Sunset Beach(84)

“Lucky you,” Drue said. “Wish I had a side hustle.”

“I thought you did,” Ben said. “The Jazmin Mayes thing? Anything interesting going on with that?”

Drue smiled enigmatically.

“I’ll show you mine if you’ll show me yours.”

Ben raised an eyebrow.

“Get your mind out of the gutter,” she said. “I’m talking side hustles.”

He hesitated, nervously tapping his fingertips on the lid of the laptop.

“Okay,” he relented. “It’s a video game. But you’ve got to swear you won’t tell anybody.”

“That’s it? You’re playing video games on your lunch hour? Sorry, but that’s not exactly classified information, Ben.”

“It’s my video game,” he said, puffing up slightly. “I’ve been working on it for the past two and a half years and now I’m this close to taking it to market.”

“Good for you,” Drue said. “I hope it sells a million copies.”

“It better,” he said. “Now it’s your turn. Tell me what’s happening with your secret project?”

“As a matter of fact, there’s a lot going on,” Drue said, trying to subdue a yawn. “Last night I tracked down Jazmin’s former boyfriend, who had some interesting things to say about some ‘porn parties’ the hotel’s head of security used to throw.”

“Gross,” Ben said, popping a potato chip in his mouth. “But what’s that got to do with Jazmin’s murder?”

“I’m getting to that,” Drue said. “Did I tell you that I talked to one of the police detectives who’s worked on the case since day one?”

“No.”

“Yeah. I did. She says that Jazmin’s murder wasn’t just some random stranger-on-stranger thing. Rae says it was violent and it was personal, and she’s sure it was a man. A man who knew Jazmin.”

“Rae?”

“Detective Hernandez. She also told me that Gulf Vista’s management deliberately obstructed their investigation, right from the start, and maybe even tampered with the murder scene.”

“Interesting,” Ben acknowledged.

“It gets better. I also managed to track down Jazmin’s best friend, another housekeeper who was working with her the night she was killed.” She uncapped a bottle of water and drank. “Neesa, that’s Jazmin’s friend, told me some really nasty stuff was going on with the guy who was head of housekeeping. At first, they put up with his sexual harassment because they couldn’t afford to lose their jobs, but eventually, she said, both she and Jazmin traded sexual favors for ‘bonuses’ and time off.”

“So, what? You think this Herman guy maybe killed her? Why? I mean, if she was doing what he wanted, why’d he want to spoil a good thing?”

Ben wiped his fingers on a paper napkin, which he balled up and tossed in the direction of the trash can.

“Swoosh,” he said, when he landed the basket. He turned back to Drue. “What’s it got to do with the mom’s lawsuit? I mean, even if this guy did kill your girl Jazmin, it still doesn’t get her mother any more money from the hotel. Right? It happened at work. The hotel has video of her working.”

“She’s not ‘my girl Jazmin,’” Drue said, feeling the blood rise in her cheeks. “She was a person, Ben, and she didn’t deserve to die like she did. She was working and taking college classes and trying to be a good mom. And you’re right, none of this guarantees more money for Yvonne Howington. But maybe knowing who did it and why is almost as good as money. Maybe it means a sick bastard gets locked up for the rest of his life, and doesn’t get to prey on women anymore.”

“You know what Brice would say about all this, right?” Ben asked.

“Put up or shut up?”

“That too. But mostly he’d point out that’s a lot of ‘maybe’s.”

The break room door opened and Marianne stuck her head inside. “Drue? Wendy needs you right away.”





40


Wendy was lying on the sofa in her office. “Close the door,” she told Drue. “Please.”

The office manager’s face was pale, and she had her legs propped up on a stack of cushions. She wore a chic turquoise A-line dress, the first actual maternity dress Drue had seen her in, but she’d kicked off her spike-heeled Manolo Blahniks.

“Are you all right?” Drue asked.

“Not sure,” Wendy said, her voice shaky. “I’ve started spotting.”

Drue sank down onto the floor beside the sofa. “What do you want me to do? Should I call Dad? Or an ambulance?”

“No! Don’t call anybody. Your dad is in court, and I don’t want him to freak out. And I sure as hell don’t want an ambulance. I called my obstetrician’s office. The nurse says a little spotting isn’t anything to be concerned about.”

“What’s a little?” Drue asked now, feeling slightly freaked out herself. Until her mother’s illness, she’d never really been around sick people. She’d felt so helpless during Sherri’s swift decline, powerless to stop the relentless advance of the cancer. She swallowed back a sudden spasm of anxiety-triggered nausea.