Sunset Beach(65)

“McCarthy,” the woman said, after a moment’s hesitation. “Karen McCarthy. I’m not ready to commit today, but I’ll certainly keep that in mind, and be back in touch if my husband approves.”

“Okay,” Sherri said. She held out her hand. “By the way, Karen, I’m Sherri Campbell. But you already know that, since you’re the woman my husband has been running around with for the past few months.”

The blonde’s face paled all the way to her roots, but she recovered quickly. Obviously she was way better at lying than Brice was. “You must have me mixed up with somebody else. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sherri pointed out the real estate office’s big plate-glass window. “Sure you do. I’ve seen that Camaro of yours several times driving past our house late at night. What’s wrong? Don’t you believe him when he tells you he’s going bowling with the guys?”

That got her flustered, Sherri noted.

“You’re crazy,” the woman said, turning to leave, hurrying toward the door, not bothering to take the brochure she hadn’t really wanted anyway.

“Not as crazy as you.” Sherri got up from her desk, for some reason grabbing a letter opener from the desktop. It had been a gift from the title insurance company, at their annual Christmas party.

She followed the woman outside to the parking lot, and as she opened the Camaro’s door, Sherri grabbed her arm and pressed the letter opener to a spot right between her big, flashy boobs.

“Don’t touch me,” the woman screeched. “Let me go.”

“Brice doesn’t care about you. You’re just another easy lay as far as he’s concerned,” Sherri said matter-of-factly. “So if I were you, Karen, or whatever your real name is, I’d drop him. If I were you, I’d stick to my own husband. You know, the one who gave you that nice big diamond you’re wearing.”

Sherri held up her left hand, flashing the tiny diamond chip on her own engagement ring. “This is the best a cop can afford.”

The other woman wrenched her arm away and hopped in the driver’s seat, making a show of locking the door. As she pulled out of the parking space, Sherri ran the letter opener along the side of the Camaro, leaving a long, thin scrape in its shiny orange paint job.





31


Ben and Drue were barely settled in their booth at a newly opened Mexican café on newly trendy Central Avenue. It was Tuesday, and the lunch was her payback to Ben for fixing OJ’s starter.

“I heard you did a ride-along with Zee yesterday,” Ben said. “How was it?”

“Interesting,” Drue said. “Once I got past him addressing me as ‘little girl’ and referring to himself as ‘Uncle Zee.’”

The waitress brought a bowl of chips and guacamole and their drinks, a craft beer for Ben and an iced tea for Drue.

“Yeah, Zee’s pretty old-school. But I bet it was cool as hell anyway.” He gulped his beer and scooped into the guac. “Where did you go?”

“You know that 7-Eleven slip-and-fall you guys told me was bogus? Well, somehow, the prospective client called back, and Jonah ended up referring the case to Brice, who kicked it over to Zee, who found a witness! It was this old lady who lives over in a pretty sketchy part of town. Long story short, Zee says he thinks Dad can get a fat settlement from the insurance company.”

“What was it like, riding shotgun with Jimmy Zee?”

“It was actually kind of amazing. I was scared, but once I got talking to the witness, I just started asking questions and things fell together.” She dug in her purse and held up the can of Mace. “Zee gave me this. Did you know he carries a gun in a holster under his shirt?”

“So? His work takes him to some pretty sketchy places. Our clients don’t exactly all live in waterfront mansions like your dad’s.”

“I get that, but it kind of unnerved me.”

Drue gingerly returned the Mace to an inside pocket of her purse.

“There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Ben pointed his finger like a gun. “Shoot.”

“Funny. Only not.”

She leaned across the table, her voice lowered. “There’s something that’s been bothering me. About the Jazmin Mayes thing.”

He rolled his eyes. “Not that again.”

“No. Listen. There’s something there, I know there is. And I’m going to get to the bottom of it.”

“Oh shit, Drue. Do you realize how crazy all this sounds? I get that you feel sorry for the girl who was murdered, and her family. I get that you want some kind of justice, but you can’t just go around sticking your nose in an active police investigation. You’re not a cop. You’re not even an investigator. You’re like me. We’re cube rats. We answer the phone and try to get people to hire us to sue somebody. That’s it! We don’t go poking around the scene of a friggin’ murder!”

Drue’s shoulders sagged as she felt her mood deflate. “What if I could prove she wasn’t working?”

“Okay, don’t shoot the messenger, but didn’t the hotel video show Jazmin leaving a room like at one-thirty in the morning? And then entering the laundry room—where her body was found? Maybe she didn’t routinely work that shift. But that night, she did. She was working, Drue! There’s just no way to get around it.”