Wound Up In Murder (19 page)

“It was terrible about that woman,” I said. Jimmie's good humor faded in an instant.

“Yes,” he said with anger in his voice. I took a chance and seized on his response.

“It sounds personal. Did you know her?” I asked. He seemed uncomfortable with my question.

“I told the cop the whole story.” He paused and I thought that was going to be the end of it, but after a brief hesitation he explained her father's connection with the team. “It's useless to try to act indifferent. I watched Diana grow up. Her father always brought her along. She was literally at every game we played.”

“Do you think she came to the retreat because she knew you were going to be here?” I asked.

“We lost touch a long time ago.” He suddenly seemed nervous. “Nothing ever happened between us when she was underage,” he said quickly.

Right after he said it, he seemed regretful about what he'd said and I had the feeling if I pursued it, he'd simply stop talking. So I glossed right over it and continued on.

“Did you spend much time with her here?” I said.

“No. She came up to me at the mixer and we talked about old times. She told me she was getting a divorce and wanted to start a new chapter in her life.” He stopped and seemed to consider his words. “Okay, I thought she might mean she wanted something romantic with me. I kind of ended the conversation and said we'd talk more over the weekend. Then she made that scene with her husband and the magician. I thought she might have been upset because I gave her the brush-off.”

What I was really looking for was an alibi for Sammy. “Did you see what happened to the magician's silk after she grabbed it?'

“She took it, like it was some kind of prize, and stuffed it in the pocket of her sweater.” He suddenly looked wary. “Why all the questions? Are you the one Kevin St. John warned us about? The amateur sleuth?”

“I'm more than an amateur. I'll have you know I was an assistant detective at a very large firm in Chicago.” The title I gave myself was questionable. I think Frank would have been more likely to refer to me as a detective's assistant. But I figured my version put me ahead of the Miss Marple wannabes of the world.

“Whatever you are, I assure you I had nothing to do with her death. Why would I want to kill her?”

I offered a reassuring smile and nodded in agreement, but all the while I was thinking that he'd offered a possible motive when he brought up the underage thing. At the very least it implied they'd had some kind of relationship. Suppose what he'd said about nothing underage wasn't true and she'd decided to bring it out into the open? Even if it was too late to make a criminal charge, it would kill his squeaky clean image and end his lucrative business with the energy drink.

I wanted to ask him more about their relationship, although I was pretty sure he wouldn't answer. But maybe if I told him what I was after, I'd catch him off guard. “Sorry for all the questions,” I said. “This is really about the magician. He's a friend of mine. I'm hoping I can find out an alibi for him.”

“Oh,” Jimmie said, his demeanor changing. “Now I understand what you're doing. But I'm afraid I can't help you there.” I wasn't expecting such a short answer and was trying to figure how to steer the conversation back to Jimmie's relationship with Diana, but we were interrupted as Bree Meyers caught up with us. Her blond fluff of curls bounced as she waved her hands. She had baseballs in each and wanted Jimmie to sign them for her boys.

“If you think of anything, please let me know,” I said.

“How?” he said, bringing up the difficulty of communicating at Vista Del Mar.

“There's always the message board,” I said.

“Right. Just like the old days.”

I had to take numerous photos of Bree with Jimmie before I could extricate myself. My early bird retreater's cell phone might not work to make calls, but the camera function was still fine. She was all aflutter about how impressed her husband would be that she'd met a real baseball star. Even when I walked away, I could hear her excited voice. The grounds were busy with people now that the afternoon activities had all ended and both groups had free time.

A number of the 1963 people were heading to the boardwalk that cut through the dunes. It looked like some kind of impromptu nature walk.

A breeze ruffled past, making me want to zip up my fleece jacket. Today's was a dark olive green and I'd added a pale blue lacy mohair scarf my aunt had made. I had to remind myself again that it was August and summer. I realized this was a good area for knitters to live. It was scarf weather year-round.

My group had spread out. I recognized Lucinda's Ralph Lauren jacket up ahead with several other people. They turned off at the Sea and Sand building. Her room was in there, but I guessed she and the others were heading to the living room–like lobby. With soft easy chairs and the glowing fire, it was a perfect spot to hold a knitting session, and it was certainly an appealing one on a cool afternoon like this.

