Chapter Twenty-One
The Selpan sky was a brilliant blue, the temperature was in the nineties, and the humidity was jungle quality. Gabriela and Rafer were in shorts, T-shirts, and running shoes. They’d walked two blocks to Main Street and ordered breakfast at an outdoor café.
Rafer sat back in his chair and ate his last piece of bacon. “Maybe you should move your office to Selpan. Every day is a vacation here.”
“I’d miss the grit in the air if I lived here,” Gabriela said. “My morning run would be boring. No muggers. There weren’t even any sirens screaming past my window last night.”
“I think we should forget about Searl and go to the beach.”
“That would be nice, but Ahmed might get tired of babysitting Harley while we get a tan, and Harley might start losing fingers and toes,” Gabriela said.
“Do we have a plan of action?”
“For starters, I want to see where these guys live.”
“We always do that, and it never goes anywhere.”
“Do you have a better idea?”
“There’s the beach.”
“Beckett Searl has a house on Morgan Drive. It’s on the beach. We can look at the house from the front, and then we can look at the house from the beach.”
Rafer glanced down at her plate. “Are you going to eat the toast that came with your omelet?”
“No. You can have it.”
Rafer took the toast, they got coffee to go and walked back to their apartment.
“This car we got is lame,” Rafer said, unlocking the Toyota Camry parked in front of their unit.
“It’s a Toyota. What’s wrong with it?”
“It’s not a Porsche. Only tourists drive Toyotas in Selpan. If you want to blend in on Morgan Drive, you need a Mercedes or a Ferrari.”
Gabriela got in on the passenger side. “I didn’t see any of those in the rental lot.” She buckled her seat belt and pulled a file packet out of her messenger bag. “Beckett Searl is at 6205 Morgan Drive. His son is about a mile away in the Port Layor neighborhood. Let’s cruise past the son first.”
“I don’t know Port Layor,” Rafer said.
“It’s a wealthy community built around canals that feed into the gulf. The median house price is nineteen million dollars. It’s not gated but it has its own twenty-four/seven private security. You access it from Morgan.”
Rafer found Main Street, and a block later he turned onto Morgan. The houses were large, and the yards were lush. He drove two miles, and the large houses gave way to gated beachfront estates with elaborate landscaping.
“Once you turn off Morgan, the streets are in no special order,” Gabriela said. “I mapped it out yesterday. We turn onto Magnolia and then take a left onto Hibiscus. Theodore Searl is at 1904 Hibiscus. He’s on a cul-de-sac at the end of the street.”
Rafer followed the directions and idled at 1904 Hibiscus.
It was Selpan Modern. Hurricane-proof cement with a slick of stucco painted white.
Lots of impact-glass windows. Two stories, tile roof, gray shutters.
Giant mahogany front door. Circular driveway, four-car garage, semi-ornate gates at the driveway entrance and exit. Large banyan trees lining the road.
“Zillow says it’s seven thousand square feet and worth fifteen million dollars,” Gabriela said. “Searl bought it three years ago.”
“Not too shabby,” Rafer said.
“Google Earth shows a dock in back. Hard to judge the boat from Google but I’d guess maybe fifty feet. Fishing boat.” Gabriela took a couple pictures from the car window. “Okay, let’s see what Daddy’s house looks like.”
Rafer drove out of Port Layor and turned left onto Morgan. He stopped a quarter mile down the road and pulled to the side. “This is Daddy’s house?” he asked.
“Yep.”
“It looks like Versailles.”
“According to , it has eighteen bathrooms, is seventeen thousand square feet under air, and sits on five acres of gulf front,” Gabriela said.
“With all that space, maybe the dude has a room set aside for a golden coffin.”
“I’d like to get in and look around.”
“Oh boy. Here we go.”
“It’s no big deal. We can pull this off easy,” Gabriela said.
“Every time you say that I end up talking to the police.”
“That was when we were in high school. I’m better now. I’m sure he has live-in help, and the house is probably never empty, so we’ll have to justify our presence.”
“I can hardly wait to hear this.”
“According to Marcella’s snooping, Searl and the Mrs. play golf every day. Tomorrow, after they leave the house, we’ll go in as pest control.”
“We just walk in with a can of Raid and say, ‘Pest control’?”
“More or less. I’ll have Marcella find out who they use and then we might have to borrow one of their trucks.”
“No way. I’m not stealing a pest control truck.”
“I said borrow. I don’t steal.”
“Why don’t we just get a drone and look in Searl’s windows?”
“There are laws against drones here, and there are security cameras everywhere. No place to hide.”
