by Robena Grant
“Couple of nights ago,” Stanton said. “Yeah, I already checked that out. It was well after our guy’s murder. He says they could never pin anything on his guy in the past, but he’s happy to be on his tail. He’ll report in, in a few days.”
“You don’t think this murder was a hit job, do you?” Jack asked.
“Nah, drug related. A deal gone bad is my thinking.”
Jack knew Juan better than anyone. His murder didn’t happen because of a drug deal and he’d vouch for that with his own life. Stanton didn’t need to know of his personal involvement with the case, though.
“Okay,” Jack said. “I’ve got nothing else to report at the moment.”
“Yeah, same here,” Stanton said. “Call me if you need anything.”
Ten minutes had gone by and Debbie hadn’t left.
Jack knew he’d have to wait until morning to talk with her. He shoved his hands deep into his jacket pockets and stepped off the pavement onto the cobblestone street. You only get one chance to make a good impression, his mother used to say. He’d bungled his chance. The woman was scared of him. He shrugged. Not that he could blame her. He looked like hell, and she’d just found a dead stranger in her backyard, so to speak.
A convertible, with the top down, sped in from the side street and barreled straight toward him. He jumped back up onto the curb. A woman with bright red hair drove the dark blue mustang—a white fluffy dog stood on its back legs and hung over the passenger side with its tongue lolling—and the car pulled to a stop right beside him.
“You lookin’ for a good time, big boy?” the redhead asked.
He took another step back on the pavement. Geez, second time he’d been propositioned in the past two hours. What the hell kind of town is this? He glanced about the one-way street and realized she’d driven in from the wrong direction.
“Ah, no…but thanks anyway.” It paid to be polite to the working women. You never knew what info they could provide. They always had the skinny on every dude in town; new or old, resident, or drifter. This one looked interesting.
“Watcha’ doin’ then…need a massage?”
“Yes,” Jack said, and grinned. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “I saw the light, and figured they might take a late appointment.”
“Nah. I know the gal who owns the joint. She leaves that blue light on for mood. She’d have left by the back door. Parking lot’s around there.”
“Oh.”
He followed the direction of the redhead’s finger with its long bright red fingernail, and recalled Betty’s place had a back door. The Dumpster was out there in the alley, with a small parking lot at one end. Damn. Why didn’t I think of that? Of course she’d leave by the back door.
He shook his head. All he’d had was dolphin therapy; what would have happened if he’d had a massage? His mind was totally messed up. Maybe Debbie had brainwashed him, or maybe the dolphins and the music had. He had a burning question that couldn’t wait until tomorrow for an answer, and it had to do with blue dolphins, not virtual dolphins. But somehow the two were connected and he knew that as well as he knew his own real name was Jackson David Fischer.
“Gotta run.” Jack lifted a hand in farewell, and walked away. When he turned the corner, hurrying past the dark back doors of stores, he loped down the alley until he reached the employee parking lot. It had felt good to run and he started to feel some warmth come to his face. Good. A gold-colored Toyota Camry, the only car left.
He looked around. The alley ran behind the spa, and he moved to the corner where it merged with a cross street. She’d have to exit from one end or the other, and he guessed this one. He leaned against the base of a date palm.
A squeal of brakes caught his attention. Coming out of the driveway from the front entrance to the spa, traveling in reverse on that one-way cobblestoned street, was the same blue car. The tires squealed as the driver spun out into the road, and then took off. This time the red-head had a blond haired passenger, her face burrowed into white dog fur.
****
“Slow down,” Debbie said, and pushed her foot against the dog’s cushion that she’d tossed to the floor of the passenger side of the car.
Rachel peered into the rear-view mirror. “Jack Davis is back there on the corner.” She laughed. “He looks pissed.”
“Good for him.”
Rachel took the corner a little faster than she should. “Yeah, serves him right for scaring you. I’ll scoot around a few side streets and mix it up a bit. In case he follows us.”
Debbie nodded, knowing how Rachel loved to play cops and robbers. “I’ll still have to see him tomorrow,” she said, once she could let go of the death grip she’d had on the door handle. “I should have opened the door.”
