Sunset Beach

by Mary Kay Andrews

  “Okay,” she said, bustling in and closing the door behind them. “Just so you know, Ben Fentress was admitted to St. Anthony’s. He’s having surgery to wire his jaw back together, which is kind of a shame, but while he was waiting in a treatment room he declined to chat with me without counsel present anyway, so it’s kind of a moot point.”

  Hernandez was dressed in mom jeans and a Red Wings baseball jersey, with a blue blazer thrown on top of it.

  “Has he been charged?” Brice asked, his yellow legal pad at the ready.

  “Yes. Two counts of attempted murder, two counts aggravated assault and…” She opened a steno notebook and flipped through the scribbled pages. “Trespassing.”

  She sat down at the table. “Sorry you had to wait, but I wanted to be able to tell you what we discovered after we got the warrant to search his apartment in Woodlawn. The main thing is his laptop. And a bunch of files. And of course, we’ve got his cell phone.

  “For an IT guy,” she said, looking directly at Brice, “he was surprisingly careless. There was a yellow index card, taped to the inside cover of his MacBook, with all his passwords on it. I think my ten-year-old son could hack that thing. Hell, my seventy-five-year-old mom could hack it, and she still uses AOL.”

  She paused momentarily. “And one more thing. When we were searching Fentress’s apartment, we found his passport and some travel documents indicating he was planning on moving to the Cayman Islands. Were you aware of that, Mr. Campbell?”

  “News to me,” Brice said, grim-faced.

  “He’d even set up a bank account there. Looks like he was anticipating a big payday.”

  * * *

  Jonah insisted on driving her home. It was almost ten o’clock, and the sun was already blazing hot when he pulled into the driveway. “Do you want to come in?” she asked, feeling suddenly shy.

  “I do. But I think you could probably use some rest,” he said.

  “I really, really do need to sleep. Like, for days, but I’d settle for a good four or five hours,” she said, leaning over to kiss him lightly.

  “Call me, please? As soon as you wake up. In fact, FaceTime me.”

  “Okay, but why?”

  “So I can hear you, and see what you look like, when you first wake up.”

  She looked at him dubiously.

  “Oh please. That’s a line from an old chick flick, isn’t it?”

  “Possibly. But it’s still one hundred percent true.”

  Jonah said, “I’m serious, Drue. Call me.”

  She kissed him again. “You know, for a fratty Mcfrat boy, you’re kind of cute. And sweet.”

  He rested his forehead against hers. “And you are a total badass. I think maybe I’m developing a thing for badass chicks.”

  She chuckled as she opened the door and looked back at him over her shoulder. “We’ll see about that.”

  61

  The next time she looked at the clock on her nightstand it said six o’clock, but it was still dark outside her bedroom. Drue sat up and grabbed her phone and looked at the calendar.

  Six o’clock. Monday morning. Somehow, she’d managed to sleep for eighteen hours straight. Remembering the last conversation she had with Jonah, she scrolled through her contacts, found his name and before she lost her nerve, tapped the icon for FaceTime.

  The phone made that weird boop-boop-boop-boop noise, and then Jonah’s face—and water-beaded bare chest—filled the screen of her phone.

  “Good morning,” she said, yawning.

  “And to you. Did you forget to call me last night?”

  “You won’t believe it. I went to bed and just now woke up. I slept like the dead. How about you?”

  “I’m ashamed to admit that after I left your place, I went to the gym, worked out, did laundry, and went home and watched television until I fell asleep at eight.”

  “I love that you’re such a girly man,” Drue said, laughing. “Tell me you watched HGTV and I’ll be yours forever.”

  “Close. It was Masterpiece Theater, but you’ve got to swear not to tell a soul.”

  “I’ll take it to my grave,” she said, crossing her heart.

  He leaned closer in to the screen. “Say, what’s that you’re wearing? Is that, like, what? A camisole? I like it!”

  “We are not doing this,” Drue said. “It’s way too early in the morning. I’ll see you at the office.”

  “Wear that to work,” he urged.

