Bikini Baristas: Ted Higuera Series Book 4

by Pendelton Wallace

  “What if someone does answer the door?” Maria asked.

  “Then I’ll pretend like it’s the wrong address. The number on the package is for a house on the next street over.”

  Ted got out of the van and walked up to the front door.

  As far as he could tell, Anderson didn’t employ any housekeeper, cleaning service or anyone else who would be there during the day. Anderson’s Facebook page made no mention of pets, so Ted wasn’t too worried about a dog.

  He rang the door bell and waited a couple of minutes before trying again. No answer.

  He pulled the lock pick set that Catrina gave him from his pocket and opened the door then turned and waved at Maria.

  Good girl. She started up the van and pulled out of the driveway.

  Ted entered the house. All was quiet. Just inside the front door an entryway opened to a living room. Beyond that, was a dining room and kitchen. A hallway led off to his right. A set of stairs led down on his left.

  Downstairs. That’s where he’d find it.

  He headed down the steps.

  The basement was fully finished. A big screen TV dominated one wall. A sofa and big recliner sat opposite the television. On the opposite wall was what he was looking for.

  A gun safe.

  It was a nice model, all heavy steel with an electronic keypad for the lock. Big mistake.

  Ted reached into his pocket, pulled out a small electronic device, held it up to the safe and felt the click as the magnets locked it in place. He pushed the button and watched a series of numbers flash across the LED screen.

  After about ten seconds, the light on the lower right side of the box turned from red to green and the box beeped.

  Ted tried the handle on the safe. It opened.

  And there, ladies and gentlemen, was what he was looking for, a well-maintained 1903 Springfield 30.06 rifle. The maple wood stock and barrel had been cut down to make it easier to handle. An expensive looking telescopic sight was mounted on top of the rifle.

  Just the thing for a little urban hunting.

  He couldn’t take the rifle with him, illegal search and seizure. Now that he was sure, he’d call Tom Bremen who could get a search warrant based on information from a confidential informant. Armed with the warrant, Bremen could take the rifle to Seattle’s crime lab and run ballistics matches to the bullet the docs pulled out of Cat.

  Ted knew it would be a match.

  “Ted Higuera, right?”

  Ted spun around, startled by the voice.

  “How?”

  “You’re Catrina Flaherty’s associate, aren’t you?” Dan Anderson was holding a .38 caliber revolver in his hand. “I think you better put the rifle back. It’s not loaded anyway, gun safety you know.”

  Ted returned the rifle to the gun safe. “How did you get in here? I had a look out.”

  “Oh, the white delivery van? I saw it parked in the street. I parked the next street over, came through the backyard. The silent alarm went off in my office; I knew someone had broken in. I wanted to see who was in my house.”

  “It’s not very smart, you know,” Ted said. “Keeping the rifle. The police can match it to the bullet they pulled out of Cat.”

  “No way I’d ever get rid of that. My dad gave it to me when I was thirteen. They’ll only test it if they suspect me. And they’ll never suspect me. Why would they? What do I have to gain by shooting a PI?”

  “That’s the question I’ve been asking myself. Why would you shoot her? What do you have to gain?”

  “Let’s go upstairs.” Anderson waved the gun at Ted and backed away from the staircase. “I think we need to take a little drive.”

  Ted hesitated a moment, thought better of it then headed up the stairs. “So why shoot Cat?”

  “Circumstances changed. At the time, I thought she was getting too close to finding Dick. I couldn’t have Dick show up, you know.”

  “Have Dick show up?” Ted stopped mid-stair and turned to look down at Anderson. “But you killed him.”

  “No I didn’t. As a matter of fact, I didn’t think he was dead. I was sure he’d taken the money and run. But I hoped that we’d never hear from him again. If the courts ruled him dead then my sister could collect the insurance. That was before I got a call from Detective Wainwright. Now that they’ve ruled him dead, things have changed.”

  “If you didn’t kill him, how did he turn up dead? Who killed him?”

