It was hard to trust Darby when she kept more secrets than Grey. At least Grey had a legitimate reason. The same could not be said for Darby.
Once Jo had ambushed me with her newest Cliff factoid, there was no stopping me from my own field trip. Darby, still convinced I could somehow be harmed, volunteered to be my wing woman.
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.” It had to be the third time I’d made the proclamation.
Apparently, Jo had “accidently” let it slip during the photo shoot that she’d had a vision of Cliff and Tricia together.
We sat in my Jeep in the Dana Point Marina parking lot and watched Cliff’s unattended yacht docked in the west basin. We’d pulled in at six o’clock. Sunset was in thirty minutes. We didn’t have a lot of time.
Most people were heading to the restaurants for dinner. If it was a little darker, I’d feel more comfortable climbing aboard. Or, as Darby called it, breaking and entering.
Darby raised her binoculars and focused on the yacht. “I thought Jo was lying. Why would Cliff and Tricia be having an affair?”
“For Cliff it would be a way to get back at Mona. Did you ever consider Tricia might be the reason for Mona and Cliff’s break up?” Rumor around town had been Mona had caught him with another woman.
She lowered the binoculars. “Best friends don’t steal each other’s husbands.”
“Those are your midwestern morals talking. Line up ten couples you know from Orange County, and I bet you a minimum of six couples have cheated on each other at some point.”
She shook her head. “I refuse to believe it.”
A couple who looked like they hadn’t seen the light of day since the inauguration of the first President George Bush wobbled past us in matching nautical outfits. The old man squinted through his glasses into the Jeep, checking us out. I smiled and waved, hoping he’d realize there was nothing to see and keep plodding past us.
“Look at Caro,” I said. “Her ex had cheated before they’d celebrated their second wedding anniversary. Heck, for all she knows he had never been faithful.”
Caro and her ex-husband, Geoff, had met in college while pursuing their psych degrees. (Just the way he spelled his name screamed pretentious butthead. You’d think someone as smart as Caro would have seen that red flag, but she hadn’t.)
They’d started a counseling practice together, and before you could say, “It’s all your mother’s fault,” Geoff had taken up with a client. After a public scandal big enough to rival my own public humiliation, Caro and Butthead had lost their licenses.
It doesn’t get much worse than that.
“That doesn’t explain Tricia,” Darby argued.
“She wants to be Mona so badly, she’d take her leftovers. Sad, but true.”
My cell chirped from inside my purse, cutting off whatever argument Darby was about to voice. I grabbed my phone and saw it was a text from Grey. He wanted to meet for dinner. I quickly tapped in my reply and hit send.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“Grey wants to make me dinner.”
“Are you going to tell him what we’re doing?”
I assumed she meant breaking onto Cliff’s boat, not debating couple faithfulness in the OC. “Yes.”
I turned on the satellite radio and flipped stations before settling on classic rock. Queen’s
Darby drummed her fingers on her leg. “I can’t sit here any longer. Are we going aboard or not? If we wait too long, it will be dark, and we won’t be able to see a thing. Either that or Cliff will come home.” She grabbed the door handle.
I really liked the song and thought it was quite fitting for the situation, but for sanity’s sake I turned off the radio. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
We hopped out of the Jeep and quickly made our way toward the dock. I’m sure we looked ridiculous dressed in all black like cat burglars… or yoga escapees. We were sporting our yoga garb.
A chill hung in the evening air. We casually strolled past the trendy shops and headed for the area Camilla had described when I’d called her earlier for Cliff’s slip number.
As we neared the dock, I could see we’d have to pass through a chain-link security gate. “Camilla failed to mention we needed a key to get to Cliff’s boat,” I said softly, looking around for a different way to reach our destination.
The older couple who’d shuffled past the Jeep earlier suddenly emerged from the other side of the gate, leaving the dock area. I quickly grabbed the gate before it shut, denying us access.
“I saw you resting in your car,” the old man wheezed. “What’s a matter? Did you girls work too hard at your calisthenics?” He chuckled, then erupted into a coughing fit strong enough to shoot his dentures across the marina.
“That’s what you get.” His wife pounded his frail back with an aged hand. “Leave those poor girls alone.” She bobbed with every swat, shaking the lopsided bun of white hair pinned precariously on the crown of her head.
“Do you need help?” Darby asked.
A well-practiced apologetic smile pulled at the old woman’s orange lipstick-stained mouth. “He’ll be fine. He gets excited when he sees a pretty girl.”
Darby insisted we watch them as they slowly made their way to a park bench. Once they were seated, I let the gate slam behind us.
“We’re in,” I whispered. “Let’s go.”
It was a clear evening, and a large number of boats were still out on the ocean. Water slapped against the wood pier. I inhaled the ocean air, savoring the delicate salt sting as my lungs filled.
We quickly found dock B.
“Cliff, are you home?” I called out just to make sure he wasn’t below deck sleeping. Or drinking, which was more likely in his case.
There was no answer. I grabbed the side of the boat and climbed onto the back. The swaying motion tossed me to the side. It took me a second to steady myself. Once I had my sea legs under me, I motioned for Darby to join me.
We made our way past the deck patio and down into the salon. It wasn’t a huge area, but big enough for a couple of leather barrel chairs, a sofa and a pop-up TV.
Oh, and a wet bar of multiple Scotches that could rival any liquor store.
The rhythmic rocking helped calm my racing heart. “It’s much smaller than the ocean-side mansion, but Mona’s money bought him a nice place to crash.”
“Let’s get this over with. What exactly are we looking for?” Darby’s voice shook, her nerves getting the best of her.
“I don’t know. Anything that proves he’s been gambling or that he killed Mona.”
I started in the galley (I knew that was the name for the kitchen, but that was the extent of my proper boat vernacular), and Darby searched the couple of cabinets in the salon (okay, I knew that too).
“Explain to me again, why the police aren’t doing this?” she asked.
“Maybe they have.”
“Not to be a total wet blanket, but if they didn’t find anything, what makes you think we will?”
I glanced sideways at Darby. “Do you have this sudden passion to go to jail?”
“Of course not.”
“Okay, stop talking and get looking.”
I leafed through a stack of papers on the kitchen table and didn’t see anything except past due bills. I opened drawers and only found flatware and dishes. No real food. Nothing.
We were losing light fast. “We’ll have to turn on a lamp.”
We each tuned on a table lamp in the area we were searching. I quickly moved to one of the sleeping quarters. No photo albums or handwritten notes. Nothing but clothes, sheets and towels. Not even a computer.
“Anything?” I asked, utterly disappointed.
“Not yet.”
