A branch blew into the bedroom window, rat-tat-tatting on the pane. A tempest whirled around the house, growing louder and stronger until it reverberated like a buzz saw that would rip the house in two. I stood in the yard outside and gazed upward, a downpour drenching me, blasts of icy air sending me into spasms of shaking. A gale force knocked me off my feet. I continued to stare up at the elm tree in the yard next door. Something came crashing down on top of me and the roof of my house.
I awoke in a cold sweat, my body damp, my breathing ragged. I closed my eyes again and reentered the nightmare. It was Hurricane Sandy, and I felt as vulnerable now as I had that October night in 2012. I was disoriented for a minute. I inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly to calm the thudding in my chest.
We knew the hurricane was coming back then, had been warned to buy gas and stock up on food. The lines at service stations were long, occupied by impatient drivers. The shelves at the local grocery store emptied. Still, people hadn’t panicked during the weekend before the storm.
I’d been through hurricanes before, but nothing prepared me for Sandy. Or to spend the twenty-four most terrifying hours of my life alone. After Grody closed the restaurant on the Sunday before, he begged me to go home with him. Jackson texted me that he’d be back in plenty of time before the worst of the storm hit Candle Beach. Famous last words.
I hunkered down at home, but when the power went out, the wind howled, water flooded my basement, I felt trapped and helpless in the cold and dark, that my house would blow over. My neighbor’s elm tree landing partially on my roof was the last straw. By the time Jackson returned to Candle Beach forty-eight hours after the hurricane hit, I’d hung a flashlight from a chandelier for light, been charging my cell in my trusty Chevy Metro, and had wrapped myself in layers of long underwear and a sweat suit to stay warm. I was angrier with Jackson than I’d ever been during the five years we’d been together. He’d abandoned me. He claimed he left the Jersey Shore for a new business venture with his brother in Iowa. Maybe it was my anger that drove him off.
Next to me, Bill was asleep. Oblivious. I marveled that he never awoke when I had these middle-of-the-night hallucinations. The alarm read 3 a.m. I tossed from side to side, practiced breathing exercises I’d seen Walter conduct with actors to bring them into the present. Usually it sent them into sleep or boredom or fits of giggling. I’d never tell him that I found them useful. We didn’t have much of a relationship these last couple of years since I was instrumental in closing a murder investigation that pegged him as a person of interest. Even though he was exonerated, he never got over it.
Something besides memories of the hurricane kept me awake. It was what Bill said, or didn’t say. He gave Jackson and me a detailed description of the car theft process. Yet he neglected to mention how the thieves knew his car was available. How were they able to steal it so easily. Did they wander the streets digging around for potential targets? That seemed terribly inefficient to me. I would confront him first thing in the morning. I drifted off, no more dreams of wind, rain, and crashing trees.
Awakening in the middle of the night took its toll. My body refused to acknowledge the alarm clock the next morning.
“Wake up, sleepyhead,” Bill said and planted a kiss on my cheek. “You’re missing another of Jackson’s ‘specialties.’” Bill made air quotes. He smelled of caffeine and sugar.
The room was gray. “What time is it?” I asked.
“Nine thirty. You better get out there before he eats the rest of the pancakes. Golden brown. Covered in powdered sugar and blueberry syrup. Yummm…” Bill stepped into the shower.
My mouth watered. “I’m up.” I swung my legs out of bed and wrapped my robe around me. “Did you hear the wind last night?” I knew most of the weather elements I experienced were due to my Hurricane Sandy nightmare. In spite of that, I was sure Candle Beach had had its own tempest.
“No, though lots of branches were thrown around. Some lawn furniture from next door wound up in our backyard. In fact I think we’re due for a mini-nor’easter. It’s already raining. No beach today,” Bill said.
My nightmare was a premonition. “Where are you off to?” I asked.
“Returning my rental car and picking up my BMW.”
“Need company?” I asked and ran a brush through my hair.
“I’m good. I’ll get a ride to the impound area in Trenton.”
“That’s efficient service from the state police. Your car is recovered one day, picked up the next.”
Bill switched off the water and toweled himself dry. “I got some expedited service for helping out.”
“What kind of helping out?” I asked.
His face went blank. I’d seen this police-chief-facial-armor before whenever I’d asked questions about an official investigation. “The usual. Filling out paperwork, computer research.”
That didn’t make sense. The state of New Jersey had a special unit of officers dedicated to car theft. Why did they need Bill to fill out paperwork? “Is there something you’re not telling me?” I asked. Besides the fact that I saw him at the raid on the warehouse.
