Murder and the Secret Spring

by J. D. Winters

  In the end, I decided to head for Malibu, but in the meantime, I’d developed a thudding headache that wasn’t going to leave me alone any time soon. Sitting in our wooden beach chairs by the ocean, I stretched back and lifted my face to the sun. And finally, I told Bebe about the night before when Dante had taken me to the compound. I told her about who I’d seen, doing what, and the dark, swirling pool Dante thought I should swim in.

  “What?” she squawked. “Right there in the dark he expected you to dive right in?”

  I nodded. Bebe knew all about Dante. She used to be able to see him herself, but not so much lately. She did see Aunty Jane, except for a few phases when she inexplicably lost that ability. My theory: she lost the ability when she began to lose her closeness to her Hawaiian background. I’d seen evidence of that and I wanted to make sure it never happened to me.

  All that went way back, to our younger days growing up in Hawaii. Our grandmother had introduced us to magic and a closeness to spirits, so Bebe understood, and she believed. Unlike a certain handsome detective I could name.

  “Hey, I’m with you all the way,” she told me. “I do think you’re right. Nigel holds the key to all this. He’s the employer, the landlord, the organizer. All these people exist in their little world because of him. I just hope he’s home and willing to talk.”

  That would be good, but I wasn’t counting on it. If need be, I was ready to find a way to get into his house even if he wasn’t there.

  By the time we cruised on into Malibu, I was feeling a lot better. I think that unburdening myself to Bebe had helped a lot. I had Nigel’s address and we found the place easily enough. In a town where movie stars and high powered lawyers used their millions on architecture to dazzle the tourists, Nigel’s place stood in stark contrast with the glitz and glitter all around it. The two-story house was bright white with powder blue shutters and trim. At first glance, it looked simple. Look again and you could see the spectacular bones of the place, the fine materials, the expert carpentry work. And everything was so clean.

  We found a place to park only a little further down along Pacific Coast Highway and walked back to Nigel’s. Standing at the back entrance, we peered through the spaces between the garden wall slats and felt a little intimidated. There was an intercom for communications, but we hesitated to make use of it just yet.

  “What do you think?” I asked Bebe, almost whispering.

  “I don’t think we’re going to find anyone home,” she said just as softly. “Too bad. Well, we might as well…”

  “Oh no you don’t,” I told her. “We’re going in.”

  “But…”

  “Just give me a chance to try the intercom. Then we’ll decide.”

  We tried the intercom. All we got was silence in return.

  “See?” Bebe said. “No one home. Not even the security guard, I guess.”

  “How do you know there’s a security guard?”

  “These people all have security guards. When you have this much money and all these nice things, you need extra protection.”

  I nodded my agreement with that, but I wasn’t sure the security guard would bother answering if Nigel wasn’t home. Still, I was ready to do what I had to do to make this trip all the way down here worthwhile. I looked through the slates in the gate and tried to scope out the situation, then I pulled out my phone.

  “Who are you calling?” Bebe said.

  “Jill. I told her to be prepared to be our insurance in case we get caught.”

  “Caught?” Bebe looked alarmed. “Caught doing what?”

  I finished my text and stuck the phone back in my back pocket. “Casing the joint,” I said with a smile. “That’s what we’re here for.”

  “No!” she said, whispering but wailing at the same time. “We can’t do that.”

  “You wait here,” I told Bebe. “I’ll be right back.”

  She looked anguished, but she didn’t protest further, and I slipped away through the trail of hibiscus bushes that lined the white wall around the property. I found what I was looking for – a closed and locked service entrance. It was time to try a little magic.

  I know, I know, I’m the one always trying to push magic away. But something new was brewing in me, and I had a feeling it had something to do with the little ivory cat I wore around my neck. There was a pulse coming from it whenever I enclosed it in my hand. I found myself doing that more and more, and bringing it up to my face where I could breathe on it. And now, standing in front of this locked gate, it spoke to me.

