Ray Reid was still the best suspect so far, although he seemed an unlikely professional hit man. Goddard needed more background on him. What did he really do in Philadelphia? It wouldn’t hurt to see if his sister could fill in some blanks. Interesting woman. Who was he kidding? He’d just flat out like to take another look at her.
He phoned attorney Jerry Kagan and after brief pleasantries asked for the cell number of Reid’s sister. Kagan was surprised with the request and said he must check with her first to see if she wanted it given out. Goddard told him, “Then just have her meet me at the Coffee Spot on the barrier island—thirty minutes, no later.” Kagan wouldn’t promise she’d show up.
Kagan relayed the request to Sandy. Her response was, “Wants to see
What was this all about? Was he going to serve a summons or a cease-and-desist order? He wasn’t the type to try to hit on her—or was he? For good or for bad she had gotten to Detective Chip Goddard.
Chapter 16
Sandy Reid crossed the Intracoastal Waterway to the barrier island and drove on east to Highway A1A. Goddard had said meet at the Coffee Spot, and she knew about where to find it.
She had driven around the same area when she first arrived in Park Beach. It was late that day, but after driving a thousand miles and getting warmer by the hour, she wanted to see the ocean immediately. She went directly to the beach from I-95 and left her car in a small beachfront park.
A pleasant onshore breeze caught her hair as she walked over to the water. She walked barefoot in the pale sand along the wavering water’s edge, daring the warm hint of tide to catch her feet and slap around her ankles. A carefree moment. She could get used to this place called Florida.
This afternoon, looking for the Coffee Spot, she headed for the beachfront area again. She remembered the arrangement of low-rise condos and beachfront hotels on one side of Ocean Drive, and the boutiques and restaurants facing them. She found the Coffee Spot down a few blocks away from the expensive beachfront hotels.
She liked the retro fifties decor—a neon-light clock above an old fashioned jukebox—like an old-time diner without all the stainless steel. She sat at the counter on a red-topped stool. The waitress was filling her thick mug when Goddard came in through the swinging kitchen door directly in front of her.
“I parked in back. Let’s move over to that last booth,” he said. “I’ll sit on the far side.”
Sandy nodded and picked up her coffee. “Remember the old movies—never sit with your back to the door and never trust a skirt.”
He grinned. “Of course, everything I needed to know I learned from old movies.”
A pretty good line, she thought. And she loved the grin. How bad could he be? She raised her coffee mug, “Here’s looking at you, kid.”
“How do you like Florida, Miss Reid?”
“If they ever had a day like this in Philly, they’d write a song about it.”
Nice smile, smelled good, taller than she remembered. His jaw was slightly large, no, on second thought just right. So far, so good. She had yet to see his eyes. “You going to sit there and watch me through those cop glasses?”
“Sorry.” He took them off.
Now, up close, she got a good look at him. His steel-gray eyes were set a little deep but nicely spaced. She felt slightly timid looking at him. He was more interesting than she had anticipated, more appealing. She should have changed before meeting him; she wished she came across a little more put together right now facing this guy. “How come you don’t walk and talk like a cop.”
“How do I walk and talk?”
“More like a lifeguard.”
“I was, right here on this beach. Summer before I went off to college. But we’re not here to socialize.”
“I hope not, Detective, because I’m busy with a murder investigation.”
“Call me Chip, and you’re Sandra.”
“Sandy.” She reached across and shook his hand. It was softer than she expected. Her hand felt small.
The waitress was quick with his coffee. He waved the cream away. Sandy said, “You’re a plain black coffee kind of guy.”
“What kind is that?”
“No frills, nothing fancy added. Hold the cream and sugar, baby, take me straight to the caffeine.”
“Am I being judged here?” he asked.
“You betcha.”
“You’re an interesting girl. Your mind is always turning, isn’t it?” He blew on the coffee, took a sip, and glanced up at her. “First of all, I’m sorry if I came off overbearing when we first met.”
“I expected it. It’s in the cop manual—raise your voice to keep control. What’s with the parking in back?”
“Huress has been nosing around. I don’t want our cars seen together. Yours stands out like a red jellybean in a bowl of peanuts.”
“Huress?”
“Bobby Huress, my old partner. We rode patrol. He thought we were great buddies but I just tolerated him. He’s into all that macho crap. The buddy stuff disappeared fast after I passed the detective exam and he flunked. He claims I got special treatment because my dad was once chief. He barely studied and then said he couldn’t pass because of the burden of wife and kids.'
“He envies you. Why are you telling me this?”
“Probably shouldn’t. I just wanted you to know, if you run into him, he's not on the case.”
She could tell he was warming up to her. She liked this guy letting down his guard and throwing out some personal information, not afraid of appearing vulnerable. That earned him a couple more points. “Are you saying there’s a patrol cop running around that you can’t control, and he might try to play detective and approach me?”
“He’s a sergeant now, has a lot of freedom. It’s just a tip. All I’m saying is you’re free to ignore him. Forget I said anything.”
“I’ll spot him if he follows me. What’s he driving?”
“A blue and white, but watch out for his personal vehicle, a red Ford pickup with a large orange and blue ‘Gator Nation’ decal on the back window.”
“Hey, I’ve seen that truck parked outside my apartment, Raymond’s apartment. I saw it and wondered what the hell ‘Gator Nation’ meant. Is that your school?”
“No, Florida State. When did you see his truck?”
“Don’t remember now, but I know I’ve seen it.” Her eyes narrowed as she studied him. “Why was it there? You two better not be running some kind of police game on me.”
“No game. Huress has nothing to do with this case. I’ll look into it.”
“I’m dead serious about getting info to free my brother. This smells like a tag team to me. I really don’t like this! Are you tracking me? I demand to know right now why a cop was parked outside my apartment in his personal vehicle.”
“I know you’re serious. I said I’d look into it.” He paused for another sip and then his voice took on an official tone. “Jerry Kagan told me he hired you as his investigator.”
“What difference does that make?”
“It’s easier for me if you’re officially on the case. Otherwise, it looks like I’m just being cozy with the