When I got to the bottom of the small hill, I saw Olivia walking with a bunch of the others toward the Lodge. They were no doubt going to have a square-making session. It was such a relief not to have to worry about everyone. I pictured them in the Cora and Madeleine Delacorte Café sitting around a table full of steaming mugs. It was definitely coffee weather.

Gwen and her daughter were headed the other way. Crystal pulled her mother's plastic bin toward a small parking area near the main building. Since the hotel and conference center was over a hundred years old, when it was designed where to put cars was hardly an issue. Parking spots had been added in small spaces around the grounds. Wanda was already shutting the door to her blue Smart Car. A moment later, she zipped out of the parking lot and headed up the driveway.

I watched the dynamic of the mother and daughter for a moment. Because of my up-and-down relationship with my mother, I was always curious to see how other mother-daughter combos reacted. It was clear from the body language that there was no contention going on. I found that so surprising, considering the difference between the plain utilitarian look of Gwen and the unmatched and colorful vibe of her daughter. The fact that they were able to live together with Crystal's kids in that small house amazed me.
I shuddered to think what life would be like if I showed up on my mother's doorstep with a couple of kids.

They stopped when they got next to Gwen's boxy Volvo wagon with the Cadbury Yarn decal on the door. Neither of them seemed to notice that just beyond the small parking lot, yellow tape still marked off the area where Diana Rathman had been found.

I didn't want to have to answer any questions about where I was going or, worse, have Madeleine show up and want to join me. I held back until Gwen had gotten in her car and Crystal walked down to her dusty Ford Explorer. I was relieved to see Madeleine rush up to her golf cart. She had a lead foot with the small vehicle and was already turning out of the driveway before the other two cars had backed out.

When they were all gone, I walked up toward the street. I wanted to check on Sammy, and I wanted to call Frank. Maybe my ex-boss could help me make some sense of all that I knew. Everything seemed quiet as I headed up my driveway. I looked at the guest house and it was so silent I wondered if Sammy was still in there. I was about to knock on the window that was only visible from my small backyard in what had become our signal.

I glanced around wondering if Lieutenant Borgnine had someone watching. I knew a little about surveillance. I'd done it once when I was working for Frank. One of his associates had a toothache and I took over for him so he could go to the dentist. I always told Frank it would have turned out differently if I'd known I was going to be doing surveillance when I came to work. I certainly wouldn't have worn a bloodred shirt. Of course, with that shirt I was noticed and the whole thing went bust.

But I'd learned from the experience. If somebody was
watching my place, they'd have to do it from the street. I retraced my steps and looked down the expanse of the black asphalt in both directions. The only vehicle parked was an old blue van with some kind of writing on the side. Could it be a cover?

I walked down to it and looked in the windows. It appeared empty, but there was something blocking the view of the rear area. I went around to check the back. I leaned against the doors to see if I could hear anything.

“What are you doing?” a voice said, startling me, and instinctively I jumped back.

“Hey, that's my foot,” the voice complained as arms grabbed me. My instinct was to push away, but then my surroundings came into focus and I saw that the red truck had pulled to the curb in front of the van. When I looked over my shoulder, Dane's face was inches from mine.

“So what exactly are you up to?” he said, releasing me. “You're not planning on stealing that van.” His grin made it clear he was teasing.

I went with the truth. “I thought your lieutenant might have someone watching my place.”

Dane shook his head. “Cadbury PD isn't that sophisticated. When we watch people, it's more direct.” He made a V out of his fingers and pointed at his eyes. “Besides, Borgnine doesn't think Sammy is here. He's gotten it into his head that the doctor/magician has left the area, but he thinks you know where Sammy is. By the way, he's saying that he's not looking to arrest Sammy, that he just wants to talk to him.”

“Yeah, right,” I said. “How about he's telling you that so you'll tell me and then I'll give up Sammy's location.”

“Probably true,” Dane said with a shrug. There was a silence
after that. Was Dane expecting me to say something, like actually give up Sammy's location?

“You said Lieutenant Borgnine thinks Sammy has left the area. Where does he think he is?” I asked, choosing to try to get information rather than give it.

