Divas, Diamonds & Death: a Danger Cove Pet Sitter Mystery (Danger Cove Mysteries Book 15)

by Sally J. Smith

  Garrison Butterworth's deep, gruff voice was a total mismatch to his physicality. If I were making a comparison to someone well-known, it would have been Jonah Hill, only older. Short and well-rounded behind his desk, he wore a flowery sport shirt. A Bluetooth headset was hooked over one ear. He didn't look around when we walked in, his attention focused on a laptop screen in front of him. He held out a hand, palm up, and snapped his fingers. "Let's have it."

  Tino slapped the envelope into Garrison's palm, causing the other man to look around sharply. His assessment of Tino was apparent in the downturn of his mouth and crease of his brow. "You two work for Condor?"

  This was getting dicey. "Uh, not exactly," I said.

  His gaze shifted toward me, and I reconsidered the Jonah Hill comparison. This guy was more like a shark, the flat predatory stare intense, penetrating.

  "I did help clean his dog's teeth one time." It was the best connection to Condor I could come up with. Maybe using Jack Condor's name hadn't been the best idea after all.

  Butterworth twisted in his chair and opened the envelope, pulling out the real estate listings. His eyes zigzagged back and forth as he looked them over. "Is Condor nuts?" He tossed the pages into a trash can next to the desk. "These are crap. Nothing at all like what I've been looking for. If he wants to do a land deal with me he's gotta do better than this. That's why I haven't done anything with him so far."

  "Huh," Tino said. "So none of these are like the deal you had going with Ramirez?"

  "Ramirez? Carlos Ramirez?" Butterworth stood up, and for a minute I thought he was coming over the desk at Tino.

  "Uh," I hunted for the right thing to say. "Jack was probably just mistaken. Anybody can make a mistake. Right?"

  "Does Condor know Ramirez?" Butterworth's round face had gone red with anger. "Did he say he'd seen that snake? Ramirez reneged on a deal with me. Left me hanging out to dry to the tune of over a hundred grand. I don't look kindly on that. You tell Condor if he sees Carlos Ramirez to make sure that snake oil salesman knows I'm looking for him. He needs to pay me what he owes me, or I'll take it out of his hide."

  Okay. So what now? Tino tossed me a look, and I knew he was thinking the same thing. If Butterworth was still looking for Carlos, it didn't seem likely he'd killed him.

  Now to get out of Butterworth's office without the intimidating, and I thought maybe dangerous, man realizing we'd been on a fishing trip the whole time.

  "Yeah, sure, we can give him that message," Tino said.

  I sent Tino a silent thank you for thinking on his feet, at the same time hoping we wouldn't ever have to admit what we'd done to Jack Condor.

  "And," Butterworth went on, "if Condor can't dig up anything more promising than that crap he sent up here with you, tell that jackass loser to just leave me the hell alone. I don't need to play in the minor leagues with bums like Condor. Now get out before I throw you out." His fist came down on top of the desk, rattling everything on it.

  I didn't know about Tino, but I wasn't going to let the door hit my backside on the way out. Three quick steps took me to the door. I pulled it open. "Tino, let's go."

  He came to me, and we walked back through the front room, stepping outside onto the asphalt and into the early afternoon sun.

  The office door opened behind us, and the tiny receptionist came out. "I'm so sorry." Her voice shook. "He just scares the socks off me."

  "I can see why," I said.

  "He isn't a very nice man. He's always yelling, and once I even saw him do just what he threatened to do to you today."

  "Throw us out?" I asked.

  She nodded. "He took hold of this guy by the shirt collar and belt, hauled him right out the door, and threw him onto the asphalt. Right over there." She pointed. "I just sat at my desk shaking the whole time."

  Tino's tone was ironic. "Good thing we decided to leave on our own then."

  A ringtone sounded, and she pulled her cellphone from her jeans pocket, glancing at the screen. "It's him," she said. "I better go."

  We watched her, straight-backed and brave, return to the lion's den.

  "Butterworth didn't seem to even know Ramirez was dead," Tino said.

  "He didn't, did he?" I said. "So much for the theory Carlos was killed over his debt to Butterworth. Whoever killed him probably had a more personal reason."

