Baylin House (Cassandra Crowley Mystery) (9 page)

Too lost in thought to pay attention to the low clouds
overhead, Cassie didn’t notice how much they were darkening until after she
made the turn from Center Street onto Bayside Boulevard. Suddenly the sky let
loose a downpour that nearly blinded her.

She pushed the wipers to the highest setting and still
couldn’t see more than twenty feet in front. She moved into the far right lane
and crept along at fifteen miles an hour, then ten, heart pounding and fingers
cramped around the steering wheel while several cars flew past on the left. How
could they drive in this stuff! It wasn’t safe to be on the street, but there
were no driveways or parking lots offering escape!

Cassie grit her teeth, determined not to be forced to a faster
speed; with her behind the wheel it just wasn’t safe. A dark colored SUV came from
behind at normal speed; the driver laid on the horn for her to get out of the
way, but there was nowhere else to go. Cassie just grimaced at the blasting
horn and hoped he would notice her
Austin Airport Rental
license plate
and realize she was a neophyte from out of state.

No such luck -- the horn continued to blare and Cassie’s
last nerve burst like a prickly pear kicked by a mule; she pushed her head back
into the headrest and slowly pressed on the brakes, which was really stupid she
knew, but she was desperate.

The big SUV’s brakes squealed; it snaked to the left in a
short spin that clipped the Explorer’s rear bumper. Cassie heard a plastic
crack!
and pushed harder into the headrest anticipating being spun into something that
would trigger the airbag.

The Explorer lurched a couple feet clockwise from the
impact, but Cassie wasn’t going fast enough to be forced all the way to the
curb. It was actually easy to get straight again, even on the wet surface, and
that was an education in Coastal driving. In Vegas it would have been
impossible to stop; pollution from car exhaust collects for months in the
cracks and crevices of the streets, then rises to the top on those rare
occasions when it rains, and turns the surface into oily slime.

The SUV straightened in the lane beside her. Cassie could
see the silhouette of the driver’s head and shoulders through the dark window
glass. Her stomach clamped into a knot as he raised his hand to show his third
finger; he could have pulled a gun and blown her head off and nobody would have
seen him.

His message delivered, he jammed his accelerator and snaked
back and forth a couple times, wheels spinning with a high pitch whine, and
finally got himself straight enough to leave.

Cassie peered through the windshield trying to read the
Texas license plate as he drove away, but the numbers blurred through the
curtain of rain. It was a Lincoln Navigator, she could see that much, but only
for a couple seconds.

She sat there a bit longer trying to calm her heart. Then a new
realization crept in -- the signal light three blocks behind had just changed
from red to green; she needed to get out of the way before someone else smashed
into her from behind!

The Explorer rolled forward when Cassie pressed on the gas
and slowly accelerated. Cars still passed her as they approached from behind,
but that was all right, she was busy re-hearing that cracking plastic sound in her
head. She hoped there was insurance on the rental car to cover the damage. She
should probably pull over somewhere to look at it, but she wasn’t about to get
out of the car in this cloudburst. Besides, it was safer to be somewhere a long
way from here if the jerk was mad enough to come back looking for her.

That idea spurred her to almost normal speed in spite of the
rain and streaking windshield.

Another ten minutes passed. The downpour stopped as suddenly
as it had started. Visibility returned to normal; low hanging clouds lifted
swiftly, and catches of clear blue sky with ribbons of sunlight began to show
through. Cassie could finally take a deep breath without her lungs being on
fire.

She saw the entrance to Bayside Pier about a block in front
on the right, and the traffic signal at West Bend Boulevard, and finally the familiar
parking lot of Bayside Park. Three and a half miles later Cassie turned into
the hotel parking lot and found an open space near the side door.

She sat perfectly still for a full minute after shutting off
the engine, still working to calm her racing heart. Nothing to get excited
about, ha-ha. Well, not now anyway; it was over.

Damage to the Explorer’s bumper was less than expected; the
rounded corner was cracked, not separated from its holding bracket, just a tiny
hole in one spot about the size of a half dollar. Enough that Cassie needed to
contact the rental company and report it.

She spent less than two seconds deciding NOT to contact
Dorothy Kennelly and tell her about it.

One more deep breath, then Cassie went into the hotel
through the side door and straight down the long hall into the lobby. The
friendly desk clerk who handed out the map this morning was gone. Behind the
desk now was the older woman who checked them in yesterday when Dorothy and Cassie
arrived.

