“Hey!” Neesa twisted around in the seat and tried to point at Drue. “Hey. You owe me three hundred dollars. I want my damn money. You can’t just call me up and rip me off like this.”
“Send me a bill,” Drue said. She did a little finger wave as the van pulled away and then she ran inside to wash her hair.
* * *
Despite the fact that she was operating on too little sleep, Drue felt oddly energized by the encounter with Neesa. She washed her hair twice, but the front strand stayed stubbornly orange. Maybe she’d start a new fashion trend. Until then, she scrubbed the kitchen of the noxious peroxide odors, then sat down at the kitchen table again with a stack of index cards and made notes about what she’d learned earlier in the day.
She knew that it was Herman Byars who’d beaten and strangled Jazmin, and then enlisted Neesa to masquerade as the dead girl. But how had their scheme gone undetected for so long? Had the hotel’s head of security, Brian Shelnutt, conspired with Byars to hide their crime?
Drue thought back to the day that Yvonne Howington had appeared in the law firm’s reception area, insisting that Brice had taken a payoff from the hotel. She’d been more than ready, back then, to believe the worst of her father.
But last night, Brice had rushed to her aid after her arrest. And afterward, he’d sat down with her and Rae Hernandez as the two of them outlined how they believed Jazmin’s murder had occurred. He’d been skeptical at first, it was true, but he’d listened, and in the end, had agreed that Drue’s theory had merit.
Still, she couldn’t shake the notion that somebody had turned a blind eye to the sordid goings-on at the Gulf Vista, and probably made a nice fat profit from the deed.
She went into the guest bedroom and found the folder with the printouts she’d made of Jimmy Zee’s reports on his investigation.
He’d covered most of the bases with his interviews, she had to admit, but there was something missing. She’d seen, firsthand, how dogged Zee could be once he got his teeth into something. Neesa had said an investigator came to see her, but his report said he hadn’t been able to locate her. Which was a lie.
He was thorough and professional when he wanted to be. So what had happened with the Jazmin Mayes investigation? Why had it taken a rookie cube rat like her to figure out what a cesspool the Gulf Vista was?
She made some more notes on index cards, bringing them up to date. There were still plenty of loose ends, she knew. Herman Byars was still at large. And she hoped Rae Hernandez would follow up and question Brian Shelnutt about his role in the affair.
But she couldn’t help feeling jubilant. Neesa Vincent was not just involved in the murder, she was a credible witness. And Neesa’s testimony should prove that Herman Byars had killed Jazmin after her shift ended.
Now she had to persuade Brice to renew his efforts for a settlement with the hotel’s insurance company. And in the meantime, figure out whether Jimmy Zee had a financial incentive to look the other way when presented with evidence that could have cost the Gulf Vista millions.
And there were still so many unanswered questions about Brice and Jimmy Zee’s possible involvement in the forty-year-old disappearance of Colleen Boardman Hicks. Had Brice lied about his connection to the missing woman? Did Zee know more about the case than he’d admitted? Why had her mother collected all those old newspaper clippings about the case? And how had the long-missing police file ended up in a box of her father’s belongings right here in the attic of Coquina Cottage?
Drue paced around the kitchen, trying to make sense of things. Finally, she decided to reach out to the one person she thought could.
She called his number and was disappointed when the call went directly to voice mail.
“Hey Ben. Where were you when I needed you last night? Call me, okay? I have big news about the Jazmin Mayes case. There’s been an arrest. For real! And I really, really want to talk to you about Jimmy Zee. Okay, bye.”
Her cell phone rang five minutes later. It was Ben, and he sounded out of breath.
“Hi,” he said. “Sorry I couldn’t pick up. I’m actually at a gaming tournament, and we’re on a short break. What’s the big news?”
“I don’t know where to begin,” Drue said. “I went to the hotel last night, and figured out that it was Neesa Vincent, not Jaz, on video, working that night, and like I kinda suspected, it was the head of housekeeping who killed her.”
“What? How’d you find all this out?”
