Wipe Out

by Jeff Shelby

  She sipped at the mug, then put it back on the table. “I don't know. I'm not sure.”

  “You didn't see the person who was near your car?” I asked.

  She shook her head again. “They were jogging away and it was dark. Could barely see anything. When I went out this morning, I didn't see anything in the driveway. I called AAA, they towed me to the tire place, and the guy there said they'd definitely been cut.” She shrugged. “That's all I know.”

  I nodded. I didn't think she was overreacting. When you combined the phone call with waking up to someone messing with your car, it was easy to get spooked. Anne lived by herself, she was already under pressure, and even if there'd been no phone call, the tires getting slashed would've probably been enough to make her nervous.

  “The guy on the phone,” I said. “He didn't leave a number or anything?”

  She shook her head. “No. And, like I said, the number was blocked. It’s weird because I almost never answer those phone calls, but I'd been rattled all day and I guess I just picked it up without thinking.” She leaned back in the sofa, her body deflated. “I don't know what to do.”

  “First thing is to call the police and file a report on the tires,” I said. “Just to get it on record in case it wasn't random. We don't know that it wasn't, but to be on the safe side, you should report it.”

  Carter nodded in agreement.

  “I would ignore the call for the moment,” I said. “You don't know who it was, they left no contact information, and we don't have a number for them. So there's not much you can do with that right now. But don't answer any blocked numbers for the time being.”

  “I know,” she said. “It was stupid.”

  “Wasn't stupid,” I said, shaking my head. “It's your phone. You're allowed to answer it. But here's the other thing I'd think about doing today.”

  She waited, looking at me.

  “I'd call Renfroe, the attorney from yesterday,” I said. “Tell him you'd like all of the financial paperwork tied to the motel. I'd assume it's already prepared. Then take it to a financial person, someone who knows money and can look at the numbers and tell you what's going on with the motel.”

  “Why?” she asked, her brow wrinkled.

  “It's what the caller said, what we all know from Mitchell, and from what Rose alluded to,” I said. “The motel wasn't in great shape financially. But I think before you make any decisions on what to do with it, you should know exactly what you're looking at. And the sooner you know that, the sooner you can move forward.”

  She folded her arms across her chest and tucked her top lip into the bottom one. The stress was clearly wearing on her and I didn't blame her. I just thought that information might help her alleviate some of that stress.

  “Okay,” she finally said. “I guess that makes sense. But when you say financial person, who do you mean? I don't think I know anyone like that.”

  “I do,” Carter said. “I can give her a call. I'm sure she'd be happy to meet with you.”

  “There you go,” I said, smiling at Anne.

  She tried to smile back, but she couldn't quite get there. Her shoulders were hunched and her arms were tight around her own body, the stress showing in the tight lines next to her eyes.

  “What's wrong?” I asked.

  She hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath, and sighed. “I'm just afraid to go back to my house.”

  Carter pushed himself off the couch. “Which is why I'll go with you.”

  She looked at him. “What?”

  “Give me five minutes to make a phone call to my financial friend,” he said. “You call the lawyer guy and tell him we're coming to get paperwork. We'll go see my friend. After that, I'll go with you to your house and check things out.”

  She leaned forward. “You don't have to do that. This is silly. I just need to get over it and suck it up.”

  Carter nodded. “All that is fine. You can decide what you want to do after we go to the lawyer and to see my friend. If you want me to go with you, I will. If not, that's fine, too.”

  I couldn't tell whether Carter was offering to go with her because he was trying to be a friend to Anne or because he really was concerned about what was going on. Either way, I didn't think it was a bad idea for him to tag along with her.

  “Okay,” Anne said. “Thank you.”

  “Let me go make a phone call,” Carter said, heading for the back of the house.

  Anne pulled her own phone from her pocket. “I guess I should call Mr. Renfroe.”

  I nodded. “Yeah. Just tell him that you'd like to pick up the paperwork on the motel, especially the financials. You don't have to share anything else with him. You're entitled to the paperwork and he's probably expecting your call.”

  “Right,” she said, nodding. She exhaled. “It's just hard for me to start thinking that I own the motel. That I'm supposed to start asking questions and making decisions and be responsible for it.” She looked at me. “I guess I need to get over that, too.”

  “You will,” I said, standing up. “I'm gonna go make sure Carter can get ahold of his person while you call Renfroe.”

  She nodded and started scrolling through her phone.

  Carter was sitting on the edge of his bed and tapping the screen on his phone. He looked up at me in the doorway. “We're good. She's a personal finance advisor. Said we can come by any time.”

  “She handle all your investing, too?” I said.

  He smiled. “She handles another part of me.”

  I shook my head and rolled my eyes.

  “What do you think about the tires?” he asked.

  “I think it's odd.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Also think it's odd that some developer is already calling her,” I said. “I'm wondering if Mitchell's wife gave out her name to put some pressure on her.”

  “Maybe,” he said. “I'll poke around the house a little when we get there, just make sure doors and windows are good. I might have her get a security cam, too.”

