The Fear Hunter Page 6

  Goosebumps sprouted on my arms, and I rubbed them. “You know something about Felicia?” I breathed.

  Frances leaned forward. “Felicia and Donald are upside down on their house, and it’s about to get foreclosed on. Since Felicia is the breadwinner, with her gone, the house is going to get foreclosed on for sure.”

  “Oh,” I said. It was a clue, but I had no idea what it meant. “That sounds bad.”

  She looked around as if she was making sure she wasn’t overheard and lowered her voice. “They hired me to sell the house for them before they lost it. Then, a week ago, Donald came into my office for a slab of my rocky road fudge, and he told me to forget the house, that they didn’t need to sell it anymore. And you know what happened then.”

  “Felicia disappeared,” I said. “What does it mean?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s fishy, right? That Donald guy. Fishy.”

  Donald White. Suspect number one. There was the possibility that Frances was trying to pin the suspicion on Donald in order to take it off her, but I would deal with that later. Dashiell Hammett would tell me to follow the clues for now, and that’s what I planned on doing.

  “So, did the detective guy ask about their house?” Frances asked me.

  “No, he didn’t say a word about it.”

  She leaned back and took a deep breath. “That’s good,” she said, sounding relieved.

  I served Frances, and then I prepared a delivery lunch of matza ball soup, challah, and half a dozen of Auntie Ida’s chocolate chip cookies.

  “I’m going to leave for a while. Special delivery. Can you hold down the fort until I get back?” I asked Mouse.

  “You’re leaving?” she asked, surprised. “You’ve never left when the shop was open before. Prudence never did, either.”

  “Special delivery,” I repeated, showing her the basket because I couldn’t think up another excuse.

  “Are you feeling all right?” Mouse asked. “There’s a doozy of a flu going around. My cousin caught it and coughed for three weeks and got a hernia. They operated, but they cut off her index finger instead of fixing the hernia. Her lawyer says she has a good case against the hospital. She wants to buy a boat.”

  Gosh. I hoped I didn’t have the flu. I decided to tell her where I was going. “I feel fine,” I said, touching my forehead. “I’m bringing soup to Donald White to make him feel better.”

  “I don’t think Donald will be hungry,” Mouse said.

  “Why? It’s lunchtime.”

  “You’ll see when you get there.”

  I carried the basket lunch out of the shop. Mouse knew where Donald and Felicia lived, and she had given me the directions to get there. It had been eons since I had walked around Sea Breeze during the day. Normally, I just spied on it from atop the lighthouse. Being at eye level was a completely different experience.

  I recognized at least a dozen soup customers, doing their thing outside. Crossing the street, I saw Amy sitting in the park with three cats on leashes. I made a mental note to ask her some questions if she was still there when I returned. But the park was in the opposite direction of where I was going. Instead, I turned to the right and walked north past the pier, up Sea Breeze Avenue. The ice cream and doughnut shops were doing bang-up business, as usual. Next to them, about ten people were pumping iron in the outside workout area, including one of my semi-regulars, the female half of the married couple. Further down, lifeguards were washing their trucks at the lifeguard tower. Beyond that was the police station, and I found myself stopping in front of it.

  The building was narrow and squat with double glass doors at the front. Sea Breeze Police Department was written in black above the door. Two police cars and a brown sedan were parked on the street in front. It was very quiet, and nobody was coming in or out of the building. I wondered if Remington was inside, interrogating prisoners under a hot spotlight.

  I got excited just thinking about it.

  Donald and Felicia’s home was a couple of blocks up Sea Breeze Avenue and another couple blocks east, away from the beach. It took only a few minutes to walk the distance. Their house turned out to be a little cottage. The front lawn was brown with two large palm trees. Two Toyotas were parked in the driveway, and the garage was half-open, revealing a warehouse worth of discarded possessions. At a cursory glance, I counted six coffeemakers and two treadmills inside.