“He got a tip that he was at the San Jose Airport waiting to board a plane for Chicago, but when Borgnine got there, he wasn't on the passenger list.”

“Who said it?” I asked.

Dane shrugged. “Don't know. It was an anonymous tip.”

Just then a man carrying a toolbox approached the van and gave us a suspicious stare. “Are you trying to steal my van?” I looked horrified and Dane started to laugh. He pulled me away and let the guy open the back. Even so, I stole a look inside. There was no setup of cameras and people with headphones. Just a bunch of pipes and rotors.

The man shut the back with a slam and got into the front, giving us a dirty look. A moment later, he drove away.

“You're out and about a lot today,” I said, noting that his truck was pointed in the opposite direction of his house as if he was on the way somewhere.

“I've got the karate kids coming over later,” he said. “I'm on the way to the grocery store to load up on spaghetti noodles.”

“I don't think they'd want you to call them kids.” I'd seen some of his students in his garage studio and could just picture how they would react if they heard him. I wondered if they had any idea how lucky they were that Dane gave them lessons, a place to hang out and even cooked for them. It was his way to hopefully keep them out of trouble. Just thinking about his homemade tomato sauce made my mouth water.

“Right, young people. There'll be eats for you tonight,” he said. He always left me a plate of whatever he cooked. He reminded me of what a great team we made. He made dinner and I made dessert.

“I'll be eating at Vista Del Mar with my group. Then when I'm sure all is well, I'll be baking.”

“So you're going home for a break now?” he said, glancing toward my place.

“I found out some stuff and I was going to call Frank and talk it over. Try to make sense of it all.”

“Frank, huh. How about you talk to me? I might not be a PI, but I am a cop.” He looked down at his jeans. “Even if I'm not in uniform.”

I thought it over for a moment. I couldn't tell him anything about where Sammy was, but other than that, why not? It might even be better because he knew the players. With Frank it would take half an hour just to explain who everyone was.

“Okay,” I said finally.

“Your place or mine?” he asked as he got a satisfied smile.

“How about the beach?” I offered. For so many reasons it seemed to be a better alternative.

“So I'm listening,” he prompted when we'd walked back across the grounds of Vista Del Mar, taken the boardwalk through the dunes and crossed the street that wound between the edge of the Vista Del Mar grounds and the beach.

We had the place to ourselves. There was a constant breeze coming off the water and it ruffled my hair and blew a strand across my face. Dane, ever the gentleman, brushed it out of my eyes. We struggled through the silky sand to the darker damp area near the water's edge where it was easier to walk. A wave rolled onto the shore and away, for
a moment leaving a mirror that reflected back our images before it became damp sand again.

“I've found out quite a bit about the victim,” I began. “Like she's originally from Cadbury and is probably Kevin St. John's half aunt.”

Dane stopped walking. “Wow, that's a piece of news Lieutenant Borgnine doesn't have. Kevin St. John's step-aunt, huh.”

“There's more. I think there was something going on with her and Jimmie Phelps.”

“The old baseball player who's pushing the energy drinks now?” he asked, and I nodded.

“And she and her husband are splitting up and she owns half the My Favorite Year business.”

Dane's eyes widened. “You have been a busy little detective.” He caught himself and he winced. “I'm sorry, that sounded demeaning.” His eyes twinkled as he said, “I am just truly amazed that while you are in the process of putting on your yarn retreat, you managed to find out all that information.”

With the sameness of the sand and plantings along the edge of the beach, it was hard to tell how far we'd walked. The air had brought color to his face and I guessed mine as well. “Maybe we should turn back,” I said. As we did, he took my hand as if to steady me. He didn't let go when we started walking again.

“See, I told you that you could talk to me,” he said as, hand in hand, we walked back.

“Except that Frank gives me advice about what to do.”

“I can do that, too. Sort of. You seem to have a number of possibilities, but if you want Lieutenant Borgnine to get off of Sammy as a suspect, you need to give him some
evidence, something he can build a case on. Or better yet. Get someone to confess.”

He walked me all the way home, only letting go of my hand when we got to my driveway. As he walked to his truck, he turned back and glanced at the guest house for a split second. “I'll leave the plate of food anyway.”