  “I’m hanging up now.”

  * * *

  Drue walked through the reception area and Geoff stood up, grabbed her and hugged her. “Ohmygod!” he said breathlessly. “I just heard about Ben. I can’t believe he actually tried to kill you. I mean, I’m stunned. To my core.”

  “How did you hear already?” she asked, extricating herself from his clutches.

  “Brice sent out a firm-wide memo first thing this morning,” he said and grimaced. “And since Mr. Fentress is no longer with the firm, Wendy emailed and says I’m on the Justice Line, at least until we hire somebody new.”

  She patted his arm. “You’ll be great.”

  The bullpen seemed oddly quiet. Ben’s desktop was as clean as he’d left it at quitting time Friday, which seemed like years ago, although his computer was gone and the desk drawers were open and empty. She looked over at Jonah, who was on the phone, and nodded at him.

  Her heart sank when she saw the yellow note stuck to her computer monitor.

  SEE ME. It was Brice’s handwriting.

  She found her father seated at his desk, a plastic cape around his neck, with paper towels tucked in a protective ring around the collar of his blue dress shirt. Marianne the paralegal was applying pancake makeup to his face. She turned and nodded at Drue, then went back to her handiwork.

  Drue’s eyes widened, and Brice gave her a broad wink. He was clearly having the time of his life.

  “Dad? What’s all this?”

  “Just a little proactive public relations,” her father said. He looked up at Marianne, who was brandishing a tube of Chanel mascara.

  “Did you confirm with Rae Hernandez at Treasure Island?” he asked. “The producer from the CBS affiliate told me it’s a no-go without the detective who cracked the case.”

  “She’s not wild about a press conference,” Marianne replied. “Hold still and look up, please.” She brushed his lashes with three coats of Chanel ultra-black. “So I called back and spoke to the police chief, and she looooves the idea.”

  “Of course she does,” Brice said. “How often does a department that small crack a two-year-old cold-case homicide? With good old-fashioned shoe-leather detective work? Of course, we’re the ones whose shoes did the work, but it won’t hurt to let them take most of the credit.”

  “Does that mean what I think it does?” Drue asked.

  “Herman Byars was arrested without incident yesterday. He was actually mowing his lawn when the police pulled up to his house. Hernandez is pretty close-mouthed, but when I called her last night, she said they were confident they have a watertight case.”

  “How about Neesa? Is she talking to them?”

  “Hernandez says she’s cooperating, so I’m assuming so.”

  “What about Ben?” Drue asked.

  “Not as cooperative. But I don’t think it’s going to matter that much. I fired off a letter to counsel for the hotel’s insurance company first thing this morning. This matter is a huge black eye to them. There should be serious criminal implications for whomever Ben was dealing with there.”

  “Isn’t it a major black eye for Campbell, Coxe and Kramner too? Since Ben worked for us and extorted the insurance company?” Drue asked.

  “That part isn’t so great,” Brice admitted. “I’ve already retained counsel for us. Frankly, the whole thing is a shit show all the way around. But the bottom line is, eventually, there will be a settlement for Jazmin’s family.”

  “And how long will all that take?” Drue asked.

  “It takes as lo
ng as it takes, Drue. The wheels of justice grind slowly sometimes.”

  “If at all,” she said. “Was that what you wanted to talk to me about? I guess I better get out there to the phones.”

  “Don’t worry about the phones,” Brice said. “Just finish up whatever you were working on and ship it over to Wendy. She’s set up a command post in our bedroom. For today, we’re routing calls over to the offsite call center, and in the meantime, Wendy has posted openings for two positions online.”

  “Two?” Drue said.

  “That’s what I wanted to discuss with you,” Brice said. “Jimmy’s been talking about slowing down for a while now, and after yesterday, he came over and we had a couple of drinks and talked about a succession plan.”

  She let the phrase sink in. “Does that mean what I think it means?”

  “If you want it to,” Brice said. “I admit I had my doubts about it, but Jimmy insists you’re more than capable. You’ve got good people skills—he claims yours are much better than his, by the way—a strong work ethic and, the most important thing, at least according to him, killer instincts. What do you say?”