“What do you mean?” Bill avoided my gaze and tugged on jeans and a long-sleeved knit shirt.
“Yo, Dodie!” Jackson yelled from the kitchen. “You got thirty seconds until these hotcakes are history.”
Bill gave me a quick hug. “I’ll be back for lunch. See you at Grody’s?”
“Sure,” I said to his back as it moved out the door.
I didn’t have the energy to pursue him to his rental car; I needed calories and coffee in order to do that.
“Here you go. A short stack for short stuff.” Jackson gave me a lazy grin, reverting to an affectionate nickname he’d used in the old days—I wasn’t short, unless I stood next to him—and set a plate of pancakes in front of me. They oozed fat and sugar, dripping blueberry glaze and melted butter. He set a mug of coffee on the table.
“What happened to work this morning?”
“Work’s canceled. The weather,” he said.
I inhaled the aromas of breakfast. My mouth watered. “Where did you learn to cook anyway? You were MIA in the kitchen when you left the shore after the hurricane.” I dove into the pancakes. Utterly scrumptious.
Jackson dismissed my question with a gesture. “I got schooled.”
It occurred to me that Tammy, the bride-to-be, was no doubt his teacher. “She did a first-class number with you.”
Jackson studied me, sipping his coffee. “We called the engagement off right before I came back to Candle Beach.”
I set my fork on the edge of my plate. “Sorry to hear that.”
“Tammy’s idea. She said I wasn’t motivated enough to get married. That I didn’t have any ambition.” He avoided my eyes. “You think that’s true?”
I flashed on Jackson and Vinnie fooling around on the JV, surfing, playing beach volleyball at sunset, drinking on the beach after dark. “Well, you and Vinnie…weren’t exactly the most serious guys. At least you had memorable times together.”
“We did. We were tight.” Jackson stared off into space as though focusing on the past.
“It was a good thing you took off for Iowa. If you’d stayed, you might have gotten roped into Vinnie’s shady deals,” I said.
“What shady deals? You don’t know that he was involved with anything…”
“Illegal? Jackson. Think about it,” I urged.
He hung his head. “I kept hoping it was a simple drowning, you know, he got lit and fell overboard.”
“That would have been less messy.”
“Vinnie and I were opposites. He had to constantly play angles. Me? I went along to get along.”
“Is that why you tried to ditch me in the arcade last week?”
“What are you talking about? I didn’t ditch you,” he said firmly.
“I followed you through the arcade—”
“Like, what was that about? Tailing me?” he asked.
“—and I got intercepted by Tiny. Tiny! Who’s now arrested for his involvement in car thefts? He distracted me until you ran out the back door,” I finished.
“I didn’t run out. I had a meeting with Sam to talk about some work and I got a call from Arlene. She said to go through the arcade and come out the back door. That Baldwin Contractors was doing some cement repair in the parking lot behind the games.”
Legit enough, but why did Tiny waylay me long enough for Jackson to escape?
“You talked to Arlene in the parking lot?”
“Nah. She got a last-minute conflict. Instead a guy who worked for Sam picked me up and he drove to a construction site.” He frowned. “What’re you getting at? First you have Sam mixed up in Vinnie’s murder and now you think Arlene is guilty of…what?”
I didn’t know.
“Any ideas on the black book?” he asked. “Got an appointment with my lawyer this afternoon.”
“I’m working on it. Let’s keep it between us for now. Plenty of time to fill him in later.” I pushed back from the kitchen table. “Thanks for breakfast. Tammy did a good job with you.”
Jackson finished his coffee. “Ha. My luck to hook up with two can-do women.”
“Did you ever think it was our luck to fall in with a surfer boy?” I said lightly.
“Huh.” He cleared my dishes. “I’ll see you tonight at the theater.”
My cell pinged. Lola: some weather…hanging out until tonight…lunch? I replied: maybe. talk later. I helped Jackson clean up. By the time I was dressed in jeans, sneakers, and a hoodie, he’d left and the bungalow was quiet. I was eager to hear from Pauli but resisted texting him. I knew he’d be in contact when he had something to report. I drummed my fingers on the table, glanced at the wall clock—11 a.m.—and debated another cup of coffee. I was already jittery from a combination of caffeine and adrenaline. No sense in making things worse.
Something nipped at the back of my brain. Did it have to do with Arlene? Jackson said Arlene called him to meet behind the arcade, but I distinctly remembered her saying that she “didn’t know who this Jackson is” when I went to the theater searching for Sam hoping he’d post Jackson’s bail. Was I wrong? No, I knew I was right. Why would Arlene lie? My cell pinged. I was hoping for Bill. Pauli was the next best thing: got some stuff. talk? Yes! I tapped his number.