  Anderson waved the pistol at Ted, in a sign to keep moving.

  “I always suspected the mob. I told your boss that Dick was laundering money for the mob. I think that he crossed them and they iced him. No matter who killed him, they did me a big favor.”

  Ted reached the top of the stairs.

  “To the left. We’re going to the garage.”

  Ted turned left. “They did you a favor?”

  “Yes, now that he’s been ruled dead, murdered, Karen can collect on the insurance. Double indemnity.”

  “What good does that do you?”

  “My poor neurotic sister doesn’t have any kids, any heirs. I’m her next-of-kin. If anything should happened to her, I would inherit her estate. As a matter of fact, as her financial advisor, I have been working with her on estate planning. She’s writing a will, you know.”

  “Don’t tell me, let me guess,” Ted said. “You’re her heir. Right?”

  “You’re not as dumb as you look, and poor Karen, so grief-stricken; so clumsy and accident prone.” Anderson opened the driver’s door to an old Ford F-150 pickup. “Now get in. We’re going to take a ride. You drive.”

  Anderson pushed the button on the garage door opener. As the door rolled up, a black and white streak flashed into the garage.

  Popo hit Anderson with one hundred and ninety pounds of fury. Anderson went flying, the gun clattering across the garage.

  “Grrr...” Popo stood over Anderson, feet splayed, drool dripping from his lips.

  “Down, Popo, sit,” Maria shouted as she ran into the garage. “Good boy.”

  Ted grabbed Anderson and dragged him to his feet. “You’re one lucky son of a bitch. If that dog hadn’t disarmed you, I’d have killed you.”

  Anderson threw a punch at Ted. It was a big mistake. The genteel accountant was no match for the street fighter from the barrio.

  Ted blocked the punch with his left and drove a hard right into Anderson’s stomach. The accountant folded over. Ted caught him with a huge upper cut on the jaw. Anderson lifted off of his feet and landed in a pile on the floor.

  Popo barked and lunged forward. Maria pulled back on his leash. “Popo, SIT!”

  Anderson crawled on the floor. Ted kicked him, hard, in the stomach.

  Anderson cried out and collapsed in a heap.

  Ted started to pull his leg back for another kick when he felt someone tugging at his arm.

  “Ted, that’s enough. He’s down.”

  Ted gave him another kick.

  “Ted, stop!”

  The voice came from a place very far away. The red faded from his vision.

  Ted stood, fist balled up, breathing hard. “Maria, call 9-1-1. Tell them that we’ve caught a murderer.”

  Chapter 28

  Amanda Moyer had been a nurse for nearly twenty-years. Graduating from UCLA, she had never ventured far from her parents’ home in The Valley. The most exciting thing she’d ever done was take a Caribbean cruise with her best friend.

  Now she was moving there.

  The American Airlines jet deposited her at San Juan International Airport and she was on her way. She managed to work her way through customs and fight the crowds for a cab.

  “The Condado District,” she told the cabbie and gave him an address.

  This was like something out of a James Bond movie. She sat in the cab’s backseat and pictured herself as a Bond girl. Tall and blonde, she still had the figure for Ursula Andress’s bikini and could picture herself with the knife on her belt and the shell in her hand, coming out of the s
urf where he’d be waiting for her.

  Dick Randall was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to her. He’d opened up her world. It was a whirlwind romance, dinner under the stars, boat trips to Catalina Island, partying until dawn.

  Then he’d asked for her help. He needed to disappear because of some legal troubles, trumped up charges. Dick needed to get away, wanted her to run away with him.

  It really wasn’t that hard. As a registered nurse, drawing the blood was child’s play. She stored two pints in her freezer, waiting for his call.

  Pulling the tooth was something else. She was a nurse, not a dentist. Still, she had managed to “requisition” the Novocain and pull the molar, at no little discomfort to Dick, because he said it was all part of the plan. Stealing the cadaver from the UCLA student lab, that had been a little more difficult.

