Wipe Out

by Jeff Shelby

  Wipe Out

  By Jeff Shelby

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Wipe Out

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright ©2017

  Cover design by Alchemy Book Covers and Design

  This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited without the expressed written consent of the author.

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  Copyright Page

  Books by Jeff Shelby

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY ONE

  TWENTY TWO

  TWENTY THREE

  TWENTY FOUR

  TWENTY FIVE

  TWENTY SIX

  TWENTY SEVEN

  TWENTY EIGHT

  TWENTY NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY ONE

  THIRTY TWO

  THIRTY THREE

  THIRTY FOUR

  THIRTY FIVE

  THIRTY SIX

  THIRTY SEVEN

  THIRTY EIGHT

  THIRTY NINE

  FORTY

  FORTY ONE

  FORTY TWO

  FORTY THREE

  FORTY FOUR

  THE END

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  Books by Jeff Shelby

  The Joe Tyler Novels

  THREAD OF HOPE

  THREAD OF SUSPICION

  THREAD OF BETRAYAL

  THREAD OF INNOCENCE

  THREAD OF FEAR

  THREAD OF REVENGE

  THREAD OF DANGER

  THREAD OF DOUBT

  The Noah Braddock Novels

  KILLER SWELL

  WICKED BREAK

  LIQUID SMOKE

  DRIFT AWAY

  LOCKED IN

  IMPACT ZONE

  WIPE OUT

  The Moose River Mysteries

  THE MURDER PIT

  LAST RESORT

  ALIBI HIGH

  FOUL PLAY

  YOU'VE GOT BLACKMAIL

  ASSISTED MURDER

  DEATH AT THE DINER

  The Deuce Winters Novels (Under the pseudonym Jeffrey Allen)

  STAY AT HOME DEAD

  POPPED OFF

  FATHERS KNOWS DEATH

  The Rainy Day Mysteries

  BOUGHT THE FARM

  WHEN THE ROOSTER KILLS

  CRACK OF DEATH

  PLANTING EVIDENCE

  ONE BAD EGG

  BALE OUT

  LAST STRAW

  CUT AND DIED

  Novel for Young Adults

  PLAYING THE GAME

  Short Story Collections

  OUT OF TIME

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  ONE

  I'd never been comfortable wearing a suit.

  Carter and I were wedged into a pew near the rear of a very crowded St. Brigid's Catholic Church in Pacific Beach and the tie knotted at my neck was threatening to cut off the circulation.

  “Stop fidgeting,” Carter whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

  “I can't breathe,” I said, trying to loosen the knot of silk around my throat.

  “You're fine,” he said. “Be respectful.”

  I grunted and let go of the tie.

  The church was full because Mitchell Henderson had died. Henderson was someone I'd known for probably twenty years, ever since I'd been a kid trying to catch waves at the bottom of Law Street. He owned The Blue Wave, a small motel that had managed to stick around as the more upscale hotels and condo buildings had crept toward the boardwalk in PB. But he was also a surfer, a guy who liked to chat on the beach, and a guy who would occasionally open up an empty room at the motel if someone needed a place to crash. He was a grandfather to a lot of us who surfed that area, and I saw a lot of faces in the church that I was used to seeing out on the water.

  The priest asked us to bow our heads.

  The knot dug further into my throat.

  Mitchell Henderson died in a car accident four days earlier. The weather had been crap, buckets of rain that only seemed to fall in buckets in San Diego, and his car skidded off an overpass and into the canyon below. Carter heard about it first and told me. We'd joined the paddle out the next day in his honor, the rain still falling as we bobbed in the dark, uneven ocean, remembering a man who had been kind to seemingly everyone he met.

  The priest finished with a few final words and the casket with Mitchell Henderson's body was carried down the center aisle of the church by people who knew him better than I had. The crowd in the pews filed out somberly behind them.

  Carter's sunglasses were back over his eyes before we even stepped outside and into the late summer sunshine. “Well. That sucked.”

  I shaded my eyes with my hand. “Yep.”

  “You know how many times I stopped into the motel for coffee after a cold session?” he asked.

  “A lot.”

  “A lot,” he said.

  The crowd flowed out of the church and around to the parish hall for a reception. I nodded in the direction of familiar faces, trying to place names with people and remember how I knew them. Some were from surfing, some went as far back as high school. It was sobering to see the effect Mitchell Henderson had on so many lives, and I wondered how they'd first met him.

  The parish hall was smaller, but I felt less claustrophobic once we were inside, the open room more conducive to movement than the rows of wooden pews. I saw a woman I didn't recognize near the front of the hall, people gathering in a line to speak with her. I assumed that was his wife, whom I'd never met.

  “There's Anne,” Carter said. “I'm gonna go say hello.”

  I watched him wade through the crowd.