  Okay, it didn’t use words. What I got from it was more like feelings. It was telling me what to do in some non-verbal way that cued into my heart and soul and told me how this was going to be done.

  I looked at the locked gate, and I held the netsuke with both hands, breathed into it, closed my eyes, and whispered a Hawaiian phrase I hadn’t realized I knew.

  There was a rush of adrenaline and I opened my eyes again. I was inside the wall. How had that happened? I don’t know. But it had. I breathed into my hands, warming the netsuke again, and then dropped it to hang around my neck, just under my shirt.

  A minute later I was on the inside opening the back gate for Bebe and she was gasping in surprise.

  “How did you do that?” she said softly as she came in to join me, looking around with apprehension.

  “Don’t ask,” I told her. “I’ll tell you about it later. Right now, we have some exploring to do.”

  We walked quickly toward the house, past the gorgeous swimming pool and the parking area. Only one car was parked there, a long, low Bentley Continental which had a layer of dust that made it look a bit neglected—and unused. All signs pointed to nobody home and I was going to take that for granted.

  The funny thing was, the kitchen door we went to wasn’t locked, so I didn’t have to use my netsuke again. We walked in, moving softly, looking around at a stunningly beautiful white and silver kitchen with a long prep counter and every late model cooking and refrigeration appliance you could imagine.

  “Wow,” Bebe whispered as we moved along, her eyes sparkling. “Think of what it would be like to fix Thanksgiving dinner in this place.”

  “If you lived here you’d have someone to fix Thanksgiving for you,” I noted.

  She giggled. “That’s worth giving thanks for all on its own.”

  We walked quietly into the dining room, admiring the beautiful polished granite table and the huge piece of sculpture that stood in the middle of it. I was looking for an office or a library, and we found one pretty quickly.

  It was amazing, just as all the house was, lined with tall mahogany shelves and beautiful books that looked as though they’d never been cracked open. The desk didn’t contain anything personal, and neither did the filing cabinet. It was almost like a room for a movie set – all show, no details.

  Then we turned and focused on the far wall which was covered with group photographs.

  “It looks like Nigel had a soft spot for Christmas party photo shoots,” I said, glancing at them quickly and then looking into the next room. “Let’s try upstairs,” I said.

  Bebe was getting nervous. “Do you really think we should?”

  I shrugged. “What else can we do?”

  She swallowed, looking around. “Okay. But let’s get this over with as soon as we can. He won’t stay away forever.”

  The living room view of the ocean was breathtaking, but on the second floor, it was even better. Huge bay windows opened an expanse of tinted glass that made the waves crashing on the rocks below look so close, so real, you could almost feel the spray.

  In fact, you could feel the spray if you wanted to. A glass door was ajar and led to a long, wide balcony with a table and chairs and an umbrella. Picturesque and so inviting. I sighed, wishing we were visiting for real and could enjoy this ideal scene.

  But we had work to do.

  We were just about to begin searching through the bedroom when Bebe pulled on my arm.

&
nbsp; “I…I really don’t feel good about this,” she said. “I mean, it’s the man’s private room and….” She shivered. “I just have a bad feeling about invading his privacy like this.”

  She had a point. I sighed. I’d been keeping up the hardball sense of determination for as long as I could. It was melting away. Just because I could do it, didn’t mean I should do it. I squeezed her hand.

  “You’re right,” I said. “What we really need is to talk to the guy, not go through his private effects. Let’s go.”

  Timing is everything and ours was bad.

  Just as we turned to head down the spiral staircase, the sound of a car drawing up filled the air. We ran to the back window and looked down into the parking area. Two men were getting out of a low-slung red sports car, looking as though they were in a hurry. One of them was Nigel. The other was a squat, muscular-looking man with a black baseball cap. And that one looked particularly mean.

  “I’ll check the first floor,” Nigel called to the other man. “You get the second.”

