Still, Forever, Promise

by D. L. Merritt

  “This should be interesting,” she said, not bothering to hide her animosity.

  “Your mother’s shawl was twisted around you father’s neck when they were discovered. We believe they were thrown from the yacht by the force of the explosion, and the shawl got caught in a trawler’s net. They were dragged for miles until they somehow got loose. Their bodies then drifted into the cove. That stretch of beach is impossible to get to by land. It was pure luck the jet skier’s engine gave out at that particular spot. Your parents might never have been discovered otherwise.”

  Every muscle in her body tensed. “Now what?”

  “As I said, the case has been reopened. I intend to question all the original suspects again. The captain of the charter boat who called the Mayday into the Coast Guard remembered seeing a skiff anchored close to the yacht that night. He couldn’t give a detailed description of the person on board because it was overcast, and the suspect’s face was hidden by a hoodie. The captain couldn’t even determine if it was a man or woman. But there may be other witnesses, and I intend to find them. Someone hated your parents enough to want them dead. Can you think of anyone who might have had a beef with one or both of them? A disgruntled employee or one of your mother’s coworkers at the medical center, maybe?”

  She shook her head. “My mother got along with everyone, and all the employees who worked for my father loved him . . . except—”

  “Except who?”

  “He fired one of his assistant managers, Anita Brown, a week or so before the explosion, and I heard she wasn’t happy about being let go.”

  “We’ll track her down for questioning.”

  “She seemed so nice. I can’t believe she hated my parents enough to want them dead.”

  “Well, someone did. How about people from your hometown? Would anyone have followed them here seeking retribution?”

  “Retribution? Are you kidding?”

  “I must warn you that I’ll be digging into your parents’ personal lives. It could get ugly. You may not like what I find. Everyone has secrets, and they can come out when we least expect it.”

  Brianna’s anger threatened to erupt. “My parents weren’t hiding any dark secret past! If you think you’re going to find one, you’ll be disappointed.”

  The lieutenant put his hands in the air and rocked back in his chair. “I’m just doing my job, Miss Rossi.”

  “Hmph,” she said.

  “I understand your parents’ bodies were released to the funeral home. Are you having another service?” he asked, as if they were having a cordial conversation.

  “Graveside service, family only.” Saying goodbye to her parents once had been brutal. The second time would be devastating.

  He studied her with narrowed eyes. “You said you were the only beneficiary. You have no other relatives who could benefit from your parents’ death?”

  “No, I’m the only one. Does that make me a suspect?”

  “At this point, Miss Rossi, everyone is a suspect.”

  Managing to keep her temper under control, she asked, “Are you going to charge me, or can I go now?”

  He nodded, picked up his cold coffee, took another swig, and grimaced. “If you think of anyone else who might’ve been a threat to your parents, you’ve got my number.”

  She was halfway across the room when she suddenly stopped and returned to the lieutenant’s desk. He was in the middle of stretching the gum with his tongue in an attempt to blow a bubble. “Lieutenant, will I be allowed to leave Carmel? I still have unfinished business in Fairmont.”

  The bubble burst. “I don’t see why not. You don’t have any plans to leave the country, do you?”

  Brianna refused to answer.

  “Make sure you leave me a local number where I can reach you.”

  “I will as soon as I get phone service,” she said, and hurried outside where she could breathe again, no longer under the microscopic eye of Lieutenant Holcomb like some common virus.

  Her next stop was to her office. Charlene was thrilled that Brianna had decided to pop in. She was frustrated with two clients who wouldn’t approve their final design plan.

  Brianna gave the couple a call, and, with a minor tweak, they agreed to sign off, and were put on the schedule for a week from Monday.

  The rest of the client jobs were on time and on budget. With Charlene on top of things, the business continued to prosper. Brianna never doubted Charlene’s ability, being the quintessential professional that she was.

  Charlene left the office at 5:00 p.m. Brianna worked until 7:00, fine-tuning the remaining client orders. She planned to meet Ben at their favorite restaurant downtown for dinner at 7:30.