“He made another appointment, right?”
“Yes. I told you he bought six sessions. He’s coming in every day next week.”
“You won’t be alone in the spa, will you?” Rachel asked, giving her a quick glance. “If you’re short on staff, I can send someone down from Cliffs. Manuel would scare him off.”
“I’m okay for Monday.” Debbie let Ralph hang over the side of the car, but gripped his collar tight. How he never fell out she had no idea. She pulled her blazer tight with her other hand. It didn’t provide nearly enough warmth for driving with the top down, but she’d keep quiet on that. She wouldn’t let Jack Davis, if that was his real name, catch up to them. “So, tell me what happened,” Debbie said. “What you said to him.”
She listened in amazement to what Rachel had said to the Fed—as they now referred to him—and knew she didn’t exaggerate.
“You played the role of a hooker?”
“Sort of,” Rachel said, and grinned. “I enjoyed it.”
“If he’d been a cop, he could have taken you in for soliciting.”
“The guys all know me.” Rachel laughed. “That would never stick. Hell, Stanton would have his ass in a sling in a second for suggesting anything like that.”
“Are you and Dave dating again?” Debbie asked, and rubbed at her frozen nose. “You said Thanksgiving dinner had been the last straw, and you weren’t seeing him again, and—”
“He came by for lunch today.” Rachel turned and winked. “We made up.”
“Oh.” Debbie thought about that for a second. “I’m glad.”
Rachel grew quiet.
It had been rough for them. Dave’s old girlfriend, Susie, had dumped him and supposedly left town. He hooked up with Rachel. Then Susie’s raped and murdered body had been found on the edge of Zeke Cabrera’s citrus farm. He’d had sex with Susie, in the squad car, the night she’d been murdered. That was a definite no-no even though he’d been off duty. But he’d solved the case, and a prior murder with a link to Susie’s, so he’d gotten probation.
Debbie reached over and touched Rachel’s arm. “It’ll be okay. He’s still healing. He’ll solve this case of the Dumpster murder, and he’ll be flying high again.”
“Yeah.”
“I know how he loves his job.”
“Yeah,” Rachel said. She gripped the steering wheel. “I’m not holding my breath though. Somebody more interesting comes along, then I’m outta’ there.”
“Sure you are.” Debbie patted Rachel’s leg.
“Let’s go to Cliffs and have a drink. You can see your kid in action. Best bartender I’ve ever had, but then again, she learned from me.” Rachel laughed and continued to sing her own praises for a while. She stopped suddenly and shot a sideways glance. “You’re not still annoyed at me for talking Janelle into working at Cliffs, are you?”
Debbie shrugged, in the overall scheme of things, probably not. But still, Rachel should have asked her first. She wouldn’t let her off too easily. “Yeah, I am…a bit.”
“You have to let her make her own decisions. Janelle’s been living away from home for nearly four years, and—”
“I know. But I miss her so much. If she came home to live she could have her own place.
I wouldn’t expect her to live with me.” Debbie turned to look at Rachel who had her mouth all scrunched up. “I told her that. Besides, you know I don’t like her working in a bar.”
“Yeah, but she likes it.” Rachel gripped the steering wheel and avoided eye contact. “That’s the point I’m trying to make here. Not wanting to get in an argument, or tell you how to run your life or anything. But seriously, you have to relax your grip. Get on with your own life.”
Debbie tensed, her shoulders tightening. “I’d rather not talk about it.” She looked down at Ralph, tempted to tell Rachel she used her dog as a substitute child, but that would be mean. The child she’d never had, because she was afraid of committing. She chewed at the inside of her mouth instead. Dark houses flashed by. Why get into an argument? They both knew well the other’s idiosyncrasies.
“I’ll park in the back,” Rachel said softly, and turned into the driveway at Cliffs.
