1st Impressions Read online

“Well, that’s what she said. She asked me if I could find you on account of she’d got you a client and you better hurry on over to the dock or she’ll be gone.”

  “Who’s the client?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “She was spending an awful lot of time talking to some woman. A real looker, too. So I figure that’s who it is, but she didn’t tell me any more than that. You want a ride?”

  Jess’s truck had the smell that afflicted so many of the houses on the lake—mildew and rain rot—but I climbed in, wondering what Martha might have gotten me into.

  The police had cordoned off the entire east dock and the onlookers were forced to stand up on park tables to get a glimpse of the corpse being lifted onto a gurney and slid into the back of a Kings Harbor ambulance. I was glad I’d been spared a first-hand look at Walter Trinidad’s body, Jess’s description having been enough to last me quite a while. I scanned the small cluster of cops talking among themselves and a little farther down the bank I spotted Martha talking to a young woman. She was, as Jess put it, a looker.

  Not that Martha wasn’t charming in her own way, with her big, brown eyes and dimpled cheeks, which sometimes seemed incongruous with her well-muscled body. But the woman she was talking to was stunning. Black hair, cut fashionably short, accentuated chiseled cheekbones and wide-set, startlingly blue eyes. She was dressed casually in slacks and an oversized sweater which did little to conceal the curves beneath. As I approached, I was suddenly conscious of still being dressed in sweats and tennis shoes. Martha glanced up and waved me over enthusiastically.

  “Cass, I’m glad you’re here,” she said. “This is Erica Trinidad. Erica, this is Cassidy James, the private investigator I was telling you about.”

  “Pleased to meet you.” She shook my hand with a firm, even grip.

  “Likewise,” I said, feeling suddenly tongue-tied. Those ridiculously blue eyes had me off-balance.

  “Erica,” Martha went on, “is the niece of the recently deceased. She’s been visiting for a few days on her way up North and finds herself in the unenviable position of being the only kin in the area. For the time being, we’ve asked her to stay in town and she’s agreed, but she’s anxious to get on her way and asked me if I knew of anyone in the private sector who might expedite the investigation. Naturally, I thought of you.”

  When Martha starts throwing around words like “expedite,” I know she’s smitten. I hated to disappoint her, but I really didn’t think my first solo case should be a murder investigation.

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Trinidad,” I said. “But I’m afraid my friend here has overstated my qualifications. I have no experience with murder cases, and if in fact that’s what this turns out to be, I doubt I could do the case justice. I’m sure the police will do everything they can to handle the situation expeditiously.” I smiled sweetly at Martha, who was glaring at me.

  “Oh, it was murder all right,” Erica said. “I’m not even surprised it happened. My uncle, I’m sorry to say, was a loathsome pig. And a lech to boot. But right now the police are treating me as if I’m a suspect, and frankly I’m not real comfortable leaving this in the hands of that Sergeant Grimes. Not to offend anyone, but the man comes off as a real ass.”

  I suppressed a smile. “Sergeant Grimes?” Sergeant Grimes had been Martha’s personal nemesis in the KHPD for years. He was famous for his good ol’ boy attitude, and seemed to think that the only thing worse than a woman on the force was a lesbian. She’d told me he regularly called her “Butchie” behind her back. Once she’d called him on it, saying she didn’t appreciate the unprofessional nickname, to which he artfully replied, “Hey, if the foo shits, wear it.”

  “Yeah, Grimes is all hot to trot on this.” Martha rolled her eyes. “I’m sure he’ll do a bang-up job, but Cass, it couldn’t hurt to have someone else do some looking around.” She smiled at Erica. “Cass here is too modest about her abilities.”

  I shot Martha a withering look, but she was beaming at Erica and didn’t seem to notice.

  Erica said, “Well, I’d be extremely grateful to have you look into it, Ms. James.” Her voice was deep and sexy like Suzanne Pleshette’s, and I found myself grinning at her like a fool.

  “Cassidy’s fine,” I said. “Or Cass.” I was pretty sure I saw Martha grin before she purposefully looked away.