  It occurred to me in a flash that wherever they’d been, security cameras right here had obviously let them know that there were interlopers. Why hadn’t I thought of that before? This was not the way I would have wanted to meet Nigel Champaine. This was not going to be pretty.

  Chapter 13

  “We’ve got to run!” Bebe whispered frantically. “Which way? How do we get out of here?”

  There wasn’t much choice. Either we could stay here and wait for them to call the police to cart us away, or we were going to have to jump for it. I ran out onto the long balcony that overlooked those beautiful waves crashing on those very wicked looking rocks. Luckily there was a stretch of white sand just below the balcony.

  “Come on,” I called hoarsely to Bebe. “We’re going to have to jump.”

  “What?”

  “It’s not that bad,” I whispered hopefully. “Really. I think we’ll be okay.”

  “No!” she said, shaking her head wildly. “I can’t jump that far. I’ll break my neck. And so will you.”

  We could hear a man on the steps. He was almost to the top of the stairs.

  “Come on,” I said. “Just be sure to jump in sand, not rocks.”

  And I slung my leg up over the railing and bailed out.

  I kept my knees loose and my legs as supple as I could and tucked in my head between my shoulders and rolled on impact.

  I made it okay. The jump wasn’t really all that bad. I stood and looked around for a place to hide—and found it right away. In seconds I was slipping into the bushes that gave a perfect venue toward the beach. In moments I could be down the shore and away from this property altogether.

  Except for one thing. Bebe hadn’t followed me. In fact, once I was hidden and looked back, I saw her being manhandled by the heavy-set man in the baseball cap and I groaned. I knew I was going to have to go back for her. It was, after all, my fault she’d been put in this situation. And there was no way I could let some thug treat her like that.

  I started back, but before I took two steps, I heard Nigel’s voice.

  “Get your hands off her!”

  “But, hey boss, she was….”

  “I don’t care what she was doing. You don’t treat a lady that way.”

  I stood frozen in shock. This wasn’t what I’d expected. I parted some branches and gazed up at what I could see of the upstairs bedroom where Nigel had Bebe cornered, though he didn’t seem to be trying to touch her or physically box her in. Was there any way she was going to get away and get down here to join me? I squinted hard at the scene in the bedroom and then sighed, releasing my shoulders.

  No way. Never mind. I knew it was over. And I knew I was going nowhere.

  I pulled out my phone and made a flash text to Jill:

  Got caught.

  That was all. And I shoved my phone back into my pocket and began to make my way back to the house, not sure if I was going to have to use magic to get back to where Bebe was. Ah, the irony. But all for naught. The baseball-cap-wearing thug seemed to be expecting me. He opened the door, then followed me in. Bebe and Nigel were downstairs and he was ushering her into the study. He gave me a glance, nodded his head toward the living room, and I assumed he meant for me to come along.

  As we entered the room, I glanced at the man, wanting to judge his anger level to get some kind of an idea of what we were in for. His face was emotionless. As for anger, he didn’t show any, but that didn’t mean a thing. He had to be angry and to feel violated. That was only natural.

  “Please do not blame any of this on Bebe,” I said quickly, holding my chin high as I met his startlingly silver-blue gaze. “She only came along to try to keep me out of trouble. And unfortunately, I managed to land her into trouble instead.”

  He looked down at me a bemused smile barely creasing his face. “I’m really curious. What do you think I’m planning to do to you?”

  “I don’t know.” At least I was managing to keep my voice from shaking. “Call the cops. Charge me with breaking and entering maybe.”

  His mouth twisted. “What did you break?”

  “Uh…nothing.”

  “Then how could I charge you with that?”

  I took a deep breath trying to think clearly. “Well, it’s the usual sort of thing. I did go into your house without permission.”

  “And what did you do that for?”

  I coughed to gain a second or two of time. It didn’t help.

  “I was looking around.”

  “What were you looking for exactly?” He glanced around the room. “I don’t see that you picked up any of the silverware. All the artwork is still in place.”