  Tino shrugged. "Let's head back to Danger Cove. You should fill in Jimmy John before he hears about our road trip from Dennis."

  I nodded my agreement. "It wouldn't be good for him to hear about it that way."

  We went back to the car.

  "Man, that Butterworth guy really was scary," I said. "And all I can say is, whatever he's paying his receptionist, it's not nearly enough."

  * * *

  It was after four o'clock on that Wednesday afternoon when we made it back to Danger Cove, and Jimmy John was just leaving Hazlitt Heights after dropping Isaac off. I convinced him to come downstairs to my place with a promise of iced tea.

  He sat on the sofa and scratched Vader under the chin, sipped his iced tea, and listened to the tale of Tino's and my adventure.

  "Well," Jimmy John said. "I knew if there was anything to be found out about Ramirez's partner that Dennis could do it. Just wish I'd have been there to see it. Dennis at work is a thing of rare beauty." He sighed. Needless to say, Jimmy John wasn't happy that we'd gone to Seattle behind his back.

  "I'm sorry," I said when I saw the disappointed look on his face. "I know you worry about my safety—"

  But it wasn't for the reasons I'd expected.

  "It's not that." He didn't miss a beat. "I just wanted to be in on it."

  "Oh." I was pretty much dumbfounded. "I figured you'd say it was risky, that I could have gotten myself in trouble."

  He waved it off. "Nah, you had Tino with you. He can handle himself and take care of just about anything that comes along."

  Tino blinked his eyes, ducked his head in an aw-shucks way, and said, "Thanks, Triple J."

  Jimmy John went on. "I'm just disappointed. Not many chances come along these days to really get down and dirty in a case like this." He sighed. "So are we eliminating Butterworth as the killer?"

  Tino and I looked at each other, and then both of us shrugged. Tino spoke first. "Just on my first impression, I'd say it wasn't him."

  "I don't think so either," I said. "You should have seen how intense Butterworth was when he thought maybe there was a chance to get some money out of Carlos."

  "Too bad," Jimmy John said. "Nothing more exciting than a good mob killing."

  We all sat quietly sipping our iced tea. I figured Jimmy John and Tino were trying to figure out what our next move would be. I knew I was.

  Jimmy John caught sight of my grease board. "What's that?"

  "It's my suspect list." The list had gone from three names to zero names the previous night when I'd been so frustrated at not getting anywhere, I'd taken a marker pen and scribbled over everything.

  "So you no longer think Sabrina, Paco, or Evan are viable suspects?"

  I stood, walked over to the board, picked up the eraser, and began to scrub everything off. "I don't know what to think. But, as far as I'm concerned, any one of them could still have done the deed."

  "Carlos Ramirez didn't seem all that popular," Tino said.

  "Sabrina admitted he was blackmailing her, and he had taken Rosie from her," Jimmy John said. I, for one, was glad he was being so objective about the Critter Communicator.

  "Paco admitted he hated his uncle for the financial ruin of Paco's family and even went so far as to blame Carlos for his mother's death," Tino said.

  "And Evan," I said, "appears to be desperately in love with Sabrina, and you know what they say about what desperate men do."

  Tino spoke slowly almost as if he were thinking out loud. "And not one of the three has an alibi that holds up. Sabrina was alone in her RV." I glanced up at him. He shook his head and said succinctly, "Her motor coach. Paco and Evan said they w
ere in their rooms at the Ocean View B&B."

  I took up the spiel. "Yet no one saw either of them arrive or leave after Lester Marshall was through with them. There's something else I've been thinking about though."

  Two of the three men I loved in this world, the third being my father, waited expectantly for me to finish my thought.

  So I did. "The diamond collar."

  "Mm-hmm," Jimmy John said.

  "What about it?" Tino asked.

  "Rosie wasn't wearing it when you found her," I said to Tino. "The police combed the beach and went through all of Ramirez's personal property. And so far, no diamond collar. Right?"

  Both men nodded.

  "Do we think maybe whoever killed Carlos took the diamonds off Rosie?" I asked.

  Tino began to nod slowly, and I could tell the idea sat well with him.

