Cowabunga Christmas (10 page)

“What
makes you think the GPS device is in that cave?”

“Davis
said Owen told him he left that device with Willow—at Willow’s place. Davis
searched Willow’s shack earlier, the first time he pulled that gun on her. He
must have thought that shack
was
Willow’s place. I’m pretty sure Owen
was talking about that cave and pool area, instead.” I relayed what Willow had
told me about her conversation with Owen. Mitchum nodded his head as though he
understood.

“That
Davis guy is a first-class dirt bag. Don’t let him get away with this, Mitchum.”
Mitchum’s mustache moved up and down—twitchy-like.

“You’re
not telling me how to do my job now too, are you Brien? A good haircut and
manicured nails don’t fool me. Nor do I respond well to a guy so used to being
the boss he assumes everyone he meets works for him—including me. Art Abrams
has plenty to say about Davis. I bet his brother Benny will too, once we pick
him up. The County Sheriff will get jurisdiction over Davis and his band of murderous
thieves, but I won’t forget that Davis murdered a guy and ripped off a bunch of
people in my town. San Albinus deserves better.”

“Thanks,
Detective. I don’t want Opie haunting me.” I said it like it was a joke. That
made Mitchum and Brien smile, but that fleeting image of a ghostly Santa still
hovered. I also felt like I was forgetting something. It was now mid-afternoon.
We had been out in the water for more than two hours when we heard that awful
scream and those shots fired.

I was
tired, hungry, and stressed out, although relieved that this ordeal was over. Nobody
else was dead and Mitchum was motivated. He planned to head back out to join
the crew collecting evidence from the tide pool and cave area. That gun would
be a big help to get Davis to come clean—if they could find it. We were at the
steps that led back up to the hotel level when it dawned on me that we had left
our boards behind.

“Brien,
our boards—they’re still back at the lagoon. So much for our cowabunga
Christmas! This is not how I planned for the day to go.”

The girly-girl
side of me was threatening to betray me right there in front of Mitchum. I
couldn’t believe that after all we had been through the past two days I was on
the verge of tears, now! I fought to hold them back.

“I’m
afraid to ask. What’s a cowabunga Christmas?”

“Don’t
ask if you don’t want to hear the answer, Mitchum!” Brien smirked, and then
went on. “It’s the most epic Christmas anyone could ever have. We had one, too.
The most awesome morning surfing! It’s not every day you catch waves like that,
Kim, trust me. You stood up on your board and had your first ride ever.” I
tried to smile.

“Almost
a whole minute,” I said. “It was pretty awesome, wasn’t it?”

“Hey,
and you wanted our first Christmas together to be memorable. It is, right?”
Mitchum was getting antsy—doing that shifty foot thing he had done the day
before.

“True!
How could I ever forget you flying off those rocks and tackling the bad guys
like a Marvel comic-book hero, Brien?”

“Cowabunga,
Baby! Just call me Super Surfer.” Brien put both arms up and struck a pose, so
that those biceps bulged.

“Okay,
okay, you two. Enough of that super hero nonsense. You’re lucky that Santa in
the golf cart, the hotel exec, or another of his little loser helpers didn’t
just shoot you.” I ignored him.

“Will
our boards be okay out there until morning, Brien? Should we go back and get
them?”

“No,
no, no! You are not going back to what is now a crime scene. If Davis was out
there with a gun, trying to get you or Willow to go with him under duress,
that’s kidnapping. Who knows what else has gone on out there, depending on what
we find in that cave. I’ll make sure we get your boards back into the hands of
resort staff.” He was shaking his head.

“Hell
of a honeymoon, you two.” He waved as he walked away. “Merry Christmas and a cowabunga
to you!”

“Thanks
for taking care of our boards, Man. That’s righteous. Merry Christmas!” Brien
called after him. Mitchum just waved again as he hustled down the path back
toward the cove.

“You
know what, Gidget?”

“What,
Moondoggie?”

“It’s
still
Christmas. Cowabunga, Baby!” With that Brien lifted me right off my feet and
spun me around.

“We
have more presents to open. Let’s get cleaned up and go find food first. This
hero business takes a lot out of a guy. You were a super sleuth out there
today, so you have to be starving, too.”

