Neither Ceepak nor I mention that all “this” took place on Saturday. Not Friday. Not when Ashley's mother was, according to what she'd told us, at her apartment in the city.
“Danny?” Ceepak stands up.
“Yeah.” I push back my chair and smile up at Gail. “We gotta run.”
“Really? Your burgers are almost done.”
I can hear the cook squeezing the sputtering life out of our chopped meat patties on his griddle. I give Gail ten bucks for our uneaten lunch.
“We'll take a rain check.”
It's not that we're afraid of The Rusty Scupper's burgers.
We just need to talk to Ashley's mother about the fish sticks.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“She what?”
“She was in town on Friday night.”
“Fuck….”
I can tell the chief is upset by our news flash. He doesn't usually swear like that over the radio.
“I'll meet you there,” he barks. You can almost hear the acid indigestion churning up in his stomach. The guy is a Tums time bomb.
“No need, sir. Danny and I can cover it.”
“I'll meet you there, goddammit!”
We reach the Beach Crest Heights subdivision's gatehouse and tin the rent-a-cop standing inside his hut. That means we show him our badges and he doesn't ask a whole lot of questions-he just opens the gate. I always wonder about these unarmed, white-shirt security guards. If they look at your driver's license and decide you're a bad guy, what do they do?
Whack you in the head with their clipboard?
We pull into the circular driveway. Ceepak rings the doorbell.
“Yes?”
It's that butler dude again. I wonder if he did it. He does everything else butlers do in the movies, so maybe he's the one who murdered Reggie Hart. Maybe he and Mendez were working together, too.
“We need to see Mrs. Hart,” Ceepak says.
“She is temporarily indisposed.”
“Tell her it's Officer Ceepak.” With this, Ceepak simply sidesteps the loyal manservant and glides into the glass-walled front room. I glide in after him.
“But sirs …”
Ceepak folds his hands behind his back, up near the belt loops, standing at what they call parade rest, ready and willing to wait.
“We're kind of in a hurry,” I say.
“Please wait here.” Nose held high, the butler strides slowly to his right.
“Is she in the sunroom?” Ceepak asks.
“Sir, if you'll kindly wait….”
Ceepak remembers the way. I bring up the rear. Behind us, I hear the chief make his entrance.
“Ceepak?”
“This way.”
“But … sir … really….”
Sounds like the chief is pushing past the butler, too. Maybe the poor guy ought to go back to working for Joe Millionaire.
“Yes. I was in Sea Haven on Friday night.”
Betty is sitting on the couch sipping tea. She has on white pants that cuff above her ankles, white strappy sandals, and this white-and-gold top that sparkles in the sun.
So much for widows wearing black.
“I took a motel room-”
“Where?” the chief asks.
“The Smuggler's Cove.”
“Jesus,” the chief groans.
“What?” Ceepak is curious.
“The Cove? They rent out the same goddamn room ten times a night. It's a hot sheets hotel! Hourly rates. Adult movies….”
“I see.”
“They are also very discreet,” Betty says defensively. “Gentlemen, I am not proud of my deception, but I fail to see how my being here on Friday has anything to do with Ashley's kidnapping. Why aren't you out searching for her? Why are you wasting your time here, questioning me?”
“So what were you doing here, ma'am?” The chief cuts to the chase.
“Looking out for my daughter.”
“How's that?”
“He had her in the house here with him. In front of my daughter.”
“Had who?” The chief puts his fist to his stomach like he just burped up a bubble of something nasty.
“The lawyer? He had her … here.”
“Were Mr. Hart and Ms. Stone romantically involved?” Ceepak asks.
“Yes,” Betty says and sets down her teacup. “She was Reginald's most recent conquest.”
The chief rolls his eyes and mutters something that sounds a lot like “Jesus Fucking Christ.”
If I was Betty Bell Hart? I'd talk to Ceepak and forget the chief who really looks like he's going to explode some time soon. He's hardly even sitting in his chair any more, his fists are digging into his thighs, and he's grinding his teeth louder than he knows.
Yeah, I'd talk to Ceepak.
“So,” Ceepak says, “you were the one who had Ms. Stone's suitcases tossed out into the driveway?”
“Yes.” Betty smiles slightly. “I'm afraid I was miffed.”
We look at one another, Ceepak, the chief, and I. Miffed.
“Ashley said she heard them,” Betty says. “Up in the master bedroom.”
Ceepak closes his eyes. Some people severely disappoint him. I think Reggie Hart is now one of them.
“Prior to that,” Betty says, “Ms. Stone was flouncing around the house in nothing but a frilly push-up bra, panties, and a garter belt.”
“Ashley told you all this?”
“Yes. She called me and said it was like a Victoria's Secret fashion show out here.”
“That would explain that perfume you told me about,” the chief says to Ceepak. “That stuff you smelled on Hart?”
“Yes, sir,” Ceepak says. “It sure might. They came up Thursday? Mr. Hart, Ms. Stone, and Ashley?”
“Yes. Thursday afternoon. Ashley amused herself. Swam in the pool. Her father did some paperwork with Ms. Stone. Went to a ‘meeting’ with her, somewhere downtown. Then they all went out to dinner. O'Riley's, I think. The fashion shows, the sexcapades? That all started Thursday night. After dinner.”
“So you drove up on Friday?”
“I did.”
“Do you use E-Z Pass?”
“Excuse me?”
“To pay the tolls. Do you have an E-Z Pass transponder unit installed on your windshield?”
“Yes. Why?”
“We'll want to run a check,” Ceepak says. “Verify your whereabouts. The timeframe.”
“What?” She tucks her legs up under her on the couch. “Don't you trust me, Officer Ceepak?”
Ceepak lets that one go unanswered.
“So, Ashley called you?”
“Of course she did. Snuck outside and used her cell phone so her father wouldn't hear. I told her I would come, but it had to be our secret. I knew what Ms. Stone was up to.”
“Banging her boss?” The chief kind of blurts it out. “Sorry.”
“Ms. Stone wanted Reginald to restructure his will.”
“Why?” Ceepak asks.
“She probably told him it was in the best interest of the corporation.
That it wasn't prudent to leave everything to Ashley. However, I suspect Ms. Stone fancied herself the next Mrs. Hart.”
“Were they that serious?”
“She might have been. Reginald, I'm certain, was not. She's not really his type. Oh, sure-he'd have his fun with her … for a while. But eventually he'd move on to something younger. He always does….”
She'd mentioned this before. I guess all billionaires prefer that their trophies be youngish.
“He wouldn't change his will. Never. He simply loved Ashley too, too much to even consider it. And he certainly didn't need a new wife, no matter how fetching Ms. Stone may have appeared in her lingerie. I gave Reginald the only child he ever wanted. He could date any woman in the world. Why would he ever want to get married again?”
“Where were you Saturday morning?”
Ceepak has to ask it.
“You mean when Reginald was murdered? Is that what you mean, Mr. Ceepak?”
“Yes, ma'am. Saturday. Around 7:15.”
“Let's see. I woke up. Brushed my teeth. Took a shower. Got dressed. Combed my hair. Put on my makeup. Made a cup of coffee right there in my motel room.” The standard run-down, delivered deadpan. “They have a miniature Mr. Coffee machine in every room at The Smuggler's Cove. Did you know that, Officer Ceepak?”