The Desk Clerk’s eyes rolled when she spotted Cassie coming
from the side entrance into the main lobby.

“How’s the best way to get a weather report so I’ll know
when to expect rain?” Cassie demanded. She was not in the mood to deal with anybody’s
attitude; she just wanted information.

“Hotel guests can get Doppler on channel 44 in their room.”

“Okay, but how about a daily weather report? If I have to
leave here at seven in the morning, can I find out whether it’s expected to
rain before I come back at four?”

The older woman blinked a moment. Cassie thought she was
giving the “You’re too stupid to talk to” eye, but then she smiled, and cranked
her dark penciled eyebrows up. “You must be Ms. Crowley from Las Vegas.”

Okay, here we go again. “Yes,” Cassie said with poorly
hidden impatience. “I was born there and have lived there all my life. We have
schools and churches and neighborhoods like every other city, you just have to
get away from The Strip to find it.”

“I know,” the Clerk said, still smiling. “My brother is a
maintenance engineer at Sam’s Town out on Boulder Highway. I take it nobody
warned you we have a little daily rain shower during late summer.”

“
Every
afternoon?”

“Usually around noon, sometimes a little later. Just keep an
eye on the horizon offshore. You’ll see a band of clouds moving in from the
Gulf about an hour before it starts. Most of the time it doesn’t last long. Just
stay where you can be away from the lightening, because that’s pretty normal
too. I’m sorry nobody told you. You look like you got caught unprepared.”

Cassie cringed and mumbled something about an understatement,
remembering the sticky mess on top of her head; no wonder the woman looked at her
like she was a street waif when she came in. Okay, so forewarned is forearmed, as
Noreen Crowley says. Cassie will pay attention to the sky the rest of the time she’s
here on the coast.

But right now she had to hurry to make those phone calls.

Wet clothes felt like cold fish in the air-conditioned hotel
room. Racing the clock, Cassie laid the satchel on the bed and shed her clothes,
then stood for just a minute under a hot shower before changing into something
dry.

The room had been cleaned while she was away; four fresh
towels stacked in the chrome rack, a new little bar of soap on the counter, the
bed was made and the coffee cup left on the dresser was gone. Cassie stepped
back and checked – yup, two fresh cups wrapped in paper and two new packets of ground
coffee sat next to the pot. She could get used to this lifestyle except for the
cost.

She stood just a moment in front of the mirror to fluff her shaggy
spikes back where they belonged, and threw the damp clothes over the shower rod.
She needed to locate a Laundromat soon. Her supply of clean clothes would not
last at the rate of two outfits a day.

Her stomach growled, full of acid after the road rage
experience and because she was hungry. Her workout buddy at the gym back in
Vegas had warned her more than once: ‘if you go through the exercises to get
really fit, you have to properly feed those muscles on a regular basis or
they’ll rebel in some nasty ways’.

There was no time to run down to The Galley Café -- bright
green digits on the TV box reminded her it was almost four o’clock. A call
after 4:30 would go to voicemail at Lawrence Baylin’s assisted residence.

Cassie turned off the bathroom light, and quickly scanned
the Room Service Menu. She would have to settle for the Daily Special, which
the man who took her call assured was the fastest way to get delivery. “No more
than twenty minutes,” he promised.

Now the clock glowed 4:06. She dug Lawrence Baylin’s index
card from her bag, and dialed 8 for long distance. The hotel operator came
online to confirm Ms. Crowley was authorizing Long Distance charges; yes, Cassie
answered. She waited again through a series of clicks, several minutes it felt
like, before there was finally a ring tone. The digital clock rolled to 4:09
before another operator picked up, asking for her name.

“Cassandra Crowley calling for Dr. Lawrence Baylin,” Cassie
told her.

Two more minutes passed before she heard his raspy voice. “Hello,
Cassandra, it’s so nice to hear from you this soon. What is your question
today?”

“Hello, Dr. Baylin, how are you doing?” Her best-practiced
phone etiquette, learned in the now defunct Marketing Admin Assistant job.

“Very well dear, but let’s get on with the important questions,
shall we? They’ll be calling me to supper in a few minutes so we don’t have
much time.”

The digital clock advanced to 4:12.

“Dr. Baylin, I received a letter from the attorney’s office
today. It’s a Power of Attorney, and I understand what that is. But it seems
like a lot of authority for this job. Was that intentional? Or am I
misunderstanding--”

“Yes, it was entirely intentional, Cassandra. I understand
from Dorothy that your background in business is commiserative with our needs. This
is the best way to insure you receive cooperation from anyone who doubts your
authority. Rosalie and I have complete trust in your instincts and honorability.
What else?”

