Chris Grabenstein - Tilt-a-Whirl

“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?”

“No, ma'am. After coffee? Go anywhere?”

“Yes. I went to the bank. The cash machine. I didn't dare use my credit cards for anything.”

“Or we might find out you were in town when you weren't supposed to be?”

“Something like that.” She tries to bat her eyes at Ceepak. It doesn't work.

“You know an ATM takes a photograph during every transaction?”

“Really?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“So if I'm lying, you'll soon know-won't you?”

“Yes, ma'am. I will.”

“Isn't technology marvelous? First the E-Z pass, now the ATM? It's a wonder we don't all wear collars around our necks and send out radio signals, like some sort of endangered geese.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“I was at the bank.” Betty enunciates every word, like she's doing closed captioning for the hearing-impaired. “I withdrew two hundred dollars. But I suppose you'll verify that as well, won't you?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Ceepak makes a note.

She sighs.

“Look, I'm sorry I lied.”

“Well, you should be!” the chief snaps.

“Won't you forgive me?” Betty looks at Ceepak the way she used to look at the baby bunnies when she did her Easter Sunday forecast. “Please?”

Ceepak is sorry she lied, too. I can tell by the way he bites his lip while he nods his head. He might forgive her, but he sure as hell won't forget what she did.

Guess that's how The Code works. If folks follow it, you can trust whatever they say, you can even follow them into battle. If they don't? If they lie? You have to watch your back any time they ask you to believe a word they say.

The chief stands up.

“Okay. The damage is done. We move forward. I'll get Santucci or somebody to do the bank and EZ Pass calls.”

Ceepak stands, too.

I guess we're done with Betty.

“You'll bring my little girl home safe?” she asks, eyes moist.

“We'll do our best,” Ceepak tells her stiffly.

“Let's head back to headquarters,” the chief now says, checking his watch. “Time to talk to Mendez-”

The chief's radio squawks.

“Jesus. What now?”

I don't think the chief likes the way this Tilt-A-Whirl case keeps spinning him around and making his stomach lurch.

He stabs the radio talkback button with his thumb.

“Yeah?”

“It's Adam Kiger, sir.”

“What you got, son?

“Gus's gun. We found it.”

“Where?”

“In the trunk of Mendez's car.”

Ceepak is staring out the car window, watching the beach roll by, thinking.

He asked me to take the scenic route home-up 247, the coast road, which turns into Beach Lane when it hits the town limits of Sea Haven proper.

I'm doing a little thinking too.

I'm starting to wonder if crime one and crime two are even connected.

Maybe somebody killed Hart because, as they say down South, he needed him some killing. Then maybe somebody else pulled the kidnap, figuring the kid had to come into some pretty fat money when her old man's ticket got punched.

“‘With her killer graces, and her secret places….’” Ceepak's mumble-singing again. Another Springsteen song. I know this one. It's called “She's the One.”

“Danny?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Two things. One. We need a warrant. I want to search that woman's car.”

“What sort of secrets are we looking for?”

“Car-wash coupons. Air fresheners. Cash-register receipts….”

“From Cap'n Scrubby's?”

“Roger that.”

“You think she hired Squeegee?”

“It's certainly a new possibility. Two-let's swing by the bank.”

“Now? We're with Mendez at three-”

“Mr. Mendez can wait. I need to use the cash machine.”

The First Atlantic Bank is located on Ocean Avenue between Snapper's Grill and Mango's Swimwear, about three blocks down the street from The Pancake Palace.

I park out front and follow Ceepak into the lobby. He dips his card into the ATM.

“You need cash?” I ask.

Ceepak doesn't answer. He tilts his wrist and punches a button on his G-Shock.

“Okay,” he says, “I'm taking out $200.”

I'm a little jealous. Ceepak's actually got $200 to withdraw.

While he waits for the machine to spit out ten twenties, he smiles up at the black plexiglass over the ATM.

“Cheese,” he says.

Ceepak tucks the bills into his pocket.

“Okay. Follow me.”

He heads out the door and up the block to the corner of Ocean and Maple. The light is red. We wait for it to change.

When it does, Ceepak checks his wrist and says, “Thirty seconds.”

We head across the street. On the other side of Ocean Avenue, Maple Street creates one corner of the Sunnyside Playland property. So the fence leading down to the beach is on our left; on our right, rental houses. Two blocks’ worth. The closer we get to the ocean, the higher the rents.