  “Cass, then,” Erica said. “The thing is, I just didn’t have a good feeling about Sergeant Grimes and, well, as much as I didn’t particularly like my Uncle Walter, I still feel somewhat obligated to help find his murderer. You will help me on this, won’t you? I mean, if it’s a question of money, that’s not a problem.”

  The next thing I knew, we were shaking on it, and despite my misgivings, I found myself strangely excited.

  Chapter Three

  While the police were still sorting things out, I offered Erica a ride back to her uncle’s place in my boat, hoping she could shed some light on the case. We rode in silence until we reached Walter Trinidad’s house, which sat far back on a heavily forested acre with six hundred feet of lake frontage. The hedges were all immaculately trimmed into fish and bird shapes, reminding me of Disneyland. Both of his boats, an aluminum Boston Whaler bass-fishing boat, and an iridescent turquoise speedboat, were securely moored in the boathouse next to his dock. I hopped out of my Sea Swirl and tied up to the dock while Erica deftly took care of the bow line.

  “Looks like you know your way around boats.” I peered into Trinidad’s boats. Both were in immaculate shape, as if he’d recently washed and waxed them. My own boat was in need of some TLC, and I admired the highly polished sheen of his speedboat. Running my hand along the smooth surface, I noticed a cigarette ash on the running board and flicked it into the water.

  “I’ve done some sailing,” Erica said. “Mostly in the bay. I’m not much into speedboats. My uncle’s idea of boating was to make as much noise and wake as possible. It used to drive me crazy when I was a kid.”

  “Can I ask you something personal?” I asked, turning to face her. “It’s obvious you didn’t care much for your uncle. Why were you visiting him in the first place?”

  Erica smiled, exposing straight, white teeth and little crinkly lines at the corners of her eyes, but her smile seemed sad. “Uncle Walter was my father’s brother. My father died when I was ten, and every year my aunt and uncle invited me up here for the summer, to give my mom a break, I guess. Aunt Penny was okay, a little mousy, but Uncle Walter has always given me the creeps. He used to pat me, you know? Nothing overtly sexual, but just inappropriate. He’d wink at me, like we shared some secret, and he always insisted on kissing me hello and good-bye on the lips. Anyway, I quit coming up here when I turned sixteen, and except for one Thanksgiving, I haven’t seen him since. My Aunt Penny finally divorced him this past year and moved to Florida. The first smart thing she ever did. His own kids, my cousins, never could stand him, and from what I understand, they haven’t seen him in ages. Anyway, the only reason I decided to stop on my way up to Canada was to deliver something to him. Come on, I’ll show you.”

  Erica led the way up a meandering brick path between the fish and bird-shaped hedges to the front door. Like most of the houses on the lake, the door was unlocked, and we walked right into the spacious wood and glass-lined living room.

  “Here,” she said, gesturing. “He never even got the chance to hang it.”

  Leaning against the wall was a portrait of two young boys and a pony. The smaller of the boys had dark hair and wide-set, piercing blue eyes and looked strikingly like Erica herself. He sat atop the pony, while the bigger boy held the reins.

  “My father and uncle. My mom had it hanging in her living room for years, but she’s moved into a smaller apartment now, and there’s no room for it. The only person I could think of who might want it was Uncle Walter, and since I was coming this way, I decided to deliver it in person. Besides, I’ve always loved this place. It was just him I didn’t like. But now I feel guilty saying that. Anyway, that’s why I’m
here.”

  We moved into the kitchen where Erica went about making tea while I scrounged around for paper and a pen I could use to jot down notes.

  “I need to know everything he did from the minute you arrived, even things that might not seem important,” I said. “I know you’ve already been questioned by the police this morning, and if you’d rather do this later, we can, but the sooner I can get started, the better chance we’ll have of making progress.”

  Erica set a plate of what looked like zucchini bread between us and sat down across from me. “I had nothing else to do yesterday, so I baked,” she explained. “Go ahead, ask away.”

  “When exactly did you get here?”

  “The day before yesterday. Wednesday about three. I called ahead from Eureka to let him know I was coming. He seemed genuinely pleased. I told him I had something for him and he insisted I spend the night. Despite everything, I figured I could take care of myself, so I agreed. He met me at the marina about three and asked if I’d mind waiting while he ran into McGregors for a few things. I told him I’d join him, just to stretch my legs, and we walked over.”

