Sunset Beach(106)

But after much grunting and sweating, he managed to inch the door open far enough to sternly command her, “Come inside, ma’am.”

Drue obliged, stepping into the room. To her delight, the kiddie cop had switched on the overhead light. There wasn’t much to see. The room was small, furnished with a queen-size bed, dresser, nightstands and bad art. The carpet was worn and faded and, though it was clean enough, the room smelled faintly of mildew. Any clues to the criminal acts that had led to Jazmin Mayes’s death were long gone, she knew.

The door from the hallway swung open and a middle-aged white guy entered. He had wire-rimmed glasses perched atop a beakish nose and was dressed in a white polo shirt, black dress slacks and a black baseball cap with the word SECURITY stitched across the bill.

“Here she is, Mr. Shelnutt,” the guard said, gesturing to Drue, who was still trying to take in every detail of the room.

“What do you think you’re doing here?” Shelnutt asked, his deep bass voice meant to intimidate.

“Just looking around,” Drue said, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Attempted breaking and entering,” Shelnutt said. He unclipped a radio from the holster on his belt and spoke into it. “Security one to front gate. A TI police unit should be arriving any minute. Let them in and direct them to Room 133.”

The radio crackled but the guard’s response was unintelligible.

“Say again?” Shelnutt said.

“Just passed them through,” the guard repeated.

Drue slumped down onto the desk chair.

“Who told you to sit down?” Shelnutt barked. “That’s hotel property.”

She was tired and her knee hurt too much to argue.

“So shoot me.”

They heard the soft ding from an elevator down the hall and a moment later a uniformed Treasure Island patrol officer entered the room. He was approximately the same age and build as the security guard, although his uniform badge and the service revolver holstered on his hip gave him an air of authority the two rent-a-cops accompanying him lacked, in Drue’s opinion.

He looked from Drue to the glowering security chief. “What have we got here?”

“Our security cameras caught her sneaking onto the property from the beach and attempting to break into the north tower,” Shelnutt said. “When she couldn’t gain access that way, she broke the lock on the back gate here, then climbed onto the balcony outside this room.”

“That true?” The cop, whose name badge she couldn’t read, didn’t seem too worked up about her one-woman crime spree.

“I just wanted to get a look at the rooms here,” she protested, extending her arms from her sides. “Look, you can see I didn’t take anything, and I certainly didn’t damage anything either, except my own knee and my favorite beach cover-up.”

“Got some ID?” the cop asked.

“No. I was going for a walk on the beach. If you want to look in my pockets you’ll see my phone, my house keys and a couple of bucks,” Drue said.

“Name? Address?”

“My name is Drucilla Campbell, and I live at 409 Pine Street, Sunset Beach,” Drue said.

“I want her searched,” Shelnutt snapped.

The cop looked at Drue and cocked his head.

“Go ahead,” she said wearily, raising her arms over her head.

His cheeks glowed crimson as he gingerly patted her down.

“See? No crowbar, no lock picks, no dynamite,” Drue said. “Just a stupid misunderstanding. Can I go now? My knee is killing me and I really need some Advil.”

“No way,” Shelnutt said. “I want her charged with criminal trespass and breaking and entering.”

Drue’s heart sank. She’d really thought there was a good chance she could talk her way out of this mess.

“Okay,” the cop said, motioning toward the hallway. “Let’s go.”

“Handcuffs?” Shelnutt said sharply.

“Oh yeah.” The cop snapped the cuffs around her wrists and led her out of the building and to his waiting police cruiser, whose flashing blue lights had attracted a small gathering of curious guests.



* * *



It was barely a ten-minute drive to the Treasure Island police station. Drue slumped down in the backseat, mortified. At least, she thought, at 2:00 A.M. it was unlikely that anybody she knew would see her riding to jail in the backseat of a cop car.

“Do you happen to know Rae Hernandez?” she asked the officer.

“Detective Hernandez? Yeah, I know her,” the cop said.

“Any way I could get you to call her?” Drue asked. “I didn’t want to say anything in front of those guys at the hotel, but she’s kind of the reason I was there.”

“No way,” the cop replied. “She’s off duty, and I’m not gonna be the one calling her at two in the morning. If you know her, you know what she’s like when she’s pissed off.”

“I do know her, and I promise you she’ll be even more pissed off if you don’t let her know I’ve been arrested for trespassing at the Gulf Vista,” Drue said.

“That’s a call that’s way above my pay grade,” the cop said.

After he’d removed her from the cruiser, fingerprinted and booked her, the officer, whose name turned out to be Daniels, handed over her phone.