  She looked up at the ceiling and down at her hands, then across the desk at him. “Let me think about it, okay?” she said.

  Her reply obviously took him by surprise. “What’s to think about?”

  “Well, I’d like a job description, for one. And I’ll need to know about the compensation and benefits package.”

  His face began to redden beneath the pancake and he began to sputter.

  She balled up a piece of paper and tossed it at him. “Just kidding, Dad. Yeah. I’ll take the job. But it does come with a raise, right? I really have to do something about my roof.”

  “Did I not mention your signing bonus?” Brice asked. “How does twenty-five thousand sound? That should buy a roof and replacement doors for the cottage, right?”

  Drue found herself grinning despite herself. “A roof, and maybe even central air.” She stood up and stuck out her hand.

  Brice laughed, shook her hand and went to give her a hug.

  “Brice, please,” Marianne protested. “Your shirt! You’ll get it wrinkled and then it’ll look like you slept in it.”

  * * *

  After Brice left for his press conference, Drue went back to her cubicle. She had paperwork to finish up, and calls to field from the firm’s newest television ad campaign. At one point, she looked up and saw Zee walking through the bullpen. She reached out and snagged him by the fabric of his shirt.

  “Dad told me about the new succession plan,” she said. “Can I take you to lunch today? There’s some stuff I need to ask you about.”

  “Can’t. Brice wants me to do follow-up interviews with some of those other current and former housekeepers at the Gulf Vista. He thinks there’s a potential for a class-action lawsuit against the hotel for sexual harassment. That place is the gift that keeps on giving.”

  “Okay. Then how about a drink? After work tonight?”

  “Maybe. Text me when you leave here and let me know where you want to meet.”

  * * *

  Drue stopped at Target on her way home from work and picked out several more coloring books and a Little Mermaid bathing suit and beach towel.

  When she got to Yvonne Howington’s house, she saw the Plymouth parked in the driveway. The hood was open and the vehicle, which was missing two tires, was raised up on concrete blocks. Drue got a very intense sense of déjà vu.

  “Come on in,” Yvonne said, after Drue knocked on the screen door.

  “What’s wrong with your car?” Drue asked, following Yvonne into the living room.

  “What’s not wrong with it?” Yvonne said, seating herself in the recliner. “Needs new tires, new battery, new everything. My nephew’s supposed to start working on it, when he gets the time.”

  “How do you get to work?” Drue asked.

  “Sometimes I get a ride from somebody, but mostly I just take cabs,” Yvonne said resignedly.

  Drue handed her the Target bag. “This is for Aliyah. How’s she doing?”

  Yvonne accepted the bag without comment. “You want to see her? She’s in the bedroom coloring in that book you brought her. She’s about wore out those glitter markers.”

  “I do want to see her, but in the meantime, have you seen the news?”

  “No. Cable’s out.” Yvonne leaned forward, a glimmer of hope in her dark eyes. “You got news for me? About my case?”

  “I do,” Drue said. “There’s been an arrest.”

  “Praise Jesus.” Yvonne raised her hands. “He is good all the time.”

  She quickly filled the older woman in on the latest developments, leaving out the more sordid details of Jazmin’s uneasy arrangement with her killer.

  “I knew it,” Yvonne said, nodding vigorously. “Jazmin was afraid of that man.”

  “Jazmin’s friend Neesa was also arrested,” Drue said quietly.

  “That nice girl? I can’t believe she would do that.”

  “Herman Byars bullied her into it,” Drue said. “She was just as afraid of him as Jazmin was, but she helped him conceal the crime and lied to the police, so I’m afraid she’s in real trouble.”

  “I’ll have to pray for her,” Yvonne said. “But now, what does that mean for my case against the hotel?”

  “That’s the other thing I need to discuss with you. First off, we’ve discovered a lot of new information, including the fact that Jazmin should have been off work at the time she was killed.” She paused, as she considered how to put a good face on Ben Fentress’s betrayal of their client and his employers.

