Riptide (Sam McRae Mystery 3)

Jinx strolled up, looking dapper in khaki pants and a conservative navy blazer over a white shell. Based on her outfit, I assumed she must have been attending the conference. Looking at her made me feel like a kid playing hooky.

“Shall we go in?” she said.

“That won’t be necessary,” I said, raising my hand, palm out. “I’m saying no to your deal.”

Jinx’s eyes nearly popped from her skull. “What?”

“I said—”

“I heard you the first time,” Jinx snapped. She gazed at me with a wounded expression.

“I’m sorry, but that’s my answer.”

“You realize I’m going ahead with this? With or without your help?”

I shrugged. “Qué será será. Whatever. So long and good luck with that.” I walked away.

“So why the hell did you want to meet?” Jinx called after me.

I stopped and turned to look at her. “I just had to see your face when I gave you the news.”

*****

Having dispensed with that, I made a few phone calls and stops on my way back up Coastal Highway. I crossed the line into Delaware and turned into the “Fenwick Dreams” complex. I pulled up to the first building past the big brick sign with the gold lettering and parked the car. The silver compact appeared not to have moved.

She was up there. I surveyed the lot. Quite a few cars, actually. Not like we were all alone. Even so, I wondered if this was the ideal place to confront a murderer.

“Silly,” I murmured. “You’re covered, right?” I had my mace, my wits, my cell phone. And my ace in the hole. Plus I’d made arrangements. I only hoped I’d been taken seriously.

However, these killers were wily. They’d already killed one person to protect their illegal activities and their culpability as Billy Ray’s murderers.

On the other hand, how else was I going to flush them out? To do that, I had to show my cards and let them make a move. I had to do something to keep Jamila from going down for a crime she didn’t commit. I simply wouldn’t allow it. I couldn’t allow it.

I sighed. “Well, Sam. You’re not going to accomplish anything sitting here, are you?”

I exited the car and locked up. I climbed the steps to the house Conroy had visited only hours earlier. I rapped on the door.

The elevated beach house afforded a stellar ocean view, which I was admiring when she answered. Tall and slender, she wore a dark tan and a puzzled expression.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“Hi, Maria,” I said. “Or should I say, Marsha?”

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

The woman gawked at me. “What are you talking about? Who are you?”

“Cut the crap, Marsha. You know who I am. I know who you are. Let’s get real, okay?”

The woman crossed her arms and tilted her head back. “I have nothing to say to you.”

“Okay, fine.” I got up in her face. “We can play it your way. It won’t go easy, but once I turn Conroy in to the cops, do you think he won’t spill the beans on you? He’ll be on his knees begging for a plea bargain. And do you suppose part of that plea bargain will involve turning state’s witness against the people who paid him to look the other way while they bribed a witness in a first-degree murder case? Yeah, I’d take that bet—”

“Hey, sis, what’s going on?” The voice from within was familiar and unmistakable.

Marsha looked about ready to spit nails.

“Oh, sis,” I said. “You want to tell Junior what’s going on?”