Sunshine Beach (12 page)

“Why do I feel like you're not telling me everything?”

She wanted to say that that's what came from skulking in bushes and portraying people in the worst possible light, but she was so glad he was still on the line she said only, “I have no idea.”

Dustin toddled over and reached toward the phone with a sandy hand. “Who is at?” he asked.

“It's Troy.”

“Broy!”

He broke into a smile and a little cartoon light bulb lit up in Kyra's head. “Someone wants to talk with you,” she said. Then she crouched down and held the phone up to Dustin's ear.

“Hello, Broy!” Dustin said, clutching her hand. “I'm bidding a katsle!”

She couldn't hear what Troy said, but her son smiled all the way through it. Then he said, “Bye-bye, Broy!” and toddled back to dig some more.

The line was quiet when she got the phone to her ear. “Are you still there?”

“Yeah,” Troy said. “I gotta go. But . . .” He hesitated and this time she managed to keep silent. He hesitated for so long that once again she feared he'd hung up.

She was about to abandon hope, when he finally said, “I'll see what I can do.” She'd just begun to breathe again when he added, “In exchange for a favor to be named at a later date.”

Joe arrived for the meeting with Annelise and the Franklins looking every inch the seasoned FBI agent that he was. He greeted Maddie and Avery warmly, but only nodded to Nikki as he entered Annelise's home, his manner cool and professional. Just as it had been when he'd first been tracking Malcolm and had seen her only as a potential accomplice.

He was far friendlier to the Franklins and to Renée's sister, whose pale blue eyes were pinned to his handsome face as if he were the savior she'd been praying for. He took the proffered seat at the dining room table while Mrs. Arnold flitted from Annelise's side to the kitchen and back again serving them cold drinks and offering food that no one wanted. At a nod from John Franklin, she retreated.

“Thank you for coming to talk with us,” Renée said.

“My pleasure,” Joe replied, his attention focused on the two women. With no fanfare, he opened a folio he'd brought with him and slid a piece of paper to both Franklins and Annelise Handleman. “This is a brief bio to give you an idea of my background and experience. I'm currently a special
agent in the financial crimes area. It was while hunting down Malcolm Dyer that I first met Nicole, Madeline, and Avery.” He did not allude to his relationship with Nikki, nor did he give the slightest hint that he had brought her close to tears with his lovemaking and asked her to marry him. His amusement at his need to present his credentials might never have happened.

Renée, clearly aware that Joe had no need or reason to sell himself, flushed slightly in embarrassment. Annelise read each word and jotted several notes, presumably preparing to conduct an in-depth interview.

“Since it's apparent that Agent Giraldi is extremely experienced and is doing us a very large favor, I suggest we listen to what he has to say before asking any questions,” John Franklin said at a look from his wife.

A flash of anger lit Annelise's features, sharpening them briefly. So far Nikki hadn't noticed much middle ground. Annelise Handleman careened between “all in” and “not there.”

“Thank you,” Joe said. “I've spoken with the Pinellas County Sheriff's Office, who were responsible for policing the beach back in 1952 and who are once again in charge due to the closing of the St. Pete Beach Police Department. They have a relatively new cold case unit; an Officer James Jackson who grew up around here is part of it.”

“You know the Jacksons,” John said to Renée. “They live on Vina del Mar. I believe J. J. used to deliver the afternoon paper when there still was one. His older brother is also with the sheriff's office.”

“Officer Jackson has already pulled the case files and is willing to take another look.”

Renée gasped in surprise.

“But I thought
you
were going to reopen and reinvestigate the case,” Annelise said.

Joe smiled easily at her. “Despite the way it looks on television, Ms. Handleman, special agents and other law enforcement officers aren't allowed to just take off to conduct unauthorized investigations. I do have a boss to answer to. But I can and will check in with Officer Jackson and lend a hand if anything falls into my area of expertise.” He didn't look at Nikki.

Emotions flickered across Annelise's face so quickly it was hard to separate them.

