Cowabunga Christmas (2 page)

W
hen
the detective and his entourage finally left, I put that teddy back on with a
red and white Santa hat to match, and a pair of black stilettos. I have to say
I looked pretty cute—Santa’s little helper. Needless to say, Brien loved it.

A
while later, over coffee, bacon, eggs, and a stack of pecan praline French
toast, I couldn’t help going back to the dead body thing. Doesn’t sound
appetizing I know, but Brien and I are used to eating and talking about murder
and mayhem. A habit we picked up hanging out with Jessica Huntington. I work as
her legal assistant and Brien had been her pool boy until he finished courses for
his Guard Card. Now he works for a security firm located in the Coachella
Valley. The boss is a friend—Brien’s best man at our wedding.

Jessica
and her friends had been pulled into the
vortex of heinousness
, as Brien
likes to call it, on more than one occasion. Once I joined the Cat Pack, as
they called their little group of snoops, I was along for the ride too. Not my
first foray into that vortex, however. That’s an alternate reality I inhabited
far too long before I was snatched from the clutches of that ‘eggy’ producer
dude, Mr. P. Eggy is surfer speak for despicable, as far as I can tell. Evil
works for me. Anyway, that’s another story—a long, sad one about a dead sister.
Sad, except that Jessica found me and I found Brien.

“So,
Brien, did that dead guy jump into the pool or was he pushed? I suppose it
doesn’t really matter since dead is dead,” I shrugged my shoulders, as I bit
into a strip of bacon.

“I was
wondering about that too. If someone was close enough to see him take a dive
and called security, why didn’t they stop the dude? You know—if it was
suicide
?”
He was bobbing his head up and down, clearly indicating we knew better than to believe
the suicide thing.

“Exactly!
If the detective is right, whoever made the call to security did it
before
our dead guy even took that dive. So, it’s likely he had a little help.”

“You
know what else is weird? He didn’t scream or holler or anything. If I was
pushed off a balcony, I’d be wailing.”

“That’s
a really good point, Brien. Maybe
thrown
off the balcony is more like
it—and already dead or unconscious before he made that big splash in the pool.”

“So,
you want to take a walk as soon as we’re done here? I could use a little
exercise—a different kind of exercise,” he said, grinning at me. “We should
walk around and do surveillance of that pool area in the daylight. That way
we’ll have a better idea of what we’re talking about if the police have more
questions for us.” When he and his surly crew left, the detective had warned us
that could happen.

“That’s
a great idea. I can put on one of the cutesy resort-wear outfits Jessica
insisted on buying me.” I had caved into her pressure and let her buy me designer
brand capris—in white! I usually prefer dark colors, not Goth, but Emo, maybe.
Retro, definitely. Paired with a little red and white checked tie-off blouse, I
got the look I like to wear. Especially with a matching checkered tie for my
hair and heart-shaped sunglasses.

While
I did my hair and makeup, Brien showered, shaved, and dressed. It had taken him
longer to tank up on breakfast than me, but he can dress much quicker. When I
stepped out of the bedroom he was sitting there, totally Hollywood. He reminded
me of that actor from the sixties, Robert Redford, or Brad Pitt, maybe. Brien
wore a pale pink linen shirt over loose fitting white pants, and a pair of
expensive dark shades.

“Oh my
God, she got to you too, didn’t she?”

“Yep,”
he replied. “Jessica told me I had to do it, Kim. Like I have to be the Ken to
your Barbie, you know?” What he said didn’t make complete sense, but I got it.
The bigger problem at this point was how to leave the room with him looking so
fine. Those biceps beckoned. I could tell he was facing the same struggle,
eying me head to toe.

“Do
you have a room key?” I asked, breaking the spell before it was too late. He
pulled one from his shirt pocket and held it up for me to see.

“Good!
On the count of three we’re heading for that door and we’re leaving, okay? No
kissing, no touching until we’re out in the hall.”

“I
don’t know about that Kim—I don’t think making out in the hallway is Barbie and
Ken behavior, do you?”