“It’s too long to go into over the phone. But one thing I wanted to tell you. Neesa said she talked to an investigator. But Zee’s reports said he couldn’t find her. I can’t get past the idea that Zee should have figured this whole thing out. Ben, I really think Zee is up to his ears in this thing.”
“Are you sure?” Ben asked. “I mean, have you talked to your dad or anybody else about this? That’s a pretty radical theory, Drue.”
“I know,” she admitted. “And I guess I’m kinda keyed up because I haven’t had hardly any sleep.”
“Okay, well, we should definitely talk before you go accusing Zee of stuff,” he said. “Oh shit. I gotta go. My next session is starting. I’ll call you as soon as I get out, okay?”
“Talk soon,” Drue said.
53
August 20, 1976
Colleen was momentarily paralyzed with fear. The barrel of the revolver was pointed directly at her. She glanced around, frantic for help. A homeless man was slumped over on a nearby bus bench, the pages of a newspaper ruffling gently in the faint breeze while pigeons pecked at potato chips from a spilled bag. A pair of elderly women occupied the next green bench over, their heads bent together, deep in conversation.
She should scream. Or run. Or both. But her feet were rooted to the pavement, her mouth bone dry.
“I said, get in the goddamn car.” The driver reached over and wrenched the door handle open. “Now! Or I swear to God, I’ll kill you right here.”
Colleen obeyed, setting the train case on the floorboards by her feet. With the gun lowered, she could concentrate on the woman’s face, and she gasped involuntarily. The driver was Sherri Campbell. Brice’s wife.
“Put your hands out in front of you,” the woman ordered. Colleen did, and a moment later a pair of handcuffs were snapped across her wrists.
“Why are you doing this?” Colleen’s voice was hoarse.
The light changed and the car began moving, picking up speed. “Shut up,” Sherri replied. “I don’t want to hear a word from you.”
Colleen studied her captor’s face. The features were regular, but contorted in barely controlled rage.
She began to softly weep, hating herself for being weak and afraid, and as her terror mounted, she was unable to choke back the sobs.
“Stop that!” Sherri backhanded her so hard, Colleen’s ears were ringing. A trickle of blood ran down her chin, merging with the unstoppable tears.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, clenching and unclenching her shackled hands. “It’s over between us. He said he’d never leave you. That’s why I was going away.”
Sherri shook her head. “Lying little bitch. I don’t believe either of you.”
“It’s true,” Colleen blurted. “I swear. I was headed for the bus station. Look in my purse. I have a ticket. For Atlanta.”
“So what? You’d come back. Or he’d go there. To look for you.”
“No! That’s why I’m going away. Alone. To start over. A new job, new name, new life. Someplace nobody knows me.”
“So you can latch onto somebody new, screw some other woman’s husband, ruin another woman’s life.”
“Never. I’m done with that. This was all a horrible mistake. You don’t understand. My husband? He beats me. Brice was trying to help me. He wanted to lock Allen up, but I knew it wouldn’t do any good. Brice, he’s a good guy. We didn’t mean to hurt you. Things just … happened.”
Sherri slapped her again, hard, without warning.
“Do not say his name again
. I don’t want to hear my husband’s name come out of your filthy mouth one more time.”
Colleen nodded, mutely.
They were leaving downtown, headed west on First Avenue South. She looked out the window, hoping to catch someone’s eye, to somehow signal the danger she was in.
But the lights were with Sherri, and against Colleen, and they sailed through every intersection, never slowing, not even when they crossed Tyrone Boulevard and the street doglegged and became Central, and then they were speeding north on Gulf Boulevard.
A cold chill ran down Colleen’s spine when she realized where they were heading.
The traffic was unexpectedly light for late on a Friday afternoon. She glanced over at Sherri, whose jaw was clenched, eyes darting back and forth.
“Just let me go,” Colleen pleaded. “I’m not a threat to you. I’ll leave town.” She looked at the train case on the floor. “I have money,” she said. “Right here in this case. Everything from my bank account. Seven thousand dollars. You can have all of it. Just let me out of this car.”