“Thank God I made sure the cottage is still there,” Annelise said. Her voice and body vibrated with energy. “Maybe they'll find new trace evidence that couldn't be detected then! Or run fingerprints through the Automated Fingerprint Identification System. That didn't even exist until the late sixties.” The woman was practically levitating above her seat. “I've watched every episode there is of
Forensic Files
and
Cold Case
. They use new technology on old evidence to solve crimes all the time.”

Joe's gentle smile pierced Nikki's heart. “I'm sure you know from watching those shows that the likelihood of anything surviving in the heat and humidity all these years is pretty low,” he said.

Disappointment etched Annelise's pale face. Renée's face revealed less, but she, too, was hanging on Joe's every word. A reminder that it was her life and her father's death that they were discussing.

“The truth is that although the crime scene shows are incredibly popular and the new technologies are very exciting, the majority of cold cases are solved through old-fashioned detective work,” Joe continued. “Someone committed to looking at the case with new eyes. It's possible Officer Jackson will unearth new evidence or an eyewitness. Or someone who knows something but wasn't willing to step forward then.”

“I was an eyewitness,” Annelise said. “Only no one believed me when I said I saw someone in our cottage that night.
Because I was only five they thought that I dreamed it or made it up.”

“You did like to make up stories,” Renée said. “The wilder the better.”

John took Renée's hand.

“I didn't make the man up.” Annelise's voice had taken on that childish note. The faraway look in her eyes made them even eerier.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Joe asked Annelise softly.

“I woke up, I didn't know why. I was thirsty and I had to go to the bathroom. Or maybe I heard something. I got up to go to my parents' room, and while I was walking through the living room I saw someone standing in the shadows in the corner. Only when I told my mommy and daddy that somebody was there they told me that I was dreaming.”

“No one got up to look around?” Joe asked.

She shook her head. “No, and they wouldn't let me stay in their bed, either.”

“And did the shadow person talk to you when you went back to your room?”

Annelise shook her head. “He wasn't there anymore. And then I thought maybe I did 'magine it.”

“You said ‘he.' Do you remember what the person looked like?”

Nikki knew she wasn't the only one holding her breath as Joe coaxed answers from Annelise, whose voice had turned increasingly childish.

“No. But I could tell it was a man. He was wearing black clothes, heavy ones.”

Avery and Maddie's eyes were pinned to Annelise. Joe was jotting notes on a yellow pad. “He didn't speak to you?”

Annelise shook her head.

“Will you try something for me, Annelise?” Joe asked.

Annelise nodded solemnly.

“Close your eyes and think really hard. Try to see the man in the shadows.”

Annelise closed her eyes. The rest of them watched her, barely breathing.

“Can you notice anything else about him? Was he tall? What about the shape of his face? Did he have a beard or was he clean shaven?”

Her eyes closed tighter as if she were straining to see. “He . . . there was something really scary about him because he stood so still. Like a statue.” Her voice came quick and frightened. “He was standing next to the bookcase and his head was—” Her eyes flew open in surprise. “He was even taller and bigger than my daddy. I didn't know I knew that. Nobody ever asked me about the man. They all thought he was just in my 'magination.” Once again Annelise pronounced the word as a five-year-old might. She spoke only to Joe as if the rest of them weren't there.

“I'll make sure Officer Jackson knows to ask you about the man. A sketch artist might be a good idea—to see what else you may have noticed without realizing it,” Joe said. “Did you hear anything after you went back to your room?”

“No,” Annelise said. “It was summer and the air-conditioning unit was on and those window units were really loud. Kind of like a freight train, Daddy said. But when I got up in the morning my daddy was dead. And my mommy was gone.”

Renée slipped an arm around Annelise's shoulders. Her face was as white as her sister's.

“If I would have shouted or made noise, maybe the man would have left. And nothing would have happened.” Annelise's voice was little more than a whisper.

“Or things might have gone south sooner,” Joe said.

“You believe her?” Renée asked, her face still drained of color. “You think she actually saw someone?”

“I don't know. But the fact that she was a child doesn't
mean she didn't.” Joe made more notes, then set down his pen. “Did the detective who investigated ask you about the man?”

