Page 85 of Sunset Beach
Brice knocked back the rest of his scotch.
“When are you supposed to see her again?”
“This Thursday night. At the Dreamland. Nine o’clock, after my class gets out.”
“How do you usually work it?” Zee asked.
“I know the guy at the desk. He gives me the room, you know, ’cause he likes the idea of a police cruiser on the property. In case there’s any trouble.”
“Great.” Zee rolled his eyes. “Accepting gifts from a citizen in return for protection. You really have lost your mind.”
“I know,” Brice moaned. “But I can’t exactly put it on a credit card. Sherri pays the bills. And I don’t have the extra cash.”
“Okay, forget it. Is it the same room every time?”
“Yeah. Room eight. The owner’s name is Harold. Just go to the desk and tell him I sent you. He’s cool.”
“Okay. Here’s what we’re gonna do. You go right home after your class. And I mean right home. Tell Sherri study group was canceled. I’ll have a chat with Colleen. Let her know you can’t help her anymore. And she should stop calling you and stop riding by your house.”
“You don’t know her,” Brice said. “She’s not gonna give up that easy.”
“Colleen don’t know Zee. But Zee knows lots of crazy girls like Colleen,” Zee said. “Don’t worry about it, bro. It’s handled.”
35
When she left Coquina Cottage to go to work Wednesday morning, Drue found a plain white business envelope containing a plastic flash drive on OJ’s passenger seat. There was no note, but she was sure it was the video from the security cameras at Gulf Vista, taken the night of Jazmin’s murder. “Thanks, Detective Hernandez,” she whispered.
But there was no opportunity to watch the video on her computer at work. Another new ad campaign had launched over the weekend, this one aimed at motorists who’d been involved in accidents with long-haul truckers.
The file box of medical receipts had disappeared from her cubicle, and there were no ominous sticky notes, so she gladly donned her headset again.
As she made notes, and between calls, she toyed with the flash drive, turning it over and over between her fingertips, anxious to view its contents.
Drue finally made a dash to the break room just after noon, with the flash drive stowed in the pocket of her work sweater for safekeeping. She found Jonah at the coffee machine, dressed in his typical pressed khakis, dress shirt and tie, staring morosely down into his blue and orange University of Florida mug with the Gator handle.
“What’s wrong?”
“This isn’t mine,” he said.
“Who else would buy a coffee mug that ugly?”
“No. I mean, it’s my mug, but this isn’t my Keurig pod. I had a whole stash hidden in my desk drawer, but somebody apparently raided it last night and yoinked all my pods. This is the office sludge.”
“Is nothing sacred?” Drue said, her tone mocking. “Shall I call the cops?”
“I don’t like the idea of somebody rifling through my stuff, okay? I mean, if you want my coffee, just ask. Don’t go stealing.”
“It wasn’t me,” Drue said. “I drink whatever’s free and available.”
He shook his head, still annoyed. “Are your calls as nutty as mine this morning?”
“Oh yeah. I just had a guy call and claim he was rear-ended by the Oscar Mayer Wienermobile.”
“Okay, that could be lucrative,” Jonah said. “Or just plain lewd.”
“Except that there were no witnesses, he didn’t file an accident report and, oh yeah, the guy admits he had his driver’s license lifted two years ago for multiple DUIs.”
Jonah sighed and dumped the remains of his coffee into the sink. “It must be the full moon. I had a lady who wants to hire Brice to sue FedEx because one of their trucks cut her off in traffic and when she slammed on the brakes her dog got whiplash.”
