Cowabunga Christmas

by Anna Celeste Burke

  “Ew! That’s not what happened, Detective. There was no one in that pool, or the entire pool area besides us.” I reviewed events in my mind. I had gone back and forth a couple times from the pool to the hot tub, admiring the view and soaking up the ambiance, as they say. We’d had a good bit of the bubbly by then, but we weren’t drunk, so I trusted my memory.

  “We were alone, Detective. I’m sure of that, and for almost an hour. Then we heard voices, saw beams of light bouncing around and coming down the pathway pretty fast. We took off, heading through the gate and really poured on the steam when we heard a big splash behind us.” That put the detective on point.

  “A big splash? Did you hear that, too, Mr. Williams?”

  “Yeah, I figured the security guys were right behind us and knocked something into the pool,” Brien said.

  “I bet that’s when your dead body dropped in, Detective,” I offered. Detective Mitchum was rubbing his chin, thinking about it. The bushy mustache on his lip wiggled.

  “Whoa, you’re right, Kim. It was a lot like the sound you make when you do a cannonball in the pool. It could have been a body, but where did it come from?”

  “It was too dark to see much last night, but there are balconies off all the rooms in this wing of the hotel. Some are directly above the pool area. Am I right, Detective?”

  “Yes, but if you two are telling us the truth, it means security got a call about a dead body being found in the pool before it ended up in there.”

  3 A Dead Santa

  When the detective and his entourage finally left, I put that teddy back on with a red and white Santa hat to match, and a pair of black stilettos. I have to say I looked pretty cute—Santa’s little helper. Needless to say, Brien loved it.

  A while later, over coffee, bacon, eggs, and a stack of pecan praline French toast, I couldn’t help going back to the dead body thing. Doesn’t sound appetizing I know, but Brien and I are used to eating and talking about murder and mayhem. A habit we picked up hanging out with Jessica Huntington. I work as her legal assistant and Brien had been her pool boy until he finished courses for his Guard Card. Now he works for a security firm located in the Coachella Valley. The boss is a friend—Brien’s best man at our wedding.

  Jessica and her friends had been pulled into the vortex of heinousness, as Brien likes to call it, on more than one occasion. Once I joined the Cat Pack, as they called their little group of snoops, I was along for the ride too. Not my first foray into that vortex, however. That’s an alternate reality I inhabited far too long before I was snatched from the clutches of that ‘eggy’ producer dude, Mr. P. Eggy is surfer speak for despicable, as far as I can tell. Evil works for me. Anyway, that’s another story—a long, sad one about a dead sister. Sad, except that Jessica found me and I found Brien.

  “So, Brien, did that dead guy jump into the pool or was he pushed? I suppose it doesn’t really matter since dead is dead,” I shrugged my shoulders, as I bit into a strip of bacon.

  “I was wondering about that too. If someone was close enough to see him take a dive and called security, why didn’t they stop the dude? You know—if it was suicide?” He was bobbing his head up and down, clearly indicating we knew better than to believe the suicide thing.

  “Exactly! If the detective is right, whoever made the call to security did it before our dead guy even took that dive. So, it’s likely he had a little help.”

  “You know what else is weird? He didn’t scream or holler or anything. If I was pushed off a balcony, I’d be wailing.”

  “That’s a really good point, Brien. Maybe thrown off the balcony is more like it—and already dead or unconscious before he made that big splash in the pool.”

  “So, you want to take a walk as soon as we’re done here? I could use a little exercise—a different kind of exercise,” he said, grinning at me. “We should walk around and do surveillance of that pool area in the daylight. That way we’ll have a better idea of what we’re talking about if the police have more questions for us.” When he and his surly crew left, the detective had warned us that could happen.

  “That’s a great idea. I can put on one of the cutesy resort-wear outfits Jessica insisted on buying me.” I had caved into her pressure and let her buy me designer brand capris—in white! I usually prefer dark colors, not Goth, but Emo, maybe. Retro, definitely. Paired with a little red and white checked tie-off blouse, I got the look I like to wear. Especially with a matching checkered tie for my hair and heart-shaped sunglasses.