“Wow, Super
Surfer and Super Sleuth. What a pair.” Starving was an understatement.

“Let’s go get
some grindage, Super Surfer.” I dashed the last few feet through the lobby and
to the elevator.

“Right behind
you, Super Sleuth. The Christmas brunch buffet isn’t over until three o’clock. We
still have time for turkey and all the awesome eats that goes with it!”

I felt quite
sure I could help Brien add a whole new chapter to our personal profile here at
the hotel. After that we would have Christmas evening all to ourselves. We
could watch the sunset and open our gifts. One of the gifts Brien had yet to
open was certain to put more cowabunga into our Christmas. Once I modeled it
for him, of course. No more Santa hats though—I’d had all I could take of Santa
for one Christmas.

T
he day
after Christmas I rolled out of bed, slowly. I hurt all over. My arms were especially
sore from carrying the surfboard and all that paddling. I definitely needed to
develop more upper-body strength if I was serious about keeping up with the
Super Surfer in my life. Brien was sleeping like a log! I let him sleep a
little longer since we didn’t have to meet up with Mitchum in San Albinus until
after lunch.

Wearing
the comfy Surf Chick t-shirt and pajama bottoms Brien had bought me for
Christmas, I did a few stretches out on the balcony and admired the view. The
cove was awash in brilliant sunlight, mesmerizing as it played on waves that broke
into frothy chaos when they hit the beach. I wondered what was going on over in
that cave. What had they found up on that ledge? Had that gun turned up? How
about that GPS device? I’d ask Mitchum when we saw him later. Not that the
detective was obliged to answer my questions.

The
view indoors was fine, too. That handsome dude of mine lay sprawled out on the
bed in all his epic buffness. Buffness is not a real word, I know, but it
seemed apt. Brien would be starving when he woke up—or when I woke him up.
After our pig out at brunch, we had stayed in our room and eaten fruit and
cheese from the basket left for us on Christmas Eve. To Brien’s delight, the
basket included more of those gingerbread men with Santa hats. I let him scarf
them down, helping myself to chocolate truffles instead. Food wasn’t urgent for
me this morning. Coffee—lots of coffee was another matter. I didn’t have to face
Detective Mitchum until later, but I intended to tank up on caffeine now.

We planned
to bicycle into town, using the resort cart paths to get more exercise, at
Brien’s urging. If we got back early enough from our meeting with Mitchum,
Brien also planned to hit the gym. He had slacked off for a few days, even with
the ‘most excellent’ equipment awaiting him in the resort gym.

Spa treatments
were more my style—with a sea salt body scrub or a facial until Brien joined me
for a couples’ massage. Ah! I could feel my sore muscles being soothed. Too bad
we couldn’t skip the question and answer session with our new detective friend
and go straight to the gym and spa.

I
picked up the room service menu to place an order. As I reached for the phone,
I noticed a message light was blinking. There were two messages. Staff at the
front desk had our surfboards downstairs. Yippee! The second message was from
Mick.

“Yo
Brien, I need to talk to you, Man. It’s critical. Call me soon, Bro. Uh, I know
where Opie left his GPS whatchamacallit. S’later. Uh, oh yeah, here’s my
number.”

Oh great
, I
thought as I wrote the number down. “Too little, too late, Mick,” I muttered.
By now, the San Albinus police had that GPS whatchamacallit if it was in that
cave. It had to be there. Maybe Mitchum already knew what coordinates were
saved in that device, and why they were so important to Davis.

At
least Mick was alive—good news. The guy was a double jerk in my book. That
didn’t mean I wanted him dead. It was bad enough that the big Kahuna, headman,
or whatever he fancied himself to be in Sanctuary Grove took a hike when
trouble started. To make matters worse, when I called Willow for an update
about her condition, she still hadn’t heard from him. Mitchum had been there to
check on her and get her version of events. Two residents of Sanctuary Grove
were with her when I called, but no Mick. Double jerk! Willow’s sister from
Salinas was on the way, so she had plenty of company last night. Brien and I
decided to wait to visit her in the hospital today. We agreed to drop by before
we met with the detective.

