Before he could tell me to stay out of Edwards’s investigation or start worrying that I might be in danger, I said, “Too bad you’re not here. They’ve remodeled the hotel and there’s a Jacuzzi in every room now.”
He chuckled. “Well, damn! If I didn’t have to teach that class, I’d be right down.”
“On the other hand,” I said, tossing another ball into the air, “I don’t know as I’d want to expose you to so much temptation. Guess who Chelsea Ann and I had drinks with last night? Jill Mercer and the director of
The distractions worked. The rest of the phone call was devoted to last night’s filming of a hit-and-run scene and that yes, Jill Mercer seemed to be as nice as she was beautiful. I didn’t tell him about the push-up bra and padding. Some illusions should not be shattered, I decided, smugly aware that I hadn’t needed padding since I was twelve.
* * *
After the call, I indulged myself by going back to bed for another hour, then called room service for a pot of coffee, a bowl of fruit, and a flaky croissant with blackberry jam, which I ate on my balcony while reading
True or not, I had no reason to call Detective Edwards. No startling revelations had been whispered into my shell-like ears in the last twenty-four hours. There was that bit about Jamerson Labs, but that was old news. Yes, Martha Fitzhume was still carrying a grudge because her cousin’s daughter was screwed when Jeffreys bribed a lab tech to alter her ex’s paternity test. Once that tech came clean in my court, though, all her cases were reexamined and, so far as I knew, new tests had set everything straight.
Bill Hasselberger was a possibility if he was emotionally close to his godson. Say he had brooded excessively over the child’s burn injuries to the point that the sight of Jeffreys was enough to push him over the edge into murder. That missing half-hour certainly gave him enough time. It couldn’t have taken more than five minutes to follow Jeffreys to his car, loop that leash around his neck, then throw him into the river.
I still thought it was odd that neither he nor Reid had mentioned the boy when they were cataloging Jeffreys’s sins on Sunday.
Of course, the murder didn’t necessarily have anything to do with Jeffreys’s bungled court decisions. Maybe it played out on a more basic level. Judges have a certain amount of power and more than one old, fat, ugly man has proved that power is an aphrodisiac. I might have been turned off by Jeffreys’s smirk, but I’m willing to bet that he saw plenty of action around his district. Maybe it was time to talk to Roberta Ouellette again and see if I could pry loose some names that would link back to the trial lawyers who were meeting forty minutes away.
Only not now. This was my last day of hedonistic freedom and I was going to put Pete Jeffreys out of my mind and enjoy it.
A half-hour later I was sitting under a coral umbrella out on the sand. A warm breeze blew in from the water that gradually retreated as I smoothed sunscreen on every bare area I could reach. According to the lifeguard when I passed his stand, high tide was at ten and it would be at its lowest around four. Castles built at the waterline now would last for many hours, but nobody was working on one and my yellow sand bucket and red plastic shovel were thirty years gone. I don’t quite understand the allure of a pool at the beach, but the SandCastle’s was crowded with kids and adults while the ocean went begging.
I waded out till I was hip-deep, then dived into the next wave as it was cresting and swam out beyond the breakers so that I could float on the gentle swells without being dumped back on the shore. The water was as warm as a bath and the salt was sweet on my lips.
After almost a hour, when my fingers had turned to prunes, I paddled back toward the shore and wound up a bit further from the hotel than I had started. As I emerged from the water, there sitting on the sand at play with his children was Allen Stancil.
“Hey, darlin’,” he called, holding out a towel to me. “Come and meet my young’uns.”
Useless to tell him not to call me darlin’. And churlish to walk past the little girl who was giving me a shy smile.
Instead I took the towel, dropped to my knees and smiled back. “You must be Tiffany Jane.”
“Yes, ma’am,” she said, ducking her blonde head. She wore a pink bathing suit printed with green and yellow starfish.
“And this little man’s Tyler,” Allen told me.
The toddler looked to be about sixteen months old and his disposable swim diaper sported starfish and seashells. He was having a grand time knocking over his sister’s sand towers as soon as they were built.
I finished drying my hair and handed the towel back to Allen. “I thought you were only here for the weekend.”
“Naw, we’re staying till Wednesday. Wendy Nicole found us a good deal on the Internet. Bet you pay as much for your room as I’m paying for a whole suite.” His eyes suddenly narrowed. “You with that bunch of judges down the hall from me? Sixth floor?”
I pled guilty.
“Y’all sure are noisy. Kept Tiffany Jane awake till after midnight.”
“They were talking in their outdoor voices,” the child said disapprovingly.
“Not me,” I said. “Not last night anyhow.”
Allen cut his eyes at me and white teeth flashed an amused smile beneath his dark beard. “Examining a witness in another room, darlin’?”
“What’s a witness?” his daughter asked.
Before I could tell Allen that my comings and goings were none of his business, he grabbed my left hand.
“Is that a wedding ring?” he asked in astonishment. “Don’t tell me you went and married that rabbit sheriff after all?”