“Oh,
that’s not what I mean...you always take me so literally. What I’m trying to
say is hands off, Dude, or we will not get our outdoor exercise in or our
exercise outside done...oh, never mind, one, two, three!” On three I dashed to
the door, opened it, and sprang out into the hallway. Brien was right behind
me, so close I could smell the scent of his freshly washed hair. He took me in
his arms and crushed my lips in a kiss as the door slammed shut behind him.

“It’s
okay now, right, Barbie?”

“Sure
Ken, whatever you say,” I babbled, about to drag the man back into the room
when the elevator pinged and Detective Mitchum stepped out onto our floor.

“Well,
if it isn’t Gidget and Moondoggie. Headed out to a beach party?” he asked, swaggering
as he walked toward us. I turned my head, hoping he wouldn’t see me roll my
eyes.

“Excellent,
Detective! I like that way better than Barbie and Ken. Don’t you, Kim?” Brien
asked in great earnestness. I burst out laughing as confusion spread across the
detective’s face. He obviously did not get Brien’s congenial enthusiasm or the
bit about Barbie and Ken. At least Mitchum’s self-satisfied smirk had
disappeared. My mirth fled, though, when it dawned on me that a homicide
detective was in our presence for the second time today.

“Detective,
I’m sure you didn’t stop by to discuss pop culture with us, did you? What’s
up?” He was about to speak again when he spotted the tattoo on my bare arm that
had been covered by the bathrobe earlier. As people often do, he didn’t say
anything, but gawked at the colorful image of Saraswati that ran shoulder to
elbow. Saraswati, the Hindu goddess of knowledge, music, art, and learning had
been tattooed on my body in a desperate effort to believe in the beauty of
those things despite the ugliness I dealt with day-to-day while working for Mr.
P. The detective’s eyes lingered on my tattoo as he spoke.

“I
thought it might interest you to know that the guy we found in the pool was
probably dead before he hit the water. He had been beaten to a pulp, and there
were also a couple bullet holes in the Santa suit he had on. We won’t know
cause of death for sure until the autopsy is complete, but the coroner’s almost
certain the gunshots did it.”

“Are
you telling us we’ve got a dead Santa on our hands?” I asked, in utter
disbelief.

“Who
would want to kill Santa?” Brien added, with an incredulous tone in his voice.

“Hold
on, hold on. You have told him there’s not really a Santa, right?” I did not
hide the rolling of my eyes this time.

“That’s
not what he means, Detective. Who would want to kill
this
Santa—or any
guy in a Santa suit for that matter? Have you and your crack team made the
rounds, banging on doors to rooms above that pool? Besides ours, I mean—even
though
our
room isn’t even directly over the pool. Whoever beat up Santa
and shot him must have shoved him off one of them once Santa was dead, or
nearly dead...whatever.”

“I
agree with Kim, Detective. I bet that’s where you’ll find the crime scene
you’ve been searching for—one of the rooms directly above the pool.” Brien was
almost officious in addressing the detective, nodding his head up and down—a
man in the know.

“Thanks
for telling me how to do my job. We’re doing exactly that. We haven’t quite
worked out the physics surrounding how far he fell given the shape his body was
in, or which of the rooms would have provided the right launch trajectory. In
the meantime, we’ve stopped maid service and we’re working our way through the
rooms, floor by floor. By the way, I did catch that bit about ‘we’ve got a dead
Santa on our hands,’ Ms. Reed-Williams. There’s no ‘we’ about this—
I’ve
got a dead Santa on my hands and I... ” he suddenly realized how ridiculous
that sounded. I cut him off.

“Kim,
Detective Mitchum, just call me Kim. Now that our lives are bound together by a
shared encounter with death formalities seem trivial, don’t you think?” I meant
it, but I was also pressing his buttons to see if I could get a rise out of
him. Shame on me.