  While I did my hair and makeup, Brien showered, shaved, and dressed. It had taken him longer to tank up on breakfast than me, but he can dress much quicker. When I stepped out of the bedroom he was sitting there, totally Hollywood. He reminded me of that actor from the sixties, Robert Redford, or Brad Pitt, maybe. Brien wore a pale pink linen shirt over loose fitting white pants, and a pair of expensive dark shades.

  “Oh my God, she got to you too, didn’t she?”

  “Yep,” he replied. “Jessica told me I had to do it, Kim. Like I have to be the Ken to your Barbie, you know?” What he said didn’t make complete sense, but I got it. The bigger problem at this point was how to leave the room with him looking so fine. Those biceps beckoned. I could tell he was facing the same struggle, eying me head to toe.

  “Do you have a room key?” I asked, breaking the spell before it was too late. He pulled one from his shirt pocket and held it up for me to see.

  “Good! On the count of three we’re heading for that door and we’re leaving, okay? No kissing, no touching until we’re out in the hall.”

  “I don’t know about that Kim—I don’t think making out in the hallway is Barbie and Ken behavior, do you?”

  “Oh, that’s not what I mean...you always take me so literally. What I’m trying to say is hands off, Dude, or we will not get our outdoor exercise in or our exercise outside done...oh, never mind, one, two, three!” On three I dashed to the door, opened it, and sprang out into the hallway. Brien was right behind me, so close I could smell the scent of his freshly washed hair. He took me in his arms and crushed my lips in a kiss as the door slammed shut behind him.

  “It’s okay now, right, Barbie?”

  “Sure Ken, whatever you say,” I babbled, about to drag the man back into the room when the elevator pinged and Detective Mitchum stepped out onto our floor.

  “Well, if it isn’t Gidget and Moondoggie. Headed out to a beach party?” he asked, swaggering as he walked toward us. I turned my head, hoping he wouldn’t see me roll my eyes.

  “Excellent, Detective! I like that way better than Barbie and Ken. Don’t you, Kim?” Brien asked in great earnestness. I burst out laughing as confusion spread across the detective’s face. He obviously did not get Brien’s congenial enthusiasm or the bit about Barbie and Ken. At least Mitchum’s self-satisfied smirk had disappeared. My mirth fled, though, when it dawned on me that a homicide detective was in our presence for the second time today.

  “Detective, I’m sure you didn’t stop by to discuss pop culture with us, did you? What’s up?” He was about to speak again when he spotted the tattoo on my bare arm that had been covered by the bathrobe earlier. As people often do, he didn’t say anything, but gawked at the colorful image of Saraswati that ran shoulder to elbow. Saraswati, the Hindu goddess of knowledge, music, art, and learning had been tattooed on my body in a desperate effort to believe in the beauty of those things despite the ugliness I dealt with day-to-day while working for Mr. P. The detective’s eyes lingered on my tattoo as he spoke.

  “I thought it might interest you to know that the guy we found in the pool was probably dead before he hit the water. He had been beaten to a pulp, and there were also a couple bullet holes in the Santa suit he had on. We won’t know cause of death for sure until the autopsy is complete, but the coroner’s almost certain the gunshots did it.”

  “Are you telling us we’ve got a dead Santa on our hands?” I asked, in utter disbelief.

  “Who would want to kill
Santa?” Brien added, with an incredulous tone in his voice.

  “Hold on, hold on. You have told him there’s not really a Santa, right?” I did not hide the rolling of my eyes this time.

  “That’s not what he means, Detective. Who would want to kill this Santa—or any guy in a Santa suit for that matter? Have you and your crack team made the rounds, banging on doors to rooms above that pool? Besides ours, I mean—even though our room isn’t even directly over the pool. Whoever beat up Santa and shot him must have shoved him off one of them once Santa was dead, or nearly dead...whatever.”

  “I agree with Kim, Detective. I bet that’s where you’ll find the crime scene you’ve been searching for—one of the rooms directly above the pool.” Brien was almost officious in addressing the detective, nodding his head up and down—a man in the know.

