Chapter Twenty-One #2
Gabriela and Rafer were parked on Morgan Drive, near a beach access that was close to town. It was Monday morning, and in another hour, cars would be jockeying for position to get to the beach. At 8 a.m., Gabriela and Rafer had the street all to themselves.
“Do we know Searl’s tee time?” Rafer asked.
“No, but they usually play early in the morning.”
A half hour later, a powder-blue Rolls-Royce convertible drove past Rafer and Gabriela and continued on toward town.
“That’s them,” Gabriela said. “We’ll go in at nine thirty.”
Harry Bench was in a vicious mood. The bitch had stood him up.
Not a word from her. Just a no-show. This is what happens when you try to negotiate.
He wouldn’t make that mistake again. His man on the street said she’d left her condo with a small roller suitcase and a tote bag.
Rafer Jones was with her. They got a cab, and he wasn’t able to follow.
He said he didn’t think it was important.
Moron. He’d get rid of him, but he served a purpose.
He was good at killing people. This was a skill that not everyone possessed.
Bench downed a double espresso and willed it to wash away the fog from a night of drowning his frustration in whiskey.
If Gabriela Rose didn’t turn up by Monday, he’d go after the office help.
He suspected Marcella Lott had a low pain threshold.
He hoped for her sake she knew where her boss was hanging out.
He shoved his pickleball paddle into his gym bag, zipped the bag shut, and left his east side town house. He’d feel better after he smashed a bunch of shots into his opponent. And when he got back home, he would make a phone call.
Rafer pulled up to the call box in front of Searl’s service gate. He pressed the call button, a woman answered, he told her he was Mayfair Pest Control, and he was buzzed in.
“Who would have thought it would be that easy,” Rafer said to Gabriela.
“We aren’t in yet,” Gabriela said. “We have to get past the housekeeper. And if we get full house access, be careful not to look like you’re snooping. There are probably interior security cameras.”
Rafer bypassed the circular drive to the front of the house and followed the driveway to the garages and a back door. He parked in an area reserved for employee parking, and they got out and strapped on their backpacks.
“Who’s the boss?” Rafer asked. “Do you want me to channel my inner Harley and do the talking?”
“Works for me,” Gabriela said. “I’m just here to pump out insecticide.”
A uniformed housekeeper answered the back door.
“Mayfair Pest control,” Rafer said.
The woman was in her fifties, with starch in her uniform and a grim set to her mouth. “We weren’t expecting you,” she said.
“It was called in yesterday,” Rafer said. “I got a priority work order. Roaches in the master bath, but we’ll check the whole house.”
“I haven’t seen any roaches, but as long as you’re here you might as well check. There’s a box of shoe covers by the bench.”
“You can take downstairs, and I’ll do upstairs,” Gabriela said to Rafer.
She used the back stairs and went room by room on the second floor.
Theater, gym, upstairs family room with kitchenette in the middle of the house.
Guest wing to one end with six guest suites.
Master bedroom with sitting room and coffee bar, massive bath with sunbathing balcony, office at the other end of the house.
She did a short bug spray along the desk in the office and then carefully examined papers on the desktop and on the coffee table in the sitting area.
She took the stairs to the third floor and did a fast look through the rooms dedicated to employees.
She spent time in the large storage area that housed file cabinets, odds and ends, furniture, bins of Christmas ornaments, labeled boxes.
Rafer was waiting in the back foyer when Gabriela came down the stairs.
“How’d it go?” Rafer asked Gabriela.
“Good. No roaches. Some silverfish in the office.”
The housekeeper stepped in from the kitchen. “Silverfish?”
“Around the desk. I took care of them. They love paper, so I checked all the paper areas, including the storeroom.”
“Did you find anything interesting?” Gabriela asked Rafer when they were back in the car.
“I snooped through the whole downstairs, including the garage. No stolen art. No golden casket. The household help doesn’t seem happy.
The woman we talked to was head housekeeper.
Then there’s a cook and two downstairs maids and two upstairs maids.
One of the downstairs maids was very chatty.
The cook doesn’t have a lot to do since the new missus came on board.
It seems they eat out a lot and go to a lot of parties. This is fine by the cook.”
“Did the chatty maid say anything about Searl’s kid?”
“No, but she rolled her eyes. Did you find anything?”
“Locked file cabinets and locked desk drawers. He uses Viagra. Saw a picture of his hundred-and-fifty-foot yacht. Very nice. Currently in the Med.”
“What are we going to do with the shirts and the backpacks?” Rafer asked.
“We can leave the shirts on the sidewalk by the Mayfair parking lot tomorrow night. Someone will find them in the morning. Not sure about the backpacks.”
Fifteen minutes later, they were in their apartment. Gabriela changed out of the Mayfair shirt and khaki slacks, and into shorts and a white linen, rolled-sleeve shirt. Rafer was back in his shorts and a T-shirt that advertised his dive shop.
Gabriela thought this was Rafer at his sexiest. Okay, so he was pretty hot naked too, but this was a reminder of summer days on the beach with him.
They would swim all day and then when the sun was sinking into the ocean and the air was cool, she’d change into a flirty dress, and he’d change into shorts and a T-shirt.