“Whoa,
that’s profound. You can call me Brien, Detective.” My button-pushing worked,
amplified by Brien’s follow up. The detective got a blustery look on his face.
His eyes widened and grew a little wild. He moved too, doing a little two-step
as he switched his weight from one foot to the other.

“Okay,
this is ridiculous, Kim, Barbie, Gidget—whoever you are. We are not
sharing
anything, unless you happen to have new information. Specifically, I’m
wondering if either of you two lovebirds heard anything that sounded like
gunshots last night.”

“No,
Detective, we told you it was totally quiet until we heard people coming down
the path and we took off,” Brien replied.

“And
that splash, of course, like we also already told you,” I added.

“Okay,
so no hollering or quarrelling, nothing like that, either?”

“No
nothing, Detective. It’s possible they beat and shot Santa somewhere else, then
dragged him upstairs and dropped him. That doesn’t make much sense does it?
They sure wanted him dead, though, didn’t they? If they beat him, shot him, and
dropped him a few floors into a pool where the percussion could kill him or
he’d drown, I’d say they meant business.”

“Yeah,
Kim, but what kind of business do you do in a Santa suit?” A moment of silence
followed that question from Brien. I couldn’t think of anything unless he was a
member of a Christmas tribute by Chippendale-style dancers. I doubted he’d be
wearing an entire Santa suit, though. Bringing that up would irritate Mitchum,
so I let it slide and said nothing.

“How
do I know what kind of business he was doing in a Santa suit? Not good
business, apparently. We’ve got surveillance video, so while we’re searching
for a crime scene here in the hotel we’ll also take a look at those. If they worked
him over somewhere else I can’t believe no one reported a couple guys dragging
a badly beaten Santa through the hotel lobby. You two seemed to have had the
run of the place last night, so what do I know?”

“The
Santa suit puts a whole new angle on ‘I’m going to cancel your Christmas,’
huh?” Brien was adorable, using his best gangster tone when speaking that line
from a movie. I loved it. I gave him a little wink.

“Cute,
Moondoggie,” I said. Brien beamed. For some reason the detective couldn’t take
any more.

“I
already told you two not to go anywhere, didn’t I? As much as I would like to
avoid it, I may need to talk to you again.” He stomped off with his shoulders
hunched and hit the button to call the elevator.

“We’re
on our honeymoon—ten more glorious days, so we’re not going anywhere,” I called
out loudly as he hit the elevator button a few more times. Under my breath I
added, “And not the least bit thrilled about spending any more of that time
with you either, Buddy.”

“Let’s
take the stairs, Brien. I feel like Detective Mitchum could use some alone time.”
On our way down six flights of stairs it struck me. One way not to have to deal
with the miserable, intrusive detective was to get this over with. Brien and I needed
to figure out who killed Santa.

B
rien
and I began a thorough reconnaissance of the pool and hot tub area on the club
level terrace of the Sanctuary Resort Hotel & Spa. Entering through the
ornate wrought iron gate that Brien had climbed in the dark, I had new respect
for his athleticism given its height and spiky top. He had navigated up and over
it with agility and speed. It was open, today, although not a soul was in the area.
That could have to do with the fact that the beautifully-tiled pool was still
being refilled.

“They
must have drained it once the police were done here, Brien.” I whispered. I
wasn’t sure why whispering felt appropriate. “If the police cordoned off the
pool area with crime scene tape you’d never know it now, would you?”

“I
don’t think that would be good for the ambivalence at a primo place like this.”
Don’t ask me how, but I knew what he meant.

“Not
good for the
ambiance
, Brien. You are so right. Crime scene tape does
not send out that sanctuary vibe does it?” As if on cue, the sound of bells
pealed—the tower at a monastery on the cliffs overlooking the cove signaled
arrival of the noon hour.

The
Sanctuary at Corsario Cove is an exquisite luxury resort we had chosen as our
honeymoon destination for several reasons. The stunning cove was one of them.
From what I read, the resort is a big draw to the cove area and the nearby town
of San Albinus. High-end clients that stay at the resort, and tourists drawn to
the Old Town at the center of San Albinus, drop tons of money in the area. The
village has a quaint old California feel to it. Eateries, boutiques, galleries
and souvenir shops line both sides of a cobblestone promenade with a chapel at
one end.

