Since things had gone so poorly with Sabrina at Smugglers' Tavern, neither Jimmy John nor I had eaten since breakfast, so we stopped at Bubba Burger just outside of town for a quick meal. Bubba's was a throwback to the 50s and 60s. Art deco lines, neon, speakers by the parking spots, carhops on roller blades.
Jimmy John had always been a good eater. Mom and I never understood how the Jones men could eat three times what a normal person eats and stay fit and slim—Jimmy, an omnivore, more than my dad, a vegetarian—which was where my eating habits originated. He ordered a double Bubba cheeseburger, a chili dog, large fries, and an orange dream milkshake. I went with grilled cheese and onion rings, and sat in utter disbelief after I finished, watching him polish off his order.
He belched and rubbed his belly after he'd scarfed it all down and grinned. "Dang, that's some good grub. Takes me back to when I used to go up on Craggy Hill and park on the cliffs to pitch woo with your grandma."
"TMI, Jimmy John."
The carhop came for the tray. We rolled up the truck's windows and drove on toward the lighthouse.
The lighthouse at Danger Cove was built back in the 1800s and had saved many a sailor from a cruel death on an unforgiving shore—as Elizabeth Ashley, our local author would say. It was decommissioned in the 1950s and had been left to a bit of ruin until recently when a campaign to restore the Memorial Walkway and later on, even possibly the interior, had been initiated.
The sun was low in the sky, and the evening marine layer was closing in as Jimmy John pulled in to the lighthouse parking lot. Crime scene tape was strung everywhere like the Christmas tinsel that crisscrossed Main Street during the holidays. An officer sat in a DCPD cruiser. He opened his door and stepped out when we drove up.
We got out of the truck and walked over to where he stood, thumbs hooked into his belt, probably trying to look imposing—it wasn't working. I thought about Tino's ambition to work for the PD and how he wouldn't have to try to look badass—he already was.
"Help you?" The cop, middle-aged and soft looking, had a somewhat nasal, squeaky voice.
Jimmy held his hands out in front of him, fingers spread. "Jimmy John Jones, Cove Chronicles. I'm reaching for my wallet and my credentials."
The cop nodded. "Don't bother, Mr. Jones. Detective Lester Marshall said you'd be coming. He left strict orders. Not only am I to prevent anyone from entering this crime scene, I'm specifically ordered to keep you and"—he nodded in my direction—"your granddaughter away from here."
One side of Jimmy's mouth lifted in what could only be called a smirk. "Lester Marshall." It wasn't a question. "Right. Well, thanks, Officer. You have a good evening now." He turned and started back to the truck, leaving me fuming by the cop. "Lizzie?"
I'd been about to open my mouth in protest, but Jimmy's summons stopped me. I went with him back to the truck.
He pulled out his phone and dialed. "Hey, Bud. It's Jimmy." He listened for a minute, then, "I see your compadre old Lester Marshall is gunning for me. Has me on a persona non grata list out here at the lighthouse." More listening. "Well, me and Lizzie been doing a little checking on our own, and we have a few things we can share with you—if you're willing to reciprocate, of course." He was quiet for a minute, and then he laughed. "Well, cooperation is what it's all about, Bud. Isn't that the truth?"
He told his friend Detective Bud Ohlsen what we'd learned at the motel and about Carlos's iPad, which we'd left there for the police to check out, and also what we'd been told at Buckley & Sons. "Now since we've been banned from the lighthouse, I was wondering what things looked like when you went in there. Something you can share?"
I listened and waited. I could sort of hear Bud talking at the other end of the connection but couldn't tell exactly what he was saying. Finally, Jimmy said, "Okay, that's great. Thanks, Bud. Keep me posted, and I'll do the same."
After he disconnected, he turned to me. "When they went into the lighthouse after the discovery of the body, Bud says they found a kennel—"
"The one Carlos bought from Buckley & Sons?" I asked.
"Likely," he said. "There was kibble there too. He'd been hiding Rosie there, feeding her, keeping her hidden."
I thought about it. "Until someone else discovered them and murdered him."
"Looks like it."
I thought about it, about what we'd seen on the beach in the wee hours of Sunday morning. "And whoever killed him didn't want Rosie."
"Not necessarily," he said. "Maybe it was a rescue mission, to start with anyway, Carlos interrupted them, and after he was killed, they got scared and ran off."
"Leaving poor little Rosie to wander around. Naked and alone," I said, thinking of her missing diamond collar. "What if the person who killed Carlos wasn't after him or Rosie? What if that person was after the diamonds all along?"
He thought about it a minute. "Maybe." He started the truck. "It's one theory."
"Yeah," I said. "One of several possible theories."
He pulled the truck around and headed back toward town. The fog had rolled in, and he had to use the fog lights to see the road. The yellow light shone through the dense haze. The sounds of the truck's engine and the tires moving over the road were muted. No other cars were around, and I felt as though we'd passed through some slip of time, and we were the only two people left on the planet. A strange sense of sadness rolled over me. Was this the way I'd feel if I moved away from Danger Cove—as if I was isolated, alone? I shook it off.
"What's next?" I asked.
"I think maybe one of us ought to talk to Sabrina's nephew," he said.
"Paco?"
He nodded.
"Good idea," I said. "Let's see if what Carlos did to Paco's parents was bad enough to kill the guy for."
"How about if you get with Tino and the two of you do it? Those two young guys ought to be all kinds of simpatico. Don't you think? Something else I need to take care of anyway."
"Oh," I said. "Sure. Let me give Tino a call and see if he's still mad at me or if he's willing to go with me to talk to Paco."
It was nearly seven by the time we pulled into the parking lot of the apartments where I lived.
Tino was already there, waiting, leaning against the hood of his car.
He straightened away and came forward to greet us, shaking hands with Jimmy John and, to my relief, giving me a sweet kiss on the lips. "I missed you today."
I sighed. How did this man always know the perfect thing to say to melt my heart?