The Body on Ortega Highway

The Body on Ortega Highway:

A Detective Santy Mystery

By Louise Hathaway

Copyright Louise Hathaway 2014

Smashwords Edition 2014

Chapter One

Desiree Beauchamp hitchhiked for the first
and only time when she was sixteen years old. She knew it was
dangerous. The urge to do it happened one day as she was sitting in
her history class in high school. She was feeling depressed because
her boyfriend, Aaron, had stopped coming around like he used to.
She didn’t understand why, as hard as she tried. She had really
thought he was the one. In her mind, they had a close relationship.
They were right for each other. He had even bought her tickets to a
Taylor Swift concert because he knew how much she liked her. They
had a great time at the concert, came back to her house afterwards,
and watched a W.C. Fields’ movie together. He had fallen asleep on
her shoulder; she liked that he felt comfortable enough to relax
that way with her. It was like they were an old married couple; it
was that easy to get along together. But lately, he wasn’t giving
her the time of day. He never came to her house anymore, and he
used to come over at least three times a week. He wouldn’t even
tell her why or what the problem was. A few days ago, after school,
she’d forgotten the key to her bike lock and didn’t know what to
do. Aaron walked by and she asked him to help her unlock her bike.
He was able to bend the lock and release the chain from the bike’s
spokes; but then he left, without saying a word to her the whole
time. Leaving her nothing but a bent and ruined lock.

‘What did I do wrong?’ she kept asking
herself. ‘I thought he liked me. Maybe he doesn’t like my body?’
After all, he had said to her, “Why can’t you have a body like
Kristie Brown?” who was a cheerleader. ‘Is he really that shallow?
I thought we had a real connection. Maybe I’m too weird? Maybe I
scare people away?’

She longed for the kind of relationship her
friend had with her boyfriend. He played guitar and sang love
songs, as he dreamily looked into her friend’s eyes. She wished
someone would sing her love songs. Her cousins all had boyfriends.
She felt like the ugly duckling in her family. ‘Why can’t I be like
everybody else in the world?’ All of a sudden, sitting in that
history class, she was filled with the burning desire to go to
Laguna Beach--right now! She had to get out of this high school and
away from these people. Only problem was, she didn’t have a
car.

She just wanted to go somewhere to clear her
head. She ditched her next class and walked out of school. She
hoped her Mom would write a note for her tomorrow. She walked over
to the on-ramp for the 5 Freeway going south and stuck out her
thumb, hoping no one she or her parents knew would see her. Not to
mention, anyone from school.

Almost immediately, a car pulled over. A man
who looked about 40 and was driving a Volvo reached over to open
the passenger door for her. He asked her where she was going. When
she told him that she wanted to go to Laguna Beach, he said, “I’m
on my way to Dana Point. I can swing by there and drop you
off.”

“That would be great.”

His car felt cool inside: a welcomed respite
since it was a hot day. He asked if the air conditioner was on too
high for her. She told him it was perfect.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Desiree.”

“A French name. It means desire.”

“I know.”

“Is your family French?”

“They’re Belgian.”

“I see. My name’s Paul, by the way.”

“Hi Paul.”

He drove in silence for a while as she sized
him up. She thought, ‘I know he’s older, but maybe a mature guy is
what I need, especially after what happened with Aaron.’

“So, Desiree: do you have a boyfriend?”

It was like he was reading her mind, almost.
She answered, “No. Not anymore.”

“Really?” he asked. “I can’t believe it. Why
doesn’t a cute girl like you have someone special in her life?”

“I don’t know.”

“You really are beautiful, you know.”

“Thank you.”

“And very sexy.”

“Thanks,” she said, feeling a little
uneasy.

He was quiet for a few more minutes and then
said, “You know, I love it when I can see the tan lines from a
girl’s bikini straps.”

“Oh really,” she answered.

“Do you have tan lines from your bikini
straps?”

