Gnarly New Year (Corsario Cove Cozy Mystery #2) (6 page)

“Imagine that,” I sighed as a little tingle ran through me. “I wonder which resort developer was behind getting Davis out of police custody?”  I had started to do a bit of toe-tapping myself.

“Anyone involved in shelling out tens of millions of dollars needed to build this place sure fits the bill as a mastermind in a pricey suit with deep pockets,” Brien added.

“More than a hundred million, from what I’ve heard," Mitchum said.

“Whoa! Talk about a chunk of change! That’s a lot of zeroes,” Mick said, his fingers moving as though he was using them to tally up the zeroes.

“You’ve got that right, Mick. Davis could be in bigger trouble than he knows, Mitchum. He's hanging with crooks that are way above his pay grade. Getting him lawyered up and out on bail keeps Davis from saying any more about what’s going on. What if they decide the best thing to do is shut him up for good? Maybe you can point that out to him when you try to get him talking again.”

“Excellent suggestion, Kim,” Brien said enthusiastically. “I bet Davis can tell you which development guy came up with the idea to bail…” Mitchum interrupted Brien’s sentence and my train of thought with close to a bellow.

“Stop it! Managing Davis is my problem. With or without his help, we’ll figure this out. We still haven’t finished sifting through all the evidence collected from the investigation into Owen’s murder. Who knows what we already have that can help us answer that question you posed earlier, Kim, about the value of that junk in the cave?” I said nothing since I was still fuming about Mitchum’s sudden outburst. The man’s moods could turn on a dime! He wasn't waiting for me to answer him, anyway. Springing to his feet, he kept right on talking.

“Once we locate those two losers that kidnapped Goddard and Mick, we’ll figure this out. It’s only a matter of time before we catch up to them. I can’t believe they had that GPS device in their clutches for several days without realizing it. Not only that! They let a drunken Santa take off with it again.” He shook his head in disbelief. “I’m betting those losers left a trail of breadcrumbs at the bar or elsewhere that will help us identify them. Mick, here, can pick them out of a lineup once we’ve apprehended one or both of them.”

Mitchum was pacing now. I fought an urge to stretch out my legs, using a well-placed foot to trip him up. He didn’t need my help to do that. The bad guys were doing that already, and while running rings around the police force, as far as I could tell. Investigators had been working that crime scene at the bar for days now. The storage unit and Goddard's house, too. Whatever "bread crumbs" left behind by those losers must not be all that obvious.

“You’d better grab them quick, Mitchum. If you’re calling them losers, imagine what the rich guy with the deep pockets is saying about their performance. I wouldn’t be surprised if Larry and Curly both turned up dead.” Brien and Mick snorted at my reference to the tall bald and short curly-headed thugs as two of the three stooges—another of my favorite vintage series.

“Whoa, and Davis could be Moe. Kim’s got a point, Detective. Why not go on a stooge killing spree and take out all three?” My mind was whirling as Brien posed that question. Why not, indeed?

“Given where they found that new body, it could be that spree’s underway, and we’re down one stooge already,” I offered. Mitchum was not amused.

“If the guy with the deep pockets is killing stooges, why not send a new team after the three of you? They were following you two love birds for some reason when they snatched Mick, who let them get the drop on him in that alley, by the way. So who’s the stooge?” Mick was about to object. I jumped in.

“It’s no secret, thanks to the local press, that Brien and I were involved in that scene Christmas Day. I don’t doubt that was enough to put us on their radar as well as Goddard. Especially if they believed, like Davis, that we were in cahoots with Owen. Now that they know Mick retrieved it, I’m betting Brien and I are old news.” Mitchum shrugged, but couldn’t hide his irritation. The surfer dudes in our little coffee klatch apparently did not pick up on the fact that Mitchum was approaching his breaking point, and we were out of donuts. They had stooges on the brain. Mick spoke.

“Here’s what I don’t get, you guys. Why was the bald stooge called Curly?” Mitchum’s mustache twitched, and he even pawed the ground! Brien
still
didn’t get the message.

“That is such a good question! I don’t get it either,” Brien responded.