  We'd come to the funeral to pay our respects to Mitchell, but he'd also spoken to Anne Sullivan, and she'd specifically asked if we'd be there. We'd gone to high school with Anne and I'd seen her occasionally over the years, but I didn't really think of her as a friend. Not that we weren't friendly, but I didn't know much about her other than we'd spent four years at the same school.

  I watched as she hugged Carter. She was in a black sleeveless dress and matching heels. Her short blonde hair was cut straight across at her shoulders. The mascara around her eyes was smudged, probably from tears, and a small purse was slung over one of her shoulders. She was maybe five feet tall and standing next to Carter, she appeared even smaller. They chatted for a moment before heading in my direction.

  She smiled at me, her eyes red and tired. “Hi, Noah. It's nice to see you.”

  “You too,” I said.

  We hugged awkwardly, as if neither of us knew what the appropriate greeting was for our level of friendship.

  “I'm glad you both were able to come,” she said. “He liked you both very much.”

  “Mitchell liked everyone,” Carter said. “That's why it's so crowded in here.”

  “I suppose,” she said, looking around. “It's nice to see.”

&
nbsp; “You sound like you knew him well,” I said.

  She pursed her lips and nodded. “I did. He was like my dad.”

  “Really?”

  She smiled, but it was a sad smile. “I started working at the motel back in junior high. He let me water the plants and sweep the sand from the walkways. In high school, I started working at the front desk and doing anything he needed.” Her eyes watered. “I would not have gotten through college without that job and his help.”

  I nodded. “That's very cool.”

  “I've been helping with some decorating lately,” she said, wiping at her eyes with a tissue folded into her hand. “He wanted to update the rooms, so we were talking about paint colors and some inexpensive things he might be able to do to freshen things up.” She sighed. “But I guess that won't be happening now.”

  I nodded again and watched people still filtering into the building. Tables with food were set up on the far side, brunch-type food from the looks of it, along with large containers of coffee. People were picking up plates, glancing in the direction of the woman I'd noticed earlier. The line to speak with her had grown.

  “Okay,” Anne said. “Look, this isn't really the place to talk to you guys about...what I want to talk about.”

  I brought my attention back to her. “What?”

  Anne bit her lip. “I thought it would be okay, but there are so many people here and it's just weird and all. So could we grab a drink in maybe an hour or so?” She looked around the room. “I need to say hello to some people, but then I can shake free. Would that work?”

  I shrugged. “Fine by me.”

  “Sure,” Carter said. “We can meet you in an hour.” He named a bar down on Mission.

  Anne nodded. “That's perfect. Give me about an hour and I'll be there.” She hugged each of us again and waded back into the crowd.

  “Any idea what that was all about?” I asked.

  Carter surveyed the room, then shook his head. “None at all, my friend. None at all.”

  TWO

  Anne Sullivan stirred the thin red straw in her margarita. “I hope you guys don't think I've lost my mind.”

  She showed up at the bar right when she promised and the three of us were hunched over a small, round table near the back of the bar. The televisions were showing soccer, the Foo Fighters were whispering on speakers over our heads, and the place was half-full. Most bars might have a few die-hards this early in the day, but this was Mission. The bars were never empty—unless they were closed.

  Carter's tie was now untied and draped around his shoulders, like something graduates wear over their robes. “You'd be shocked at the things we hear. We aren't going to think you've lost your mind, I promise.”

  I laughed and nodded, and pulled on the loosened tie around my own neck. “He's absolutely right.”

  She stirred the straw some more, but still looked dubious. “Wouldn't be the first time I've been accused of it.”

  I took a drink from my beer. I wasn't sure what Anne's life had been like since we graduated high school, but she looked tired, worn down, and I didn't think it was just from the funeral. There were fine lines in her forehead and at the corners of her eyes, signs of worry and aging that had arrived too fast. Sitting closer to her, I could see small streaks of gray snaking through her blonde hair. Her demeanor was of someone who looked as though she had had way too many things rush at her before she was ready for them.

  “So you were pretty close to Mitchell,” I said, hoping I could move her off of thinking about her own perceived shortcomings.

  She nodded. “I was. Like I said, he was like my dad. My father passed away before I even started junior high and, in some ways, it was like Mitchell knew that and came into my life just for that reason.” She paused. “I know that sounds all goofy, but that is really how I've come to think of it over the years.” She took a long drink from the margarita. “And I latched onto him. Going to that motel was like going to an amusement park every day for me and it never stopped feeling like that.”

  Carter and I exchanged glances. So many of the beach businesses had aged poorly over the years, but Mitchell had made sure that The Blue Wave never looked like it was one of those motels you wanted to avoid unless you were hiding out. He'd kept it painted, changed the signs over the years, and just generally treated the place like it mattered. I could see how it would've been a fun place to go to as a kid, especially if you were seeking refuge.

