realized someone was coming up the path. The late afternoon sun was slanting into my eyes and he was still too far away to recognize, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t going to be anyone we wanted to see.
“Jill, quick!” I hissed.
“Huh?” She looked up.
I slipped behind a bush and gestured wildly toward the bottom of the path.
“I don’t see anything.” She was peering down toward the compound.
“Hide!”
“Hide? Why?”
“Get over here,” I growled through clenched teeth, and she finally decided to get with the program.
“Oh!” She saw him and turned to run. Had he seen her? Probably. Now it felt a little foolish to hide, but we didn’t have a lot of choice, did we?
Chapter 10
I’d seen a large metal box – probably some sort of cable place or electronics shield - a few yards away from the path and we headed for it, sliding in behind it and crouching down to peer out toward the approaching man.
“Who is it?” Jill whispered.
“I don’t know.”
“Then why are we hiding?”
“Because…because…”
Well, there were a number of reasons, but none of them easy to articulate on the fly this way, so I just said, “Sh!”
And we waited. And waited. And while we waited, I began to notice a place along the edge of the gray box that looked as though someone had recently done some digging. I grabbed Jill’s shoulder and pointed. She made a silent gasp. I spent half a minute wishing I’d brought a shovel myself, but time was short and I had to get to it. I dug quickly and turned up a brown case, about the size of a wallet.
“What’s inside?” Jill whispered.
I turned it to find an opening and was about to find out the answer to her question, when a male voice said calmly, “I’ll take that, thank you.”
We jumped about a foot into the air but when we landed, I was ready to try to tough it out.
“I’m sorry, it’s mine,” I said, sticking it quickly into my back jeans pocket. “I dropped it here the other day.”
The young man knew I was lying, but the resigned look on his face told me he wasn’t going to wrestle me for it. He was a handsome specimen, about my age or a year or so younger, with the casual noblesse oblige manner commonly seen on the sons of millionaires. Especially good-looking ones with fashion sense and the money to pay for the best in clothing. Something about him just looked wealthy—including that fancy haircut that left a tumble of adorable curls that kept falling over his eyes.
“Where did you come from, anyway?” I asked. Glancing back at the path I had expected him to arrive on.
“I took the back way. I wanted to surprise you. That way I could see what you were doing before you saw me. Clever, ay?”
I almost laughed. “And what did you see?”
“You two hiding, for some reason. Am I that frightening a prospect?”
Jill was simpering a bit. “No, you’re not a bit scary. In fact, you’re cute as a button. And you’re Nigel Champaine’s son Jeremy, aren’t you?”
“That I am. Have we met?”
“No,” I responded before Jill could get in any more flirting. “I’m Mele Keahi and this is my friend Jill De Jong.”
He nodded and smiled in a warm, charming way. “Pleased to meet you both. I saw you out here climbing around in the chaparral and I thought I’d come up and see if I could help you find whatever you were searching for.”
He gave me a significant look that spoke volumes. He knew we were snooping. But why not?
“Oh, wait,” he said, staring at me with new intensity. “I’ve heard of you. Aren’t you the famous murder girl?”
That set me back a bit. “Murder girl! Hardly. I haven’t murdered anyone that I know of, ever.”
He laughed. “I didn’t mean it that way. I’ve heard of your exploits. You’re a regular Jessica Fletcher, aren’t you?”
Oh great. This was getting ridiculous. I decided a bit of sarcasm was in order.
“Yes, indeed,” I said. “Almost her twin. Except that I’m young, living on the West Coast, and don’t write books. Other than that, you can hardly tell us apart.”
He laughed again. It was an easy laugh, a pleasant laugh, a laugh that made you want to laugh along with him. I’d heard he had a hard time keeping jobs, but I’d bet a dollar he could keep any he actually wanted. He had charm by the buckets.
“Tell you what,” he said, smiling at Jill. “I seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot with you two. Let me make it up to you. You need a place where you can wash some of that dirt off your hands. I just happen to have a facility that’s made for washing. Come join me in a glass of wine why don’t you?�
��
“At the restaurant?”
“No. At my place. It’s down in the compound.” Not waiting for an answer, he started off. “Follow me.”