The
chapel is real, and so is part of the promenade. Both are remnants of a hacienda
that once belonged to a large landowner during Spanish rule. The town had recently
enlarged the chapel to make it a picturesque place for ‘destination weddings.’
They had added to the promenade over the years, too, so that it now ran from
one end of the village to the other. Pleasant, in a Disneyesque sort of way, from
the photos I’d seen. We hadn’t visited the Old Town area yet, or set foot down in
the gorgeous cove, either.

Elements
of a Spanish motif figured prominently in the design of the resort, rooting it
in the history of the area. The owner of the hacienda held huge parcels of lands
that ran down the sloping hillside to the cove. Upon his death, he had gifted
his holdings to monks. During his lifetime he had allowed them to build a real sanctuary
on his lands. The monastery still sat there overlooking the sea, the bell tower
poking up from amid woods that surround it. It’s from that old sanctuary that
the resort took its name.

The
cove allegedly provided another kind of refuge, however, and snippets of that
heritage could be found in town and at the resort. Corsario Cove was named for corsarios—the
Spanish word for corsairs, more often called pirates. Supposedly, they found the
cove an inviting place to hide out, forage, and take on fresh water between
episodes of pillaging and plundering. Like most corsairs, they were a mercenary
lot, quite literally. Paid by one crown to harass the ships owned by another,
money spoke to the pirates that came ashore at Corsario Cove. Town lore had it
that the monks, perhaps taking a lead from St. Albinus the patron saint against
pirate attacks, bought off the pirates using their meager resources and ardent
prayer. They stopped the pirates from wreaking havoc on the locals who showed
their gratitude to St. Albinus by giving the town his name.

Making
a go of monasticism isn’t so easy these days. In the first decade of the 21
^st
century, the Monks sold off part of their holdings and the resort was built.
The whole area reminds me of Avalon Bay at Catalina Island. A scaled down,
upscale version of the island community, the Sanctuary resort is paradise for
those who can afford it. Fabulous food, lavish suites, a high staff-to-guest
ratio, and services of all kinds entice, as well as the glorious seaside setting.
There’s high end shopping here at the resort, in addition to all those village
shops that vacationers seem to find endlessly fascinating. I’m not a big fan of
shopping, but the history of the place grabbed me despite my skepticism about
pirates. The local tales about piracy don’t quite fit with the California
history I learned in school. I
am
a fan of spas; a side effect of
hanging out with Jessica Huntington. The one here is a little slice of heaven,
according to the resort blurb.

Luxurious
amenities, interesting history, and spa services aside, the real reason we
chose this spot was for the surfing. Corsario Cove is little known outside surfing
circles, and not even widely known among surfers living outside California. That’s
a near perfect situation as far as Brien is concerned. A quasi-permanent
community of surfers, vagabonds, and beach bums hang out on the less developed
side of the cove where the cliffs rise up out of the sea. Their community is tucked
away in woods that run to the bottom of the cliffs and almost to the beach.

We
slowly worked our way around the perimeter of the patio that encompassed a
large hot tub and pool, decorated with handmade tiles. The area was furnished
with lounge chairs, umbrellas, bistro tables and cabanas. Stucco walls,
dripping with bougainvillea, lined either side of the expansive terrace we were
trying to inspect without becoming distracted by the view. The side walls, connected
in front by lacy wrought iron, enclosed the terrace without blocking a
spectacular view of the ocean. We stopped to gaze at it. The California
sunshine, sparkling like diamonds on the rhythmic movements of the water, enchanted.
Brien reached out and took my hand.

Sprawled
out below us was a much bigger complex of hot tubs and pools, also equipped
with cabanas, chaise lounges, tables and umbrellas. A separate play area with
kiddie pools and water slides, some with a pirate theme, teemed with children
and their parents. Squeals and laughter floated up to us.

