Chapter
“H
ey, déjà vu all over
again,” Dirk said as he and Savannah walked through the swinging doors of
Coconut Joe’s for the second time that night. “Are you gonna order enough piña
coladas again to put me in the poorhouse?”
Savannah put a hand on her
abdomen and groaned. “I may never drink again. That seabreeze didn’t settle
well on top of the other ones. Too much acid, I guess.”
“Good.”
“Unless you irritate me
with your cheapness, son, and then I might order some Dom Perignon just for
spite.”
“You order something like
fancy-ass champagne, you’ll be washing glasses until dawn to pay for it. No way
the captain’s gonna reimburse me out of petty cash for an expenditure like
that!”
Savannah stopped and
whirled around to face him. “Are you telling me, that after all the bellyaching
you’ve done about buying me donuts and coffee, you’ve been dipping into the
station’s petty cash to pay for it?”
“No, of course not. I
just...”
Dirk was a lousy liar. Not
to perps; he could lie to them all day and never break a sweat, but lying on a
personal level... he couldn’t pull it off.
“Your tongue’s going to
turn black and fall out one of these days, Coulter,” she said.
“Yeah, and my nose is going
to grow and I won’t get my honesty badge in Girl Scouts. I’ve heard it all
before.”
They had to duck and dodge
through the crowd, which was at least twice as thick as before, just to get to
the bar. But fortunately, once they were there, they found two empty stools
together at one end.
Sitting down, Dirk motioned
to the bartender. “A couple of colas here,” he said, “and pass a bowl of those
nibble things down here, too.”
The barkeep wasn’t
impressed. He slid their sodas and the pretzel dish in front of them, collected
Dirk’s six bucks and twenty-five-cent tip, and turned his back on them.
“That’s it,” Savannah
hissed in his ear. “Piss off the bartender, the fount of all local folklore,
before we even get started.”
“Who needs him now? We know
who we’re looking for.”
“Oh, yeah? What does
Elizabeth Fortunato look like? Unless she drives through the front doors in her
BMW, we might have a little difficulty picking her out of the crowd.”
“Not me. I know exactly
what she looks like.”
“What?”
“She’s a babe.”
“A babe? And you know this
how?”
“While you were busy making
goo-goo eyes and telling that kid all those lies about how you and me are
getting hitched and needing a honeymoon cottage, I was looking around the
office there.”
“And?”
“There was a picture of her
hanging on the wall. She was getting handed some sort of award thing by the
Santa Tesla Chamber of Commerce or some such nonsense. And she’s a babe.”
“You want to be a little
more specific?”
“Not necessarily. I’ll
point her out to you.”
“She’s here?”
“Not yet.”
Savannah snorted and popped
a couple of mini-pretzels into her mouth. “I hate it when you’re smug.”
“Now, now, don’t insult
your bridegroom right before the wedding. It’ll sour our honeymoon.”
Savannah took a sip from
her cola and turned to the guy seated on the stool next to hers. He looked like
he had just washed up on the beach with some flotsam. He wore a faded tie-dyed
shirt and peace beads around his neck. His hair hung in limp strands down his
back and into his eyes, which were suspiciously bloodshot. The distinctive odor
of marijuana drifted about him like a cloud.
Some guys just had a hard
time finding their way out of the sixties.
“Hi,” she said to him.
“Come here often?”
He focused on her with an
effort, then grinned broadly with yellowed teeth, as though unable to believe
his luck. “Yeah,” he said. “I do. I practically live here. How about you?”
“I live in a house.”
“But you’re here tonight.”
“How observant of you! And
since you’re so perceptive, may I ask you if you’ve seen a friend of mine?”
“Is she as pretty as you?”
“Oh, some say much
prettier. On a good day, she looks like Marilyn Monroe.”
Mr. Sixties began nodding
his head so vigorously she thought he might tumble off his stool. “I
have
seen her! I’ve seen your friend. She was here.”
“When?”
“I don’t remember exactly,
but not too long ago. Maybe last night or the night before, or... I don’t know,
but she was here. Sat right over there on the other side of the room and drank
martinis. We were all checking her out.”
“And did anybody talk to
her?”
“I didn’t. She was with
somebody.”
Savannah could feel Dirk
leaning against her, straining to hear every word. She could even feel his warm
breath on her neck. Now who was working the room, huh?
“Who was she with?”
“This other really
good-looking girl. A pretty brunette. I think she sells real estate.”
“And the two of them were
talking, drinking together?”
“Yeah, for an hour at
least. Then they left together.”
Savannah turned to Dirk, a
smugger than smug look on her face. “And that,” she said, “is what you can find
out when you don’t alienate them in the first five seconds of meeting them.”
But he didn’t look rebuked, chastised, admonished, or the slightest bit
humbled.
He still looked obnoxiously
satisfied with himself. “See,” he said, “I told you.”
“Told me what?”
“Really good-looking girl?
A pretty brunette? Your buddy there just confirmed it: Elizabeth’s a babe.”
He glanced over her
shoulder. “And... there she is now.” Savannah turned to see a woman walking
into the bar, who was, indeed, a babe—if you were attracted to shapely
brunettes with stunning smiles.
Not exactly her type, but
she could see why Dirk and the old hippie were impressed. She also noticed that
at least two dozen of the other male patrons were following the newcomer’s
every movement as she walked around the bar, greeting almost everyone she
passed.
Apparently, Elizabeth
Fortunato was a well-known and well-loved citizen of Santa Tesla Island.
Dirk nudged Savannah. “
I’ll
handle this one.”
“I’m sure you’d love to,”
she muttered.
They waited until Elizabeth
had sidled up to the bar, ordered a drink, and had it in hand before they
fought their way through the crowd to her side.