“Probably,” she told him.

He reached over and pulled down the side of
her sleeve to see if she was tanned there.

“Don’t do that,” she told him, pulling her
sleeve back up.

“Okay. Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend
you.”

“It’s okay,” she said, dejectedly.

“So what are you going to do when you get to
the beach?” he says, trying to lighten the mood.

“Oh, I don’t know. Just watch the waves, I
guess.”

“Would you like to stop for something to eat
first?”

“No, thank you. I’m not really hungry.”

“But I am,” he said. “And I’m the one who’s
driving us to the beach,” he said, with a nervous laugh. “It won’t
take long. I promise.”

He pulled off the road when he saw a Denny’s
in Dana Point. They walked in and sat down. He ordered a beer and a
hamburger. She ordered some hot tea. He asked her about school and
what classes she liked. He complemented her looks some more and
tried to make her feel more at ease. He asked again about her
boyfriend.

“I don’t have one anymore. Remember?”

“Well, tell me about the one you had.”

She explained what happened and how Aaron had
treated her.

He said, “He’s crazy for dropping a pretty
girl like you.”

“Thanks.”

He asked, “So, how far did you two go,
anyway?”

“How far?” she asked.

“You know; how far did you go sexually. You
don’t have to answer.”

“All the way,” she said, feeling
uncomfortable but somewhat bold. She was starting to enjoy being
with him, almost against her will. And definitely against her
better judgment.

He’s starting to feel bold, also; and says,
“So, Desiree. How many orgasms have you ever had in one
session?”

His question confused her. She didn’t know
what he meant about “in one session”. She said, “I don’t know;
maybe about three.”

“Wow!” he replied, surprised that she was so
forthcoming.

She was surprised she even said that: it
wasn’t true. She wanted to get as far away from him as she could.
“I think I’d better go back home now,” she said. “My parents will
be upset if I don’t come back on time.”

“You don’t want to go to the beach with me?
It would be so nice to watch the sun go down with you.”

“No. It’s getting late.”

His mood changed and he said, “Haven’t you
ever heard the expression, ‘Cash, grass, or ass; no one rides
free’?”

“No. I haven’t heard that one.”

“Don’t you think you owe me a little
something?”

“No. Can we leave, please?”

“You expect me to head back in the opposite
direction that I was coming from, just so I can drive you
back?”

She picked up her purse and said, “No. I
don’t expect you to.” She stood up to leave and said,
“Goodbye.”

He didn’t try to stop her. He walked to the
cashier and paid their bill. She watched him as he got into his car
and drove away.

*******

‘What am I going to do?’ she asked herself.
‘I just want to go back home. I can’t exactly call my parents and
tell them to pick me up. They’d wonder how I got here in the first
place. This is one of the stupidest things I’ve ever done. What an
idiot I am!!’ She started crying and crossed the street, heading
back north to Tustin. ‘It’s too far to walk,’ she told herself. She
felt that she had no other option but to hitchhike back home and
never, ever do this again. She stuck out her thumb and a dirty VW
van pulled over. She walked up to the van and saw a guy in his
early thirties who was wearing a tie-dyed shirt. She thought, ‘He’s
obviously not the world’s best dresser, but he looked friendly
enough.’ He rolled down the window on the passenger’s side and
asked, “How far you going?”

“To Tustin.”

“I can take you there. I have to make a quick
stop on Ortega Highway first. Is that okay?”

“Ah…Sure, I guess,” she said.

He reached over, opened the passenger door
for her and she climbed inside.

Chapter Two

Clarissa Santy, a homicide detective at the
Orange County Sheriff’s Department, is flying home from Savannah,
Georgia, where she and her husband have just spent their honeymoon.
She is looking at all the vacation pictures they took. “Look at
this one, Ron,” she tells her husband. “Isn’t Reynolds Square
beautiful with these red azaleas?”

“Yes. We definitely picked the right season
to go to Savannah.”

