Divas, Diamonds & Death

by Elizabeth Ashby

  He looked up as I walked up the pier to his boat slip. "Hey, gal, did you come to help me swab her?"

  "Well,"—no, that hadn't been my plan at all, but—"I can help out for a while. I wanted to tell you some stuff about yesterday anyway."

  "All right then." He sat back on his heels, slipped off his Mariners ball cap, and wiped the sweat off his brow. "Grab a mop and a bucket."

  I did just that and got to work beside him. "Isaac says you two are going out tomorrow."

  "If the weather holds," he said, echoing what I'd said to Isaac that very morning. "Did you and Tino learn anything from Sabrina's nephew?"

  "We did." I told him about Carlos and Paco's family feud and how Paco blamed his uncle for his mother's death. I also told him that Paco didn't have a verifiable alibi. Then I told him about Evan breezing into the Ocean View B&B in the middle of the night looking and acting very much like a man in the afterglow of a romantic evening and carrying the scent of Chanel No. 5 as he moved through to the kitchen.

  Jimmy John listened to what I had to say, scratching his chin. "So, old Evan and Sabrina have an ongoing game of hide the salami, eh?"

  One thing about Jimmy John—he always called things as he saw them. That was probably one of his rules, although I couldn't recall it at the moment. "Looks that way."

  "Well, whaddya know?"

  "Do you think maybe Evan could be the killer? I mean, if he's in love with Sabrina…" I left the thought unfinished. Jimmy knew what I was getting at. I didn't need to say it. What I did feel the need to say was, "Darn good thing he hadn't figured out yet that she's hot to trot for you, isn't it?"

  He arched an eyebrow at me which I read as Don't go there.

  He dunked his scrub brush into the soapy water and bent back to the task at hand. "I did hear something sort of cool from Bud Ohlsen this morning." He said it so matter-of-factly I knew it had to be important. That was the way it was with Jimmy John. He'd drop something monumental on you as an aside. "They finished comparing my Doc Martens to the tracks they found at the crime scene."

  I was suddenly so nervous, a chill of adrenaline shot through me. "Yes, and?"

  He grinned up at me. "Same size. Same style, but still not a match. The casts were made from worn-out shoes. Mine are still pretty new." He laughed. "Even old Lester Marshall's had to take me off the list of persons of interest."

  I let the mop handle clatter to the deck and knelt down and hugged him. "That's great! That's the best thing I've heard in a long time."

  "So you can stop now," he said, again in that offhanded manner.

  "Stop? Stop what?"

  "You can stop looking for the killer—let the police do it." He just let it hang there a minute.

  "Oh," I finally said. "I guess that's right. If you're not going to be arrested, there's no reason for me to worry about finding out who really murdered Sabrina's ex, is there?" I left my own question unanswered. There really wasn't a reason, not a good one anyway, unless you counted the absolute fact that I was at the point where I was driven to solve the murder. Yes, the smart move would have been to back away, go about my business enjoying the rest of my summer before I went back to school, not to mention figuring out what I was going to do about my personal issue.

  "So, you don't think I ought to go talk to Evan and see what's what with him?"

  He looked up at me, a heavy crease between his bushy eyebrows. "No, Lizzie, I do not think you should go talk to that hulk and dig into his personal business. What if it turns out he is a killer? What are you going to do then? We don't have to stir things up anymore. I'm off the hook. You know Jimmy John's Rulebook has always said: Don't go pokin' a stick in a hornets' nest.

  "No," I said flatly. I couldn't help it. "Pokin' the hornets' nest is what you've always done, and it's what you do best. Back when you worked for the networks that was your modus operandi. Find the story and dig until you get to the bottom of it. 'Don't go pokin' a stick'…who are you trying to kid?"

  "Best to leave well enough alone and let the police take care of this. I promised Bud Ohlsen we'd stay out of it." He wouldn't look at me when he said it.

  "Okay, Jimmy John," I said as agreeably as I could. "You know best."