“Will you two
please
shut up? Here’s something else you don’t get, apparently. I’ll put it another way. If the mastermind behind the hunt for that GPS gizmo has an ax to grind with his minions, that goes double for you, Mick. You got away, and as far as they’re concerned you have the GPS device. Good luck convincing them otherwise if they catch up with you. As long as you’re wondering about things, how about this. They put the three of you together once, why not do that again? I wouldn’t put too much money on that bet that you two are old news.”

“I hear you,” I said, realizing he was right. Brien nodded solemnly in agreement. Mick gulped.

“That Davis is a lying little weasel. I’m going to have another talk with him. I will bring up several of the issues we’ve discussed here. I’m going to start by reminding him that he’s one of my nominees for the person ‘most likely to start the New Year as fish food.’ Right up there with the three of you.”

None of us said a word. Mitchum harrumphed into his mustache and sat back down on the edge of his seat. The moment he sat down, all hell broke loose.

7 an alarming discovery

“What the…?” Before Mitchum could finish that sentence, Brien dashed into the suite where an alarm was screeching. The ear-splitting sounds came from smoke alarms. After several blaring pulses, the alarms paused and a disembodied voice was broadcast over loudspeakers.

“Fire! Please exit the building. Fire!”

“Maybe it’s a test,” Mick said. As if on cue that voice picked up where it left off.

“This is not a test. Fire! Repeat, this is not a test. Fire! Please exit the building.”

The screeching alarms resumed. Mitchum and I were already on our feet when Brien dashed back out to the veranda.

“I don’t see any fire in our suite or smell smoke, but I think we should get out of here. Can you handle some stairs, Mick?”

“Sure,” as he said that he struggled to stand. He probably would have been okay except that the tie around his waist holding that robe closed had come loose. One end was tangled in the chaise lounge, and he almost toppled over when it gave way after yanking it.

Brien and Mitchum each grabbed an arm to steady Mick, and then almost picked him up as we all scurried out the door of our suite. The hallway was teeming with guests streaming toward the exit and down the stairs. Someone had already propped the door open. I led the way, down six flights of stairs, and out a door that exited into a courtyard.

“We should have grabbed a pair of shades for Mick,” I whispered to Brien. A few people were glancing his way. No one seemed too interested. I found that reassuring. When those alarms started, I had flashed on the possibility that someone might be trying to flush Mick out. That’s presuming his kidnappers had figured out he had fled to the resort when he reached dry land this morning, and found his way to our suite. Not a great thing for Brien and me, either, if that's what was going on. Mitchum’s latest warning had me feeling paranoid.

“Here! Put these on. I want them back when I leave,” Mitchum said, as he passed a pair of sunglasses to Mick. Mitchum stepped aside for a moment. He spoke to a woman dressed in hotel front desk garb, holding a tablet device. Taking attendance, and making sure everyone was accounted for was my guess. In less than a minute he was back.

“Follow me.” Mitchum strode off toward an exit that led out of the courtyard and into one of the arched corridors that gave the Sanctuary a monastic ambiance. Most monasteries aren’t crawling with Santas, however, like this one. As we left the courtyard, a Santa entered carrying a large, black bag. He began shouting “Season’s Greetings” and “Happy New Year” as he tossed fake doubloons to the kids in the crowd. Santa's cries posed an odd contrast to the voice still issuing warnings, more muted now that the fire exit doors were no longer being held open by fleeing guests. Santa set that bag down and began doling out small, gift-wrapped packages. Trying to steady nerves or make amends for the inconvenience, perhaps.

“Do you see smoke or smell it?”

“No, I don’t, Brien, do you?”

“Nope! Must be a false alarm.”

“That’s odd, don't you think?” I asked just as Mitchum turned left onto a paved pathway that led to a smaller garden area situated between hotel buildings.

“Sit!” he commanded. We all did as we were told and sat on benches surrounding a fountain that was the centerpiece of this garden area. Blooms hung from a wrought iron trellis above us. Purple blossoms on climbing plants—Clematis, maybe.

“Tell me about the van and the boat.” Back to business, despite the barely controlled chaos underway at the moment. I had heard sirens as we dashed down those stairs. Escaping from the hotel into that enclosed courtyard, I hadn’t seen any members of the local fire brigade. No police, either, besides our brusque, fidgety detective. The alarms were no longer sounding warnings, but shouted commands reached us.