“Look at this one of you in Bonaventure
Cemetery,” she says, handing him the camera.

“That’s a good one. Look how huge these oak
trees are. I wish our trees had hanging moss like this.”

“It’s very Southern. Very William
Faulkner.”

“Very ‘True Blood’ and ‘Vampire Bill’.”

He looks at the next picture and says, “Oh,
look how cute you look in front of the Mercer House.”

She takes the camera away from him, and
grimaces when she sees herself. “I look fat.”

“No you don’t. You look voluptuous.”

“Right.”

“You were too skinny when I met you. I like
my girl with a little meat on her bones.”

“Well, then you came to the right place,” she
says, laughing. She looks down at her arms and says, “I’m covered
with mosquito bites--how do people who live in the South put up
with this?”

Ron says, “I’ve lost count of how many bites
I have.”

“These Southern mosquitos must think we’re
fresh meat or something,” Clarissa says, and starts looking at
their pictures again. “Look at you here by the fountain in Forsyth
Park. You look so handsome in your black suit!”

“Out with my girl for a night on the
town.”

“I can’t wait to see how our little statue of
the Bird Girl looks in our garden.”

“Me, too. We’ll have to plant some azaleas
around it.”

“Good idea. And some tea olive bushes, too.
We’ll recreate the wonderful fragrance of Savannah, right in our
own back yard.”

Suddenly, the plane starts rocking and the
“seatbelt” sign flashes on. A voice comes over the loud speaker and
says, “Ladies and gentlemen. The captain has turned on the fasten
seatbelt sign. Please return to your seats. We will be experiencing
some severe turbulence.”

Even the stewardesses abandon their drink
trollies and go back to their seats--always a bad sign.

“Why do I always travel in the Spring?”
Clarissa says. “There are always thunder storms in the South this
time of year.”

Trying to distract her, Ron says, “What do
you miss the most from home?”

“I miss Gumbo,” she says, speaking of their
Jack Russell Terrier.

“Me, too. I can’t wait to see him running
towards us when we spring him from the vet.”

Clarissa says, “I can’t wait. I miss my
blueberry coffee from the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf.”

“Yuck! I don’t know how you can stand that
stuff.”

“It’s an acquired taste. Like oysters on the
half shell.”

“Yuck,” he says.

“Don’t be squeamish, Secret Agent Man.” Ron
has just finished a week of training at FBI headquarters, and
Clarissa’s got a new pet name for him.

Ron says, “I wish we didn’t have to go back
to work so soon.” He is an investigator at the District Attorney’s
Office.

“Don’t remind me of work,” she says, as she
puts away the camera and takes out today’s L.A. Times that she
bought at the airport in Atlanta. “Well, it looks like we’ve had
another heat wave. Yesterday was 95 in Santa Ana!”

“You’re kidding. All our plants are going to
be wilted.”

“I know,” she says, as she continues reading.
“Oh, my God!”

Ron says, “What?”

“How horrible!!”

“What? Tell me what’s happened.”

“A 16 year old girl was dumped on Ortega
Highway.”

“Is she dead?”

“Yes. Oh my God!”

“What?”

“Somebody chopped off her arms.”

“How terrible.”

“I wonder who’s been assigned the case,”
Clarissa says, and she scans the article. “Oh, no. It’s that idiot
Ric Vente.”

Chapter Three

They are back in Orange County by 4:00 in the
afternoon and drive straight to the vet’s office in Irvine, before
even stopping to unload their luggage at their house in Santa Ana.
They are afraid that the vet’s office will be closed by the time
they get there to pick up Gumbo and they’d have to wait an extra
day before they could see their little guy. There’s already a ton
of rush-hour traffic on the 5 Freeway. By the time they reach the
off ramp to the vet’s, it’s 4:55. Ron steps on the gas and when
they pull in to a parking space in front of the vet’s office, the
car screeches to a halt.