  A woman stepped out of the house and click-clacked down the driveway in high heels. “You’re going in like that? With no makeup?” she asked me as she walked by. “You’ll never beat the competition that way. I got laser hair removal and a full makeover at the Clinique counter at the Macy’s in San Diego for this. Not to mention that I brought a tuna casserole. What man can resist tuna casserole? I’ll tell you. No man can resist tuna casserole.”

  Darn it. I didn’t bring tuna casserole.

  In fact, I had never eaten tuna casserole during my long, long life.

  As soon as the first woman was gone, another woman came out of the house. She was wearing a long evening gown and a rainbow of colors on her eyelids. “Tough crowd,” she said. As she passed me, she peeled her fake eyelashes off and tossed them into the neighbor’s bushes. “I brought lasagna. Big mistake. I hope for your sake you didn’t bring lasagna.”

  I had no idea what was going on. Was every woman in town reading Dashiell Hammett? Doubtful. This was more like a DoorDash reunion or something. I took a deep breath for courage and rang the doorbell.

  Donald finally answered after I rang the bell for a second time. “What now?” he demanded as he opened the door.

  “Uh,” I said, shaken. I almost turned around and walked away without asking him one question. But then I thought of Dashiell Hammett, and that gave me courage. I held up the basket and showed it to Donald. “I work at the soup shop. I brought you matza ball soup.”

  He blinked a couple times. “Oh, yeah. I recognize you. Soup? I’ve got casseroles coming out of my ass. I wouldn’t mind some soup. You got anything to go with it?”

  “Challah bread and homemade chocolate chip cookies.”

  “All right,” he said, putting his hand out for the basket.

  “How about I bring it in and serve it for you? I know how to warm up the soup.” What was I saying? Everyone knew how to warm up soup, but it was the only way I could think to get into his house and grill him. It worked.

  “Oh sure, that would be nice,” he said and opened the door wider so I could walk in. The cottage was nicely furnished with modern furniture. A giant television was on the wall in the living room. We walked past it on our way to the kitchen, which was nothing like the kitchen in my house. While our appliances were from the turn of the twentieth century, and we didn’t have built-in cabinets or countertops, Donald and Felicia’s kitchen was very modern with granite countertops and even a little refrigerator just for wine bottles.

  I put the basket on the kitchen island.

  “Well, look at this here,” I heard from the breakfast nook. Turning, I saw Remington sitting at the kitchen table, staring right at me. His long legs were stretched out and crossed at the ankle. He was wearing a suit again, and he was holding a pen in his hand. There was a small notebook on the table in which I assumed he had been writing notes.

  So, I wasn’t the only one who suspected Donald in his wife’s disappearance. Remington was already grilling my number one suspect.

  “Hello, Detective,” I said. “Did you bring a lasagna?”

  “He’s trying to find Felicia,” Donald answered for Remington. “There’s been no sign of her.”

  “That’s terrible. I’m so sorry. That’s why I brought soup,” I said.

  I poured the soup into a small pot and put it on the stove. “It’ll take a minute,” I said and sat down at the table. The women at the shop were right. He didn’t wear a wedding ring, and he smelled good.

  “What were we talking about?” I asked.

  “I was asking Mr. White some questions about his wife,” Reming
ton said. “We can wait until you leave to continue. How about leaving now?’

  I pretended to be concerned about one of my fingernails. “That’s okay. I’ll just sit here quietly. Donald, would you like me to hold your hand?”

  Remington’s mouth turned up into a crooked smile. Donald sat down next to me. “Nah, that’s okay,” he said. “We’re almost done, right?”

  “Sure thing,” Remington said and glanced at his notes. “Can you run down where you’ve been since your wife went missing?”

  That was a good question. I was glad he thought of it.

  “Again? Whatever it takes to find her,” Donald said, happy to oblige. He was so amenable that it made me doubt that he could have killed his wife. “On Wednesday, Felicia went out to the store to make dinner, and she didn’t come back. I called her, but there was no answer. Actually, she left her cellphone at home. I found it later next to the bed. That’s pretty normal. She’s not a big fan of her cellphone. I called the police a few hours later and went out to look for her myself. Yesterday, I looked for her in the morning and spent the rest of the day at home. Then, last night, the casserole ladies came by, and a pastor came, too. We had a prayer meeting for Felicia until one in the morning. This morning was more casserole ladies and you two.”