They’d spread a blanket on the sand, and they’d sit close, and when he put his hand on her bare shoulder she would get a rush.
And when the sky was inky black around a sliver of moon, his hand would slide under her skirt and…
Oh, dear God, she thought. Get a grip! The man looked good in casual clothes. Shorts and a beach-bum T-shirt. End of story. No need to get all hot and bothered about it. Not that she was hot and bothered. Not a lot, anyway. Maybe a little.
“Are you okay?” Rafer asked. “You’re kind of flushed.”
“Not used to the heat and the sun,” Gabriela said.
“We were just in Egypt.”
Gabriela waved it away. “I’m fine. I’d like to return to Port Layor and take another look at Theodore’s house. See if there’s any action.”
Rafer grabbed the car keys off the kitchen counter. “I’m all about finding action because so far this trip is a big nothing burger.”
He drove one block on Main and turned onto Morgan. The road was filled with cars barely crawling along. People were gawking at the mansions and looking for beach parking.
“This is two lanes of agony,” Rafer said. “We would have been better off on foot.”
“The Port Layor turnoff is just ahead.”
Rafer made the turn and followed Hibiscus to the end. “Now what?” he asked.
“Let’s lurk a little. Park behind the gardener’s truck on the other side of the cul-de-sac.”
After thirty minutes of lurking, Theodore Searl’s gates opened, and he drove out in a yellow Ferrari 488 Spider.
Rafer turned the engine over and followed Searl down Morgan and onto Main.
It was midday, and well-dressed tourists and locals strolled the sidewalks, searching out restaurants and shops.
Searl was two cars ahead of Rafer and glaringly visible.
No chance of losing the yellow Ferrari in the slow-moving traffic.
Searl stopped in front of a restaurant with outdoor seating and a uniformed attendant ran out and removed two cones so Searl could slide into the space at the curb.
This was the benefit afforded to owners of yellow Ferraris.
Gabriela watched Searl take a seat at the outdoor bar. Traffic moved, and Rafer moved with it.
“Look for a parking place,” Gabriela said. “I want to do more lurking.”
Nothing was open on the street, so Rafer pulled into a parking garage, and they walked back to the restaurant.
“Two for lunch. And if it’s possible, I’d like the table that’s free in the front,” Gabriela told the hostess.
The table in front gave Gabriela an unblocked view of Theodore Searl.
She glanced at her menu and turned her attention to him.
He was smiling and talking to the bartender.
Probably ate here a lot, Gabriela thought.
He turned from the bartender and looked out toward the street.
His attention lingered for a moment on a blonde in a spaghetti-strap pink sundress.
He moved on and gave Gabriela a second look before turning back to the bar.
“So, what do you think of him?” Rafer asked.
“Big ego. Small penis.”
Rafer grinned. “And your basis for that opinion?”
“He drives a yellow Ferrari. He’s wearing light tan linen slacks that are tight across his butt and a white linen shirt that’s open at the neck, showing a beaded boho necklace.
He’s wearing a big-bucks watch and a multiwrap beaded bracelet.
Maybe John Hardy. Gucci loafers without socks.
A little flashy for my taste. Obviously compensating for… you know.”
“That’s harsh,” Rafer said. “Although good to know, since I don’t have to compensate for anything, it’s not mandatory that I own a yellow Ferrari. The dive shop is making a nice profit, but I’m not in the Ferrari tax bracket.”
Gabriela studied the menu. “I’m going with the crab cakes.”
“Burger,” Rafer said. “With a side of fries.”
Gabriela was halfway through her lunch when Searl took a phone call.
His expression was pleasant at first, quickly changing to not happy.
He tapped his phone and appeared to be looking at a picture.
He glanced over at Gabriela and looked back at his phone.
His lips compressed, and he gave Gabriela his full attention.
“My back is to Searl,” Rafer said. “What’s going on?”
“He’s talking to someone on his phone, and he just told them that I’m here.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes. It didn’t take a professional lip-reader to figure out what he said to the caller. It was short and to the point. He said, ‘She’s here.’ I think he recognized me from a photo.”
“Could you tell who was on the other end?”
“No. Harry Bench would be my first guess.” Gabriela signaled the waitress for the check. “We might want to leave before some thug shows up and tries to muscle me into an Escalade.”
“Not on my watch,” Rafer said. “No one’s laying a hand on you. Harley’s mother will make my life a living hell if I don’t get him out of this, and you’re my only hope.”
“It’s nice to be appreciated.”
“Damn straight,” Rafer said. “Can I have your pickle?”
They left the restaurant and walked back to their car. They were pulling out of the garage when Gabriela spotted Searl standing in a doorway, a short distance away.
“He followed us,” she said. “We should have been more careful.”
“Maybe we should kidnap him and get him to rat everyone out. Do you have a gun?”
“No. Do you?”
“No.”
Twenty minutes later they were back at their apartment.
“I think it was just Searl on foot,” Rafer said. “I never saw him following us in his yellow mega-bucks car.”
“We need to swap out this Toyota. It’s a generic white sedan but it has a North Carolina license plate. Too easy to identify.”
“Not a problem. I’ll take care of it.”