  Jimmy John stood and began to walk the room. Tino and I watched until he stopped and turned back to us. "It's worth looking into."

  "So you think the missing diamonds could lead us to the killer?"

  "Maybe," Tino said.

  "Yeah. Maybe," Jimmy John added.

  "Great," I said. "Now how do we find the diamonds?"

  Jimmy John came over to where we sat and scooted in between us, hanging his arms over our shoulders. "Boys and girls, catching a thief can be a lot easier than catching a killer. And who knows? Maybe we'll get lucky and the culprit will be one and the same."

  "So are you just going to let that hang there?" Tino asked. "Or are you going to fill us in on how to best catch this thief-slash-killer?"

  Jimmy John turned to me, an expectant look on his face. "Well, Lizzie?" he said.

  It didn't take more than a beat or two for me to catch up. I smiled proudly and said, "Pawnshops."

  "That's my girl," he said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Tino, being a guard for BS 24-Hour Security, had access to a list of pawnshops. He narrowed it down to a twenty-mile radius around Danger Cove, which left us with three. A magic number.

  "What time's it getting to be?" Jimmy John asked.

  I looked through to the kitchen and the digital clock on the stove. "Four-forty," I said.

  "We better get a move on," Jimmy John said. "Let's hit the road."

  Tino reached into his pocket for his keys. "I'll drive."

  Our first stop was E-Z Greenbacks in a strip mall on the outskirts of town.

  The three of us walked into the unimpressive establishment with Jimmy taking the lead. The man knew practically everyone in town, and the clerk behind the counter at pawnshop number one was no different.

  "Well, looky who's here." The nearly bald middle-aged man, wearing a white button-front shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a pair of navy blue suspenders, looked away from the small TV on the countertop.

  "Roy Elderberry," Jimmy John said. "How're things in this neck of the woods?"

  "Not a lot going on around here," Roy said. "What's up with you?"

  Jimmy John introduced Tino and me to Roy and then broke down why we'd come, showing a photo of Rosie and her famous collar from Sabrina's webpage.

  Roy peered at it, rubbing his bald scalp, and said, "Diamonds, eh?" before shaking his head. "Nope. Haven't seen that. Would the police be looking for these same diamonds?"

  Jimmy John nodded.

  "So, if we get it in, you'd probably like it if I called you before the end of the day when I mention it to the cops."

  Jimmy John nodded again.

  Roy winked and twisted his head. "Sounds like a plan."

  The two men shook hands, and we left the store.

  The next stop was a little ways out of town on the road to Olympia near a lumber mill. The roadside complex housed a bar and grill, a convenience store gas station, and Cash on the Spot Payday Loans and Pawnshop, which was our destination.

  It was getting onto five-thirty when we arrived, and the muddy parking lot was full of mostly pickup trucks.

  Almost everyone must have been in the bar because the pawnshop was only entertaining three customers—one heavily bearded man looking to be in his early twenties, who was dickering with a woman at the far end of the store over what appeared to be a well-used chainsaw, and two other big guys who were probably Chinook Indians gazing longingly at a six-string acoustic guitar hanging on the wall behind the counter.

  We had to wait until the man with the chainsaw had agreed on a price, collected his cash, and left the store, grumbling about being robbed. Then we approached the woman and showed her the photo of Rosie.

  "Well now, ain't that just the cutest thing?" she exclaimed. "But no. No diamonds here, friends. Look around."

  We did.

  She went on. "This place look like we'd be able to scrimmy together enough cash to buy something like that?"

  "No," I said. "I guess not."

  She was right. It looked like most of what they took in was tools, small appliances, musical instruments, and the occasional car part. The odd watch looked more like Target or Wal-Mart than Tiffany, and the jewelry was mostly silver.

  "Well," I said. "Thanks anyway. Sorry to bother you."

  "Oh, no bother," she said. "I enjoyed it. That piggly-wiggly was downright adorable."

  We turned to leave, but she called us back with, "You know you might check with my old pal, Khadir, up the road. His place is on the bus route. In fact, it stops right out front of his store. And it's right near that ritzy spa and hotel and Indian casino. He gets in fancy stuff like that all the time."