  “How did he greet you?” I asked.

  “You mean did he kiss me on the lips? Some things never change. But I’ve grown up now. I turned my cheek at the last second.” She smiled and took a bite of zucchini bread. I followed suit. It was delicious.

  “Anyway, I could tell he was the same old Uncle Walter, bossing around the grocery clerk and berating the bag boy for having put something heavy on top of the bread the last time he’d been in. I was embarrassed to be seen with him, to be honest, and I pretended not to know him.” She paused, a brief smile crossing her face. “After that, we went back to the marina, and it took forever because Uncle Walter kept stopping to talk to people. It was weird, like he was showing me off, except he didn’t tell anyone I was his niece. I got the feeling he wanted people to think I was his girlfriend.”

  “Who did he stop and talk to?” I asked.

  “I didn’t really know any of them. One was the woman who runs Loggers Tavern. She was out sweeping the sidewalk in front of the bar, and my uncle shouted something like, ‘Hey Lizzie, you got any decent wine in yet?’ What was she supposed to say? ‘No, Walter, just the same old rotgut as yesterday!’? He didn’t talk with anyone for very long, it was like he just wanted to impress me that he knew everyone.” She paused and added thoughtfully, “Or impress them that he had a woman with him. The thing is, the more he tried to impress me, the less he did. And I didn’t get the feeling he was impressing anyone else either.”

  “Who else did he talk to?” I asked, helping myself to more bread and sipping the tea she’d placed before me.

  “Well, the marina owner, Gus, was out working on a truck, and my uncle yelled over to him. Something about when was he going to finish putting on the new dock bumpers, that he was tired of scraping up his boat.”

  This made perfect sense, since I, too, was a little peeved at the missing bumpers. Anything short of a perfect docking resulted in scratches on the hull, and with the tide fluctuations of the creek, which ran from the lake to the ocean, perfect dockings were rare. I’d even asked Gus myself when the new bumpers were coming in, but I imagined Walter Trinidad had been less tactful.

  “Gus said the bumpers were on order and my uncle stomped away like he was really ticked off. Then Gus muttered something like ‘If you’d learn to handle a boat, you damned cowboy, you wouldn’t have no scratches.’”

  “Cowboy” was the term Gus Townsend bestowed upon all Californians, though I was never quite sure why. I wondered if behind my back he referred to me as a cowgirl. To my face, he’d always been polite enough, but you never knew.

  “The only other person we saw was Tommy, the kid at the marina who helped me put my overnight bag and the portrait on the boat. He seemed real nice, but he smelled terrible. A little deodorant would have gone a long way. Anyway, Uncle Walter was even rude to him, calling him ‘Tinkerbell’ when he tripped on the dock. Like I said, I’m not surprised someone would want to murder him. He turned out to be even more disagreeable than I’d remembered.”

  I was writing as fast as I could, trying to keep up with Erica’s fast-paced account. I found it was easier to concentrate if I didn’t look directly into her eyes. “What happened then?” I asked.

  “Well, he roared out of the marina going much faster than you’re supposed to go through that channel, and I was positive the lake sheriff would stop us, but no one did. I was absolutely dreading my decision to spend the night because I found his company unbearable. As it turned out, though, I didn’t have to put up with him for long. We got to the house and by the time he’d fixed himself a drink, the phone rang and shortly after that he left again.”

  “Any idea who called?” I asked.

  “None at all. I didn’t hear any of the conversation because I was in the bathroom, and when I came out, he said he had to run somewhere for a minute, to make myself at home and when he got back, we’d hang the portrait. He even opened a bottle of decent Chardonnay for me before he left, which for him was a pretty classy gesture. It was the last I saw of him.”

  “What did you do?” I asked.