Debbie nodded, still deep in thought about Janelle, safety, strangers, and murderers. Maybe she did need to relax more. Her town was relatively safe, and even if it wasn’t, she couldn’t make these things never happen again. The two murders last year had been about greed, and that murderer had been a local businessman. It’d shocked the entire valley. There was no connection between this murder and the two earlier ones. This had been a random killing, and Joe was probably right, it related to drugs. And although she’d taken it upon herself to round up the business owners and she had a personal interest in bringing the murderer to justice, she questioned if she’d gotten too involved. Hell, she’d only had one job of PI moonlighting so far. She needed more skills.
She looked over her shoulder.
No sign of Jack Davis and his car with the Montana license plate. A wave of sadness washed through her. She straightened and scowled into the darkness. What the hell was that about?
****
Jack gave a slight tilt of his head toward the man who sat slumped within his vehicle at the far end of the dark parking lot. He left a couple of spaces between their vehicles and turned off the ignition. The guy kept his head down, started up his white van, and drove off without turning on his lights. Strange. Jack quickly averted his gaze from the van when the blue mustang zipped across the parking lot and around behind the bar and restaurant.
He’d figured the women would come here to Cliffs. Debbie would probably roast Janelle for sending some creepy, scary guy to her spa. He needed to get in there and explain. He pulled into the valet parking lane for about the tenth time in two days.
“Thanks,” he said to the attendant, pocketed his ticket, and hurried inside.
He took a couple of deep breaths, casually approached the bar, and slid onto a stool. Janelle hadn’t noticed him yet. Had her mother spoken to her? He pulled a dish of peanuts toward him, grabbed a handful and shook a few into his mouth.
Trig had a captive audience at the far end of the bar. Jack noted the golden brown skin of his male companion. The guy had slicked-back black hair and a tiny wedge of hair beneath his lower lip, and he wore a cream colored suit and silk shirt. A bit over-dressed for this bar, and for fall, but he might be European. Trig’s expression got angry. The suave man seemed cool as ice. Jack turned away, pulled out his cell phone, and dialed Stanton. He spoke all of five words, and then shoved the cell back into his pocket.
“How did the treatment go?” Janelle asked.
Jack looked up. “Fabulous.”
“Told you so…going back for more?”
“You bet,” he said, and grinned.
“Bud?”
He nodded and glanced down the bar. The crowd had become denser in the last few minutes, and he couldn’t see the two men. Had they left? Damn. Stanton would be on his way over. His stomach rumbled angrily. He needed dinner. He turned and searched the crowd for the women.
“You scared the living hell out of me.”
Jack swung around at the sound of the female voice close to his ear. Debbie stood behind the bar, both elbows pressed on the top of it, her elfin chin propped on linked hands.
“Sorry,” he said.
She stood tall then, or as tall as her petite frame could. Her gray eyes were wide and they sparkled with annoyance. Beside her, the redhead had tucked the fluffball under her arm. A big guy in a white shirt and black pants, with a white bar towel tossed over one shoulder—Manuel it said on his name tag—came up behind the two women. He glowered at Jack, who knew not to mess with any of them, even the fluffball.
“What was so important that it couldn’t wait until tomorrow?” Debbie asked.
Janelle slid him his beer, and a quick raised-eyebrow glance that said, “you better ’fess up and make it good,” then she went back to serving customers.
“I’m really sorry,” Jack said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” He took a swallow of the cold beer. “I wanted to ask you about the blue dolphin—”
“Dolphin Therapy,” Debbie said.
He snapped his fingers and grinned. By the look on her face, she thought him dim-witted. “It’s amazing. Every time I think of dolphins, the blue comes out. Why is that? Is there a restaurant down here by that name, or a bar, or a club, any establishment?”
Everyone shook their head, even the dog.
“You’re positive?” He took another swig of beer.
“Absolutely,” Debbie said. “Why? Are you an investigator? Undercover cop, maybe?”
“Do I look like a cop?”
The redhead gave a short nervous laugh.
“I’m a confused tourist,” Jack said, and sat taller. Damn, what part of his cover needed an overhaul? He rubbed a hand up his back. “And I’ve got an aching back.”
“You down here to play golf?” Manuel asked.
“Yes. Love the game. Do you?”
The guy glared at him. “No.”