  First of all, she had to find one Dick’s height and weight. Then it had to be approximately his age too. But she was motivated. The thought of living happily ever after with her dream man made anything possible.

  She met Dick at the prescribed spot in the California desert where he torched his pickup truck and even fired a shot through the window to make it look good. She took him to his stashed car where they moved the cadaver into his trunk then she drove back to LA to wait. Wait a month, he’d told her, before she could join him in Puerto Rico. The wait was to keep the police from being too suspicious.

  After Dick was gone the police would find the blood and tooth and rule him dead. Then she would join him and they’d live happily ever after.

  He was Michael Douglas to her Kathleen Turner in Romancing the Stone.

  The cab pulled up to the condo complex and deposited her at the address Dick had given her. The key worked and she let herself in.

  “Dick! Dickie! I’m here.”

  The condo was silent. She walked from the living room to the bedroom. No Dick. Oh well, he must be out.

  Amada made herself at home and began unpacking.

  That was strange though, none of Dick’s clothes were in the closet or drawers. Maybe she’d gotten here before him.

  She wandered out onto the Lanai. They had a beautiful view of San Juan Bay. They were going to be so happy here.

  The kitchen was bare too. She better make a run to the grocery store to be ready for him when he got there.

  But Dick Randall didn’t come. Not in the first day. Not in the first week. She stayed in the condo and waited, but heard no word from him. At the end of the month, the condo manager wanted another month’s rent.

  What was she to do?

  ****

  Ted pulled Catrina’s Ford Explorer into the pickup area at Harborview Hospital. Maria, Chris and Hope were already there, getting Catrina ready to be discharged.

  He parked the car and rode the elevator up to Catrina’s room.

  “Ride’s here,” he said.

  “’Bout time.” Catrina’s grin lit up the room.

  Catrina was decked out in a dark blue sweat suit with a baby blue stripe on the arms and legs. Ted hated sweat suits, but had to admit that she looked fine, but then, Catrina looked fine in anything.

  “Have the doctors released her yet?” he asked.

  “All done.” Hope waved a handful of papers at him. “Chris went down to the pharmacy to fill her prescriptions.”

  “You sure gave us a scare.” Ted walked over to his partner, sitting on the side of the bed.

  “Come here.” Catrina opened her arms. “It’s sure good to be rejoining the living again.” She pulled Ted into a big embrace.

  “I talked to Tom this morning,” Ted told her. “He says that they can’t tie Anderson to Randall’s murder, but they’ve got him for shooting you.”

  “The bastard.”

  “He says that ballistics matched the rifle we found at his house with the bullet they pulled out of you. He’ll go down for attempted murder.”

  “Hey, Ted.” Chris entered the room with a small white bag in his hand. “Everybody ready?”

  “Let me get the nurse,” Maria said and left the room.

  “So, what’s going to happen to Karen?” Hope asked.

  “I set her up with Chris,” Ted said. “We got rid of her shyster lawyer.”

  “I’ll get her a reputable accountant and a business advisor,” Chris said. “Karen is going to run the Beach Hut coffee stands as a legitimate business. I had one of the guys at HB&J take a look at her financials. He thinks she can make it. The infusion of the insurance money sure isn’t going to hurt.”

  “I hear she’s hiring guys for her coffee stands, you know, like Chippendales,” Hope said. “She’ll pack the place.”

  Maria arrived, with a nurse pushing a wheel chair. “Cat, Hope and I want to take you to the new Beach Hut for coffee. We want to be Karen’s first customers.”

  Catrina smiled. She gazed at her young friends. Life could be worse.

  “Higuera, you did okay. You wrapped this case up. I guess you have the makings of a PI after all.”

  “I had a good teacher.”

  Chapter 29

  Italy’s Amalfi Coast was beautiful in the fall. Green cliffs plunged into the cerulean blue waters; white buildings with red tile roofs clung to the speck of land between the water and the mountains.