  After I finished helping Jimmy John clean the Sweet Lizzie and get her ready for a little jaunt the next morning, I left the pier intending to head over to Second Chance Animal Rescue to see if there was anything I could do to help Fran.

  My cell phone rang before I even got Jasper started.

  "Lizzie, it's Adam Whitaker."

  "Hi, Doc."

  "You available?" he asked. "Dustin and I have to head out to Pear Stirpes Orchard on a call, and I was wondering if you could come in for a little while and help out. They're bringing in the Critter Communicator's teapot pig to be checked out. I'd heard you're familiar with the animal and thought it would be a good thing if you were here to help Crystal out. Plus, the TV people know you. They'd be more comfortable with you here. It's someone named Evan who's bringing her in. Have you met him?"

  "I have."

  So Evan, the same Evan I'd been planning to seek out and question before I told Jimmy John I'd stop trying to solve the murder, was going to be at Doc Whitaker's vet clinic with Rosie. If that wasn't fate giving me a shove, I didn't know what was. What would it hurt to ask the man about his relationship with Sabrina, or what he'd been doing Saturday night between the hours of ten and midnight? And I'd be at the vet's office with other people around, so even if it magically turned out Evan was the killer and I'd solved the murder, he wouldn't do anything there, would he?

  I went straight to the veterinary clinic.

  Working with the talented and creative Dr. Whitaker once I received my degree and license would be ideal for me in many ways. But I had the impression he didn't think he needed another doctor in his practice. I hadn't had the courage to bring it up—not yet, anyway. But I might be doing just that if I couldn't figure out another way to practice animal medicine and keep the people who loved me and who I loved happy all at the same time.

  Doc Whitaker and Dustin had already left for their farm call by the time I got there. There had been no sign of the big black SUV in the parking lot, so I assumed Evan hadn't arrived yet.

  Holly, the receptionist, was typing on her computer and talking on the phone at the same time. She waved as I walked past the front desk.

  Crystal, Doc's other vet tech, was in the back room, sitting on a counter stool in front of the centrifuge. I waited until she shut it off and withdrew the test tube before calling out, "Hey, Crystal. What's shaking? Get it?" I pointed at the test tube.

  "Oh, yeah, hysterical," she said. "Is that veterinary humor, Nearly Doc Jones?"

  "Yes," I said. "It is." Everyone at Doc Whitaker's office with the exception of the vet himself called me Nearly Doc Jones in deference to my studies. I didn't mind. In fact, I sort of liked it. Something about hearing them say it made the light at the end of the tunnel and my degree seem a bit closer. "Doc Whitaker asked me to come in and cover—have a look at Rosie the Pink Pig. Is there anything I can do to help you out in the meantime?"

  She opened her mouth to answer but never got the chance.

  Holly's voice came over the intercom. "The Ramirez appointment is here."

  "Oh," I said. "It's show time. I'll need you."

  We both washed our hands and headed into an examination room. There was no folder for Rosie, but we'd start one with this visit, just in the unlikely event she ever came back.

  Evan was already seated beside an exam table, holding Rosie in his lap.

  He looked surprised to see me, but Rosie squealed what I took to be a greeting.

  "Hello," Evan said. "I didn't know you worked here."

  "I help out now and again," was all I said.

  "Well, that's good. Sabrina will be pleased to know someone she trusts was here."

  Adam Whitaker had hit the nail on the head, which made me wonder if maybe he'd had other dealings with divas like Sabri
na.

  "So they told me you're just here to get Rosie checked out after her"—I searched for the right word—"adventure the other night."

  "That's right. We just want to make sure the little girl's doing okay. You are qualified to do this, right?"

  I nodded. "Yes. I've been assisting Doc Whitaker for quite a while now. And I can do basic things such as this. If I get even a hint everything isn't right with Rosie, I'll have Doctor Whitaker take a look at her." I tapped the tabletop, and he sat Rosie on it. I'd done many wellness checks on cats, dogs, goats, and, yes, once on a pig, although the one I looked at was much bigger than this tiny girl.