  As she gathered her purse to leave, she gave the office a once-over to make sure she hadn’t disturbed any of Charlene’s work area. She’d hear about it later if she had.

  The restaurant where she planned to meet Ben for dinner was only two blocks away, so she decided to walk, window shopping at her favorite stores. Her mood brightened for the first time since she’d left Lieutenant Holcomb. She had everything under control. Once she finished the projects, she would get her life back and put her parents’ murder behind her.

  Chapter 11

  The heat was intense today, one of those days when the strength of the sun sapped the energy from every pore. Holcomb and his reticent partner, Deputy Gray, hadn’t gone unscathed. The lieutenant’s shirt had wet spots under the arms and between the shoulder blades. Beads of sweat pooled on his brow to trickle down his face. He took a sip from a bottle of spring water, and wiped his forehead with a wadded up paper towel he kept in his back pocket.

  The deputy’s face was flushed. He looked like he was about to pass out.

  The mariner, inconspicuous in dark sunglasses and a baseball cap, had been following the officers since they left the sheriff’s department that morning. Now that the Rossis’ accident was being investigated as a homicide, the officers were headed back to the marina to interview all the employees and boat owners a second time.

  I’ve got to make sure they don’t find anything to tie me to the explosion, the mariner thought as Holcomb and Gray trudged into the marina office.

  The lieutenant focused his attention on finding the owners of the boats moored in the slips next to The Eve on the days before the accident. Most of the boats in the general vicinity were vacant. Deputy Gray had the task of logging the vessels’ registration numbers so they could locate the owners and ask them to come into the station for an interview.

  So far, so good.

  After the officers traipsed up and down the docks for twenty minutes, the mariner’s good fortune ran out. One of the owners happened to be on board when the officers stopped by.

  The man looked familiar.

  Great! He’s the guy who saw me climbing on board The Eve the day it exploded.

  Most of the yacht owners in the marina used catering companies for weekend parties and excursions. It had been easy to borrow a uniform and a couple of food boxes from a friend who worked for a local catering company.

  What if he recognized the logo?

  The deputy took notes as the lieutenant questioned the owner. The mariner was close enough to overhear the entire conversation.

  “What catering company was the delivery from?” Holcomb asked.

  “I don’t remember the name. I believe the logo on the box was red and yellow or maybe orange and yellow.”

  “Why did you think it was strange? I would think catering would be a common occurrence here.”

  “Because another company had already delivered earlier that day when Mr. Rossi was on board. I thought it was strange that a second company would make a delivery when no one was here to accept it.”

  “Was the delivery person a male or female?”

  “Couldn’t tell. Their back was to me. I shouted at them, but they never turned around. Guess they didn’t hear me.”

  “What about height or hair color?” Holcomb prodded.

 
“I’d say they were no more than six feet. Couldn’t see their hair, had it hidden under a baseball cap.”

  “Can you describe anything unusual about this person? Did they walk with a limp or have any tattoos or scars?”

  The man rubbed his chin, looking off into the distance.

  “Anything you can remember will be helpful,” the lieutenant prompted.

  “Like I said, I didn’t pay much attention.”

  Holcomb thanked the man for his time and gave him his card. “If you remember anything else, even if it doesn’t seem important, call me right away.”

  The man took the card with a nod and went back to checking his lines.

  The officers headed back down the ramp toward the row of vendor shops and stepped inside the first one they came to. As with most of the shops in the marina, this one offered a variety of watercraft rentals.

  The mariner waited until they were inside before wandering in to browse through the display of fishing lures along the far wall—a vantage point from which the officers could still be seen and overheard without appearing to be eavesdropping.

  The officers approached the counter, where a young man was in the middle of ringing up a customer.

  Damn it! That’s the same guy who rented me the skiff! Don’t worry. He won’t be able to give a good description of me. I wore a disguise and used a fake ID. I even paid with cash. But what if I did or said something that gave me away? No way. I was too careful.