  “So, like I told you, I've worked there for years,” she said, then she shook her head. “Actually, that's not true. I sort of stopped during my first marriage. I'd just finished school, was too focused on finding a career, and satisfying an asshole of a husband. For maybe a year, I wasn't there a whole lot. But the day I signed the divorce papers, I went over and the first thing Mitchell told me was that if I needed a job, he'd be happy to have me back.” She stared into her drink. “And I did need a job because I was failing at finding a career and the divorce cost me the small bit of savings I'd managed to cobble together.”

  The Foo Fighters changed to Fleetwood Mac overhead. Our server caught my eye and I gave her a thumbs up, letting her know we were okay. She smiled, nodded, and headed in another direction.

  “After that, I made sure I was around,” Anne continued. “I felt bad for disappearing for so long, even though Mitchell assured me it was fine and he understood.”

  “He would've,” Carter said. “That's how he was. He didn't hold grudges. Against anybody.”

  “I know,” she said, not sounding like she believed it. “But I was mad at myself for cutting out a part of my life that was important, so I was determined to make sure I didn't do it again. So I started helping him manage the motel. He paid me more than he should've.” She shook her head again and ran her finger over the salt on the rim of her glass. “But I liked it. I liked working there. I liked being around the people.” She thought for a moment. “It made me like myself again.”

  I could relate to that. I'd gotten to a place in my life where it was hard to like myself. Coming back from that was difficult, and there were days when I sometimes felt as though I was still trying to get there.

  “Even Rose was nice to me,” she said. “It took a while, though.”

  “Rose?” I asked.

  “His wife,” she explained. “Second wife, actually. Do either of you know about his first wife? Or son?”

  I shook my head.

  “I didn't even know he had a son,” Carter said.

  She took a long, slow sip from the margarita again and licked her lips. “Joan. And David. I didn't know them. They were gone before I met Mitchell. But he talked about them, even after he'd married Rose.”

  “Gone?” I asked. “What do you mean?”

  “They both were killed,” she said. “In a car accident.”

  We let that sit for a moment.

  “Weird, right?” Anne finally said.

  “Not what I was expecting,” Carter admitted.

  “What kind of car accident?” I asked.

  “It was actually out in the east county,” Anne said. “Before all of the development out there and before all of the highways connected. They were on a two-lane road and the driver coming at them veered into their lane. The other driver was killed, too. I think it was about two years before I met him.”

  “Wow,” I said. “Horrible.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “It really was. And while he moved on with his life, it's not like he ever forgot them or what happened. Yes, he married Rose and I think they were happy together. They didn't have any kids together. But the way he talked about Joan and David?” She stared down at the table. “You could just tell that he still thought about them every single day.”

  I knew what that was like, too. It wasn't like Liz was on my mind all the time, but I'd get hit with a memory or think of her at least once a day, usually when I wasn't expecting it. It had the power to take my breath away, in both the best and worst ways.

  “I'm meandering a
nd wasting both of your time,” she said, bringing her gaze back to us. She took a deep breath. “Okay. Here's what I wanted to ask you about. After that accident, the one with Joan and David, Mitchell was maybe the most careful driver I've ever seen. He never exceeded the speed limit, he chose his routes before he went anywhere. I mean, I can't overstate how meticulous he was in his driving and everything related to it. The accident did that to him. It fundamentally changed how he got around. Does that make sense?”

  I nodded. “Sure. You go through something like that, it's bound to make a lasting impact on you. Was probably hard for him to get in a car without thinking about it.”

  “Exactly,” she said, sounding pleased at my assessment. “That's exactly it. And he admitted it to me. We were going somewhere one day and he was driving. Driving slowly. He apologized to me for it, making some joke about how it was taking us forever to get wherever we were going. I told him it was fine and I meant it. But he said he just drove differently than everyone else now and he couldn't change it. And to be clear, he was apologizing for going slow, but he wasn't apologizing for how he was driving.”

  “I remember seeing him drive by one day I was on Mission,” Carter said. “He always drove slow enough that he could lean out the window and have part of a conversation as he drove by.”

  Anne smiled. “Yes. That was Mitchell.”

  I shifted in my chair. “So you don't think his accident was an accident?”

  She blinked several times and those lines around her eyes tightened, deepened. “I don't know. I'm just really having a hard time buying that he was going too fast in the rain on an overpass. It just...it just doesn't make any sense whatsoever. There's no possible way he was speeding. And in the rain?” She shook her head. “He would've been ten miles under the speed limit and had people going around him. He was that careful.”

  “Did you see an accident report or anything like that?” I asked.

  Anne shook her head. “No. I'm not family. I just know what I read in the paper about the accident and the little bit that Rose told me, which was about the same thing. I don't know any of the minor details. But it really bothers me because it's just out of character for Mitchell to have been driving carelessly at any point, much less when the weather was bad.”