Mick did his best to recall what he could about both the van and the boat. Nothing he said seemed of much value, as far as I could tell. What did Mitchum expect? It was dark when they had dragged Mick to that van in the alley behind Corsario’s Hideaway. Knocked out after that, he had no idea where or when they boarded that boat.

Days later, when Mick made that desperate escape at the crack of dawn, it was still dark outside so that he couldn't see much then either. Not that he had time to do anything other than swim for it! How far he swam before reaching the rocky shoreline south of the resort, was a mystery, too.

Mick did give Mitchum an idea of the size of the boat—a thirty-footer, maybe. It could have been a sport-fishing boat, but he couldn't say for sure. They had held him in a cabin below, where he spent most of his time doped up and locked in that tiny bathroom. At one point during the ordeal, he had glimpsed a galley where they had prepared and served meager meals.

It was pretty much a miracle that Goddard didn’t die before the thugs shot him and shoved him overboard. Mick had called Goddard an “old guy,” but at fifty-eight, according to Mitchum, he wasn’t that old. Still, his captors had worked him over for days trying to get him to tell them where Owen had left that GPS device. How could he have told them what he didn’t know?

“I heard them yelling about Owen’s storage unit being empty when they came back after searching it and went at Goddard again. I couldn’t see what was going on, but I could hear it. You’re going to think I’m a coward. All I wanted to do was stay out of the way. When they doped me up, I was grateful. I hoped if they were going to kill me they’d do it while I was knocked out. Shoot me or kill me with an overdose. Every time one of those guys dragged me out of that bathroom, I thought that was it. In the movies when you’ve seen their faces, you know it’s only a matter of time before they put a bullet in your head. Goddard was one tough dude.”

“You were no coward, Mick. You’re right that Goddard was unbreakable! When you told us this story earlier, you left out the part about their plan to pin Goddard’s murder on you. No wonder they kept you around as long as they did.”

I felt sorry for Mick and Bob Goddard. That visit to Owen’s storage unit and the other wild goose chases Goddard sent them on must have bought them some time. Not enough, however.

"Who would ever have thought to look for you two on board a boat?" I muttered aloud. "Bob Goddard accomplished two heroic deeds. Keeping his family out of it, for one. If anyone had a clue about the location of that GPS device, it would have been his son. He's the one who had joined forces to sell stolen, pirated goods online for Owen. If he'd given up that info, the kidnappers might have made a grab for Goddard’s kid."

"He was lucky that since his kid’s a minor, the papers didn't go into all those details." Brien was right, of course. Luck always plays a bigger part in what happens to us than we'd like to admit.

"The other thing Goddard did was save Mick’s neck with his story that he was some homeless guy. That must have kept them from taking a closer look at him any sooner than they did."

"That could be true, Kim, but who better to set up as the patsy for Goddard’s murder than a homeless drifter?” I shrugged. Mitchum was probably correct, but that didn't change my notion that Goddard had died a hero. Mick must have believed that, too. Our discussion was getting to him.

“I was all torn up about what they were doing to him since I had the GPS with me all along,” Mick said. He fought back angry tears as he told us, once again, how in their haste to get out of that bar, they had missed him stuffing that bag inside his Santa suit. “I kept thinking somebody would find us if we could just stay alive, you know? What would stop them from killing us once they had what they wanted? So I hid it as long as I could.”

“You were right, Mick. That’s what eventually did happen,” I said.

“After a while, I couldn’t even have told you what day it was. Yesterday, though, that beefy guy put a few things together. Maybe it was something from the news coverage or that big shot they kept calling figured out I was not homeless, and that I knew Owen and the rest of you.”

“Brien did make it into the news with that 'Santa’s killers caught by Super Surfer' story," I said in a jocular tone, trying to lighten up the mood. It didn't work.

“That story also mentioned that a Sanctuary Grove resident, Mick Meyer, was wanted for questioning,” Mitchum added. “You wore a disguise and lied about why you were following Brien and Kim around town, but you gave them your real name. didn’t you?” Mick didn’t say anything in response but shook his head “yes.”