“Like, hey,” he said. Then his voice was muffled, but louder. “On the phone,” he shouted. “Okay. See you later.” After a beat, he returned.
“Your mom?”
“She’s going to the boardwalk. Shopping and stuff,” he said.
“What did you find?” I asked hurriedly
He cleared his throat. “So like you got ninety-seven names on the list in the book.”
“Right.”
“And like I did this new thing.” He became animated. “Like I ran this software from my last digital forensics class where we took a bunch of data and figured out commonalities using—”
“An algorithm?”
“If the math is right—”
“Pauli,” I asked gently, “what did you find?”
“Okay, so I started with where they’re from,” he said.
“That makes sense.”
“Mostly East Coast. Jersey, Pennsylvania, Delaware. Five guys from New York. One from California.” He paused. “Kind of funny that a guy would come all the way from San Diego to the Jersey Shore.”
I’d been to San Diego many times when my brother Andy lived there. It was kind of odd…
“Vinnie had the names so they’re probably connected to his boat,” I mused. “Customers?”
“I’m checking out stuff like what kind of jobs they have.”
“That’s a great idea.”
“And since this is, like, a murder…I’m looking at criminal records,” he added solemnly.
I was thunderstruck. The kid was a genius. “Pauli, that’s fantastic!” Could one or more of these men be guilty of colluding in the car theft ring? If so the state unit would need these names. Not, however, until I knew exactly what they meant to Vinnie.
Pauli assured me that he would keep digging and text later. I leaned back in my chair. It wasn’t much to go on…. Still, I had faith in my Internet guru. He’d never let me down yet. And, frankly, I was at my wits’ end. If nothing materialized as a result of Pauli’s high-tech mining, the investigation was in the hands of the county prosecutor. Even if Jackson’s lawyer was able to get him acquitted, would they ever find out who killed Vinnie? Would his former partner’s death hang over his head indefinitely?
I needed to move. I jammed my arms into a slicker, grabbed my bag, and walked outside. A blast of wind hit me, the rain coming down at an angle pricking my face like pins and needles. The Jersey Shore was in for a drubbing. I hopped in my MC and drove to the boardwalk. I assumed on a day like this with sunbathers scared off, parking spaces might be plentiful. I was right and found a spot close to the Sandbar.
Grody had battened down the restaurant—removing the tables and chairs from the sand and lowering the plastic, see-through shades that ran around the perimeter of the restaurant.
“You’re expecting the worst?” I asked after settling into a table by the bar.
He studied the gray sky, the relentless rain. “The weather report’s not so hot.”
I shuddered. The wind whipped debris off the boardwalk, sent the warning red flags on the beach flapping: Danger. No Swimming.
“We could get fifty-mile-an-hour gusts tonight. Three or four inches of water.” He nodded grimly. “A good evening to stay in.”
I speculated about the theater festival. What kind of crowd could they get for the awards event tonight? At least the Etonville group would be here to applaud, especially if Arsenic and Old Lace won something for their efforts. Though I had my doubts after Abby’s and Edna’s tap routine. With few customers, Grody tried to keep himself occupied, wiping clean tables and studying inventory sheets. He joined me.
“Were you ever on Vinnie’s charter boat?” I asked.
“The Bounty? No. I’ve been on other luxury charters, though.”
“What are they like?”
“What you’d expect. A bunch of guys drinking and fishing for hours on end.”
“I was aboard The Bounty…”
Grody cocked an eyebrow.
“Don’t ask. The cabin was gorgeous. A beautiful galley with stainless steel appliances, a plush salon with a huge flat screen TV, dining room seating for eight. Two luxury staterooms. It didn’t seem like the kind of place for a beer and burgers gang,” I observed.
“It wasn’t. A full day of fishing can run a couple thousand. You add up six to eight guys, and Vinnie was pulling in big bucks.”
Vinnie and his partners, Sam and Arlene. “What about the food and drink?”
“Mostly catered. I did a few charters earlier this summer. No-expense-spared seafood buffets. And the liquor? Top-shelf booze and champagne,” he said.
I marveled again how Vinnie’s fortunes had changed since his days with Jackson. These fishing excursions were not for the average visit-the-shore-for-a-day-of-fishing Joe. No wonder Sam got involved. A lot of money to be made. “And the clients?”
Grody rubbed a thumb and index finger together. “Loaded. Some trips are corporate events. Getaway days as rewards for work well done. I even catered a bachelor party. That was interesting.” He grinned.