“Oh, too bad,” Jack said. “I’d like a partner. I’m playing Eagle Rock tomorrow, or was it Red Rock?”
“I’m Rachel Copeland,” the redhead said. She held out her hand. “Sorry about the mix up before. I’m the owner of Cliffs.”
Jack’s eyebrows shot up. The owner of the place? He shook hands. “Jack Davis.”
“I was protecting my friend back there, at the spa,” Rachel said, and gave a nervous laugh. “But listen, I’m a golfer. What’s your tee time? Maybe I could join you?”
He had no game tomorrow, and by the look of disbelief that Debbie shot his way he’d bet she knew. “I can’t remember if it’s at eight, or nine. I’m at the Embassy Suites. Give me a call…room 501.”
Rachel smiled, nodded. “I’ll do that. Deb, you should join us. I’m heading down to the Salton Sea first, to do a photo shoot. I heard a flock of Canadian geese arrived, also there were white pelicans spotted this weekend.”
Debbie frowned at him, and then at Rachel, and Jack stared down at his beer. He’d misjudged Rachel. She wasn’t a hooker. She was a business owner, a bird watcher, and a photographer.
“I can’t,” Debbie said. “I’m doing the sunrise hike at the cove.”
“A six a.m. Bump and Grind?” Rachel asked.
Jack’s head shot up again, and a smile played on his lips. His eyes met Debbie’s scowl. It sure was fun messing with this prim and proper lady, but he suppressed the smile.
“It’s the name of a hiking trail,” she said coldly.
Jack bit at the inside of his cheek. “Sounds interesting, I could meet you there first…I ah…I like hiking.” He’d been about to say he also liked an early morning bump and grind.
Debbie turned and grabbed Rachel’s elbow. “You said you needed my opinion on a private matter, in the office,” she said, keeping her voice so low that it almost sounded like a hiss.
Rachel frowned, and Debbie scowled even harder and jerked her head toward the door.
“Yeah, sure,” Rachel said, blinking rapidly as the silent message finally hit home. She put the dog on the floor. “Come on Ralph, let’s go. Excuse us for a moment, Jack.”
Jack
nodded, and picked up his beer glass. Subtle they were not. Manuel gave him another skeptical glance and went back to work. He was good at waiting, and he always sensed when things were beginning to fall into place, not that he suspected the women of wrongdoing, or deliberately withholding information. One or both ladies were more involved in the recent happenings in Rancho Almagro than even they realized.
****
“Are you out of your mind?” Debbie asked when Rachel closed the office door. “You’re going to play golf with Jack?”
“I want to check him out.” She frowned, snagged her bottom lip with her top teeth for a moment or two. “I suppose I could ask Dave about him. What do you think?”
Debbie frowned. She wanted to solve this case herself and prove to Dena Cabrera that she’d make a great assistant P.I. Then she could moonlight as much as possible and leave the spa in the hands of her staff for the early morning hours, and make more money. If Janelle decided on a graduate degree, she’d need to pad the nest egg. Besides, putting Dave onto Jack would be like latching a pit bull terrier to Jack’s leg. Could she do that to a stranger? All he’d done wrong was to knock on her door with the intention of asking her a question.
“Let me get to know him over the next couple of days,” Debbie said. “If I think there’s anything suspicious I’ll let you know. It might be best not to say anything to Dave.”
“Yeah, you’re right. He’s got a short fuse. Don’t want him messing up his good behavior record.”
“Thanks for getting my back. Come on,” Debbie said, and linked her arm through Rachel’s arm. “I’ll buy you one of those chocolate martinis.”
“Yeah,” Rachel scoffed. “Like I’d let you buy me a drink in my own place.”
Back in the bar, Debbie felt a pang of disappointment when she noticed Jack had left.
Janelle finished serving her customer. “Stanton came in,” she said, and lowered her voice. “Then he left. Seconds later Jack tossed down some money, and he left.”
Debbie and Rachel stared at each other wide-eyed, then almost ran to the front door.
“Do you think they’re working the case together?” Rachel asked in a hoarse whisper.
