Seaside Secrets Read online

  * * *

  The next morning she knocked on Dan’s front door, allowing her body to take action in spite of good sense. He’d been trying to help last night, and she’d struck out at him like a disgruntled snake. She sucked in a deep breath. New beginning. The coastal air was crisp, rain washed; chunks of driftwood and kelp had been tossed onto the sand from the previous night’s storm. Dan appeared at the door, hair tousled, barefoot, wearing gray sweatpants and a T-shirt. He squinted, one eye closed, rubbing his stubbled chin as if he thought he was hallucinating.

  “Angela?”

  She held up a white paper bag and a cardboard tray with two cups of coffee. “My turn to bring breakfast.”

  He stood there, staring.

  “To quote someone else I know, the coffee is hot. Are you going to let me in?”

  He jerked into action, shoving the door open and ushering her inside. “I didn’t expect to see you so early. I figured you’d be sleeping in. How are you feeling?”

  “Better than last night. I walked over while Marco was out running.”

  He frowned.

  “There were plenty of people out and about, and Donna texted me every block it seemed like.”

  “Did you get some sleep last night?”

  “Not really, but...” She shrugged. “I appreciated your text, especially after I snapped at you.”

  He smiled. “It’s true. I’ve been praying for you since the day you rolled into town, and you snapped at me then, too.”

  She thrust a cup of coffee into his hand, cheeks warm. “Thank you. I wanted to reassure you that I’m okay. I can do what I need to do today.”

  He watched her, gray eyes thoughtful. “It would be fine if you weren’t.”

  “But I am,” she insisted. “I’m ready to go talk to Dr. Lane and ask her about Ralph Pickford...and visit Mrs. Guzman,” she said, though her mouth had suddenly gone dry.

  He sipped some coffee. “All right. Can I have five minutes to shower and shave so I don’t scare anyone?”

  “Sure.”

  “What’s in the bag?”

  “Donuts, but now you only have four minutes and fifty-five seconds.”

  “Man,” he said. “And you say I’m bossy.”

  He hustled off to the back of the house. She contented herself sipping coffee and watching a cat stalking a leaf under the couch. Surprising. She hadn’t figured him the pet-owner type. On the wall there were pictures of Dan on his graduation from medical school, one of him posing on a sailboat with a friend. On a shelf, on top of some neatly stacked medical journals, was a box with his medical bag inside.

  When he emerged in jeans and a soft T-shirt that brought out the silver in his eyes she gestured to the box.

  “Are you getting ready to go back to your hospital job?”

  He shrugged. “Not yet.”

  “Why not?”

  He accepted the bag she offered and took a bite of a sugar donut. “Been nursing the hand back to full force.”

  “Jeb seems to think you’re ready for action.”

  “Maybe.”

  She noted the hesitation, so uncharacteristic for this self-assured surgeon. She wanted to understand. “Does it have something to do with what you said earlier, that you came back from the war a different man?”

  He raised his chin. “Don’t know.”

  “If anybody can understand, it’s me.”

  “Like I said, I don’t know that I have to explain it to you. Do I?”

  Did he? Yet he continually expected her to discuss her situation, even in front of his physical therapist. Her blood warmed. “No, but you’re telling me a lot that I should get help, and it’s okay not to be all right. Is that just something you say to other people but it doesn’t apply to you?”

  The silver flashed to gray. “We’re not in the same situation.”

  “Maybe we have more in common than you want to admit.”

  “You don’t know me as well as you think.”

  “Maybe I do. You’re happy to see the problems in me but not in yourself. Is that an occupational hazard for a doctor?”

  “No more than it is for chaplains.”

  She pursed her lips. “I’m clear on my own problems, Dr. Blackwater. Are you clear on yours?”

  He stared at her. “Did you come here to pick a fight?”

  “No, I guess I just got tired of being the only one who is expected to share my troubles.”

  “You don’t share them,” he said flatly. “You try to hide them.”