  “We also just learned this weekend that one of my colleagues at the law firm knew that Neesa and Herman Byars staged it to look like Jazmin was working that late shift, when in reality, she was already dead,” Drue said. “He went to the hotel’s insurance company and demanded a payoff to keep quiet about it.”

  “That dirty, dirty dog,” Yvonne said indignantly. “I hope your daddy fired that bad man.”

  “He did. And Ben’s in jail. I don’t think he’ll be getting out any time soon,” Drue said.

  “Now that we know that Jazmin had finished her shift when she was murdered, we can pursue a third-party wrongful death claim against the hotel. So, I need to ask you, first, if you’d like us to continue to represent you. And I also have to warn you that the process is going to take time. It’s a whole lot more likely to get a bigger settlement for you, but it won’t happen overnight.”

  “Did your daddy send you over here to talk to me today?” Yvonne asked.

  “No, ma’am,” Drue said. “I just wanted you to hear the facts from me, instead of from the television or newspaper.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” Yvonne said, her lips pursed. “To tell you the truth, Miss Drue, I’m not sure I trust your daddy no more. I did, but then look how he did me. My sister said that man is too pretty to be real. She says get you an ugly lawyer.”

  Drue laughed, thinking about her father’s morning camera-ready makeup session. “To tell you the truth, I felt the same way about my dad when I first went to work for him. But I’ve come around now.”

  “And what changed your mind?” Yvonne asked.

  “I realized I was judging him by what kind of a father he was to me, which probably isn’t really fair. He’d be the first to tell you, now, that he was a lousy father. He’s not perfect, but he’s not a crook. He really cares about clients like you, and he wants to win for them,” Drue said.

  Yvonne gave her a world-weary side-eye. “You ever meet a perfect man?”

  “Nope,” Drue said. “There are a lot of dogs out there, and I think I’ve known or dated most of them. But there’s this guy I know. Let’s just say, I think he might have potential.”

  “Can’t ask for more than that,” Yvonne said.

  “Grandmama?” Aliyah stood in the doorway.

  “Look who came to see you today, Aliyah,” Yvonne said. “Miss Drue brought you a present.”


  The little girl ran over to Drue, her eyes sparkling. “Are we going swimming today, Miss Drue?”

  “Not today, I’m afraid,” Drue said. “But soon. And this is for you for when we start our mermaid lessons.”

  Aliyah tore the bag open and held out the swimsuit. “Look, Grandmama. That’s Ariel. I’m gonna be just like her.”

  “What do you say to Miss Drue?” Yvonne said.

  Aliyah beamed. “Thank you.”

  Yvonne walked Drue to the front door. “Tell your daddy I said I’m still his client,” Yvonne said. “And about that man with the potential? You tell him for me that I said he needs to step up and do right by a nice girl like you, got a good job and a car of her own and a pretty daddy.”

  62

  Drue was sitting in a back booth at Mastry’s Bar when Zee walked up. He slid onto the bench opposite hers, already looking distinctly uncomfortable. She’d ordered a chardonnay for herself and a beer for him.

  He took a long pull on the beer. “Brice tells me you’ve agreed to the new job. That’s good news for both of us, right?”

  “It is,” Drue said. “Thanks for the recommendation.”

  She hefted a cardboard box onto the tabletop and pushed it toward him. “I brought you something.”

  “You didn’t have to do that…” He opened the box, and lifted out the black binder. He rifled through the pages, nodding. “Where’d you find it?”

  “In a crate of Dad’s stuff, up in the attic at the cottage,” Drue said. “I think I know why you took it, but I can’t figure out how it ended up there.”

  “I put it there, and then I completely forgot about it.”

  “When?”

  He scratched his chin as he pondered the question. “It was the year after I retired, while I was living there.”

  “You lived in my cottage?” she said, taken aback.

  “Technically, it was still your mom’s cottage back then. I was, as you might say, between relationships at the time, so I rented it for six months, before I bought my condo at Bayfront Towers.”