  The lieutenant approached the counter and flashed his badge. In a gruff voice, he announced, “I’m Lieutenant Holcomb from the Sonoma County Sheriff’s Department. This is my partner, Deputy Gray. You are?”

  “Clay Wesley. I’m the manager here.”

  “Well, Clay, we’re reinvestigating the explosion that took place in Stillwater Cove on March 28th. Do you remember that day?”

  “Sure, it was all over the news. That’s when the old couple got blown up. I heard it was an accident.”

  “We’ve gotten new evidence that suggests it might have been a homicide.”

  “No way!”

  The lieutenant scrutinized the young man. “We’ve found a witness who spotted a skiff in the cove that night, anchored close to the victim’s yacht. They couldn’t give us many details about the person on board, so we’re canvassing all the boat rentals in the marina. We need to know who rented that skiff.”

  “Whoa. That was during spring break. We rented a ton of boats that week. Kayaks and jet skis too. You said it was at night? Couldn’t have been one of ours.”

  “Why’s that?”

  Clay shook his head. “We close the shop at dusk. All our rentals have to be returned by then.”

  Holcomb grunted. “Are you sure one of the skiffs didn’t stay out longer than usual or didn’t come back?”

  “Uh . . . yeah, I’m sure.”

  “Okay. Well, I’ll need copies of the paperwork for all skiff rentals for that week.”

  The mariner snuck a glance at the front desk. The young clerk chewed on his bottom lip as he ran a hand through his hair. “Umm . . . that’s not possible.”

  A flush crawled up Holcomb’s neck to cover his entire face.

  Clay was quick to add, “I can’t make copies. Our copy machine broke last week. The . . . the owner hasn’t gotten it fixed yet.”

  Holcomb stepped closer to the counter and leaned across to whisper in Clay’s ear. Whatever was said had Clay retreating to the back room. “I could get fired for this,” he said over his shoulder.

  The lieutenant grimaced.

  Clay vanished through the door, and returned in minutes with a manila folder filled with original rental contracts. Holcomb grabbed the folder, but Clay held on.

  “You have to promise me I’ll get them all back before Friday when the accountant comes in. If he finds out they’re missing, I’m in trouble.”

  The mariner’s stomach dropped as soon as the lieutenant took possession of the folder. Don’t panic. He won’t find out it’s me. Even if my contract is in there, everything’s made up—the address, phone number, along with the copy of my fake ID.

  The lieutenant handed the folder to Deputy Gray and thanked the young clerk for his help. The officers headed to the exit, walking right past their inconspicuous suspect.

  Confident that the deputies would hit a dead end at the other shops along the marina, the mariner returned to the parking lot and headed home.

  ***

  The officers spent most of the day at the marina without finding one lead. Holcomb suggested they go back to headquarters to review the folder containing the skiff rentals. He knew the answer was in that folder. He just had to find it.

  “Sir, Mr. Wesley was sure it wasn’t one of their boats in the cove that night, so why do we have to look through the contracts? Seems like a waste of time.”

  “We don’t have much else to work with. I also think Wesley is hiding something. He seemed awfully nervous. I suspect he knows more than he’s letting on.”

  “You think Wesley had something to do with the Rossis’ accident?” Gray asked.

  “If he didn’t, I think he knows who did. We’ll check his bank statements and credit card purchases. Let’s also get his cell phone records and track down every person he talked to in the months prior to the accident.”

  “You think it’s possible he had a partner, or someone paid him to do it?”

  “I’m not sure. Not yet. He may not even be involved, but we’ll find out soon enough. I tell you what. Let’s call it a day. We can check the contracts tomorrow. I’m ready to go home, take a cool shower, and put my feet up for a while.”

  Happy to be off-duty, the deputy agreed.

  Chapter 12

  The flight from San Francisco felt longer than it had the first time, and the additional two-hour drive from Charleston to Fairmont made Brianna’s back ache, her head hurt, and her empty stomach rumble.

  Rain followed her all the way to the manor. At times, it was so intense that it was hard to see the lines separating the lanes. Incompetent drivers sped past, their tires hurling buckets of water across her windshield. Once, she had to pull off to the shoulder and wait for the downpour to lighten up before she could see to drive.

