Riptide (Sam McRae Mystery #3)

Chapter 36

I stopped by the condo to pick up the laptop. Jamila was on the phone. Sounded like she was having a pleasant talk with her auto insurance company about her coverage. As I ducked inside, she said, "Hold on a moment," and set the receiver down with a loud clunk, fixing me with a killer look.

"You would not believe what I've been through today," I told her. I launched into a brief summary of the bizarre events that morning at the Bower residence, followed by the eye-opening discussion with Danni, my phone call with Reed Duvall and my interrogation of the witness who fingered her in the lineup. I skipped over a lot of the gory details about Karla, Dwayne, and Curtis, and didn't speculate about the big operation. I still needed confirmation of a few facts before I told Jamila more. She was my client and had to be treated like any other.

Jamila sat transfixed, her phone call seemingly forgotten. I pointed to the receiver. She blinked several times and picked it up. "Sorry. Can I call you back?" She hung up almost immediately.

I tucked the laptop into its case and made ready to leave. "While Duvall is tracking down the information I want, I'll investigate on my own. First thing, I'm checking out who owns the Oceanfront Arms Hotel. I have a funny feeling about this Roger Powers guy."

"Well, look out for that damn van," Jamila called after me, as I left. "Those journalists have come by twice trying to get an interview since you were last here."

I looped the laptop case strap across my chest like a bandolier and mounted the scooter. I took off, hanging a left on Coastal Highway and keeping a sharp eye out for a coffee shop with free Wi-Fi. Being that it was a late Thursday afternoon in June, early-bird vacationers were making the traffic a bit heavy. This was both a blessing and a curse. With movement slow, I had more time to view my options. I spotted a place within a few blocks. A small bakery tucked away in a strip shopping center, between a bikini store and a shop that sold candles, handcrafted goods, and knickknacks that gather dust and cat hair.

I parked the scooter, went inside and ordered a large black coffee and a big cinnamon roll. I don't care how much cholesterol they have. If I can't eat cinnamon rolls, I don't want to live.

I settled into a corner table. After booting up the laptop and connecting to the Internet, I found the website for Maryland's corporate filings agency, which had a searchable online database. In a separate window, I went to the homepage for the Oceanfront Arms Hotel, which included the notation "MEB Enterprises Inc." at the bottom of the screen. Gee, I wonder what MEB stands for?

I entered "MEB Enterprises" into the search box for the agency and hit Return. To no great surprise, it turned out to be a holding company that owned a slew of businesses. Including Bower Farms, Inc.

My thoughts raced. I'm no super genius, but even I could connect these dots. Powers was just a poor musician working at Bower's hotel. Someone saw the opportunity to use him and paid him to be a witness against Jamila. The question was, who? Maria? Powers had reacted at the mere mention of her name. But how would she have known about our confrontation with Billy Ray? This brought me back to the connection between Dwayne Sutterman and Maria Benitez. He could have told her about it. This also raised the question of motive. What would Maria's motive be for killing Billy Ray? Or Curtis? Did he simply represent a loose thread that had to be eliminated? Was he not only a threat to the big operation, but an accomplice to murder? More questions. Hopefully, Duvall could supply a few answers. Preferably by tomorrow.

I drummed my fingers on the table. There's something more, I thought.

Conroy!

I drew in a sharp breath. "That son of a bitch!" Heads turned as I shut down the laptop and stowed it in its case. I finished off my pastry and coffee, picked up the carrying case, and made for the door.

* * *

I motored back to the condo to return the laptop to safety, repeating countless times the five-word expletive marking my exit from the coffee shop. I had asked myself once before what Conroy had been doing all this time. Clearly, it didn't include doing a simple investigation into the most damaging witness the prosecution had to offer in its case against my client. I caught a distinct whiff of something rotten in the state of Maryland.

Jamila was taking a shower. Good. I had no desire to wait or explain. I left the laptop and hit the road.

I headed back to Coastal Highway, turned north, and pushed the scooter as hard as I could. If only I'd thought to get the tag number of the silver compact parked outside Conroy's house. But how could I have known? Even now, I had no proof of anything. Yet.

Traffic was building and slowing to a crawl. Several blocks to go. Damn.

If I tried to maneuver between cars, I'd probably get ticketed. Cops were on the lookout at this time of year for violations of that sort. Any sort.

Even so, I thought about it. I checked my mirror. No cop cars. Good.

However, several cars behind me... Was that the beat-up old green Chevy?