Miss Gigi puffed out her chest. On the front panels of the kimono, Goofy and Minnie Mouse were posing in yellow bikinis and heels, a sequined tropical beach sprawled out behind them. “These are one hundred percent original. My granddaughter designs, her boyfriend prints them, she sews on sparkles. Cesar sells them at our store in Seaside, big sales last summer, completely sold out. This one is a collector’s item.”
“You are a lucky woman.”
“Maybe not so lucky if I am helping murderers.”
“We don’t know that. You ask your mail room associates what they remember. I’ll look into it as well. And as for any future connections, let’s stick to the letters and packages that come in the front door.”
Beth waited until Miss Gigi had closed the door to her room before she walked outside. She took a breath, unwrapped the mangled protein bar, and grimaced. The conversation had made her lose her appetite. She felt an urgent desire to go back inside and pull Mr. Rhoads’s charts again, to contact the medical director about this. Maybe the EMTs who attended the death as well. But there was someone she had to call first.
Chapter Forty-Five
Lana hung up the phone and looked triumphantly at Jack.
“I was right about Hal Rhoads,” she said. “He was murdered.”
“Whoa,” Jack said. “Who were you talking to? Was that Mom?”
Lana nodded. Before she could say more, there was a knock at the door. It was Detectives Nicoletti and Ramirez, looking like sweaty, disheveled versions of the investigators who’d been on television an hour earlier.
“Here to sign autographs?” Lana said.
Nicoletti pulled his shoulders back. “No, ma’am. We need to talk to you.”
Lana looked at Ramirez. “Did you get my message?”
The female detective gave her a brief nod.
“Anything I need to know?” Nicoletti asked his partner.
For a moment, Lana had a wild hope that her voicemail had somehow delivered critical evidence.
“It’s nothing,” Ramirez said. Lana let out a puff of breath, disappointed.
Jack migrated over to the table. “What’s going on?”
“The bike we found at the Kayak Shack,” Nicoletti said. “We’ve confirmed—”
“It belonged to Ricardo Cruz,” Lana said.
“How did you—”
“Moving on.” Ramirez’s tone was smooth and authoritative. “We got a warrant to check out the land Paul Hanley was leasing from that Rhoads family. I went out there. No Paul. Nothing except a bunch of dirt all churned up.”
Lana had a sudden flash of Paul’s loaded-down kayak on the day Jack got stuck in the creek. Whatever he’d been hiding on his leased land, he must have dug it up and brought it to the marina.
“He did a good job clearing out,” Ramirez continued. “But he missed one thing—”
She took out a small plastic bag and laid it on the table. Inside, there was a single button, smeared with mud. Nicoletti was watching Ramirez with a forced smile, as if he wished he were the one who’d found it.
“Have you seen this before?”
Lana and Jack shook their heads.
“It’s from Ricardo Cruz’s jacket. There’s trace patterns of his blood on it, which can be roughly dated to the week he died. We believe it came off just before he was dumped in the water.”
“Conclusive evidence I was right,” Nicoletti broke in. “Ricardo Cruz was on Hanley’s leased property. He was killed in the jacket this button came from. And then splash, into the creek.”
“You think Paul—”
“We’ll be arresting Mr. Hanley for the murder of Ricardo Cruz,” Nicoletti said. “Just as soon as we can find him.”
Ricardo’s bike. Ricardo’s button. It was damning evidence, but it didn’t make Paul a murderer. There still wasn’t a weapon or a motive. As far as Lana could tell, Paul had the least to gain from killing Ricardo, let alone Hal Rhoads. But maybe the sheriffs knew something Lana didn’t.
Lana knew how to catch flies with honey. But when time was of the essence, a shot of vinegar to the eyes could be quite effective. She looked straight at Nicoletti and scoffed.
“Paul Hanley, a murderer? Ridiculous. Too obvious. Why would he kill someone and then float him down the slough in a life vest from his own company? Not to mention keeping the bike. Even Paul isn’t that stupid. I didn’t think you were either.”
Nicoletti scoffed right back. “Please. You think you’re so clever. Mr. Hanley tried to frame your granddaughter. He knew the tides. He’d know where and when the body might come out. He killed Mr. Cruz and dropped him in a creek Friday night. Then he made a fake booking with Ricardo Cruz’s phone for a Saturday kayak tour, tossed the phone, and hid the bike.” Nicoletti pointed a meaty finger at Jack. “You guided that Saturday sunset tour.”