  I went through all the motions: felt her joints and her belly, looked in her eyes, mouth, and ears. I held her while Crystal stuck a thermometer up her tiny kazoo.

  "Anything seem off about her? Her appetite good?" I asked.

  "Same as usual," he said.

  "She's eliminating normally? Poops look the way they should?"

  "Far as I know," he said.

  "Playful?"

  He nodded again.

  I looked back up at Evan who'd been pacing the room nervously while Crystal and I examined Rosie. "She looks just fine."

  Crystal asked, "If you don't need me anymore, Lizzie, I'll just go and…"

  "Sure," I said. "Thanks, Crystal."

  She washed her hands again and walked out.

  I turned back to Evan, thinking I might catch him off guard. "It's really good of you to do this for Sabrina. I don't know anyone who'd go the extra mile like this—not unless they had a more personal relationship with their employer, that is."

  His big head came up. Evan reminded me of an NFL linebacker, close-cropped hair on a head so big and so square it made his features look tiny. At that moment he'd opened his eyes so wide, they almost fit the rest of his face.

  He kind of gulped. "What?"

  "Well, you are in love with Sabrina, aren't you? Seems like maybe you'd do just about anything for her. Like if her ex-husband was blackmailing her you'd have a serious talk with him." I put an edge on the word talk to let him know I wondered if maybe there had been more than general conversation when he'd confronted Carlos about the blackmail.

  He reached across the table and tenderly picked up Rosie. "Sabrina supported him for years and years, and how did he repay her? By threatening to ruin her business and expose something he never even understood."

  "What was it he didn't understand, Evan?"

  He took the cue and didn't even seem to mind talking about it. "Sabrina paid that scumbag alimony for years. When the court-mandated period ran out and he'd run through all his money, he threatened to go to the media with stories about how shills and microphones were planted in the lines waiting outside the studio and how she'd gather information from that. That she was a fake."

  "Oh," I said, surprised. "Is that true?"

  He hung his head, and I knew it was. Then he said, "Yes, but it doesn't mean she ain't what she says she is. She can read animals' minds. I've seen her do it without knowing what was said before the show. Lots of times. We just used those tricks in case she might have been having a bad day and couldn't make a connection. She didn't always use what we got from the crowd. She didn't have to. The producers just always insisted she give them a good show."

  I wanted to hear more just because what he was telling me was fascinating, but I had to focus on my original intent in asking him about Carlos. "Seems to me that a man who loves Sabrina so much might be glad to get rid of someone threatening her."

  "I am glad he's gone. Never liked him. He wasn't a good man. And he stole little Rosie. We were lucky to get her back. "He stroked Rosie's tiny head. She preened and stretched her neck beneath the gentle touch of his thick hands. "But I didn't kill him. Didn't have to. Someone else did it for me."

  "Where were you on Saturday night?" I asked.

  Evan looked at me. It was a serious, considering look but not mean or threatening. "I already talked to the police, Ms. Jones. If you want to know where I was, you should ask them."

  He pulled an infant's receiving blanket from the messenger-style bag slung over his shoulder and began to wrap Rosie in it, covering her so completely that only her little snout stuck out of the wrap. "Rosie's a celebrity in her own right, you know. We've always been protective of her but especially now after someone stole her out of her own safe home on wheels. Can you imagine? And while we had someone we thought was a professional keeping an eye on her, too."

  I cringed. He'd effectively reminded me that this whole thing began when I was drugged and someone just walked in and stole little Rosie out from under my very own nose. That still hurt, and I had to admit, if only to myself, that now that Jimmy John was no longer suspect, the fact that part of this had happened on my watch was why I was still obsessed with finding the perpetrator.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  It was after four before I left the vet clinic and headed back into town. Isaac Jagger had called my cell phone as I was leaving and invited me to dinner for his super-duper vegetarian matzo ball soup. "And bring along your young man," he'd said, meaning Tino.

  Isaac liked Tino.