  “And you don’t?”

  “No, I don’t. I hurt my hand and stepped away from my practice. That’s all.”

  She tamped down on the anger kindling in her belly. “Let’s drop it. We’ve got a job to do, so why don’t we get started?”

  “Excellent idea. We’ll have to take my convertible since the police still have my truck.”

  Great, she thought. What had started out as a nice gesture had turned into accusations and harsh words. Now she would be in even closer proximity to the man who made her feelings tangle up like seaweed in a storm. Was Dan really hiding from his own struggles, or did it make her feel better to think he was not as together as he seemed?

  The confusion left her nerves twitching.

  Just get this case solved, she told herself. And then you don’t have to face Dan Blackwater again.

  SIXTEEN

  Dan fumed on the way to the hospital. Angela Gallagher was in no position to be accusing him of hiding from his problems. His choice not to return to surgery wasn’t because of lingering impact from his past. He’d chosen to do other things, to give himself a break.

  A break that had lasted far longer than he’d intended, hand injury notwithstanding.

  “What are you hiding from? We haven’t been out on a date all week,” he remembered AnnaLisa demanding in the months after he’d returned home.

  “Not hiding,” he’d say cheerfully over the phone as he’d headed for the door to go for a bike ride or swim in the ocean. Concentrating on the breathing, the muscle movement; a focus on each minute system that pumped life through his body became something he craved. As a way to escape from memories he did not want to relive? No. Self-healing, that was all. Strengthening of the mind and body was not hiding. Was it?

  He shut the thoughts down and guided the convertible to the hospital, sliding into a parking space. Angela hopped out before he could get the door for her. Just as well. His pride still stung.

  They made their way up to the third floor and found Patricia Lane gone. The nurse directed them to the dialysis clinic. When they arrived, they ducked their heads inside. Patricia sat with a gaunt young man, holding his hand. It was obviously a private moment, so they were turning to go when she spotted Dan.

  She looked at them in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

  “Just had a question for you. We’ll wait outside. Don’t hurry.”

  The young man opened his eyes, examining Dan and Angela curiously. “Nice to see some different faces,” he said. “This place has all the charm of a mausoleum.”

  “This is my son-in-law, Lance,” she said.

  Dan remembered hearing from Jeb that Lance was ill, but Dan had not known her well enough to ask about the particulars. She’d come on board at the hospital only a few months before he’d deployed, so there wasn’t a close bond between them.

  Angela looked at Lance intently, as if she recognized him, but she did not comment beyond the pleasantries. They made polite introductions and excused themselves to wait in the hallway.

  Patricia joined them after a few moments.

  “I’m sorry to intrude,” Dan said. “How is your son-in-law?”

  “Failing, if you want the honest truth,” she said. He saw lines of fa
tigue and worry etched into her face. “Only one of his kidneys is functioning. Barely.”

  “Is he a transplant candidate?”

  She sighed. “He would be if he could stop drinking. He’s failed two blood tests so far, so he’s disqualified himself from getting a transplant until he can prove he’s sticking with his treatment plan. Dialysis is our only option right now.” She sighed. “As a surgeon, I would make the same decision. Why give a precious organ to someone who continues to abuse their body?”

  He was not sure how to respond.

  She shrugged. “Sorry to sound bitter. Lance was married to my daughter, and she was killed in a wreck shortly after their baby was born. So Lance is the only parent Sadie has left. It kills me that I can’t fix him and he can’t fix his own addiction no matter how many treatment programs he’s attempted. Maybe it wouldn’t be so frustrating if I wasn’t in this line of work. Doctor, heal thy own.” She shook her head.

  Dan put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. He’s a fighter, and so am I. We will get through this for Sadie’s sake. But you didn’t come here to talk to me about Lance. What can I do for you?”

  “I wanted to ask you about Ralph Pickford. Is he a patient of yours?”

  She blinked, looking away. “No.”