I was a little nervous as I sat on Jeremy’s couch and sipped his wine. I knew he wanted what I’d slipped into my back pocket—but what was it? I didn’t even know. By going to his bungalow, I was putting things at risk knowing he would be watching me like a hawk, waiting for a chance to snatch it—whatever it was! I wondered if he even knew.
I was assuming it had to be what Sandy had been burying on her trek with the shovel. By now I’d pretty much decided that flashy metal thing had to be a shovel. She had been burying something in a small clutch container and I was dying to know what it was. If Sandy had been anxious enough to want to hide it away, it might just have something to do with Marguerite’s murder. Or not. Who knew? The only thing for sure was that Jeremy wanted to see it too, and here I was, giving him that chance still glimmering in his headlights.
But that risk had to be balanced by the chance of getting something worthwhile from him in some casual talk. Something that would help us in this case. So there we were.
His bungalow was set up along the same lines as Gwen’s, but his décor was definitely different—all tennis rackets and oars and surfboards, with rock band posters on the wall, wild colors on the upholstery and bead curtains in the hallway. It sort of looked like Jeremy hadn’t progressed very far beyond sophomore year at university, but maybe he just wasn’t interested in expressing himself with books and travel posters.
“Have you lived here long?” I asked, just making conversation.
He glanced over, saw me looking at the Metallica artwork, and grinned. “Actually, I’m just borrowing this bungalow. My dad is letting me live here until I get a place of my own.”
He filled three long-stemmed glasses with a golden Chablis which glittered with the bright color of a gemstone as it swirled in the clear containers. We clinked and sipped and smiled at each other, the three of us, and it began to feel like a lovely party.
“Listen, are you hungry?” he asked. “Sandy brought over some great doughnuts this morning. I know doughnuts don’t go so great with wine, but…”
“Never mind,” I reassured him. “We’re fine.”
“Don’t say I didn’t offer,” he said with a grin. “I’d hate to see you two expire from lack of snacks.”
“That won’t happen,” I told him, smiling back. “But you were saying you were just borrowing this place?”
He nodded. “The real resident used to be a sous chef for Carlo. Paolo was his name. They had a fight and he moved on, leaving most of his belongings behind.” He shrugged. “Convenient for me. I don’t have to buy any furniture. And it gives me time to decide what I want to do next.”
“I thought you lived on a boat,” Jill said. “I’m sure that’s what I heard.”
He nodded. “I’ve got a mooring in Long Beach. But that’s a little far for a commute.”
“Are you working here at the restaurant now?” I asked him.
He gave me a level look. “I was supposed to be interning in management,” he said. “And now that Marguerite is gone, I might actually get a chance to do that after all.”
I blinked. “Marguerite was the manager, wasn’t she?”
He nodded. “I was supposed to be training with her. That was my father’s idea.”
He noticed Jill’s glass almost empty and poured her a bit more, then did the same to my glass although it was hardly touched as yet.
“On the other hand, it didn’t fit in with Marguerite’s plans, so it wasn’t exactly happening.” He caught the look on my face and laughed. “Oh no you don’t. I hadn’t worked up enough anger to actually kill the woman. Not yet. But the way she was resisting my having anything to do with the business, I might have gotten there at some point in the near future.”
“She didn’t cooperate?”
“Cooperate? She didn’t even want to acknowledge my existence. She thought if she sent me off on wild goose chases up and down the coast I might get lost and never come back. That was her hope at any rate.” He smiled at me and raised the bottle. “More wine?”
To my surprise, my glass was half empty and I held it out to be refilled.
“But believe me, I didn’t do her in.” His gaze sharpened. “Listen, is it true that Carlo is the prime suspect so far? I find that hard to believe, but if not him, who do you think it was?”
He glanced at me, but not into my eyes. I could see what he was thinking as though it were being telecast on his forehead. His gaze was probing the angle to get at my back jeans pocket. He still wanted that wallet. And suddenly I had no doubt what all the wine was for. That little devil!
Good thing I’d taken the few moments he was walking ahead of us down the hill to pull the wallet out of my pocket and stick it into my bra. Hah!
Still, not another drop of wine passed my lips. Jill wasn’t quite so circumspect, but I was determined not to let anything cloud my judgment. In the meantime I tried to find out who Jeremy had in mind as the murderer. He named some people I didn’t know and I realized he wasn’t working at it very hard. We mainly kidded around and none of it went anywhere.