Situated
on that lower terrace, farther from the hotel but closer to the beach, all
those amenities sat amid a golf course of perfectly manicured greens and
startlingly white sand pits. A cart path at the edge of the course ran from the
terrace, down to the beach, and over to a dock with a small boardwalk on the side
of the cove, opposite the secluded surfer hangout. That cart path also ran up
to our hotel level and off in both directions a few steps below us. At check-in
they told us we could take that path into the village by golf cart, bicycle, or
on foot.

Unlike
earlier this morning, the cove was placid at the moment. ‘Flat’ Brien would
have said, but it could kick it at other times as it had done this morning.
There wasn’t a surfer to be seen right now. A few people wandered along the
beach. The Pacific Ocean is cold and this time of year the weather is often cool,
too. Even though it was sunny and in the low 70s right now, most of the
swimming was being done in the heated resort pools.

“So
where do you figure Santa was when he fell?” My eyes moved up, scanning rows of
balconies. Each balcony featured beautifully crafted ironwork, like the veranda
outside our suite on the sixth floor. The top floor—the hotel club penthouse,
seemed to have an extra-long wraparound lanai with baskets of blooms hanging
from it, as on the balconies below.

“It’s
hard to tell—that hanging plant is tilted—see? Maybe Santa hit it going over
the rail or on his way down, but who knows for sure?”

“Good
eyes, Brien.” I really am impressed by how observant Brien can be. “I don’t
suppose they could have seen that last night, in the dark. Too bad, it might
have helped Detective Mitchum focus his search a little more. I bet the pressure
was on to get matters squared away out here in the more public space.”

I
located our room off to my right as I searched the rows of balconies. That
pressure must have taken its toll on the detective. How could he have believed our
room was the scene of the crime? Santa would have needed his sleigh and at
least a couple tiny reindeer to cover the distance from our balcony to the pool
below.

The
fact that no one was occupying any of the comfy lounge chairs in the gorgeous patio
area suggested to me that word had gotten around about trouble. Despite what
must have been a near-record crime scene investigation and clean-up, keeping a
lid on a story like this one would have required a miracle.

“I
wonder what buzz there is about a dead Santa.”

“Let’s
find out, Kim. You want to have a drink? Maybe we can get our server to give us
the scope.” Why not? Even though it hadn’t been long since we’d eaten breakfast,
the noon hour bells sounded by the monastery tower meant a drink wouldn’t be
odd at this hour.

“Scoop,”
I said. “You mean ‘give us the
scoop
,’ don’t you Brien?”

“Yeah,
that too,” he replied, with such sincerity on his face I said no more.

“Can
we go find a spot to have that drink that doesn’t have a view of Santa’s last
stand—his downfall—his Waterloo? Whatever.” I gave up searching for the right
term to describe the awful fate Santa had met. I felt bad the poor schmuck had
ended up like that. I also couldn’t help thinking,
what if we had still been
swimming when that happened?
I shuddered at the close call.

“Sure,
Kim, if you explain what you mean by Waterloo... ” Brien is so concrete in his
thinking I often have to stop and explain myself. I don’t mind. I reached for
his hand as we left the terrace area and I tried to convey to him what I meant
about Santa having met his Waterloo.

“Oh I
get it, it’s like Santa was hit by this gigantic wave, just like the massive
wipe out that smacked down that Napoleon dude at Waterloo.”

“Yes,
Brien, that’s it.” He beamed. I squeezed his hand. “Let’s hope our efforts to find
out who killed Santa don’t include any more close calls, and no smack downs or
wipe outs.”

“Don’t
worry, Kim. I won’t let our honeymoon be our Waterloo.”

Aw,
what a guy! I sure hope he’s right,
I thought. I didn’t want to
dampen the spirit of conviction in that vow he made. I kept my doubts to
myself.

“I
know, Moondoggie. I’m counting on it!” Brien’s eyes sparkled as he placed a
protective arm around my shoulders.