  “Then why was he in your exam room the day Lila Brown ran away from here?”

  “Ralph was confused. He’s been a local fixture in town for the past year. He comes in often to warm up or use the bathroom. That day he began to wander the halls, insisting he needed lunch.” She smiled. “We got him some gelatin and a soup cup.”

  “That was kind of you,” Angela said.

  She shrugged. “I don’t like to see anyone go hungry. Why are you asking about him?”

  “Hope I’m not interrupting.” Lieutenant Torrey, wearing chinos and a black jacket, walked up. He handed Patricia a cup of coffee, holding another cup for himself.

  “Oh, that’s why Lance looks familiar,” Angela said to Torrey. “He has your chin and eyes. He’s your son, isn’t he?”

  Dan was thunderstruck that he had not seen the resemblance before. He’d known Lance was Patricia’s son-in-law, but he’d never suspected that Torrey was Lance’s father.

  “Good detective work,” Torrey said. “Yes, he’s my son. Patricia and I share a granddaughter. Sadie’s the best thing that ever happened to me.” He took out his cell phone. “I know I’m partial, but isn’t that the cutest face you ever did see?”

  A little girl, probably three years old, grinned on the screen, curly hair, brown eyes, freckles.

  “She is pretty cute, all right,” Angela said.

  His smile softened the heavy creases in his face as he nodded to Patricia. “Came to check on my boy. How’s he doing?”

  Patricia’s face was grim. “Hanging in there. Amyloidosis is getting him down.”

  Torrey looked at them. “Stiffness and discomfort from too much protein in the blood. Gets deposited on joints or tendons.” He shrugged. “I’m getting to be an expert since this all happened to his mother, too, before it killed her. Genes are nothing to laugh at. So why are you here asking Patricia questions about Ralph Pickford?”

  “We think he’s got something to do with Tank and the Grubers.”

  Torrey’s eyes narrowed. “So why ask Patricia?”

  “I saw Ralph here at the hospital the day Lila bolted,” Dan said.

  Patricia shoved her hands in the pockets of her white coat. “But that was just coincidental. He’s not my patient, so I can’t really tell them anything.”

  “I know he was treated at the clinic,” Dan said. “I’ll ask Lila about it.”

  “Here’s a thought, Doc. How about I ask her?” Torrey snapped. “Or is that getting in the way of your amateur hour?”

  “Max...” Patricia said, a warning in her tone.

  “No, really. I mean you seem like you two got this whole thing handled.” His eyes blazed. “You’re everywhere. At the hospital, the beach, Lila’s house. I’m not even sure why we need cops in this town with you detectives on the case.”

  Dan straightened. “We’re all looking for the truth. That puts us both on the same side.”

  “Does it now?” Torrey said. “’Cause it sure feels a lot like you two are doing whatever suits your fancy.”

  “That’s because of me,” Angela said. “I’m trying to help Tank, and Dr. Blackwater got caught up in it.”

  “Tank will be thrilled to know he’s got so many people on his side, if he ever has the backbone to show up, that is. I guess I’ll just go find some paperwork to fill out. Maybe I can issue some parking tickets. Let me know how it all turns out when you solve the case, huh?” Torrey whirled on his heel and stalked off.

  “I apologize for him.” Patricia sighed. “He’s under a lot of pressure about Lance. I mean, he’s already gone through it once, like he said, and watched his wife die. Alcoholism runs in his family on the paternal side. He’s been sober for twenty years, but it kills him to see Lance turn into an alcoholic, too. He and Lance have never gotten along, but Lance and Sadie are all the family he’s got. Max would do anything for Sadie.”

  “Tough situation.”

  “Yes.” She gazed in the direction he’d gone. “People will do whatever it takes for their children, you know? I would for my Elizabeth, if she were still alive.”

  Dan saw the wealth of sadness in Patricia’s eyes. What had it cost her to lose her daughter? Her only child.