  And lo and behold. She was right.

  Bucks Galore looked more like an upscale boutique than the other places we'd been. The storefront was what appeared to be thick glass with neon letters that read: Buy. Trade. Sell. We want your stuff.

  The double front doors took us along a twisting glassed-in corridor along the front plate glass window that had obviously been designed to create more than one level of access to the business. The door to the actual inside of the place had what looked like a doorbell. I pushed the button, and almost immediately a buzzer sounded, something clicked, and the door popped open a few inches, allowing us to enter.

  The interior was kind of like a museum with marble floors polished so bright I thought about putting on my sunglasses. Glass display shelving lined the walls, and counter-height freestanding cases sat in front of them with about three feet left between them where someone could walk. Strategically placed lights hit the jewelry inside the cases, sending shine throughout the store. The place looked like a million bucks.

  The man who'd apparently buzzed us in stood expectantly behind the counter at the far end of the store, his hands folded and resting on top of a mat on the countertop. God forbid there should be a single fingerprint on those sparkling glass tops. His skin was swarthy, his features exotic, and he wasn't very tall, maybe five feet four or five, and what, if someone asked, Jimmy John would call soft.

  Once we crossed the floor we could see that the gold knit collared shirt he wore, which made him look as if he belonged on the 9th hole, had the store name embroidered in red above the pocket. And a badge pinned to the pocket let us know we were going to be dealing with Khadir Bhandari, Manager.

  "May I help you?" His voice, slightly deeper than I'd expected from a man his size, carried across the room, echoing off the marble floors.

  We showed him our photo of Rosie wearing her collar.

  While his expression didn't change, his posture did as he drew himself up, adding maybe another half inch to his height.

  Jimmy John must have noticed it too. "So this piece looks familiar to you?"

  Khadir Bhandari's hands hadn't moved off the mat. "And who, may I ask, are you to be questioning me about this?"

  Jimmy John and I glanced at each other. This was promising. If the man was concerned about our interest in the diamond collar, he might just have it.

  "We've been hired to locate the collar. It's stolen property." Before either of us could say anything more, Tino had taken a step forward
reaching for his wallet then flipping it open—like I'd seen on TV at least a hundred times—showing a legitimate badge. Not FBI. Not US Marshals. Not county sheriff's department or even local police, but—

  "BS 24-Hour?" Khadir leaned forward to peer at the badge then leaned back. "What does that even mean?"

  "Like Mr. Morales said—" I picked up the torch and ran with it. "We've been hired by Sabrina Ramirez, star of The Critter Communicator Show on Animal Planet. Her pet pig was kidnapped, and when the animal was recovered, the diamonds were missing. Someone wouldn't have come by here in the last few days to pawn it…would they?" I folded my arms across my chest, set my mouth in a hard line, and waited, hoping that I was successfully channeling Lester Marshall.

  It must have worked because Khadir the manager sighed and reached into his front pocket, drawing out a set of keys attached to his belt loop. He gestured to an open space between two of the counters that led to a door behind them. His voice sounded resigned. "Follow me, please."

  The back room was spacious and open. A polished wood conference table with eight high-backed chairs dominated the center of the room, while two enormous impenetrable-looking safes stood against one wall.

  He indicated the table, and we took chairs while Khadir worked at one of the safes, using both his keys and the combination lock to ultimately open it and remove a small box covered in black velvet. He brought it to the table, set it in the middle, and angled a light on it. When he opened the box, the light bouncing off the diamonds made me pull back and blink. I gasped because once I saw it, I knew we were looking at Rosie's spectacular diamond collar.

  "Is that what you're after?" Khadir stood back, interlacing his fingers over his abdomen.

  We all leaned in to compare the collar in the black velvet box with the internet photos of Rosie that Jimmy John had pulled up on his phone.

  Nodding slowly, I said, "Yes, Mr. Bhandari, I believe this is the missing diamond collar."

  He said something in Punjabi, slapped his forehead, and then muttered, "Damn my miserable hide." He began to hyperventilate.

  We all stared at him. "Mr. Bhandari," I said. "Are you all right?"