  I nodded. “Okay.”

  “Telling you,” he said. “She should just sell the thing. Take the money and run and don't deal with this shit.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You still disagree?”

  “I don't necessarily disagree,” I said, glancing over my shoulder, down the hallway to where Anne was sitting. I looked back at him. “I just want to make sure the decision is hers.”

  SEVENTEEN

  “Do you have dinner with strange women frequently?”

  I smiled. “I don't find you that strange.”

  She laughed and shot me with her index finger.

  After Carter and Anne left, I kept myself busy for the better part of the afternoon. I answered several emails about potential jobs and then had a conversation with one woman who ran her own business and was concerned about an employee who she believed was faking an injury. She was interested in surveillance and how it worked. I explained it to her, what the cost would be, and she said she'd get back to me the following day.

  The window guy returned my message about the Coronado house and apologized for taking so long to get back to me. I gave him Andy's number and asked him to get in touch with him to make arrangements to take a look at what needed to be done. He told me he'd call Andy right away and get out there as soon as Andy was available, then get me the estimate after that.

  I showered, put on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, and met the mystery woman at the top of the stairs right at six. She wore a forest green tank top, white denim shorts, and brown leather sandals. Her red hair was loose, falling over and behind her shoulders. She'd held up a hand in greeting and then suggested we walk to the taco shop just up the road. We'd ordered and were waiting for our food when she asked me about strange women.

  “No, I do not,” I said, setting the record straight. “Not really my thing.”

  “What is your thing?” she asked, leaning back in the small booth.
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br />   I shrugged. “I don't know. I like surfing. I like burritos. Those are my things.”

  “And how do you pay for the surfing and the burritos?” she asked, tilting her head to the side. “Seems like you have a lot of free time.”

  “I'm an investigator. So I do have a lot of free time.”

  “Like a cop?”

  “Nope. Private. Just me.”

  “Shouldn't you have a funny hat and a magnifying glass then?”

  “Left them at the house,” I told her.

  They called our number and I got up to get the tray. I returned with two oversized California burritos and two bottles of Pacifico. I took the plates off the tray and returned the tray to the counter. She had her burrito unwrapped when I got back to the table.

  “What do you do?” I asked. “When you aren't surfing and making fun of my best friend, I mean.”

  She chuckled as she moved the burrito around on the paper. “I'm an architect. I have my own firm in Carmel Valley. Small.” She picked up the burrito. “That's why I just moved down this way. I got tired of the commute from the North County.”

  I took a sip from the beer. “What do you design? Houses?”

  She shook her head, chewing her first massive bite. She wiped at her mouth with one of the paper napkins. “Mostly apartment communities. Some senior living developments. I pick and choose.”

  I set my beer down and reached for my burrito. “Are you from here? California, I mean.”

  “No,” she said, holding the burrito up for another bite. “I grew up in Miami. I went to UCLA and haven't left. You?”

  “Born here and haven't left yet,” I told her. I didn’t mention the time I’d spent in Florida. “Where'd you learn to surf?”

  “Florida,” she said, wiping again at her mouth. “My dad surfed and on the weekends, we'd run up the coast. It's a three-hour drive that he could make in a little over two. Think I was eight the first time we went? I don't remember many weekends we didn't go. Except when the hurricanes came.”

  I laughed. “Sure. So how did you end up at UCLA then?”

  She picked up the beer and studied it for a moment. “Just needed a change.”

  There was something else in her answer, but I wasn't sure what it was.

  We talked as we ate and drank. Surfing, college, beaches, work. Nothing too deep, and there was no pressure. She seemed to actually care what I was saying, leaning forward like she was trying to memorize my words. She had a good sense of humor, laughed at herself, and was easy to talk to.

  “You live with your oversized friend?” she asked, wadding up the burrito wrapper when she'd finished.

  “For now,” I said. “He's a good friend.”

  “For now? What does that mean?”

  I shrugged. “Just been in limbo for a while and we landed in that house. Won't be forever.”

  She studied me carefully, her green eyes focused. “That sounds...interesting.”

  “The limbo? Not really.”

  “No, I meant what put you in limbo,” she said, still studying me.

  I shifted in the small booth. “Long story for another time.”

  She raised a thin eyebrow. “You're assuming there will be another time.”

  “Well, it's either that or you have to tell me more about needing a change,” I said.

  Something again flashed through her eyes and she leaned back. I'd caught her off-guard.

  “Well played,” she said, the corner of her mouth turned upward.

  “I try.”

  “Think you do more than try,” she said, squinting at me. “Seems to be a lot going on inside that head of yours. More than you want people to think, anyway.”

  “Easy to look thoughtful if you keep your mouth shut,” I said.

  She laughed and nodded. “Very good point.” She glanced at her phone. “We should get going. I don't want to keep you out all night.”

  “Nowhere to be except asleep,” I said.

  She folded her arms across her chest. “And why is that exactly?”

  “Why is what?”

