Dark Tide (Adrien English Mysteries 5)

by Lanyon, Josh

  Something glimmered beneath the water. Something else, long and pale, glided silently past. A shark?

  I leaned over, careful not to rest my weight on the railing.

  Jake’s hand fastened around my upper arm, and I looked back in surprise. His expression was unexpectedly stern.

  “We ought to eat and get going.”

  “Okay. Sure.”

  He let go of me as I turned away from the railing. I smiled quizzically. But then it occurred to me that whatever this was, maybe it wasn’t something to kid him about.

  We walked back to the shore, our feet pounding the wood planks. The sand was cushiony and slippery beneath our shoes. When we reached the café there was a sign in the window.

  TO ALL OUR LOYAL CUSTOMERS:

  THANK YOU FOR TEN YEARS OF YOUR BUSINESS AND FRIENDSHIP. IT IS WITH GREAT REGRET THAT WE WILL BE CLOSING OUR DOORS ON JULY 19TH. WE WISH YOU EVERY SUCCESS AND HAPPINESS.

  EARL AND PETA

  “Sad,” I said. “Ten years.”

  “Things change.”

  I threw him a quick look; his face was impassive behind the sunglasses. His cop face.

  The door to the café was white now, but beneath the milky white was a blue shadow. We went inside, went up the short flight of steps to a big room remarkable for the enormous windows looking out over the ocean. There were a number of plastic chairs and tables though only one other couple was eating lunch — and complaining about the food, if I read their expressions correctly.

  I recognized the old decor — what was left of it — from the photos I’d seen on the Web. The zigzagging wood inlays and wavy wrought-iron handrails were long gone, but the blue-and-gray-tiled mosaics of the sea still adorned the long walls, and the ceiling was covered in the remnants of grimy, dust-coated latticework meant to counterfeit fishing nets.

  A skinny, leathered woman in shorts, halter top, and flip-flops took our order. I ordered grilled cheese and asked to substitute the fries for a piece of fruit. Her expression was priceless. Jake ordered the fishwich.

  I stared out the big picture windows at the boats dotting the blue water.

  “Thanks,” I said to Jake.

  He smiled back, that wry grimace. I thought of Guy’s comment about Jake’s humoring me. I thought Guy probably had a point. But in certain ways Jake had been humoring me for as long as I’d known him. Maybe not when he’d suspected me of murder; certainly from our time at Pine Shadow Ranch. For such a hard ass, he had always been strangely indulgent with me.

  Lunch arrived on paper plates. We dug in.

  “How’s the fishwich?” I inquired.

  “Old. How’s the grilled cheese?”

  “It’s hard to go wrong with grilled cheese.”

  He nodded.

  “But somehow they’ve managed.”

  He laughed.

  The play of sun on the water was almost hypnotic. It glowed softly against the old dance floor. I really had to get over my desire to sleep all the time. I glanced at Jake and caught him studying me.

  I thought of something I’d been wanting to ask him. “You never said how your family reacted to your coming out.”

  He leaned back in the plastic chair, which gave a protesting squeak. “You know those stories you hear about someone finally coming out to their family, only to hear that their folks knew it all the time?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s not how it was.”

  “Oh.” I looked at the greasy remnants of my grilled cheese. “Lisa claims now she always knew, but I remember how it was. She was flabbergasted.”

  “This was when you were in college?”

  I nodded. “She did come to terms with it pretty fast. Within the course of a weekend, as I recall.”

  “I think it’s harder to accept coming from a forty-three-year-old married man. They think I’m having some kind of midlife crisis.”

  “Right. Sorry.”

  “My dad and Danny, my youngest brother, are having the hardest time with it.” He shrugged. “And Katie, of course.”

  I swallowed hard. I didn’t like thinking about Kate. I resented feeling guilty about her, because I’d seen Jake first — or at least about the same time she had — and, right or wrong, had convinced myself I had as much a right to him as she did. Of course that was all bullshit. He’d married her, made a commitment to her, and that had changed everything — should have, anyway.

  “Do you think they’ll come around?”