“Yesterday, they asked me again what I was really doing in that alley behind the bar. I repeated a story I made up about following tourists and hoping to score a wallet or their shopping bags. The first time I told them that story, they had laughed. This time, there were no jokes about bad Santa. They went to work on me. Called me a liar and asked questions about Sanctuary Grove and where Owen put that GPS. I kept saying I didn’t know, and told them to search my shack if they didn't believe me. They left.”

“They did as you suggested, Mick. Your pal Willow took off again, but not until she called and reported cove-runners on a rampage in Sanctuary Grove. She didn’t stay on the phone long enough to explain how she knew who the troublemakers were.” Tap, tap, tap went Mitchum's feet.

“Is she safe?” Mick asked.

“Yes, she’s staying with her sister. Someone on our team is following up with her. Maybe she can tell us something that will help us identify Larry and Curly. Who knows?” Twitch, twitch and give the mustache a yank. I was beginning to anticipate the Detective’s nervous gestures.

“When they came back empty-handed, they took it out on me. This time, that bag I'd kept hidden slipped out while they were roughing me up. I knew I was a goner when I saw the look in Larry’s eyes. He punched me so hard, it knocked me out.” I winced along with Mick as he relived that moment.

“It was dark when I woke up again. They dragged me up on deck. That’s when they forced me to drink gin and poured the rest all over me. Goddard was up on deck, too, and he wasn’t moving. I thought he was already dead. The only lucky thing for me was that they had taken that duct tape off my hands and feet after dragging me up there like a sack of potatoes. Stupid, huh?”

“Well, it would have been hard to frame you for murder if you were found drowned with your hands and feet bound, Mick.”

“I'm sure you’re right, Gidget. I still didn’t know that was their plan, and I sure didn’t have one of my own since I could hardly think straight. I was just lying there, pretending I was still out cold. They shot Goddard, and that's when I heard Larry say they were going to put that gun in my hand so my prints would be on it. I've never been more scared in my life. It was unreal." Mick paused for a second, looked around him at the garden, touched the bench on which he sat. It was like he was checking to make sure his current situation was, in fact, real. I recognized what he was going through because I'd had a moment or two like that myself.

"It took both of them to shove Goddard's body overboard. While they had their hands full, I ducked out. My Santa bag was lying there on the deck, so I grabbed it as I dove overboard. It was even colder in the water than on that boat deck, but that cleared my head a little. I swam for it, letting the tide carry me, and washed up in tide pools. I got my bearings and worked my way back to the resort through the woods.”

Even telling that story for the second time, Mick shook as bad as he had when he first told us about it. I had to give the guy credit for being more resourceful than I ever dreamed he could be. More anger than fear registered when he spoke again.

“They had no right to that GPS gizmo. Opie wanted Willow to have it, and it belongs to her, now. Whatever Opie found—that’s hers, too.”
How much of Mick’s resourcefulness and determination had to do with his feelings for Willow?
I wondered. Maybe he had a bit of the hero in him, too, like Goddard.

“That all depends on what Owen found, Mick. It’s a police matter and for the courts to decide.” I thought Mick would blow a gasket as Mitchum spoke.

“That’s why I told you not to get the police involved, Brien.” The anger fled, like air escaping from a balloon. Defiance was replaced by resignation on his battered face. The poor guy had been running on adrenaline for days.

Anger at those thugs had me riled up. After what he had gone through, Mick deserved to know the truth. What had Owen found? What if that cave still held answers, even without the GPS device or the coordinates on it?

We all just sat there for a moment. The contrast between the ugliness of Mick’s story and the beauty of our surroundings touched me. I reached over and clutched Brien’s hand. It was as if a clean, fresh breeze passed through my troubled mind. That feeling didn't last long. Mitchum popped up on his feet.

“Helluva New Year’s Eve, you two. Will this honeymoon of yours ever end?” I was about to say something I would probably have regretted later when a voice called out.

“Detective Mitchum,” we turned to find that hotel representative we had seen earlier striding toward us. “The all clear has been sounded. You and your party are free to return to the hotel. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

“Was there a fire?” I asked, impulsively.

“Yes. Nothing that put anyone in any danger. A small fire in a stairwell waste basket. My hunch is someone ditched a lit cigarette, and it caught fire. It happens once in a while, despite the resort's strict non-smoking policy.”