Sunset Beach(97)

Jonah paused at her cubicle on his way back to his own desk after lunch. He was freshly shaven and she could detect the faintest hint of aftershave. “How’s it going?”

If he was trying to act casual, he’d failed miserably.

“Okay,” she said, shrugging. “Wendy might be home on bed rest, but she’s still keeping an iron rein. I’m in callback hell, trying to reach out to potential clients who left messages over the past two days. Not a single person I’ve called has bothered to pick up the phone. I’m starting to get a complex about it.”

“You wouldn’t want the clients who are picking up when I call,” Jonah said. “I just spent twenty minutes listening to a guy who wants to sue Miller Brewing because he insists they secretly increased the alcohol content of Natty Lite, causing him to get drunk and back with his ex-wife after the company picnic.”

“What did you tell him?” Drue asked.

“I told him it sounded like a product liability case, which we don’t do. And I referred him to an asshole who graduated law school with me who does have that practice.”

“A revenge referral? I like it,” Drue said.



* * *



“Hey, Dad,” Drue said, poking her head around her father’s office door later that afternoon. “How’s Wendy feeling?”

“Come on in,” Brice said, waving her forward. Jimmy Zee sat in the wing chair opposite the desk. “Oh hey, Jimmy,” she said.

Zee nodded hello.

“Wendy’s fine,” Brice said. “The meds the doctor gave her have stopped the uh, issues. She’s sleeping a lot, and bitching at me because she’s bored and hates not being in the office, but that’s to be expected.”

“Glad to hear it,” Drue said. “I’m around all weekend, if you need anything.”

“Thanks, honey, that’s really nice of you,” Brice said. “I’ll let Wendy know you asked about her. It’ll mean a lot.”

“Good, well, sorry for the interruption,” Drue said, turning to go.

“You’re not interrupting. We were just finishing a case conference,” Brice said. “Zee’s got some video surveillance I need for an auto case, but Mr. Caveman here can’t figure out how to transmit it to me.”

Zee frowned. “I told you, I tried,” he said. “But my phone says the file is too big.”

“Just convert it to a download and email it,” Brice said impatiently.

“You know me,” Jimmy Zee protested. “I don’t do all this techno-shit.”

“So get Ben to do it for you,” Brice said. “But do it right away, because I want to get things squared away before we start discovery on Monday.”



* * *



Zee followed Drue into the bullpen and stood waiting, impatiently, by Ben’s cubicle, frowning down at Ben, who was wearing a rumpled, faded, M?tley Crüe concert tee. As soon as the younger man finished his call, he thrust his phone at Ben. “Here,” he said. “I need this converted into a whatever file. Like, now.”

“Can I ask what it is?”

“All you need to know is it’s video Brice wants sent to him before the end of business today,” Zee said. “Just do what you get paid to do, okay?”

“Fine,” Ben said, looking down at the phone. “But it would only take a minute to show you—”

“Not interested,” Zee said. “In the meantime, I’m gonna step out for a smoke.”

He turned and walked away.

“God, what a friggin’ dinosaur,” Ben muttered, turning to Drue when Zee was out of earshot. “How is he even still working as an investigator? He can’t even figure out how to download a file and attach it to an email. I’ve tried to show him, like, a hundred times.”

“At least he treats you like an adult,” Drue said. “To him, I’m still a five-year-old.”



* * *



“Hey,” Ben said, standing beside her cubicle. “It’s Friday and it’s beer-thirty. How about it?”

“No thanks,” Drue said, looking up. “I was out of the office all morning. I think I’ll hang here for a while and get caught up.”

“We’ll be at Taco Truck if you change your mind,” Ben said, as Jonah walked up and joined him.

It didn’t take long for the office to empty out. By six o’clock, she was alone.

Drue went into the break room, got a soft drink, then sat back down and stared again at the video of Jazmin Mayes’ last night of work at the Gulf Vista resort.

She watched it, reversed it and then watched it again, hoping in vain that something would jump out at her, some moment that would tell her what had gone so terribly wrong that night.

After another hour of watching, Drue stood, stretched and walked around the empty office. She noticed her colleagues’ workspaces. Ben’s desktop was clinically neat, devoid of everything but his computer. No photos, kitschy toys, not even a file folder. Out of idle curiosity, she tried the top desk drawer. It was locked, as were the other drawers.

Jonah’s desk, on the other hand, resembled a mini-landfill. A stack of empty plastic stadium cups with the orange and blue UF logo sat atop a dog-eared copy of Sports Illustrated. A cracked coffee mug held an array of pencils and pens, and a stapler in the shape of an alligator was being used as a paperweight on a stack of computer printouts and file folders. Pushed to the back of the desk was a framed photo of Jonah, posed on the beach between two adorable towheaded preschoolers in swimsuits. She picked up the photo and examined it with interest. Cute kids. She wondered whose they were. Jonah hadn’t bothered to lock his desk. The top drawer held a snarl of paper clips, rubber bands, Post-it notes, a half-empty bottle of aspirin and an astonishing number of tubes of lip balm. She counted eleven different brands and flavors before she lost interest and went back to her own desk and the Gulf Vista security video one last time.