  “I think they’re disappointed and shocked and confused and angry.” His powerful shoulders moved beneath the navy polo. “I hope they’ll come around.”

  “They love you.”

  “Yeah, well.” His eyes met mine levelly. “It’s not always enough, is it?”

  No. Unfortunately.

  “Did she — Kate — know about me?”

  “She does now. Before? No.” He gave me another of those clear-eyed, direct looks from beneath his brows. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? If I’d been able to tell people about you, about us…”

  It was too late for this. Too late to keep wandering down memory lane, crashing into the same old dead-end barricades, wondering why we hadn’t turned left or right or reversed when we still had a chance.

  And yet I heard myself say coolly, “You told Paul Kane about me.”

  He reddened. “Yes. Inadvertently. And I’m sorry for that, for putting you in his crosshairs. Please believe that I never gave him your name or discussed you. He just knew enough to put the pieces together when I got drunk and maudlin one night. He was very good at filling in the blanks.”

  “Wasn’t he, though?” I brooded briefly. If I were completely honest, there was a part of me still jealous of Paul Kane, still curious about their relationship, still — no matter how much I denied it — angry.

  Jake pushed his plate away, wiped his hands on his paper napkin. “We should get going.”

  I nodded and dropped my crumpled napkin on the paper plate.

  * * * * *

  Sea View Manor was a Spanish-style hacienda with a nice view of the ocean and the green mountains. It was surrounded by a tiled garden filled with ornamental cactus and bougainvillea.

  The parking lot was fenced by tall boxwood hedge. On the other side of the hedge was a gloomy-looking hotel, also built in the Spanish style, but by depressed Spaniards.

  Jake and I strolled up the front walk lined by yellow-edged agave succulents. Ahead of us, nurses pushed elderly, bent patients in wheelchairs.

  “I hope this isn’t going to be too much of a shock for the old guy,” I remarked.

  “Death doesn’t usually frighten the very elderly.”

  I thought about how much cooler I’d been about the possibility of death when I’d figured it was inevitable. Not that it wasn’t inevitable. As Christie wrote, “Death comes as the end.” For all of us.

  We were greeted in the breezy main reception area by a crisp young man in Brooks Brothers trousers and shirt who introduced himself as Mr. Vaughn. “Welcome. Mr. Hale is looking forward to your visit. We were surprised to hear he was having company. He doesn’t have many visitors.” He smiled. “You’re not family?”

  We denied being family.

  “Well, he’s quite a character. You’ll see.”

  That sounded promising.

  “How is he today?” Jake asked.

  Vaughn looked thoughtful. “Today is one of his good days. He’s very frail, though. You’ll have to keep your visit short.”

  I asked, “What’s wrong with him?”

  “His heart mostly. He has emphysema as well. Most people have multiple issues at his age.”

  I thought of that dapper young man with the constant cig in his smiling mouth.

  Mr. Vaughn summoned a young woman in a pastel jumpsuit, who led us down a rabbit warren of tiled and antiseptic hallways to a small room overlooking the garden. There was a hospital bed, but there was also a nice little patio on the other side of a sliding-glass door. Yellow bougainvillea casc
aded like a golden waterfall over a low stucco wall. A green hummingbird was dive-bombing its reflection in the glass door.

  The nurse or attendant asked us to ring for her when we were done visiting, and she departed.

  “And who might you be?” inquired the stooped figure in the wheelchair, turning away from the kamikaze hummingbird.

  The years had not been kind to Dan Hale. You could still see the ghost of the fierce young man in the gnarled ruins of the old. Unlike Nick Argyle, who was probably around the same age but still hale and hearty, Hale looked every one of his years. In fact, he looked uncannily like the skeleton in the floor of Cloak and Dagger: prominent bones, sunken eyes, sparse hair.

  I felt my chest tighten watching him. I’d never really considered the stark prospect of myself in extreme old age, because I hadn’t figured I’d live to an age where I needed to worry about nursing homes or assisted living. If you didn’t marry, if you didn’t have kids…who looked out for you?

  “Jake Riordan. We spoke on the phone. This is Adrien English.”