  Angela must have seen the same thing. “We’re very sorry that Lance is ill. I apologize if we’ve made the situation more difficult for you or the lieutenant.”

  She shrugged. “We’ll make it through. I’ve got to get back to work now.”

  Dan led Angela back to the elevator, his thoughts churning.

  She watched him. “What are you thinking?”

  “Ralph just happened to be on the third floor asking Patricia Lane for a lunch handout? He didn’t go to the cafeteria or help himself to the free coffee in the lobby?”

  “Unlikely story, I agree.”

  “But why would she lie?”

  As they stepped off the elevator, Angela’s phone rang. They went outside, away from the building, and she put it on speakerphone.

  “Betty Hernandez reportedly lives in an apartment in Tijuana,” Marco said. “We’ve got an address and phone for her, so we’re following up on that, but so far there’s no answer. Oliver Clark is dead, car wreck, three months ago, in Mexico.”

  She told him about Ralph Pickford and their conversation with Patricia Lane and Lieutenant Torrey.

  “Going to catch a flight to Tijuana right now. Be back by tonight. Can you two stay out of trouble until we get back?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Why is that hard for me to believe?”

  “We’re going to work on finding Ralph Pickford’s whereabouts,” Dan put in.

  “Even though Torrey is pitching a fit?”

  Dan shrugged. “We will stay out of his way.”

  “And we will talk to Mrs. Guzman, too,” Angela said quietly.

  “We may just be chasing our tails here,” Marco said. “We’ve got nothing solid. You really think these names Guzman gave us mean anything?”

  “I don’t know,” he said as Angela clicked off.

  But he felt an urgent need to find out.

  * * *

  Lila Brown did not answer her cell phone. Again. Angela put down the phone in frustration. “And she’s not at the clinic, either, or at least she’s not answering. What do we do now?”

  Dan drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “I believe it’s time to get some hot dogs.”

  Angela checked her watch. “It’s only eleven. It’s not lunchtime.”
/>   “It’s always the right time for some information.”

  “Oh, I see. I should have thought of that.”

  He drove back to the beach, and once again they approached Bill, the hot dog vendor.

  “I’m looking for someone,” Dan said. “Guy named Ralph Pickford. Know him?”

  “Sure, Doc Man. He’s a regular. Lives on the beach when it’s warm.”

  “And when it’s not?”

  Bill served up two hot dogs. “Whatcha going to do to him?”

  “Just ask him some questions and maybe buy him a hot dog.”

  Bill seemed satisfied. “Abandoned pumping station. It’s dry in some places. No one bothers him down there.”

  “Can you tell me where to find it?” Dan said.

  “All boarded up, but you can get to it same way Bill does.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Right up the beach. Find the cement runoff pipe.” He looked over the top of his half glasses. “Ralph’s a popular guy these days.”

  “How’s that?”

  “You weren’t the only folks looking for him today.”

  “Who else?”

  “Young lady. Headed up there about a half hour ago.”

  Angela sucked in a breath. “Dark hair? Brown eyes?”

  He nodded. “Ralph sure does have the charm, doesn’t he? All this attention.”

  Angela shot a look at Dan as they walked away. Ralph had something. She hoped it was answers.

  “Has to be Lila,” Dan said, staring up the beach. “I’m going to go see.”

  “I’m right behind you.”

  He stopped. “At the risk of being told off again, Marco doesn’t want you prancing around in abandoned pumping stations, and he’s right.”

  “I’ve been in far worse places.” His gray eyes met hers. So had he. With bullets and death and suffering.

  He opened his mouth, but she reached up and pressed a finger to his lips. “I’ll leave a message on Marco’s phone and tell him what we’re up to. I can do the same for Torrey, if you feel like that’s a good idea.”

  Uncertainty flickered in his eyes, and he took hold of her fingers, guiding them over his cheek. The feel of his warm skin on her palm sent tingles through her body. Finally he pressed a kiss to her palm.