  It was like a fairy tale. Dick Randall’s first entry into Italy had been in Naples. That’s where he’d met Angela. Like many Neapolitans, she was tall and blonde with blue eyes, just his type.

  After a week in the famous port city, they set out down the coast in a rented Fiat convertible. The town of Amalfi was perfect. No one would ever look for him here.

  “I did it, you know,” he told Angela, as the waiter at the sidewalk café refilled their wine glasses. They sat at a table covered with a red and white checkered table-cloth. The café was just off the main square. The tower of the cathedral reached for the sky across the square.

  “I beat the system.” His tongue constantly finding the whole in his jaw where there was once a molar. He had to get the damned thing fixed, it was driving him crazy. As soon as he got settled into an apartment, he’d find a dentist and get an implant.

  He smiled at Angela. Her English wasn’t too good. Dick talked and she nodded and cooed, but he didn’t know how much she understood. “I really fooled the bastards. I set up a false account in Puerto Rico to throw them off. While everyone was looking in Puerto Rico, I hid the money in the Cayman Islands.”

  Randall took a sip of his wine and nibbled on the calamari.

  “After I thought about it a bit I decided I better get out of the Caribbean. Even though my money was there, there was always the chance that someone would recognize me.” He ran his fingers over his mustache. It wasn’t much of a disguise, but it altered his appearance enough that maybe he’d get away with it.

  “I knew the Mafia would be looking for me in the Caribbean.”

  Angela shuddered noticeably at the mention of the word “Mafia.”

  “I found this stupid kid to fly me from Florida to the Bahamas. From there, with my British passport, I flew to London then hopped the channel to France, and here I am.” He spread his hands encompassing the square.

  Angela clapped her hands and giggled in delight.

  “I had my money transferred to a Swiss bank, so it’s here where I can get to it. I’m set for life.” He finished his wine and put a bill down on the table.

  “Let’s blow this joint. How about we head down to the beach for a swim?”

  The couple left the restaurant and walked towards their parked car.

  An old woman, dressed from head to foot in black, followed them.

  She had a purpose to her walk. It didn’t take long for her to catch up with the strolling couple.

  They made such a nice couple, the graying American and the beautiful Italian.

  The old woman reached into her oversized black purse with her gloved hand and pulled out a .22 automatic pistol with a silencer. She walked up to Randall and said “Ric
o Caglione sends his regards,” in a rich, bass voice.

  Randall spun and looked at the old woman.

  The pistol spat. “Thwtt, thwtt.”

  Randal collapsed to the pavement.

  Angela screamed and dropped to her knees besides him.

  He lay on the pavement with a small hole in his forehead. Blood oozed out on the ground.

  “Aiuto!” she screamed.

  The old woman dropped the pistol and walked slowly away. As she walked she popped a Lifesaver in her mouth and sang quietly to herself in her deep bass voice. “Siii-lent night, hooo-ly night...”

  Chapter 30

  The Swiftsure is the Northwest’s premier yacht race. Hundreds of boats from all over the West Coast converge on the Victoria, B.C. yacht harbor for the Memorial Day event. Parties seem to start in March and run non-stop to race week.

  Chris struggled to clear his head. He’d partied late into the night. No, the truth was he’d partied until early in the morning. Why they scheduled a nine a.m. race start was a mystery to him. Most of the crews and skippers were still way too hung over to handle their boats.

  But handle the Courageous he did. The big red boat fought for position on the starting line.

  Sailboat races were exercises in organized chaos. The committee boat, at one end of the starting line, fired a gun at the two minute mark, to warn the skippers to move into position. The smart skipper had it down. One hundred and twenty seconds later, when the starting gun went off, they would surge over the line and head for the first mark.

  The problem was that sailboats were subservient to wind. Most of the time, they started out on an upwind leg. They had to tack into the wind to get to the starting line and timing had to be precise. If they crossed the line an instant too early, the committee boat would flag them and they’d have to return and re-cross the starting line. It might only take a couple of minutes, but two minutes in a sailboat race was an eternity.