“What else? Uh . . .well . . . I . . . uh . . .” It wasn’t Cassie’s
place to tell him about Brady Irwin’s situation and the Police coming to Baylin
House last night, and she didn’t want to bother him with her damaged rental car
issues; she couldn’t imagine he needed to know that Rosalie invited one of her
charges to meet Cassie for some unexplained reason. “Enjoy your supper, Dr.
Baylin. I’m sure I’ll be calling again in a day or two if that’s all right.”

“It is, and I’ll be expecting it. Have a good evening, Cassandra.
Goodbye for now.”

Wow, that was embarrassing! Next time she called Dr. Baylin,
Cassie would make sure to have a list of questions written down.

For the next five minutes she browsed the Rentals Magazine, noted
four potentials, and put an asterisk beside the name Bayside View. Their ad
showed them across the street from Bayside Park, offered beach access, covered
parking, laundry in every unit, and the address was on Sandy Lane, which she
recognized.

She called them first. “Yes, we have two Executive Units
available if you’d like to come see them tomorrow morning? The rental office
closes at 4:30.”

Cassie asked about the price and wrote it down, indicating she
might stop by after work tomorrow afternoon. The emphasis was on MIGHT. The
rental rate was more than she expected.

The second location said they were sorry, they wouldn’t have
an Executive unit available until the end of next month, but they did quote a
rate much less than Bayside View’s price.

The third location turned out to be on the other side of downtown
from Baylin House. Traveling through that much traffic every day did not appeal
at all. The last number, according to the ad, was less than a mile from
University Mall. On closer inspection of the city map, Cassie saw the faint
yellow dots outlining a branch campus of TSU. She dialed, but after fifteen
rings there was still no answer.

That was just as well because as she was hanging up, her
room service dinner arrived. The digital clock rolled to 5:00pm. Cassie sat
down at the table with the tray, and clicked on the TV.

Nothing relevant was in the Evening News; no mention of the
homicide case or Detectives Gorduno and Baxter. Maybe that was good; it would be
awful for Rosalie to hear anything on TV while everyone else was trying to keep
it from her.

Cassie ignored the sports report and concentrated on her dinner
served under a shiny dome, ‘
Pork Stew in Bread Bowl’
, an interesting
dish with large chunks of meat and vegetables in thick gravy that kept
everything moist, but not soupy. The Bread Bowl was edible while it was warm – she
tore off a piece and nibbled on it while she went through the Rentals magazine
again.

This time she located each address on the map before she
added the phone number to her list. It was too late to call any of them
tonight, but she collected four new candidates to contact tomorrow.

She had stalled as long as she could; the digital clock read
6:07.

It was time to take her licks and get it over with. She had
to report damage to the rented car.

The phone number on the contacts card rang six times before
a switchboard operator picked up. Cassie made it about half way through an
explanation before the operator cut her off, snapping that she needed to speak
to a Claims Agent. When he answered, Cassie launched into an account of the
incident again.

This time she was able to finish before he pointed out that she
should have stayed at the scene and immediately filed a police report, not
driven off and waited several hours to report an accident.

Cassie didn’t think he was correct – it wasn’t a real
traffic accident, just a clipped bumper in a rain storm, and anyway, she couldn’t
go back in time and fix her error, so what did she need to do now?

“So the next best thing is to phone a report immediately to
the local police there in Cordell Bay,” he instructed. “You should expect an
order to come to the station to sign a formal report.”

“All right,” Cassie said. “I’ll make that call next.”

“Good. The Claims Adjuster in that area is Mr. Dale Acton;
he will contact you tomorrow to take photos, and then he’ll determine whether
you need a different car for the remainder of your contract.”

This was not what Cassie wanted to hear! “Look . . . the
bumper is only cracked, not ripped apart. There’s no reason to exchange cars,
and I don’t have time to hang around waiting for anyone. I’m here on a job and
I have to leave for work by 7:30 tomorrow morning.”

“The law is the law, Ms. Crowley. You have to file a police
report to make a claim on your Rental Car Insurance, and our Adjuster has to
verify it. Otherwise the full cost of repair will be your responsibility.”

“All right,” she sighed. “Tell your Adjuster I’ll be here at
The Marlin tomorrow evening after work.”