I
called the front desk to have them send up the surfboards and then placed that
order with room service. I shut the French doors that separated the bedroom and
sitting room in our suite, hoping not to disturb Brien until the food arrived.
No sooner had I done that than there was a knock on the door. I used the
peephole before opening the door. Two guys in hotel uniforms stood there, each
carrying a surfboard. I let them in and they leaned the boards up against a
wall. I bade them farewell with a thank you and a nice tip. Minutes later there
was another knock on the door: room service!

Room
Service Guy rolled that cart into the room, took a look at the ticket with our
order on it and then scanned the room. “You want me to set this up for you and
your friends?” He glanced at the ticket again. “Sorry, you and
a
friend?”

“No
reason to apologize. I ordered a mega-breakfast. Doesn’t our personal profile
have a note in it by now that an ‘eating machine’ occupies this suite?” Brien
must have set a record or two at the Christmas brunch the day before. Room
Service Guy didn’t seem to know how to answer that. I had him roll the cart on
out to the veranda and then sent him on his way. When I had our breakfast set
up on the veranda, I threw open those French doors and implemented my fast
action plan to wake Brien.

“Um,
yummy-yummy, Super Surfer. Breakfast is served.” I waved a strip of Wagyu bacon
under his nose. Then I chomped away on that savory treat, taking yet another
detour from my path as a vegetarian. I abhor fanaticism, what can I say? My
plan worked like a charm. Brien was awake!

Two
hours later, after more huffing and puffing than I care to think about, we were
strolling down the streets of San Albinus. The bike ride was not all that
long—thirty minutes from the resort at a leisurely pace. A leisurely pace was
all I could manage. Still, we had to make that return trip later. By the time I
got to the spa my legs would be as sore as my arms. I’m whiny, I know. I keep
it in my head and off my lips most of the time.

Once
we were in town we stashed the bikes in a stand set up by the resort—an
attendant gave us a claim ticket. Then we found our way to the small local
hospital on a side street, several blocks from the village square. The hospital
sported a faux Spanish façade with much less attention to detail than that
given to the architecture downtown or at the resort. A person seated at an information
desk in the lobby directed us to Willow’s room.

“Willow
you look great. How are you doing?”

“I
feel fine—nothing’s broken. The doc says I should take it easy on the ankle for
a few days. They put a couple stitches in my leg that should come out on their
own in a day or two. Then I’ll be good as new.” I did not believe her. She
might be fine, physically. The psychological damage from being held at gunpoint
by the man who murdered her boyfriend—ex-boyfriend—would take longer to heal.

“These
are for you, Willow.” Brien handed her a bouquet we had picked up at a quaint
flower shop on the square. She smiled and took a big whiff of the dried
lavender mixed with fresh yellow roses, green fern and wispy, twisted flowering
vines I didn’t recognize. “We’re glad you’re okay. Davis is bad news, but
Mitchum’s got him.”

“Thanks
you guys. I’m glad you’re okay, too. That Davis is a tool, all right. I’m not
sure what would have happened if you two hadn’t been there. I might have ended
up like Owen. You, too, Kim. I’m sorry Owen and I got you into this mess—and on
your honeymoon.” Clouds of sorrow gathered around her.

“You
didn’t do this, Willow. You tried to save Owen’s neck!” Her eyes filled with
tears.

“I
hope Davis rots in prison. I should have called the cops on Owen. He’d be in
jail, but at least he’d be alive.” Tears fell.

“Hey,
we’d all like to see into the future, Willow. If we could, we’d do a lot less
of the bogus stuff we do. Consequences are hard to see—really, really hard for
some of us.” My Brien’s sweet side was out. His insightful side, too. I reached
out and clasped his hand.

“I
don’t get why they want that GPS gadget so bad. Mick called and said he intended
to get it before those thieving pirates could get their hands on it. Can you
believe that?”

“Oh,
shoot! I forgot to tell you, Brien—Mick called you this morning and left a message.
He wanted you to call him back. I wrote the number on a note pad next to the
phone in our room. When did he call you, Willow?”

“Not
too long ago—thirty minutes at the most.”

“Did
he say where he was, or where he was going?” Brien jumped in, tag-team style.

“No,
but he said he’d stop by later—so I figured he was here in town.”

