Nothing to Lose (J.P. Beaumont #25)(81)

“Not exactly, but the guy who gave me a ride here is a bit preoccupied at the moment. I don’t know when I’ll be able to get there.”

“I have no intention of missing a good dinner because you can’t hitch a ride, so how about if I come fetch you?”

“Sounds good,” I said, giving her the address. “See you when you get here.”





Chapter 29




Once we arrived, it seemed to me that for a Sunday night AJ’s was surprisingly busy. I was grateful for the din of conversation around us, because as Twinkle Winkleman chowed down on my nickel, she was also full of questions.

“So what was going on back there on Ocean Drive?” she asked. “That guy’s garage didn’t look like any crime scene I’ve ever seen—no blood, no guts, no bullet holes. Is this somehow connected to your missing person?”

Fortunately, the bloodstains had been totally out of sight by the time Twink arrived, but at this point in our somewhat odd partnership, I decided to come clean and fill her in on the rest of the details about the murder of Chris Danielson and our belief that the Subaru in the garage on Ocean Drive had been used to transport his body.

“I’m guessing you used luminol to locate the bloodstains,” she observed.

“Close,” I told her. “Blue Star. It works better on older stains, and these are more than a dozen years old.”

“Are arrests imminent?”

“Unfortunately, no. We’ve got a long way to go between here and there.”

I hadn’t told her everything, but it was enough to turn off the question spigot and get her to pay attention to her surf and turf—a rib-eye steak topped with king crab—rather than continue putting me through an interrogation meat grinder. Dinner was over, the server had cleared our plates, and Twink was studying the dessert options when my phone rang.

I had added Danitza Miller’s name to my contacts list, so I knew who was calling before I even answered.

“What’s up, Nitz?” I asked.

“It’s Jimmy,” she said breathlessly. “He ran away, and I don’t know what to do.”

“Slow down, slow down,” I advised. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“Someone at the hospital was out sick today, so I worked an extra shift. When I came home, Jimmy wasn’t there.”

“How do you know he ran away?”

“He left a note. It said he’s on his way to Homer.”

“Homer,” I echoed. “Why is he coming here?”

“To meet his grandfather,” Danitza managed through a half sob. “Whenever he asked me about my parents, I always told him they were both dead, but he must have been eavesdropping the other night when you were here. That’s how he learned my father’s still alive.”

“What exactly did the note say?”

“‘How come you lied to me? Now that I know I have a grandfather, I’m going to go meet him.’”

My heart sank. “You mean he’s headed for your father’s house?”

“Evidently.”

“Where are you?” I asked.

“Where do you think? I’m on my way to Homer, and I’m coming as fast as I can. I only just now thought to call you, but I’m still at least forty-five minutes out.”

The last thing I wanted to happen was for Christopher James Danielson to show up at his grandfather’s house, which was now or soon would be the epicenter of a homicide investigation. There was still a good chance that Roger Adams had been involved in Chris’s homicide, although I was beginning to doubt that. On the other hand, I was convinced Shelley Adams was involved in that plot all the way up to her pretty little neck.

“Can you track Jimmy’s phone?” I asked. “It might be possible for us to intercept him before he gets to the house. Does he even know where your father lives?”

“He left the phone on his bed along with the note,” Nitz said. “But I checked the search history on his desktop. The last thing that came up was my father’s address on Diamond Ridge Road.”

“Okay,” I told her. “I’ll see what I can do to find him. In the meantime stay in touch. If you hear from him, call me right away.”

“I will.”

When the call ended, Twink was in the process of ordering the sticky pudding, that night’s specialty dessert. “She’ll take that to go,” I told our server. “And we need the bill right away.”

As we waited for the bill and dessert to arrive, I considered calling Marvin Price to alert him to the situation, but since he was probably still fully occupied with his newly confirmed but very old murder, I decided against it. He was a homicide cop, after all, not a juvenile-detention officer. When I came back to the present, Twink was sitting across the table, giving me the stink-eye.

“I’ve never liked to eat and run,” she said. “What’s up?”

“We need to go back to Diamond Ridge Road,” I answered. “ASAP.”

“Oh, we’ll go there, all right,” she said, “but not until you tell me what’s really going on.”

And just like that, Twinkle Winkleman had me over a barrel. “Okay,” I conceded. “I’ll tell you on the way.”