“I’ll give Mr. Acton that information. Do you have a cell
phone number? He could set up an appointment time with you.”

“No, I don’t have a cell phone.”

“He’ll see you at the hotel then. You do understand the
contract stipulates a $50.00 deductible due immediately for any damage claim. I
have processed that charge on the same credit card used for the rental
contract, so you’ll see that on your statement with today’s date.”

Cassie would probably regret that since she couldn’t be sure
whether the car was on her card or Dorothy’s. Either way there was nothing she
could do about it.

Next, she made the call to Cordell Bay Police Department. After
listening to another recitation of traffic law, common sense, etc. etc., Cassie
agreed to appear in person tomorrow to fill out a formal report. “It will have
to be after two o’clock,” she told the Desk Sergeant who answered the call. “I
need to finish my work shift. And I need an address where to . . .”

“In the south end of City Hall. You’ll find a map inside any
Cordell County phone directory. Use the south parking lot and enter through the
doors in the southeast corner of the building.”

Nothing excited Cassie less than going back to the City Hall
complex tomorrow, especially after listening to another round of should-haves. But
she confirmed, again, that she would be there.

After that, she definitely was not in a mood to work on
Rosalie’s manuscript, or on the handful of papers she got from Sydney Owen.

She phoned Las Vegas and spoke to her parents’ answering
machine. “Hi, it’s me. A little after seven o’clock here in Texas and I just
realized it’s only five there in Vegas and you’re not home yet. Just letting
you know all is well here. I started working with Rosalie Baylin this morning
and we’re going to get along fine. I’ll call back in a day or two, hopefully
with a new phone number because I’m looking for a temporary apartment that--.”

The beep sounded to signal the allotted time for recording a
message had expired. Maybe someday when Cassie calls, somebody will actually
answer the phone. But she wouldn’t call back tonight. She needed to relieve her
stress, not add to it.

She checked Channel 44 to make sure there were no rainstorms
in the area. Then she shoved the room keycard into her bra for lack of pockets,
slid her feet into thong sandals, and went downstairs. Exit to the beach was
through the back doors of the lobby, then across a concrete patio.

The Cabana Bar & Grille bordered one side of the patio
with soft lights under a thatch roof, bamboo décor, and Tiki-lights. A few
patrons sat at the bar talking quietly.

Music was low volume, heavy on the drum and bass guitar;
Cuban, Cassie thought, or something from the Caribbean Islands. Could have been
Voodoo music for all she knew because it was incredibly sensual. She left her
sandals at the concrete edge, and moved barefoot toward the water, digging her feet
in the sand to the beat until she couldn’t hear it anymore.

At the water’s edge, she turned and strolled lazily on the
flat wet surface, walking south to the end of the man-made beach. A three foot concrete
barrier wall extended into the water to mark the hotel’s private property. Beyond
the barrier the shore held no sand, only mud and broken clam shells, but it was
crawling with native life visible in the shadowed pools.

Cassie sat down on the wall to watch minnow-sized fish darting
in and out of the shallows. Two hermit crabs sparred over an empty shell near
the barrier, and she watched them until the sun completely disappeared below
the horizon and then until it was too dark to see.

Maybe it wasn’t the most fruitful way to spend her evening,
but it certainly was relaxing. She slid off the wall and took her sweet time strolling
back to the hotel entrance.

The Cabana Bar was still open, dimly lit with a few
silhouetted heads, music rumbling with the same exotic vibrations.

A few yards short of the lobby door she saw a familiar figure.

Dark hair, dark eyes, perfectly proportioned, everything
that stoked fire in all the right places thanks to the dreamy mood she was in now
anyway. He was sitting on a stool at the bar, turned toward the beach with one
long leg stretched to the floor, one elbow resting on the bar, creased denims
and a short sleeve western shirt, both filled out in a way that would have made
Cassie look twice even if she hadn’t been in the mood she was in. He tilted his
head, his eyes boring into hers. At least she thought they were; it was hard to
see well into the mostly dark bar.

Cassie’s heart thumped hard with recognition. She returned
the nod, nothing too friendly in spite of a smoldering sensation under her
skin. Then she continued into the hotel lobby.

What was Detective Baxter doing here?

Cassie stood in front of the elevator and peeked around the
corner to see if he followed her in. Part of her wished he had. Even when she
stepped into the elevator, it took a long time to push the ‘2’ button because
part of her wanted to go back out to the bar.

But good sense told her that would be dropping a scorpion on
her toes. She pushed the button and went straight to her room.