Chapter Twenty-Eight #2
“Pretty swanky,” agreed Harper. Some of the homes were Mediterranean style, others were hypermodern, glass and wood or stucco.
All were massive, most surrounded by tall walls and paths that marched up the hill.
“Though I have to imagine they don’t have a lot of trick-or-treaters dropping by. Must be a bit of a bust for Halloween.”
“That reminds me—next time you’re at the grocery store, would you pick up some candy to pass out?” Ellen asked. “Halloween’s just around the corner, and I do enjoy seeing the little ones in their costumes.”
“I do, too! I love Halloween. Let’s make an evening of it, shall we?”
They pulled into a parking area that offered a view of the famous Lone Cypress.
They got out to stand on the cliff, enjoying the wild, raw scene, buffeted by the ocean breeze.
There was something very special about these Monterey cypress trees, the way they planted themselves on rocky crags, bent with the harsh winds blowing off the ocean, and endured for centuries.
“Okay, maybe the drive was worth the twelve bucks, after all,” Harper said as she gazed at the tree, and behind it, the azure water, the green hills, and the sheer rock cliffs.
“I’m hungry, though,” Ellen said. “We should have brought snacks; we could have had a picnic.”
“According to the brochure, there’s a market near the golf resort. Want to check it out?”
The Pebble Beach market was a convenience store and deli for rich people.
Exorbitantly priced bottles of wine were artistically arranged on half barrels, and the deli case held beautifully decorated fruit tarts and cakes, and an array of delicious gelatos.
A self-serve antipasto bar had a wide assortment of olives, marinated mozzarella, mushrooms, and artichoke hearts, and a dozen different kinds of pickled peppers.
Sandwiches and coffees were made to order with locally sourced and imported meats and cheeses.
Ellen and Harper took one look at the prices on the menu board and decided chips, nuts, and sodas would tide them over.
There were a lot of people crowding the store, even on a Monday.
The women took their places in the queue and heard someone grousing loudly that the market stocked only Pellegrino water, not the Perrier he preferred.
According to what the man was yelling at the poor stock boy, it had to do with the size of the bubbles.
Harper looked to see who was talking. “Speak of the devil, isn’t that him?” she whispered to Ellen.
“The devil? Seems fitting.”
“No, Delilah’s ex.”
“Benjamin Philips?” Ellen said loudly, craning her neck.
Philips turned around at the sound of his name.
“Oh, how are you, Benjamin?” asked Ellen.
“You aren’t process servers, are you?” he asked, his eyes darting around the store as if suspecting the FBI might be lying in wait. “If so, I’m not him.”
“You most certainly are. I’m Ms. Sundvold, Benjamin. I was your tenth-grade English teacher,” she replied. “I see you haven’t changed much.”
“Oh. Right. Yes, of course. Sorry about that.” His gaze fell on Harper. “And do I know you? I do, right? But not from school—at Highbaugh’s, in Carmel.”
“Yes, I was one of the wildebeests.”
Philips stared at her in annoyed confusion as Ellen smothered a laugh.
“How’s it going with Sergeant Emerson? Photos turn out okay?” Harper asked.
“How do you know so much about me, and why do you care? Are you two private eyes?”
“Goodness, no,” Ellen said.
“Imagine such a thing,” Harper agreed, then took pity on Philips. “I was one of the people who found Delilah, and I—”
“What? You think that gives you the right to go poking your nose into my business?” Philips glanced at the heavy watch shackling his wrist. “I don’t have time to waste like this. I have a tee time.”
And with that he turned on his heel and left.
“Guess he’s not going to pay for that Italian mineral water,” murmured Ellen.
“Well, after all, it wasn’t Perrier,” said Harper. “And the man has a date to hit a ball with a stick, so no time to waste.”
“I don’t understand what all the fuss is about. Bubbly water is bubbly water, isn’t it?”
“It has to do with the size of the bubbles, or so I hear. So, since you’re my source for all local history: Did Benjamin Philips grow up with money?”
“I don’t think so—he went to public high school.
But he’s clearly done well for himself. There must be a lot of money in real estate development.
” Ellen shook her head. “He was a sneaky kid, used to throw temper tantrums whenever he didn’t get his way.
Figures he’d grow up to grouse about bubbles.
I always ignored him, and eventually he’d knock it off. ”
“Probably why he wouldn’t admit he knew you.”
“That ugly watch he was wearing no doubt cost more than a year’s worth of my social security checks.”
“Something tells me ol’ Philips isn’t worried about collecting Social Security.”
“I was thinking we could hit happy hour at the Stokes Adobe,” said Harper as they drove back to Monterey. “Interested? My treat.”
“How could I refuse? Sounds lovely.”
“Mind if I make a stop on the way?”
“I’m free as a bird. Where are we stopping?”
“At a tattoo parlor.”
“Really?” Ellen sounded surprised but intrigued. “Do you have a tattoo? I don’t. Maybe I should get one. I’m not getting any younger.”