  Hale offered a liver-spotted hand, and we shook. “I remember, I remember,” he said testily, waving us to a couple of uncomfortable plastic chairs. “You called to talk about Jay Stevens.” Hale nodded and kept nodding. He gave a harsh laugh. “Jay Stevens. Kee-rist.”

  “You remember him pretty well?”

  “Oh hell yeah. He and the Moonglows used to play at the Tides.” I could see the glow of old pride. “The Tides. That was a club I used to own in Malibu. Best damn jazz club on the coast. Everybody used to come out there, though there wasn’t much out that way in those days. Seals. We used to get seals up on the beach sometimes. And sharks.” He chortled at the idea of sharks.

  “How long did Jay and the Moonglows play at the club?”

  “Two years. Near as.”

  “How did you happen to hire them?”

  “Jay contacted me and said they were looking to move out West. They’d been playing the clubs back East for a couple of years, to pretty good reviews. The piano player, Paulie St. Cyr, had lung trouble. He’d been advised to move west to a drier climate, so they were looking for a steady gig in California.”

  “And you hired them based on that?”

  “I had them out to audition. They were good. Very good. And they had a new record. Seemed like they were really going to go places.” His face had a melancholy cast to it. “And there was Jinx.”

  Jinx Stevens. The femme fatale with the pert ponytail.

  “Jinx was the singer?”

  “Sounded a lot like a young Dinah Shore. Yeah, she did a rendition of ‘Every Time We Say Goodbye’ that didn’t leave a dry eye in the house. Yep, Jay Stevens and the Moonglows used to perform every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. On Friday and Saturday we had guest bands.” You could still hear the old satisfaction. “I got some of the biggest names in the business to come out and play for me. Goodman — that was a night — Ella, Sinatra… We were out in the middle of nowhere, but they all came.”

  Jake took over. “Sir, they found what they believe to be Stevens’s body — his skeleton — buried in the floor of what’s left of the hotel where he used to room. According to the preliminary forensics, it looks like a potential homicide. Do you have any thoughts on that?”

  Hale started laughing. It was only the threat of disintegrating into another coughing jag that stopped him. “That’s exactly like Jay. Turning up when it’s too late to do anyone any good.”

  “How’s that?”

  It was lost in a coughing fit. I feared he might expire right in front of us. Finally he managed a strangled “always was a contrary bastard.”

  Jake asked, “What did you think happened to him?”

  The watery black eyes studied him. “Thought he did a flit, if you want to know the truth.”

  “Would he have left his sister and the band like that?” I asked.

  “Footloose and fancy-free, that was Jay.”

  “Wasn’t there a girlfriend?”

  It was interesting watching Jake question this very old, very frail man. He took his time, and he was surprisingly gentle — surprising, if you didn’t know him.

  Hale’s mouth moved, but no words came out. Maybe that was nothing more than an oxygen issue, because his voice sounded normal enough — in its creaky, wheezy way. “Kee-rist, I’d forgot about her.”

  “Would you remember her name?” That was Jake.

  “Louise…something. She was a college professor or some damn thing.”

  “A college professor?”

  He laughed wheezily at my surprise. “The ladies all fell for Jay. He was a very hard guy not to like. Even when you wanted to kill him.”

  “Did you ever want to kill him?” Jake’s voice was bland.

  Hale laughed again. “Sure. But I didn’t.” He eyed Jake thoughtfully. “Ex-cop?”

  Jake nodded curtly.

  “I can tell.”

  I didn’t want him veering off on that track, not least because I wasn’t sure if this was painful or not for Jake, and so I asked, “This Louise hired a PI to find him after he disappeared, didn’t she?”

  His eyes narrowed to squinty lines. “Did she? I don’t remember that.”

  Jake said, “Had you heard rumors that Stevens was suspected of taking part in a number of uptown burglaries?”

  “You’ve been talking to Nick Argyle,” Hale said shrewdly. “Argyle was convinced Jay was the Westside Cat Burglar. He was always hanging around threatening to put Jay behind bars…” His expression altered as if something had occurred to him.

  “What?” Jake pressed.