Rich clients that Vinnie kept track of in a black book.
“…for Bill?” Grody asked.
I’d lost the thread of the conversation. “Sorry?”
“I said are you eating or waiting for Bill?” Grody went behind the bar and drew a seltzer for me. “I have blackened grouper we’re featuring for lunch.” He cast a glance out the front of the restaurant, where the boardwalk was empty, the rain falling, though with less force than earlier. The wind still blustered.
“I’m not sure.” I hesitated. Bill had been so unreliable these past few days. Now that his BMW was recovered, we could get back to our vacation. His response to my text wasn’t encouraging: on my way but start without me. Judging from his recent efforts to meet up, “on his way” could mean anywhere from fifteen minutes to two hours. I texted Lola: join me at the Sandbar?
* * * *
Thirty minutes later, Lola blew in, huddled in her Eddie Bauer trench coat, blond hair in a tight chignon. As usual, she could have strolled off a runway instead of the boardwalk. “Whew. If this keeps up, we’ll have to swim to the theater tonight.” She plopped down beside me. “Do you think it’s too early for wine?”
I chortled. Something hot was more my speed at the moment. On days like this I used to love to eat hot chowder or lobster bisque while watching fishermen bring in their catch. “Everyone hopeful for the awards ceremony?”
Lola removed her raincoat. “I spent the morning coaxing Walter to calm down. He’s certain we have a chance, which I doubt, but if we do win something, he might need to make an acceptance speech.” She exhaled loudly. “Dealing with his anxiety is a full-time occupation.”
“Walter likes making curtain speeches. Why is this any different? I realize it’s not about someone’s death. He’d still be the focus of attention.”
“I think it’s about getting up in front of his peers. He has a streak of insecurity,” she said knowingly.
A server brought chowder for me, a chardonnay for Lola. She took a big gulp. Then leaned across the table. “What’s happening with Jackson? Any news on the investigation front?”
I filled her in on the car theft raid, including the arrest of Tiny, who was known to Vinnie and Sam Baldwin, and she sat there stunned. “At least Bill recovered his car. But what does it mean about Vinnie?”
“Not a clue.” I kept the black book to myself. The fewer who knew about its existence at this point, the better. “I suppose if the cops get Tiny to talk there could be hell to pay for his accomplices.”
“Umm.” Lola rested her chin on her palm. “It’s so strange. Sam’s the patron of a theater festival and potentially a criminal. Stealing cars…he doesn’t seem the type. Of course, my judgment of men hasn’t been so hot lately.”
“Looks are deceiving. Take Jackson…”
Lola grinned. “I’d like to!”
Geez. “Years ago, he couldn’t feed himself, never mind feed anyone else. Now he’s a gourmet chef!”
“I hope his lawyer is on the ball,” Lola said, serious.
“He’s certainly got some terrific credentials.”
A blast of air whooshed into the restaurant, sending menus and napkins flying. “Praying we get an audience tonight,” Lola said.
We ate our blackened grouper on freshly baked rolls. They were delicious, we told Grody, who looked lost at the absence of customers. I knew how he felt; I’d been there in my early days at the Windjammer restaurant. Lola and I finished our lunch and, since Bill hadn’t shown up, I elected to head back to the bungalow and take a nap until showtime. Or until Pauli called with more information. I dropped Lola off at the Windward, telling her to break a leg, and drove to my house, plowing through puddles. Some streets had flooded, and I zigzagged to avoid standing water in the roadway. I pulled into our driveway and ran to the porch to get out of the weather.
I inserted my key into the lock on the house door. Without turning the key, the door opened. I stiffened. “Hello? Bill? Jackson?” The house was dark. Empty. Shivers ran down my spine. I crept inside, and from where I stood, I could see that the living room had been tossed: furniture rearranged, sofa cushions dumped on the floor. Whoever had broken in this time had not bothered to cover their tracks by neatly placing objects in their rightful locations as they’d done with Jackson’s clothing. I hated to think what else had been disturbed.
I fumbled through my bag for my cell phone. This warranted 911. My hand wobbled as I tapped on the numbers and relayed the information and my address. I was told the police would respond shortly. I stuck my head in the kitchen. Cupboard doors were open, contents of some shelves thrown on the counter.
I heard, but couldn’t see, the screen door open. My chest tightened. I reached in my bag for my key ring container of pepper spray with one hand and clutched a skillet off the stove with the other. I was ready.
Footsteps thumped on the porch and moved into the house. My hands were damp. I raised the skillet and pepper spray and held them in front of me. Someone was feet away.