  She leaned forward, her elbows on the table, her chin resting on the knot her hands made. “I'm always suspicious of a guy your age who is polite, intelligent, good looking, and single. You fit that description, so my first inclination is to wonder why. Is he an alcoholic? A serial killer? Some sort of ne'er do well? Does he have to meet with his probation officer tomorrow?” She smiled. “I am a skeptic at heart, Noah, so I'm wondering all of those things about you.”

  I held up the beer bottle. “I don't drink a whole lot, but I do enjoy beer.”

  She nodded.

  “Ne'er do well is a funny phrase, but I don't think it applies to me,” I said.

  She nodded.

  “I do not have a probation officer nor any scheduled meetings with one,” I said.

  She smiled.

  I leaned forward. “And I have killed people, but I am not a serial killer.”

  Her smile flickered, but she held her position. Our noses were maybe a foot part. She smelled like shampoo.

  “So you don't have a secret lair where you keep the bodies?” she asked, her voice lowered an octave.

  “No,” I said. “Not anymore.”

  She bit her lip, trying not to laugh.

  I liked that I could make her laugh.

  “I have a question for you, though,” I said. “A couple, actually.”

  She tilted her head, waited.

  “Why are we having dinner?” I asked.

  “I told you,” she answered. “I was a little rough on your genetic male predisposition to assume an unbelievably attractive woman might need help with a surfboard.”

  I laughed.

  “So I felt a tiny bit bad,” she said. “Then I saw that you were a halfway decent surfer, could speak in complete sentences, and better looking than your Godzilla-like friend.” Her eyes sparkled like they had at the beach. “It seemed like an opportunity.”

  “An opportunity?”

  “To take a small risk,” she said, still smiling. “Step outside of my comfort zone. It's something I'm trying to do more of. Seize the day and all of that kind of bullshit.”

  I nodded. “Okay. Then I have one more question.”

  “Alright.”

  “Has dinner been good?” I asked.

  “Better than I imagined,” she said, her smile staying in place, and I knew she got it. She held out her hand to me. “I'm Shannon.”

  EIGHTEEN

  “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Carter said. “Thought I might have to send in Snow White to wake you up.”

  “You're mixing up your fairy tales,” I said, yawning and walking to the kitchen.

  “Yeah, but you get the point,” he said. “Plus, there was no sock on the door, so I wasn't sure you were alone.”

  I opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. “I'm alone.”

  It was the next morning. I'd walked with Shannon back to her car. We'd exchanged numbers and both agreed we'd like to see one another again.

  I went home alone, slept alone, and woke up alone.

  “Care to kiss and tell?” he asked.

  “Nope. Care to tell me what you found out with Anne?” I asked, unscrewing the bottle of water.

  He reached over from his position on the couch and picked up a manila folder from the coffee table. “A big pile of shit.”

  I walked around the couch and sat down next to him. He slid the file back onto the coffee table.

  “You want to read through it or do you want me to summarize it for you?”

  I flipped open the folder. “Summarize.”

  “We went to Renfroe's office first,” he said. “He had the paperwork ready for her. He asked if she needed a referral to a financial services person, but I told him she was all set. He told her to let him know if she needed anything. Then we went down to Mission Valley. Tina's office is down there in Hazard Center.”

  “Tina is your friend?” I asked.

  �
�Correct,” he said, nodding. “So we met with Tina. She took about half an hour to go through the paperwork. She said she'd need a little more time to really dig in and give her a formal assessment, but she was willing to offer a quick analysis.”

  “Which was?”

  “The Blue Wave is under water, is taking on water, and that unless Anne had some ability to support and alleviate the debt, her recommendation would be to sell,” Carter said. “Fast.”

  “Shit,” I muttered.

  “And then some,” Carter continued. “She said it looked like the debt was twice as much as revenue. There was a revolving line of credit that was maxed out. There were still outstanding invoices that are due to vendors. And it looked like he'd been late on payroll the last three months and was paying it out of a personal account rather than the business.” He paused. “She thinks there are some tax issues, too, but said she'd need more time to get clear on those.”

  I grunted, closed the folder, and leaned back in the couch. “Well, I guess that's pretty cut and dry. How did Anne react?”

  “She was actually pretty calm,” he said. “She listened. She asked a couple of questions. She thanked Tina for taking a look. We left her with copies so she can do a formal analysis. Should have it in a day or two.”

  “What'd she say when you left?”

  “That it sort of made the decision easier for her,” he explained. “She doesn't have any money lying around to support the place. She can't take care of the debt and it’s not like she's got any to get a head start. Almost doesn't matter what she wants to do. It's sort of out of her hands.”

  I nodded. I could understand that thinking. If it were really that bad, Anne wouldn't have a choice. Sell the motel, square the debt, and walk away with whatever was left.

  “She give you any numbers?” I asked. “In terms of the debt?”

  He shook his head. “No. She said she'd put that in the formal.”

  “So what was Anne gonna do?”

  He shrugged, rolling his massive shoulders. “She wasn't sure. She just wanted to think about it before she made any more decisions.”

  “And how was she feeling about the slashed tires and all that?”