  “Well, mostly I sat around and drank wine. I mean, at first it was really relaxing, and I was glad he was gone so I could unwind from the long drive. I sat out on the front deck for a while, looking at the lake, but it got cold, so I went back in. I made a fire when it got dark and eventually I made myself some dinner. I kept thinking he’d come back with steaks or something, so I held off, but by nine I was starving, so I heated a can of soup. I called the marina, to see if his boat was there, but no one answered. I called the Cedar Hills Lodge and got the numbers for all the bars in town. I figured he was probably at one of them, but he wasn’t. I didn’t know any of his friends. In fact, I’m not sure he had any. Finally I made up a bed in one of the guest rooms and went to sleep. It’s funny, because I thought he came home sometime in the middle of the night, but maybe I dreamed it.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.

  “Well, I can’t be sure, but I thought I heard him bumping into things in his room, and I figured he was probably drunk. I remember being glad I had locked the door, but then I fell back to sleep, and I dreamed about the same thing, so in the morning I wasn’t sure if I had dreamed the whole thing or if I had actually heard him. I guess all that wine didn’t help. Anyway, when I got up, I tiptoed past his room so I wouldn’t wake him, but his door was wide open and the bed was made. I decided I must have dreamed the whole thing, but now that he’s been found dead, it makes me wonder if maybe someone had actually been there while I was sleeping.”

  I put my pen down and got up to stretch. Being in such close proximity to this woman was beginning to agitate me. I wasn’t sure why, but she had a disturbing effect on my equilibrium. “From the time you arrived on Wednesday, until yesterday morning when you reported him missing, you must have had time to look around. Did you notice anything different or missing?”

  “Not that I could tell, but then I didn’t exactly inventory his belongings. I didn’t go into his room at all until I knew he was missing. I was hoping to find an address book, or list of friends’ phone numbers or something, but I struck out. Finally, I called the Kings Harbor Police Department and tried to file a missing persons report, but it hadn’t been twenty-four hours yet. I checked the local hospitals, but of course he wasn’t there. Gus said his car was still parked at the marina, too. That’s when I went down to the dock and noticed both boats were in the boathouse, so either he had come back in the night, or someone else had brought his boat back for him, because I had definitely seen him leave in his speedboat Wednesday night. I did everything I could think of yesterday, and was getting ready to call the police again this morning when someone called from the county dock to tell me my uncle was dead and did I want them to come pick me up so I could give the police a positive ID.”

  For the first time since she
had begun talking, I could see the strain she must have been under. Her striking blue eyes looked tired, and her account had been punctuated by sighs, a sure sign of stress. I decided to leave her alone for a while so she could get some rest and make the inevitable arrangements and family phone calls. I also knew it wouldn’t be long before the house would be descended upon by Kings Harbor’s finest. Already, as I looked out toward the lake, I could see the unmistakable orange and white of the sheriffs’ boat rounding Cedar Point.

  “Erica,” I said, putting my notes in order. “I’m afraid you’re in for a long day. From the looks of it, the sheriff is heading this way, and my guess is that Sergeant Grimes is either with him or close behind. They’ll be all over this place and probably make you go through the whole story again.”

  She stood looking out the window at the approaching boat, and a flash of panic clouded her face. “God, what if they really do consider me a suspect?” she said. “I mean, how can I prove I didn’t kill him? It’s not like I have an alibi!”

  I walked over and took both her hands, turning her to face me. I wasn’t at all prepared for the feelings that surged through me when I looked into her eyes, and I did my best to ignore the pounding in my heart.

  “Listen,” I said. “First of all, you can’t start doubting yourself. Just be honest with them. Be helpful. Tell them everything. If it looks like they do consider you a valid suspect, call me immediately. I know a lawyer in Kings Harbor who can help you. If you need to get away from here, I’ve got room at my place, which is just the other side of Blue Heron Bay. You’re welcome to crash there, make phone calls, whatever you need. I can understand your not wanting to stay here any longer than necessary.”

  For a minute, I thought she was going to cry. Her eyes misted over and she smiled the way I do when I’m embarrassed at my own emotions. “You really are too kind,” she said. “And I may just take you up on your offer.”

  “Well don’t even hesitate. For now, I’m going to do a little nosing around, but my answering machine is on, and I won’t be far away.” I gathered up my notes, leaving my phone number and directions to my house on the table.