  Isaac sat for hours in his apartment listening to the police band on his radio. He knew all about Tino's aspirations to the Danger Cove PD, and whenever they got together, which was at least once a week, the two men engaged in talk about crime-solving techniques and the latest car break-ins or malicious mischief or pickpocketing down on the pier. I assumed since he'd invited Tino, he'd been on the internet reading up on the latest forensics technique or thought maybe he had an inside edge on solving the latest vandalism spree over at the ongoing lighthouse restoration project and was anxious to talk it over with Tino.

  I called Tino from the parking area outside the vet clinic.

  After my talk with Mamá Morales, I was a little nervous. I hadn't figured out the solution to my—or maybe it was more accurate to say our problem—of whether or not I'd be relocating when I earned my degree. I'd have to face it head on eventually. I knew that, but I wasn't ready to do it just yet.

  Tino hadn't brought it up again for a couple of days. Still, it loomed over us like the Hindenburg, and we wouldn't be rid of its foreboding presence until we dealt with it. I'd been thinking about it a lot. I'd have been lying if I said I wasn't worried I might lose Tino by saying the wrong thing or making the wrong decision. That was the last thing in the world I'd want to happen. The very last thing.

  I'd turned Jasper in the direction of Main Street, parked him, and set out on foot along the pedestrian zone of Main Street where the only moving vehicle was the street car.

  Intending to stop in at the local liquor store for a nice bottle of something to take up to Isaac's later, I made my way up Main Street through the crowds of summer vacationers but was suddenly stopped dead in my tracks by what I saw only feet in front of me.

  "Jimmy John?"

  He looked up, and when he saw me, his face ran the gamut from dread, to guilt, and ultimately frustration. "Hi, Lizzie."

  His companion, the woman hanging comfortably on his arm like she belonged there, the woman who'd been laughing at something he'd said and looking at him like he was a god, smiled pleasantly at me and said, "Lizzie, so glad to see you."

  "Hello, Sabrina." I heard the disapproval and disappointment in my own voice. "What are the two of you doing out and about?"

  Jimmy pulled away from her and began to speak so rapidly I could barely catch what he'd said. "Sabrina asked me to bring her down to the Cove Chronicles for an interview with Matt Viera."

  "How nice." My sarcasm was thick as sludge. I turned to Sabrina. "How did it go?"

  "Oh, very nice. What a handsome reporter," she gushed. "In fact I'm liking this little town more and more and more. Handsome reporters. A population that supports animal rescue and is kind to the less fortunate of its residents. Why, I might even buy a place here. Some place with character like one of those lovely old Victorians, and then I could come here wh
enever—"

  "You wouldn't like it here." I never took my eyes off Jimmy John's face. "Take my word for it."

  "Oh, I don't know—" she began.

  It was Jimmy John who interrupted her this time. "Someone looking for a quiet place with kind people would find Danger Cove right up her alley."

  "Really?" I glared at Jimmy John, and he had the gall to glare back.

  "Yes." His voice was firm. "Really."

  "And how did you come to be the person escorting Sabrina downtown?" I asked, trying my best to keep my tone dolce.

  "I'd stopped by to see Fran and make sure everything's still on for tonight."

  "Tonight?" I asked.

  "I'm taking Fran out to that little Italian place she likes so much."

  "Oh," I said, surprised but pleased.

  "Yep," he said. "I took your advice. Gonna have a nice long talk with my girl over dinner. Sabrina saw me leaving Fran's and mentioned she had this interview scheduled with Matt—asked if I'd bring her down to the Chronicles' office. There was something I wanted to do while I was down here anyway, so while she talked to Matt, I talked to Duncan Pickles."

  "About?" I asked.

  "Since you've walked away from trying to solve the murder, it won't matter to you." It was his turn to watch me, and he was keen on it.

  I could seldom slip anything by those eagle eyes of Jimmy John Jones, and I'd been a fool to think he'd believe I'd stop looking for the killer just on my saying. He knew I was still interested in the case, and, darn it all, he probably even knew why—that my reputation as a person in charge of caring for animals now and in the future hinged on proving I hadn't been negligent with Rosie.