As he wished, Savannah
allowed Dirk to take the lead. He tended to get along better with sexy female
realtors than he did with grumpy bank managers and their gargantuan guards.
“Ms. Fortunato?” he said.
“Could we please have a private word with you?”
Discreetly, he slipped his
badge from his pocket, cupped it in his palms and showed it to her. Elizabeth’s
eyes widened. She nodded and motioned toward the back of the room.
Again they swam, like
salmon fighting their way upstream, through the mob until they reached the rear
of the bar and a single unoccupied booth. Elizabeth slid into one side and Dirk
and Savannah into the other.
“What is this about?”
Elizabeth said, obviously worried. “Has something bad happened? My family...?”
“No, nothing like that,”
Dirk assured her. “It’s nothing to do with you personally. We were just hoping
you could help us.”
“And you are...?”
“Detective Sergeant Dirk
Coulter, San Carmelita PD, and this is my friend, Savannah Reid. She’s a
private investigator who’s helping me with a case I’m working on.”
Elizabeth reached across
the table and shook their hands. “What sort of case?”
“Homicide.”
“Oh, wow, that’s serious.”
“About as serious as it
gets,” Savannah added.
“Who is the victim?”
“A fellow named Sergio
D’Alessandro.”
Elizabeth thought for a
moment, then nodded. “I think I read about that in the paper a few days ago.
Didn’t he own some sort of exclusive spa or something?”
“Yes,” Savannah said, “the
Mystic Twilight spa and another new place called Emerge. You didn’t know him?”
“No. Never heard of him
until I read that article in the paper. I thought it said he died of natural
causes, though. A heart attack or something.”
“We thought so at first,”
Dirk replied. “But now we know differently.”
Elizabeth took a sip of her
cosmopolitan and said, “So, why did you come to me? What do I have to do with
your investigation?”
“We need to get in touch
with someone,” Dirk said, “just to talk to her about a few things. And we think
you might have seen her recently.”
“Oh, really? Who?”
“A woman named Suzette Du
Bois.”
She shook her head. “No,
that doesn’t ring any bells. Sorry.” Savannah said, “She may have been using
another name.”
“What does she look like?”
“That’s easy,” Dirk said.
“She’s a Marilyn Monroe wanna-be.” Elizabeth caught her breath, reached for her
glass and took a long drink before setting it down again.
Savannah watched her
carefully. The woman was clearly stalling for time, her mental gears whirring
as she considered her answer. “You’ve seen someone like that recently?”
Savannah said. “Maybe had some sort of business dealing with her?”
“I might have.” Elizabeth
glanced toward the exit door of the bar, then back at them. “Why?”
“Like I said before,” Dirk
replied, “we need to talk to her. She’s not a suspect at this time, just a...
person of interest.”
A person of interest, my
eye,
Savannah thought.
If Dirk lays hands on the woman she'll be wearing
handcuffs for bracelets in a bunny rabbit's heartbeat.
Elizabeth squirmed in her
seat, obviously miserable. “I don’t know what to say to you. I own a very
successful agency here on the island. I do business with a lot of people.”
“Have you done business
with the woman we’re talking about?” Dirk prodded.
“I may have. But people
here trust me. Believe it or not, but even in real estate, some of the business
I handle is quite personal. I have a reputation for being a discreet person,
and I don’t want to damage that by betraying my clients.”
“We’re not asking you to
betray anyone,” Savannah told her. “Just give us a hint as to where we might
find her.”
Dirk was beginning to lose
his patience, hotsy-totsy or not. Savannah could feel him tensing beside her
and knew that he was about to switch from solicitous to aggressive and cranky.
Elizabeth took another
long, deep drink, and Savannah could see that her hand was shaking. “I may have
sold her a house recently.”
Savannah said, “And did she
come up with a substantial down payment for the property?”
She nodded.
“Like maybe over three
hundred thousand?”
Again, a reluctant nod.
“Must be nice digs,” Dirk
said, “if that’s just the down payment.”
Elizabeth didn’t reply.
“And you met her early
yesterday morning when she arrived here on the island?” Savannah asked.
“Yes.”
“We thought so. You were
seen helping her move boxes from the ferry’s loading dock into your car.”
Savannah got a tingling, deep in her belly... the kind she got during an
interrogation just before a perp confessed or ratted out a no-good buddy. “Did
you take her and her stuff to her new house?”
Suddenly, Elizabeth slid
out of the booth, nearly spilling the remainder of her drink. “I’m sorry,” she
said, “but I’m a professional. This—this is a big deal for me. There’s a lot of
money involved, a large commission that my agency needs right now. And like I
said, it’s a small community. The last thing I need is to have word get around
the island that I turned over one of my clients to the mainland police.”
“But—” Dirk reached for her
arm, but she brushed his hand aside.
“I’ve told you all I can,”
she said. “I’ll have to ask you to continue your investigation without me.”
Dirk thrust his card into
her hand. “Take this,” he said, “in case you change your mind. Call me any
time.”
She wadded the card into a
ball in her fist. “I won’t change my mind.”
A moment later, she was
gone.
“I’ll betcha she’s laying
down rubber getting out of that parking lot,” Savannah said.
Dirk reached for the
half-finished cosmo and sighed. “I’m losin’ my touch with the dames, Van. Just
ain’t as smooth as I used to be.”
Savannah thought back over
the years, remembering a younger Dirk with a lot more hair, a bit less tummy,
bigger biceps. A guy with a big heart, but hardly any manners, precious little
sensitivity, and hardly a clue about how to deal with the fairer sex... or the
rougher one, for that matter. He was just a bear with a Buick, a Smith and
Wesson, and a house trailer. That was Dirk Coulter, then and now