  As she got closer to the manor, the round tower of the Queen Anne broke through the treetops. Her heart quickened. Beverly had kept her updated on the improvements while she was gone, and now she was curious to see all the changes Mr. Moretti had implemented. Brianna turned into the driveway and slowed down.

  The roof for the concrete parking area was under construction. Half the steel trusses were erected; the others were stacked to the side. With all the rain today, she wished it was already finished.

  She parked in the middle of the driveway to survey the manor and yard in one all-encompassing sweep. The transformation over the past six days could only be described as miraculous.

  Rays of late-afternoon sunlight broke through gaps in the clouds and spotlighted the crown of the Queen Anne, creating a halo. The house appeared otherworldly. It was hard to imagine this was the same rundown monstrosity of only a week ago.

  New sod flowed down the sloping lawn to the sidewalk. Mr. Moretti had repaired the gate. The rusted ornamental wrought-iron fence was repainted black. Foundation shrubs surrounded the base of the house, their maturity making them appear to have been there for years instead of days. The landscaper had carved planters throughout the yard. A beautiful array of colorful plants and flowers had replaced the weeds and rubble. The new terra-cotta roof tiles reflected shades of red and orange in perfect contrast to the hunter green of the main structure. The carpenters had stripped all the wood trim, including the gingerbread around the gables, roofline, and veranda, and stained it a deep mahogany. Light-yellow ochre paint had been added to the sunburst pattern etched into the trim on top of the windows, and it glittered like gold in the sunlight.

  A huge storm cloud blew in, covering up the sun. Another downpour was on its way. Needing to get inside before the
rain hit, Brianna popped the trunk, scampered out of the driver’s seat to grab her overnight case, and ran for the porch. She would come back for the rest of her luggage in the morning.

  Halfway to the door, she stopped to glance up at the third-floor tower. No one stood behind the curtained window. I was right. The shadow was a play of light.

  She dashed up the steps to the veranda. The door clicked open into a revamped vestibule. Mr. Moretti’s crew had painted the walls vintage gold, the ceiling a shade lighter. The room was warm and inviting. The white marble on the circular reception counter provided a crisp, clean accent. The wood trim had been sanded and stained the same brilliant mahogany color as the home’s exterior. One wall in the seating area had a cascading waterfall, giving the room a sense of serenity. Brianna planned to have peaceful, meditative music piped throughout the house to provide the perfect environment for total relaxation. The only eyesore was the wiring that hung from the ceiling where the electricians were in the process of installing the surround sound system. Otherwise, the room looked bright and clean, exactly as she had envisioned.

  The Queen Anne had undergone as many changes as she had, though hers were on the inside and couldn’t be fixed with a new coat of paint.

  Her stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten since her layover at 9:00 a.m. Even being famished, what she craved the most was a relaxing bath. She decided to check out the rest of the manor in the morning after a good night’s sleep and headed to the kitchen, where she scooped out a spoonful of smooth, creamy cashew butter and poured a glass of sweet, red wine. Armed with nourishment, she headed upstairs for a long, hot soak in the antique claw-foot tub. Adding two cups of Epsom salt to soothe her aching muscles, she eased back in the tub, submerging her body beneath the tranquil water. She soon relaxed and her headache disappeared. She felt like she’d been given a Swedish massage by a gorgeous hunk with strong, capable hands. She needed this after the torture Lieutenant Holcomb had put her through with his silent accusations. Would he ever give up and leave her alone? Not likely.

  The water soon turned cold. Brianna sipped the last drop of wine before stepping out of the tub. She completed her usual bath time ritual, climbed into bed, and fluffed the pillows. She lay back, burrowing into the soft mattress and tugged the silk sheets up to her chin, intent on putting the past week behind her. In the morning there would be a great deal to do. She needed to buy a living room set and kitchen utensils. She’d go to the market and stock the pantry. She couldn’t afford to skip meals again and lose the two pounds she’d worked so hard to gain.