“His name was Detective Anderson,” John said. “He interviewed everyone. All the guests and the employees.”

Annelise's eyes shimmered with tears. “He was mean. I hated him.”

It was Renée who continued. “He ultimately concluded that Annelise's mother must have caused our father's death and run off since there was no sign of anyone else's presence.”

“My mother never would have done that!” Annelise protested.

Renée glanced at her sister, who had lost the battle with her tears and was now crying silently. “There were people who were suspicious of Ilse and her motives for marrying my father from the beginning. Because she had such a thick German accent. And her English wasn't good. And also because my family and most of the guests and beach club members were Jewish. My stepmother wasn't.”

John Franklin placed a hand over his wife's. “A lot of hotels and beach clubs were restricted back then. Renée's grandfather couldn't even buy that property in his own name. He had to buy it through someone else.”

Nikki listened to the Realtor's matter-of-fact recitation. She would have liked to reach for Joe's hand but he was there in a professional capacity. And she seemed to have forfeited that right.

Joe made a few more notes before closing the folio. “I'm going to email notes of our conversation to Officer Jackson.” He turned to Avery. “And if you can leave the Handlemans' cottage for last, I'm sure Officer Jackson will want to bring in a forensics team to have a look around.”

Avery's eyes widened at how smoothly Joe had inserted the assumption that the hotel would be renovated. Nikki saw Maddie and the Franklins register what Joe had done a moment later.

“But you said there wasn't much chance there'd be anything helpful there.” Annelise's tears had dried. All of her attention was now focused on the new investigation, not on arguing against the renovation, which had been presented as a fait accompli.

“I did,” Joe said to Annelise. “And it might not yield anything. But I'm sure Jackson will want to run down every possibility.” He looked directly at Nikki for the first time. “You never know when something is going to turn out to be different than what you'd expected.”

He stood then, picked up the folio, and handed business cards to everyone but Nikki. “I've got to run, but I promise you'll be in good hands. And I'll be available by phone or email.”

With that he nodded his good-byes, shook hands with John Franklin, and left. As Avery pulled out her notes, Nikki told herself she hadn't yet lost Joe completely. That someone didn't tell you they loved you and wanted to marry you one day and then simply write you off the next. That Joe might be hurt and angry, but that hadn't stopped him from batting a huge home run for her team.

After Joe had gone, Avery stood on wobbly legs, unsure of her approach. She'd come intending to simply explain the project, present the tentative budget, and hope for the best. Her backup plan had included getting down on her knees and begging. Now she waffled. Annelise hadn't protested Joe's assumption that the renovation was a “go.” Did that make it safe to assume the project was on? She studied Renée's sister, who was busy making notes on her pad, head bent, tongue clenched between her teeth in concentration, her small hand wrapped tightly around her pencil. Nothing about Annelise seemed safe or certain. And then there was that old adage about how “assume” made an ass out of “u” and me.

Avery cleared her throat wishing that Deirdre was here
with her smooth certainty, her ability to steamroll with enough grace and charm to keep you from feeling completely flattened.

“So.” She cleared her throat again. “I just want to say that I'm very glad that Joe's convinced the authorities to take another look at what happened to your father and, um, your mother.”

Annelise's head jerked up at the last words, her unblinking eyes boring into Avery's. Beneath the pale eeriness lay the darkness of old hurts, the child who'd lost both of her parents without warning or explanation. Avery knew what abandonment felt like, knew what it was to yearn for answers that didn't come. Annelise didn't care about renderings or construction schedules or even how much the renovation might cost. Avery set aside the papers she'd brought and spoke directly to Renée's younger sister. “My mother was missing for a lot of my life, too. I was lucky enough to get her back recently. At least for a little while.” Tears pooled in her eyes. “It was my father who gave me my love of building things. He's gone, too.” She swallowed hard. “I want to restore the Sunshine Hotel. I want to bring it back so that you can find some of the good memories that happened there and so guests can make new ones.” Her voice broke but she pushed on. “And I want to do it in our parents' honor. In their names. Yours. And Renée's. And mine.”