  Hale reflected. “That might have been partly because of Jinx. I always thought he had a thing for Jinx, Argyle did. Kee-rist, who didn’t?” He grinned, a shade of the sharp young blade he’d once been. “Yeah, used to sit there drinking my booze and eating her alive with those beady eyes every time she was on the bandstand. Or maybe it was the thought of locking Jay up and throwing away the key.” Another of those scary, hacking cough-laughs.

  “So you don’t think there was any truth to the rumor that Jay was a cat burglar?”

  “Nah.”

  I was pretty sure that was a lie. I was careful not to look at Jake.

  “How did Jay take being suspected by LAPD?”

  “Thought it was a big joke.”

  “He didn’t worry about it?”

  “Nah.” Hale said sardonically, “Jay wasn’t a worrier.”

  “Looking back, can you think of anyone who might have wanted Jay out of the way?”

  “Argyle,” Hale returned promptly.

  “Argyle? The cop?”

  “Sure.” He was amused at my surprise. “He was determined to put Jay behind bars. He thought Jay was laughing up his sleeve at him — and he was, of course.”

  “Anyone else?”

  Hale’s black gaze flicked to Jake, and he shook his head. That time I was positive he was lying.

  “Was Jay Stevens a very good musician?” I asked.

  The rheumy eyes focused on me. “He was; he was.” He smiled faintly at a faraway memory. “One hell of a musician. Had a very fluid style. Fun, energetic. He didn’t improvise the way Goodman did, but his playing was…engaging.”

  I remembered Nick Argyle had used the same word. “Engaging.”

  “Do you think the Moonglows would have made it to the big time if Jay hadn’t disappeared?”

  “No.”

  “No?” He sounded absolutely positive, which made me curious. “You said they were good, that people said they were going places.” I could see Jake wondering where I was headed with this line of questioning. I wasn’t sure myself.

  “Music was changing. It was all Frank Sinatra, and I don’t mean his swing numbers, or bebop. And then those goddamned bobby-soxers wanting to hear Frankie Avalon or rock and roll. You ever hear that song ‘Go Bobby Soxer’?”

  “No.”

  “Yes,” Jake said, and I looked at him in surprise. “Chuck Berry,”
he explained.

  “I wish those broads had gone. ‘Wiggle like a whimsical fish.’” Hale shook his head in disgust. “Those goddamned kids ruined music. It was all jungle bunnies and limeys after that. Even Jinx didn’t want to sing the old-fashioned stuff anymore. That’s what she called it. Old-fashioned.”

  “Jinx was leaving the band?”

  I couldn’t interpret Hale’s expression. “Well, she didn’t make an announcement or anything. We were going to get married, though. Everyone knew that. And I didn’t want any wife of mine on the road. Jay was talking about moving on.”

  I wasn’t clear whether Jinx had been retiring due to the new direction in music or because she planned on settling down with Hale. I looked at Jake. I could see by his expression, he thought we’d hit gold.

  “How did Jinx take her brother’s disappearance?” he inquired.

  Hale began to cough. The spell went on so long, I started thinking we should call someone. Finally he calmed down.

  “Sorry. What was the question?”

  “How did Jinx take her brother’s disappearance?”

  “Not good. Not good at all.”

  “What did she think happened to him?” A thought occurred to me. “Who did report Jay missing?”

  “Jinx. I told her she was being silly.” Hale grimaced. “Turned out she was right.”

  I said tentatively, “You and Jinx didn’t end up getting married?”

  “No.”

  It would have taken a colder resolve than mine to broach that fortress. I went a different direction. “Did you stay in touch with her? What happened to her?”

  He stared at me for a long time. “She died,” he said at last.

  “I’m sorry.”

  He waved it away. I wanted to ask more about Jinx, but it was obvious he was worn-out.

  Jake rose, saying, “This has been very helpful, sir. Would it be all right to contact you with any follow-up questions?”

  There was a wicked glint in Hale’s eyes. “Sure. Come back. It’s nice to get company in this crypt. I don’t get much in the way of callers. Even the cops are welcome now.”

  Jake seemed thoughtful as we stepped outside the nursing-home’s front doors.

  I said, “What do you think?”