“Which is always a distinct possibility. What else?”
“We just caught up with Stewart Plotka and Andrea Halperin having themselves a drink by the pool at the Saybrook Point Inn. She jumped all over me when I asked Plotka where he was last night. Demanded to know why the Major Crime Squad was interested in his whereabouts and whether there was a criminal investigation underway and if so, what kind. I told her it was an unofficial inquiry. She told me I could unofficially go to hell. After some more warm, fuzzy sparring she decided to cooperate. Realized it was the only way she might learn something. Plus Plotka has nothing to hide. Or so she’s been led to believe. The two of them had dinner together last night right there at the inn. She went up to her room after dinner and worked until bedtime. Plotka hung out at the bar by himself and tried to hook a hottie. The waitress there, a good-looking blonde, told me Plotka kept bragging to her that he’d be coming into a lot of money soon. She was incredibly not interested. Thought Plotka was total scum.”
“This is a girl with keen instincts.”
“Plotka left the bar at about eleven. He told me he went straight to bed. But he has his own car parked out there in the lot. A Toyota Camry. The guests can access their rooms directly from the parking lot. Don’t have to go in and out by way of the front desk. Meaning he could have slipped out and driven to the Grantham place. Burrowed through that hole in the fence, gone after Kinitra and then returned to his room undetected. Toni’s at the New Haven newsroom of Channel Eight right now running their footage of the party for license plates. Maybe she’ll turn up Plotka’s Camry. She tried to get a guest list out of cousin Clarence but he wasn’t very helpful.”
“I smelled reefer smoke when I got there. He’s probably afraid that this could lead to a drug bust-which is the last thing in the world Tyrone needs right now.” Des dug a pair of sandals out of her closet and stepped into them. “Plotka’s media savvy. I don’t believe he’d park his car in full view of the news cameras. He’s not that dumb.”
“He’s that something.”
“Are you liking him for it?”
“Let’s just say I object to him using up our planet’s air, water and non-renewable fossil fuels.”
“But other than that, you’re a fan.”
Yolie let out a laugh. “Oh, yeah. Other than that, I am crushing on him huge.”
She drove her cruiser, the Deacon riding shotgun. He sat there straight and solemn in his gray flannel suit, big hands flat on his thighs, gaze fixed straight ahead. Didn’t say one word until she turned off Old Shore Road onto Turkey Neck.
“Since when is this the way to Big Sister Island?”
“I just have to make a quick stop, Daddy. It won’t take long.”
The usual mob of news crews, paparazzi and gawkers were clustered outside the Tyrone Grantham estate. The through-traffic was at a standstill despite the presence of the trooper who was trying to move drivers along.
The Deacon watched him with keen-eyed disapproval. “Does that trooper actually believe he’s helping matters by standing in the middle of the road?”
“I don’t know, Daddy. Would you like to ask him?”
“No,” he said stiffly. “Just drive on if you can. Paying a call on Mr. Grantham?”
“His next door neighbor.” Des inched her way past the Grantham place and pulled into the driveway of Justy Bond’s waterfront home. Two cars were parked out front. She parked alongside them and shut off her engine. “Couple of questions I need to ask, okay?”
“Whatever you need to do, Desiree. I’ll wait right here.”
“You will not. You’re coming with me. You were a big help just now with Calvin.”
“Don’t patronize me, young lady.”
“I’m not. I would never do that. But you don’t seem to realize how much gravitas you bring to the table. Please join me, will you?”
He climbed out of the car, glowering at her. “ Now what are you grinning about?”
“This is epic, Daddy. I dreamt about this moment when I was a little girl but I never actually thought it would happen.”
“ What would?”
“You and me-we’re actually working a case together.”
“We’re not ‘working a case.’ You’re playing a hunch and making a supremely clumsy effort to pump up my ego. You’re not fooling me, you know.”
“Daddy, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I swear, sometimes you’re just like your mother.”
“Um, okay, is that good thing?”
Bonita was swimming laps in the pool, her stroke steady and strong, the water gleaming on her tanned flesh. A shirtless, broad-shouldered June was down on the dock buttoning up the Calliope for the rainstorm that was forecast for later that evening. The sky was definitely turning grayer.
When Bonita noticed them there, she swam to the shallow end and got out, looking trim, toned and fabulous in her white bikini. “How nice to see you again, Trooper Des,” she said with a complete absence of warmth.
“Bonita, this is my father, Deputy Superintendent Mitry.”
She raised a speculative eyebrow at him. “Pleased to meet you.”
He studied her curiously. “Don’t I know you from those commercials? You used to be the Bond Girl.”
Bonita let out a throaty laugh. “You have a good memory. It’s been a while since I retired. These days I’m what’s known in polite Dorset society as a trophy bimbo.” She fetched a beach towel and dabbed herself dry. “Justy’s not here, I’m afraid. He’s got a regional dealership pow-wow up in Hartford. Probably won’t come rolling home until after eleven.”
“Actually, we’re here to speak to June.”
“In that case you’re in luck.” Bonita glanced down toward the dock at him. “He’s like a mother hen with that boat of his, I swear.”
Des and the Deacon started their way across the lawn toward him. No more than a hundred feet separated the Calliope from the dock where Da Beast was moored, looking long, low and positively obscene in the water. Tyrone Grantham’s little strip of private beach was plainly visible from there, too. The very beach from where Kinitra had taken her near fatal swim late last night.
“Hey, Des,” June said brightly as he scampered fore and aft, securing the Calliope ’s lines.
“June, this is Deputy Superintendent Mitry. Also known as my father.”
“Glad to know you, sir. What can I do for you?”
“I understand you’ve been sleeping out here on the Calliope lately,” she said.
June’s eyes flicked across the lawn toward Bonita, who was now stretched out in a lounge chair. The Deacon followed his gaze, his own eyes narrowing fractionally. “Well, yeah,” June acknowledged. “Mitch… told you about that?”
“He told me you were prepping for an epic sea voyage. Wanted to get used to sleeping aboard.”
“Yeah, that’s right. I’m sailing her down to the Florida Keys.”
“June, there was an incident next door late last night. I wondered if you might have heard something.”
“I heard their party, if that’s what you mean. It sounded outrageous. Tons of people, great music. Did my dad call you and complain? Because they quieted down real fast at around eleven o’clock. I’m guessing that’s when you showed up.”
“You’re guessing right.”
“He was out of line, Des. The party wasn’t that loud. Besides, people have a right to enjoy themselves, don’t they?”
“I was interested in something that happened later on.”
June lowered his eyes, swallowing uncomfortably. “Later on?”
“Maybe two, three o’clock in the morning. It was a warm night. I’m guessing you had your hatch open. Wondered if you might have overheard an altercation between a man and a woman on the beach over there. Did you have the hatch open?”