Sherri laughed. “You think this is about money? Think you can buy your way out of what you’ve done to me?”
They drove on. The light at the next intersection was yellow as they approached. Colleen swiveled slightly in her seat. If she could get her hands on the door handle, just as they slowed to a stop for the light? Whatever injuries she suffered would surely be better than whatever Sherri had in mind.
The light changed to red. Colleen turned quickly, groping for the handle, but her captor saw the move for what it was and stomped on the gas pedal, hurtling through the light to a cacophony of car horns from narrowly averted cars in the intersection.
Sherri calmly turned and pointed the pistol at her passenger. “Try that again and I’ll shoot you right here.”
“Go ahead,” Colleen blurted. “Kill me. Isn’t that what you intend to do anyway?”
“None of your damn business,” Sherri snapped. She drove onward, with the gun clutched tightly in her right hand.
Colleen saw a jagged flash of lightning. For the first time she noticed that the sky had darkened, with ominous gray clouds poised just to the west, over the Gulf. Thunder rumbled overhead, and rain began to pelt the car’s hood.
It was the kind of typical late-summer Florida thunderstorm that Colleen had always loved. As a child, she would stand transfixed at the front window of her parents’ house, staring out at the light show. Now, she gloomily reflected that this storm would probably be her last.
They drove through Madeira Beach, and then Treasure Island, where Sherri made a sudden sharp left turn.
Crushed oyster shells crunched beneath the Chevette’s tires as they pulled into the abbreviated driveway of the cottage, which was overshadowed by the shaggy branches of a pair of towering Australian pines.
Colleen, of course, had driven past this house many times, at night, when Brice’s cruiser was parked out front. Once, she’d parked in the driveway of a vacant house across the street, watching while all the lights in the house blinked off, wondering if that meant he and his wife were going to bed, imagining what they would do there, torturing herself with all the what-ifs.
“Stay there,” Sherri ordered, after she’d cut the engine. She came around to the passenger side of the car and unceremoniously yanked Colleen to her feet. She looked around, cautiously, but the narrow road was empty. Nobody was about. She nudged Colleen forward, through the rain, toward the front door.
“Open it,” she ordered, pushing Colleen into the house. Lightning struck then, so close that both women jumped, and the smell of cordite hung in the steamy, ion-charged air around them.
54
Drue was barefoot, dressed in cut-off yoga pants and her favorite raggedy SURF ALASKA T-shirt when she heard the doorbell ring. She checked the time and frowned. It was five-thirty. Her hair was still wet from the shower, and she was operating on about four hours of sleep and not in the mood for company.
Her mood changed when she opened the front door.
“Ben! I thought you were at a gaming thing.”
He stood on the doorstep holding a brown paper bag. “After you called, I decided to sneak out early. I still feel terrible I missed your call last night because I was so wrapped up in that damned tournament. I didn’t even notice you’d tried to call until, like, two in the morning.”
“Hmm. Two in the morning was about the time I was being hauled to jail by the police,” Drue said.
His eyes widened behind the horn-rimmed glasses. “You didn’t tell me you got arrested!”
“Come on inside and I’ll fill you in on all the sordid details,” she said. “And when I tell you what I’ve been through, you’ll see why I look the way I look.”
“You look fine to me,” he said. “But what’s up with the skunk stripe in your hair? Is that a new thing?”
She yawned. “Tell you in a minute. I had a late, late night, and then a crazy, crazy morning. I’m about to fix some coffee. You want coffee, or maybe a beer?”
He held out the paper bag. “I brought you a smoothie from that place up the beach, as a peace offering.”
“Kale Yeah? I love that place.” She lifted the plastic cup from the bag. A straw poked out from the plastic top. “That’s so sweet,” she said. “I’ll have it later, if that’s okay. I gotta get some caffeine in my system before I pass out on my feet.”
“I had them put some B12 powder in it, for energy,” Ben said. “Try that first, and then the coffee.”