“Are you and your father close?” I asked at one point. “It seems nice of him to try to set you up with a job in one of his restaurants.”
He didn’t smile. “I’ve worked in his restaurants since I was old enough to climb up on a stool and do dishes. The jobs he gives me are usually the very lowest on the totem pole. When he offered me a training position in management, I thought he was finally ready to let me actually learn how to do something.”
“It sounds like that was the case.”
“Well, it didn’t turn out to be quite what I was expecting. In fact, I was beginning to think I was just supposed to be a spy for him. Trying to keep Marguerite in line.”
“Was she ‘out of line’ much?”
He laughed. “Have you met her?”
“Well….”
“What he saw in her, I’ll never know.”
“I suppose she was a good manager.”
“No, she stunk at it. A good manager creates a team feeling, don’t you think? And all she created was alienation between everyone, all the time. I mean, she had a chance to teach me a lot and at the same time, use me as a right hand man. Instead, she did everything she could to make me feel unwanted and incompetent.”
“Ouch,” I murmured, feeling a wave of sympathy for the guy. “Did you tell your father about that?”
He snorted. “Me talk to my father? You don’t know him very well, do you? I’m not supposed to talk to my father. I’m supposed to stay quiet and out of the way. Don’t make waves. Let him live his ideal bachelor life without bothering him with facts. And that’s what I’ve been doing for the last three weeks since I got here.”
That reminded me of something I needed to clear up. “Does your father come up here very often?”
“Not so you’d notice. He expected Marguerite to handle all the problems on her own.”
“So he trusted her.”
“Did he? I don’t know. But he only comes up on Sunday nights to check on the house count as far as I know.”
“He wasn’t here last night?”
He shrugged. “Not that I know of. Why?”
“I was just curious.” I added one more question. “How about you? What were you doing last night?”
“Who, me?” For just a second or two I thought I saw a sense of unease flicker through his eyes. “Uh…I was asleep. I went to bed early.”
“You didn’t hear anything? Notice anything?”
He shook his head. “I tried to call my father around dinner time, but he wouldn’t take my call. Typical. He probably had a lady friend over. Although, that’s not supposed to be happening anymore, is it?”
“Oh?”
He seemed to be pondering his relationship with his father as though it was a sore spot that he couldn’t stay aw
ay from. He leaned back and gazed into space. “My father has always been a confirmed bachelor. He loved that life. One lady after another. Nothing serious. And then suddenly, here comes Marguerite. The only thing I can figure is that she must have had something to hold over him. And that’s probably why he said he was going to marry her.”
“Marry her?” Both Jill and I said it at the same time, our eyes wide.
“Yeah.” He glanced at us and grinned. “I guess it wasn’t general knowledge yet, was it? I figured he proposed in order to keep her quiet about something. I can’t for the life of me see any other reason that works out logically.”
I stared at my untouched wine glass. This was an angle I hadn’t figured on. I was pretty sure the police didn’t know about this either. Cool.
“So back to the topic at hand,” I said, like a dog with a tasty bone, “Who killed Marguerite?”
I looked at him to gage his reaction. “What do you think of Sandy as a suspect?”
He turned a dull shade of red immediately. “Sandy?” He tried to sound casual, but his fingers were fidgeting nervously. “Nah. She’s not the murdering type.”
“That’s what Jill says as well,” I noted. “But it’s always the quiet ones….”
He laughed. “That’s not Sandy. She’s anything but quiet.”
That made me think of something. “Was Sandy ever into gymnastics?” I asked him.
“Oh yeah. She was quite good. And she still likes to pull off some of her old moves.” He looked at me with sharp insight. “I’ll bet I know where that question came from. You’ve seen her vault in through Gwen’s windows, haven’t you?” He grinned. “That always stuns people who see it for the first time. But she has the kind of relationship with Gwen that allows for her to come and go in that spectacular fashion. Gwen loves it.”
“Oh. Very cool.” And also very strange. But enough about Sandy. It was obvious he wasn’t going to say anything that would put her in a bad light. I tried again.
“Who then? Who hated Marguerite more than anyone else did?”
He thought for a moment. “Well, she and Carlo were always arguing. But it was sort of a rumble in the background, if you know what I mean.”
Murder and the Secret Spring Page 8