“Arrgh!” I yelled and swung the skillet.
“Dodie!” An arm shot out and grabbed mine. “What’s going on!” Bill yelled.
Reinforcements had arrived. I collapsed on the floor, smashing my pan against the tile. “It’s about time,” I said. “Where have you been? Someone broke in and trashed the living room—”
“—I can see that.” He put an arm around me.
“—I can’t imagine what they did to the bedroom.”
“Stay here.” He hurried down the hall, then came back quickly. “Some cleaning up to do in there,” he said grimly.
Flashing blue and red lights caught his attention. “You called 911? Good. Someone was hunting for something. Any idea what?” he asked as the officers entered the house.
* * * *
Twenty minutes later, the two Candle Beach cops who’d interrogated Jackson only days ago stood in the living room wrapping up the interview.
“We’ll have a crew dust for fingerprints, but these types are careful and use gloves,” said the tall, wiry cop. He made no reference to Jackson or my visit to the CBPD after Jackson’s arrest.
“We’ve had some other break-ins in Candle Beach this summer,” said the younger, friendly one. He made no reference to our conversation on the boardwalk.
“I assume the perp was searching for something.” Bill looked at me.
“It’s summer. Tourists. People get careless and leave money and valuables lying around,” the older officer said. “Keep your door locked. Put valuables out of sight.”
I wanted to scream. The doors were locked and there was nothing of value to steal except for Jackson’s thousand dollars and the perp had already bypassed that. My instincts told me someone thought I had the black book and was desperate to find it. Pauli! He was in danger as long as the book was in his possession.
Bill walked the cops to the door and thanked them for coming. They assured him a CSI unit would be on the premises within the hour and asked that we not disturb anything. The front door closed.
“What’s going on?” Bill asked me.
“What do you mean?”
“What are you not telling me? If I know you, and I think I do, this has something to do with Jackson’s arrest,” he said.
Why was I so hesitant to come clean? Because the moment I did, the black book and any hope of finding Vinnie’s murderer would vanish. The state was bent on convicting Jackson; Jackson’s lawyer was bent on getting him acquitted. Who cared about Vinnie?
“What are you not telling me?” I asked. With Bill, a good offense was the best defense.
He regarded me warily. “You have something you want to ask me?”
“Where have you been?”
“I got to the Sandbar after you left. There’s flooding on Route 195. I had to take the long way back here—”
“I don’t mean today. I mean all week. You’ve been pulling a disappearing act ever since the BMW was stolen. I know you were helping out the state unit and wanted to be in on the raid, but why did they target your car? How did they get it so easily? I can see how if a driver left keys in the ignition…”
Bill was silent. My neck hairs stood ramrod straight.
“Did you…leave the keys in your car purposefully?” My voice flew up an octave. “Were you a part of a sting to capture the thieves?”
“I intended to tell you the whole story once the assignment was over. I should have known you’d work it out,” he said ruefully.
“Assignment?” Whoa!
“I have a buddy on the state task force investigating these car theft rings. Especially in the shore area. So when he heard I drove a BMW and was going to be down here…” Bill sat next to me. “I agreed to install a GPS tracking device so when or if the BMW was lifted, there would be a trail. Dodie, it was a crap shoot. A number of other luxury cars were used as bait too. My luck the Candle Beach crew fell in love with a gold BMW.”
I was gobsmacked. Bill was playing cop while also playing the aggrieved car owner. “You’re a pretty talented actor,” I said crisply. I wanted to be justifiably annoyed at being left in the dark. I couldn’t, considering what I hadn’t told him about my snooping around: the warehouse, the black book, Tiny, The Bounty, the ice pick—
“Sorry. I hate to keep things from you,” he said. “The task force kept everything under wraps. No leaks.”
Now I felt guilty. I had to get out of this conversation. “No problem. Do you mind hanging around for the CSI techs? They’d rather talk with you anyway.” I smiled sweetly.
“Where are you going in this weather?”
“I told Lola I’d pick her up at the hotel and we’d go to the theater together.” Did that make sense?
“It’s not even four o’clock. The show’s at what…seven thirty?”
“She wants to talk about the ELT season for next year.” I found my bag on the kitchen floor. “I’ll see you tonight?”
“I didn’t plan on going to the theater tonight. We can hunker down with dinner and wine and Netflix. And then see what happens…” He put his arms around me and laid a big one on my lips.
Talk about feeling torn. “I’ll leave as soon as I can. Meet you back here,” I said.
“This is no night to be out wandering around—”
I waved good-bye and darted out of the house.
“Dodie?”
I had to find Pauli.