  “Thanks for telling me how to do my job. We’re doing exactly that. We haven’t quite worked out the physics surrounding how far he fell given the shape his body was in, or which of the rooms would have provided the right launch trajectory. In the meantime, we’ve stopped maid service and we’re working our way through the rooms, floor by floor. By the way, I did catch that bit about ‘we’ve got a dead Santa on our hands,’ Ms. Reed-Williams. There’s no ‘we’ about this—I’ve got a dead Santa on my hands and I... ” he suddenly realized how ridiculous that sounded. I cut him off.

  “Kim, Detective Mitchum, just call me Kim. Now that our lives are bound together by a shared encounter with death formalities seem trivial, don’t you think?” I meant it, but I was also pressing his buttons to see if I could get a rise out of him. Shame on me.

  “Whoa, that’s profound. You can call me Brien, Detective.” My button-pushing worked, amplified by Brien’s follow up. The detective got a blustery look on his face. His eyes widened and grew a little wild. He moved too, doing a little two-step as he switched his weight from one foot to the other.

  “Okay, this is ridiculous, Kim, Barbie, Gidget—whoever you are. We are not sharing anything, unless you happen to have new information. Specifically, I’m wondering if either of you two lovebirds heard anything that sounded like gunshots last night.”

  “No, Detective, we told you it was totally quiet until we heard people coming down the path and we took off,” Brien replied.

  “And that splash, of course, like we also already told you,” I added.

  “Okay, so no hollering or quarrelling, nothing like that, either?”

  “No nothing, Detective. It’s possible they beat and shot Santa somewhere else, then dragged him upstairs and dropped him. That doesn’t make much sense does it? They sure wanted him dead, though, didn’t they? If they beat him, shot him, and dropped him a few floors into a pool where the percussion could kill him or he’d drown, I’d say they meant business.”

  “Yeah, Kim, but what kind of business do you do in a Santa suit?” A moment of silence followed that question from Brien. I couldn’t think of anything unless he was a member of a Christmas tribute by Chippendale-style dancers. I doubted he’d be wearing an entire Santa suit, though. Bringing that up would irritate Mitchum, so I let it slide and said nothing.

  “How do I know what kind of business he was doing in a Santa suit? Not good business, apparently. We’ve got surveillance video, so while we’re searching for a crime scene here in the hotel we’ll also take a look at those. If they worked him over somewhere else I can’t believe no one reported a couple guys dragging a badly beaten Santa through the hotel lobby. You two seemed to have had the run of the place last night, so what do I know?”

  “The Santa suit puts a whole new angle on ‘I’m going to cancel your Christmas,’ huh?” Brien was adorable, using his best gangster tone when speaking that line from a movie. I loved it. I gave him a little wink.

  “Cute, Moondoggie,” I said. Brien beamed. For some reason the detective couldn’t take any more.

  “I already told you two not to go anywhere, didn’t I? As much as I would like to avoid it, I may need to talk to you again.” He stomped off with his shoulders hunched and hit the button to call the elevator.

  “We’re on our honeymoon—ten more glorious days, so we’re not going anywhere,” I called out loudly as he hit the elevator button a few more times. Under my breath I added, “And not the least bit thrilled about spending any more of that time with you either, Buddy.”

  “Let’s take the stairs, Brien. I feel like Detective Mitchum could use some alone time.” On our way down six flights of stairs it struck me. One way not to have to deal with the miserable, intrusive detective was to get this over with. Brien and I needed to figure out who killed Santa.

  4 The Sanctuary

  Brien and I began a thorough reconnaissance of the pool and hot tub area on the club level terrace of the Sanctuary Resort Hotel & Spa. Entering through the ornate wrought iron gate that Brien had climbed in the dark, I had new respect for his athleticism given its height and spiky top. He had navigated up and over it with agility and speed. It was open, today, although not a soul was in the area. That could have to do with the fact that the beautifully-tiled pool was still being refilled.

  “They must have drained it once the police were done here, Brien.” I whispered. I wasn’t sure why whispering felt appropriate. “If the police cordoned off the pool area with crime scene tape you’d never know it now, would you?”

  “I don’t think that would be good for the ambivalence at a primo place like this.” Don’t ask me how, but I knew what he meant.