  “You poor man. You must be terribly worried,” I said.

  Remington shot me a look of honest surprise, and he smiled his little crooked smile, as he looked back down at his notebook. “Anything else? Any side trips?” Remington asked.

  “Just my search for her,” Donald said and turned to me. “Is that soup ready yet?”

  I jumped up and took the pot off the stove. Turning the stove off, I poured the soup into a bowl and served it to Donald, along with the bread and cookies.

  “I only brought enough for one,” I told Remington, guiltily. “I didn’t know that Donald had company.”

  Remington put his hands up in surrender. “That’s cool, Aggie. I’ve got a chicken breast and broccoli in my car.”

  “Is that a joke?” I asked.

  “My body’s a temple,” he said, pointing at himself.

  At that moment, I so wanted to be religious.

  Donald spooned some soup into his mouth and made an appreciative noise. “This is very good. Hits the spot. Thank you.”

  Closing my eyes, I tried to focus. What was my goal here? What was I trying to accomplish? Oh, yeah. I was trying to get information out of Donald about his wife.

  “Where did you look for her?” I asked him. “Where did you think she went?”

  He took another spoonful of soup. “Normal places. The grocery store. She left her car here, so she couldn’t get very far. The beach, the park, that sort of thing.”

  I caught Remington clenching his jaw. So, something that Donald said bothered him. But what?

  I needed to read more mysteries.

  Remington finished questioning Donald, and they made it clear to me that it was time for me to leave. I gathered the basket from the kitchen and tried to think of a way to quickly get more information. As we walked toward the front door, it came to me.

  “Has Felicia disappeared before?” I asked Donald.

  “No. Why would you ask that?”

  “Maybe she ran away. Were you having difficulties?”

  Donald opened the door. “Felicia and I have a wonderful marriage. She didn’t leave. She would never do that. We’re in love. We’re partners. We’re forever.”

  Remington and I left together. Outside, Remington didn’t say anything until we turned the corner and were definitely out of earshot of Donald’s house.

  “What was that?” he demanded, stopping.

  “What?”

  “The soup.”

  “Matza ball soup,” I said. “Jewish penicillin. I thought it would soothe him since he can’t find his wife.”

  Remington stared down at me for a second. He was at least a foot taller than I was and a foot wider. After a moment of silence, he threw his head back and roared with laughter. He clutched onto his middle and continued laughing until he was out of breath.

  “You’re the worst liar I’ve ever met,” he said, finally. “The worst. Was that your first time you ever lied?”

  As far as the world was concerned, my life was more or less a lie. But this was the first time I out and out lied. I had fibbed before, but not lied.

  “No, of course not,” I fibbed. “I’m a good liar, but I wasn’t lying. I was bringing him soup because his wife’s missing. That’s all.”

  Remington threw his head back and laughed, once more. He pointed at me. “You did it, again. You tried to lie. Oh, wow. It’s a pleasure to watch you try to lie. Do yourself a favor, Aggie. Don’t ever play poker. You’ll lose your shirt.”

  He winked at me when he mentioned my shirt, and I felt myself blush.

  “Between you and me, why’d you come out here, really? You know something? You care to share with me? Come on. Spill the beans, Aggie. Unleash your truth.” he said.

  “I’m trying to solve the mystery,” I told him, honestly. “I wanted to grill him and get to the truth.”

  “Holy shit. You remind me of somebody I knew.”

  “I do?” I asked. It was the first time someone said I reminded them of another person. If he knew the truth about me, he wouldn’t have said so.

  Remington nodded. “Yep, but she knows how to lie. She’s nosy like you.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “No, I like it in a woman. Nosy. Unpredictable. Wild child.”

  “Oh.”