“So, nobody can fly a drone?”
“Only Realtors. Drive further down Morgan. Let’s see if we can find a beach access.”
Rafer drove to the end of Morgan, where there was a path between two properties.
He parked on the street, and they followed the path to the sugar sand beach that stretched out in front of them as far as the eye could see, curving slightly in the distance.
They walked at the high-tide line where the sand was firm, and they looked into the backyards of the houses.
This was the land of multimillionaires and billionaires, and the seaside houses reflected the wealth.
The beach was empty. Too far from town and not enough parking and access points for public use.
“That’s Searl’s house dead ahead,” Gabriela said.
“Lots of rooms,” Rafer said. “Not going to be easy to find all the roaches.”
“There are three floors. The windows on the top floor are smaller than the others. Probably quarters for the help. The chaise lounges by the pool have towels placed on them and the umbrellas are open. Someone is in residence. You wouldn’t see towels out if it was just staff here.”
Gabriela called Marcella and asked for a list of service providers.
“Not much to do here,” Rafer said. “No waves for surfing. No reef for snorkeling. No shipwrecks for diving. The best you could find in these waters are couches and cars that got washed out in the last hurricane. Seems to me this town is all about shopping, restaurants, and snoozing.”
“Not entirely. There’s tennis, pickleball, golf. Lots of golf courses.”
They turned around and walked back to the car.
“What’s the deal with Searl?” Gabriela asked. “He’s obviously got a lot of money. Why would he want to plan the heist of the century? Why would he risk it?”
“It’s something to do,” Rafer said. “It fills up the day. Or maybe it’s personal. Maybe he wants to ruin his old partner. Or maybe he’s a narcissistic nut job. Or maybe he’s not involved at all. Maybe it’s Huey, Dewey, and Louie, looking to make their own billions.”
“If it was Huey, Dewey, and Louie, the thefts wouldn’t have been restricted to items insured by the bank. I think this was done by someone holding a grudge.”
“I’m sure you’re connected to a bunch of underground informants,” Rafer said. “Have any of the stolen items been fenced?”
“Crickets. Not a word on any of them. I don’t hold out much hope for finding the golden casket in Searl’s upstairs bedroom, but it would be nice to see a stolen Van Gogh hanging in his office.”
“That wouldn’t be smart,” Rafer said.
“No, but it would be satisfying to a narcissist.”
Rafer checked his watch. “It’s four o’clock. According to Marcella, the pest guys should be coming back to the mother ship now, right?”
“Right. There are six vans. Usually a man to each van. They roll in around four, change their clothes, and punch out. The office closes at six o’clock, seven days a week, rain or shine.”
Rafer and Gabriela were parked across the street from Mayfair Pest Control. The sign on the side of the white van that was already in the lot said Mayfair was the premier pest control service in Selpan.
By five o’clock, all vans were in the lot and all of the men were in their own vehicles and on their way home.
Rafer and Gabriela crossed the street and entered the Mayfair office.
They were still in shorts and shirts, but Gabriela had added a fake diamond engagement ring and matching wedding band that she’d found in The Best of Everything on Main Street in Selpan.
“We’re new in town,” Rafer told the woman behind the reception desk. “We’re in the process of buying a house in Selpan, and we’re lining up service providers. My wife’s uncle suggested we talk to you.”
“Is he a client?” she asked.
“Yes. Beckett Searl.”
“He has a lovely home,” she said. “We have some brochures on the counter, and I’d be happy to answer any questions.”
“We’ve been going all day,” Gabriela said. “Do you have a restroom I might use?”
“We have an employee restroom at the end of the corridor. Everyone has just come and gone so I can’t account for the condition, but you’re welcome to use it.”
Gabriela walked down the corridor. The door to the restroom had the usual male/female sign on it.
She opened the door, looked around, and left.
The door at the very end opened to the parking lot.
The door across from the restroom opened to the locker room.
She crossed the locker room to a large laundry bin, pawed through it, and came up with two navy shirts with the Mayfair patch on the pocket.
She stuffed the shirts into her tote bag and returned to the office.
“Thank you,” Gabriela said to the woman. “The restroom was in good condition.” She turned to Rafer. “How’s it going, sweetie?”
“Great,” Rafer said. “We have pest control locked in. Now we can move on to lawn care.”
They left the office, got into their SUV, and drove away.
“Well?” Rafer asked.
“I got a couple shirts. It should be enough to get us into the house and buy us some time. Once you strap on the backpack sprayer, you’ll look like a pro.”
“Backpack sprayer?”
“Next stop Home Depot, and then grocery shopping.”