Drue shrugged. “Okay, sure. Good idea.”
He sat down at the kitchen table opposite her. “Okay. Now I want to hear all the gory details. How did you end up in jail?”
She hesitated and then plunged ahead, into the story. “I broke into a room at the Gulf Vista,” she said. “Well, I didn’t actually manage to break in, but I was about to, when a security guard caught me. They called the cops, and had me arrested for breaking and entering and trespassing, but I’m pretty sure my dad can make them drop the charges. And then I sort of tricked Neesa into coming over here—”
“Slow down,” he said. “Tell me everything.”
“I know you said this whole thing was a waste of time, but Ben, it really wasn’t. After you guys left the office last night, I watched and rewatched the hotel security video from the night Jazmin was killed, and I figured it out.”
She took a sip of the smoothie and gave him an apologetic smile. “That’s the real reason I didn’t go to happy hour with you guys last night. I was afraid if I told you my idea, you’d try to talk me out of it. I had a theory, and the more I watched the video, the more I needed to check it out.”
“You should never have gone to that place by yourself,” Ben said, shaking his head. “I mean, that’s just crazy.”
“It’s not crazy,” she insisted. “And I proved it.”
She sipped the smoothie. “I never would have figured it out if I hadn’t tracked down Neesa, the housekeeper who was supposedly Jazmin’s best friend. It turns out, she was the key to all of it.”
“How so?” He sat back in his chair and gave her a quizzical look.
“The night I met her at Mister B’s, this honky-tonk out in Seminole, we struck up a conversation. She’d had a lot to drink, and we were just kind of chatting, and I told her that I lived here, in Sunset Beach, and she said she’d worked at the Gulf Vista, which, of course, I already knew. Eventually, she started to talk about Jazmin, and the management at the hotel, and her boss, a guy she called Herman-like-in-the-Munsters.”
Drue yawned widely. “Sorry. I’m so tired, my mind is kind of foggy right now.” It was true. She’d never been much of a napper, but right now, she felt as though she could sleep for a solid week.
“Go on,” Ben urged. “Tell me about the Munsters guy.”
“He’s a sexual predator,” Drue said. “He pressured Jazmin, and Neesa, for sex. And in return, he gave them better shifts, extra pay, whatever favors he could do.”
&nb
sp; “Sounds like a pig,” Ben said.
“A murderous pig,” Drue said. “Jazmin’s boyfriend, who used to work at the hotel, said she was trying to get hired at the Silver Sands, down the beach, to get away from this Herman guy. But he wasn’t the only perv. The hotel’s head of security, even the engineering chief, they were all doing stuff like that. One of the other housekeepers told me…”
“Told you what?” Ben asked, leaning forward. “Are you okay?”
“Just super tired,” she said. “What was I saying? God, I’m so tired, I’m loopy.” She gulped more of the smoothie, hoping the B12 powder would energize her. “Anyway, it all came down to Neesa. The night Jazmin was killed, at the end of her shift, Byars got her called up to a room in the oldest wing of the hotel. It’s not clear if he tried to rape Jazmin or what, but she fought back, or tried to. So he killed her.”
“How do you know any of this?” Ben asked.
“Neesa told me. I tricked her into coming over here earlier today.” Drue held up the bleached strand of hair closest to her face. “She was supposed to be dyeing my hair blond, because she’s studying to be a hairdresser. Thank God, she won’t get that chance. After she had a lot of vodka and a lot of prosecco, she told me everything, but what she didn’t know was that there was a detective in the other room.”
“Wait. So this Neesa person confessed? You’ve got me confused.”
“Yeah, but of course, she claims Byars threatened to kill her if she didn’t help. After he’d killed Jaz, he called her on the walkie-talkie all the housekeepers carry and told her to come to the room. When she got there, he made her help clean it up. He’d already put Jaz’s body in the rolling laundry cart.”
“Ohhh,” Ben said slowly. “But that doesn’t make sense. The hotel security cameras showed Jazmin later that night. Working the late shift.”
Sunset Beach Page 34