  He traced his finger down my jawline, and I felt the air rush out of my body, replaced by heat. Holy smokes. Being touched by Remington was better than a lifetime of cinnamon toast.

  Touching was something that John could never do.

  At the memory of John, I pulled back out of Remington’s reach.

  “Do you have any information you want to share with me? Something you found out? Any idea where Felicia is?” Remington asked.

  “I think she left him. She’s hiding somewhere. You know, gone quiet for a while to give him space,” I said. Sure, I had borrowed the theory from real life with John, but it was as good as any reason.

  “I think the same thing,” Remington told me. “There was a surge of purchases made on her credit cards in the past couple of weeks. Ms. Spendy got a new wardrobe, including a couple of bikinis and hot pink Jimmy Choo shoes. She’s up to something.”

  We continued walking toward the beach. “What’s the matter?” Remington asked me. “You look like someone shot your dog.”

  “It’s not much of a mystery if she ran away to wear new bikinis and pink Jimmy Choos,” I complained.

  “We haven’t found her, yet. The plot might thicken, yet, Aggie,” he said.

  Just as we reached the police station, Remington’s cellphone rang, and he answered it. “Where?” he asked into the phone. “I’ll be right there.” He hung up. “Ask and ye shall receive,” he said and took my hand. His hand was large and warm and made me feel safe and cared for.

  “Where are we going?” I asked, as I jogged to keep up with him. We were headed down the street toward the soup shop.

  Remington pointed ahead of us. There, police car lights were flashing by the lifeguard tower. When we reached it, I could see that the entrance to the pier had been blocked off with yellow police tape. Remington ducked under the tape and held it up for me to walk under, too.

  “Police only, miss,” a police officer told me.

  “She’s with me,” Remington told him and winked at me.

  We walked down the long pier. Normally, there were fishermen and walkers on the pier, but now we were the only ones on it. As we got closer to the end of the pier, I could see that there was something lying there. Finally, as we neared it, I could make it out.

  “It’s a shark,” I said. “How did a shark get on the pier? Wait a second. Something was wrong with the shark. It’s deformed. Really deformed. Do you think the polluted
waters deformed it?”

  Remington was still holding my hand, and he gave it a gentle squeeze. “You said you wanted a good mystery, remember. Hold on to your hat.”

  “I’m not wearing a hat,” I said as we kept walking. That’s when I saw it.

  The shark wasn’t deformed.

  A minute later, we stopped at the end of the pier and stood over the shark. “Well, that’s something you don’t see every day,” Remington noted.

  “It’s a mako shark,” I said. “Very common in these waters.”

  “What about on piers? Have you ever seen one on a pier?”

  “No. Could it have jumped up here?”

  We looked over the side of the pier. We were at least twenty feet above the water. “I don’t think the shark jumped,” Remington said. “And what about the other part? Is that common? Have you seen that before?”

  “No. I’ve never seen that before.”

  The other part he was talking about was a woman. She was lying next to the shark with her head inside the shark’s mouth. So, we couldn’t see the woman’s face. But it was definitely a woman. A definitely dead woman.

  “I’ll bet you a million dollars that I know who that woman is,” Remington said.

  “I’d bet a million dollars that you know who she is, too. I know who she is, too.”

  We pointed at the woman’s feet. One was bare, but the other was still wearing a shoe. A hot pink shoe with a pointy four-inch high heel.

  “Jimmy Choo,” Remington and I said in unison.

  Chapter 6

  “The world is full of obvious things, which nobody by any chance ever observes.”

  –-Arthur Conan Doyle

  Faced with the reality of Felicia’s death, my giddiness and excitement about playing detective disappeared, completely. “This is terrible,” I said to Remington, stating the obvious.

  “Are you going to be all right, Aggie?” Remington asked, putting his arm around me.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Should I call the paramedics for you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do you want to go home?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. I was uncomfortable and a little scared. Felicia’s disappearance had turned ugly. It was like a Dashiell Hammett book had come to life, but without the guarantee of a happy ending. It was serious. This was not the fun hobby I had thought it was.