  “Oh no.” I was sort of shocked that he would think that we might have been burglarizing the place. I looked at him all earnest and candid. “We weren’t going to steal anything. We just wanted information.”

  He folded his arms over his chest and looked at Bebe, whose face was white as a sheet.

  “Information, huh? About the murder, right? I saw you at the police station yesterday.”

  I nodded and took deep cleansing breath. “I’m representing your chef.”

  “Carlo?”

  “Yes. He’s about to be charged with the murder of Marguerite and he didn’t do it.” I gazed at him, clear-eyed. I was sure of my convictions. Carlo was innocent.

  Nigel was evidently not so sure. “How do you know he didn’t do it?”

  As I was about to answer that, the sound of police sirens filled the air and it was pretty obvious we were being joined by half the Malibu police force as car after car screeched to a stop in the parking area which had probably been opened up by Mr. Baseball Cap.

  It’s funny, no matter how innocent you might think yourself, when you hear the sirens and you know they’re coming for you, your heart begins to pound like it’s about to burst.

  “Oh brother,” Nigel said with what sounded like real regret. “I forgot we called the cops.”

  It was pretty fast. Surprisingly so. “How did you have time to do that?”

  “I called them as soon as I saw you on my security monitor at my office. Then I beat them over here.”

  Well, that explained it. His office was probably less than five minutes away. And if he had security cameras set up to record whatever was going on at his house, we never had a chance. Maybe I should have thought of that. I glanced at Bebe, feeling badly about what I’d put her through. She looked utterly miserable.

  “Okay, I’m going to have to go take care of this,” he said as he ushered us into the study just off the living room. “I want you both to stay here while I speak to the police. I’m not going to lock the door, but I want to make sure you don’t jump from any more balconies. Agreed?”

  “Please just let her go,” I tried once more. “It’s not her fault.”

  “We’ll see,” he said noncommittally. And then the door closed.

  I looked at Bebe. She looked miserable and mad as a wet hen at the s
ame time, but she didn’t say a word.

  I took a few shallow breaths and worked on calming down. This really might not be so bad. It all depended on what he told the police. All we could do was wait to see what was going to happen. I didn’t want to spend any time in a jail cell, but at this point, as Doris Day used to sing, que sera sera.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered to Bebe.

  She shook her head and tried to smile, then gestured toward the Christmas party photos that papered the back wall of the room. “While we’re here, we might as well do a little research,” she noted, trying hard to sound bright and interested. “Let’s see what all is going on in these group pictures.”

  She had a point. We didn’t have much time to waste. I started at the bottom left picture, which seemed to be the first one, and studied it.

  “Merry Christmas 2006,” I read off the banner someone was holding up in the background. “Pelican Loft Staff and Friends.”

  “They all seem to have that,” Bebe pointed out. “New years, of course. New people. Same format.”

  “About thirty people at first,” I mused. “But by last year it looks more like over 100.”

  “Maybe they were including both restaurants.”

  I stared at the more recent one—the banner said 2016. There was Nigel in a very snazzy suit. His arm was around a dark haired beauty who I recognized as Marguerite. There was Carlo presenting a tray of beautiful food and looking very proud. Gwen was there, dressed as a comic Mrs. Claus and handing out presents. Sandy stood apart to the side. And there was Jeremy, looking at her longingly.

  “Interesting,” Bebe was saying. “If you look at these photos sequentially, you can trace Nigel’s love life.”

  I looked. She was right. The first years showed him accompanied by a beautiful redhead. Then came a sensuous blond with bee-stung lips that looked about as phony as you could get. An auburn lady who looked like a school teacher, an ingénue in a pixie hair cut. And then—Marguerite. For the last three years, it had been Marguerite.

  The voluptuous blond looked bored, but the redhead looked interesting. She was by Nigel’s side each time for almost ten years, but it was hard to tell if they were a couple, or she just was indispensible to him at all times. Hmm.