  “Not good for the ambiance, Brien. You are so right. Crime scene tape does not send out that sanctuary vibe does it?” As if on cue, the sound of bells pealed—the tower at a monastery on the cliffs overlooking the cove signaled arrival of the noon hour.

  The Sanctuary at Corsario Cove is an exquisite luxury resort we had chosen as our honeymoon destination for several reasons. The stunning cove was one of them. From what I read, the resort is a big draw to the cove area and the nearby town of San Albinus. High-end clients that stay at the resort, and tourists drawn to the Old Town at the center of San Albinus, drop tons of money in the area. The village has a quaint old California feel to it. Eateries, boutiques, galleries and souvenir shops line both sides of a cobblestone promenade with a chapel at one end.

  The chapel is real, and so is part of the promenade. Both are remnants of a hacienda that once belonged to a large landowner during Spanish rule. The town had recently enlarged the chapel to make it a picturesque place for ‘destination weddings.’ They had added to the promenade over the years, too, so that it now ran from one end of the village to the other. Pleasant, in a Disneyesque sort of way, from the photos I’d seen. We hadn’t visited the Old Town area yet, or set foot down in the gorgeous cove, either.

  Elements of a Spanish motif figured prominently in the design of the resort, rooting it in the history of the area. The owner of the hacienda held huge parcels of lands that ran down the sloping hillside to the cove. Upon his death, he had gifted his holdings to monks. During his lifetime he had allowed them to build a real sanctuary on his lands. The monastery still sat there overlooking the sea, the bell tower poking up from amid woods that surround it. It’s from that old sanctuary that the resort took its name.

  The cove allegedly provided another kind of refuge, however, and snippets of that heritage could be found in town and at the resort. Corsario Cove was named for corsarios—the Spanish word for corsairs, more often called pirates. Supposedly, they found the cove an inviting place to hide out, forage, and take on fresh water between episodes of pillaging and plundering. Like most corsairs, they were a mercenary lot, quite literally. Paid by one crown to harass the ships owned by another, money spoke to the pirates that came ashore at Corsario Cove. Town lore had it that the monks, perhaps taking a lead from St. Albinus the patron saint against pirate attacks, bought off the pirates using their meager resources and ardent prayer. They stopped the pirates from wreaking havoc on the locals who showed their gratitude to St. Albinus by giving th
e town his name.

  Making a go of monasticism isn’t so easy these days. In the first decade of the 21st century, the Monks sold off part of their holdings and the resort was built. The whole area reminds me of Avalon Bay at Catalina Island. A scaled down, upscale version of the island community, the Sanctuary resort is paradise for those who can afford it. Fabulous food, lavish suites, a high staff-to-guest ratio, and services of all kinds entice, as well as the glorious seaside setting. There’s high end shopping here at the resort, in addition to all those village shops that vacationers seem to find endlessly fascinating. I’m not a big fan of shopping, but the history of the place grabbed me despite my skepticism about pirates. The local tales about piracy don’t quite fit with the California history I learned in school. I am a fan of spas; a side effect of hanging out with Jessica Huntington. The one here is a little slice of heaven, according to the resort blurb.

  Luxurious amenities, interesting history, and spa services aside, the real reason we chose this spot was for the surfing. Corsario Cove is little known outside surfing circles, and not even widely known among surfers living outside California. That’s a near perfect situation as far as Brien is concerned. A quasi-permanent community of surfers, vagabonds, and beach bums hang out on the less developed side of the cove where the cliffs rise up out of the sea. Their community is tucked away in woods that run to the bottom of the cliffs and almost to the beach.

  We slowly worked our way around the perimeter of the patio that encompassed a large hot tub and pool, decorated with handmade tiles. The area was furnished with lounge chairs, umbrellas, bistro tables and cabanas. Stucco walls, dripping with bougainvillea, lined either side of the expansive terrace we were trying to inspect without becoming distracted by the view. The side walls, connected in front by lacy wrought iron, enclosed the terrace without blocking a spectacular view of the ocean. We stopped to gaze at it. The California sunshine, sparkling like diamonds on the rhythmic movements of the water, enchanted. Brien reached out and took my hand.