“What’s
he planning to do with it when he finds it?” I wondered aloud. “That’s a silly
question, isn’t it? Mick’s about two steps behind the rest of us, Willow.
There’s a good chance Owen left it in the cave and the police have it by now.
That’s what I was about to tell you when Davis showed up with that gun. Owen
had a stash hidden in there. I found his dinghy, fake doubloons, but who knows
what else was in there? The police were already on their way to check it out by
the time we got back to the dock area. I’d be surprised if that GPS isn’t bagged
and tagged—you know placed into evidence by the police?”

“I
hope you’re right, Kim. That stupid thing has caused way too much trouble
already.”

“Did
Mick leave a number?”

“I
have the one that popped up on my cell phone when he called.” She reached into
the drawer beside her bed and found the number for me on her phone. I copied it
down.

“Do
you want us to come back this afternoon once we’ve had our chat with Mitchum?”
I asked.

“No,
I’ll be out of here by then. My sister’s on her way to pick me up—I’ll spend a
night or two with her in Salinas before I go back to Sanctuary Grove. Will and
Rachel visited yesterday to tell me they took care of my board and picked up some
of the mess Davis made. They brought my phone and wallet, a change of clothes
and a few personal things like that, so I’m good for now.”

“Okay,
we’ll catch up with you in a day or two when you’re back in the cove.” She was
still holding that bouquet. I put the flowers on the table beside her bed,
feeling bad she was alone. As we walked out a woman dashed past us. I grinned at
her and breathed a sigh of relief. She was the spitting image of Willow with a
few additional pounds and years on her frame.

Brien
called Mick twice at that number Willow gave us. He didn’t answer, but Brien
left voice mail messages. We spent another hour roaming around town. The main
street was really quite lovely—flower baskets everywhere, carts set out on the
street with fresh fruit, and lamplights that must be gorgeous after dark. It
was more fun than I thought it would be, meandering from shop to shop. Our
progress slowed when Brien found a great surf shop. I hung out for a few
minutes until the talk got too technical. I told Brien he could find me in a
nautical shop next door that had vintage scrimshaw and an old metal diver’s
helmet in the display window.

A bell
jingled when I opened the door, and an older man nodded from behind a
glass-enclosed case that served as a counter. He was waiting on tourists that
were buying bags of shells, toy spyglasses, pirate eye patches—kid stuff. The
shop smelled musty, in a woodsy, beachy way as though the shop owners had just
hauled in cargo from the hold of a ship, or dragged it up from the bottom of
the sea.

Display
items were captivating. Old mariner’s maps adorned the walls, along with thickly
braided strands of rope and netting with cork buoys. An odd assortment of
antiques too, including a ship’s wheel made of wood and brass. Shelves held many
interesting objects: glass fishing net floats, shiny brass bells, vintage
sextants, spyglasses and compasses.

Books lined
the shelves. A few featured the history of Corsario Cove and other areas up and
down the California coast. One caught my eye—a small, light brown
pamphlet-style book entitled: Lost Treasure of Bouchard. The cover contained an
illustration of a vintage ship. Well, who knew? California did have pirates.

In
1818, French pirate Hippolyte de Bouchard had launched a series of attacks on
Monterey, San Juan de Capistrano and other spots along California’s coast. Those
raids yielded treasure—including a six-foot gold cross, a jewel-encrusted
chalice, gold and silver coins, pearls and gemstones. Bouchard stashed that
treasure in hideaways along the coast as he went from one raid to another.
Rumors abounded that he abandoned some of it when forced to make a speedy
retreat to the Sandwich Islands—the Hawaiian Islands now. Bouchard had lost most
of his crew to disease and marauding, and had to beat it to safety to put
together a new crew fit for piracy.

Had I
been too quick in discounting Corsario Cove as a clever misnomer and doubting
the need for intervention by the monks or St. Albinus?
Very interesting
,
I thought as I paid for my copy of that little book. Don’t ask me why, but
reading the introduction to that book had caused the hair to stand up on the
back of my neck. Maybe it was all the recent swashbuckling with modern day
pirates. Buried treasure seemed intriguing, but far-fetched. If Bouchard put
together a new crew wouldn’t he have returned to reclaim his hard-won plunder?
I left that shop brimming over with curiosity about the book I had just
purchased and the history of the cove area.