Riptide (Sam McRae Mystery #3)

Chapter 12

I stared at Jinx, wanting to say, "Yes, I'll do anything to help her." However, part of me wondered if it really included blackmailing and/or publicly humiliating someone. Including myself.

After taking a moment to consider my words, I said, "Assuming, I'm interested—and that's a big assumption—what kind of help could you offer? And, more to the point, how can I trust you to deliver?"

"My family has old ties around here. I can probably help pull some strings."

I sighed. "That's nice, but we've already got a local lawyer who doesn't need any help pulling strings. So unless your family is even more influential than our own politically connected lawyer, I doubt there's much you could do for me."

We shared a moment of silence as this sank in.

"Look, Jinx, this has been really interesting, but I have to go," I said. "Before I do, could you explain why you're so anxious to get me on board? You've got the pictures. Why do you need me?"

Jinx blinked up at me. "People like you, respect you. I thought if I acted alone, people would dismiss me. Maybe even claim I'd doctored the photos, you know? These days it's so easy to do that. I could end up sounding like ... Paula Jones or Monica Lewinsky. I wanted this to come from both of us. It would give the allegations more credibility."

I wondered if I was hearing things. Had Jinx just paid me a compliment?

"Please," she said. "Just promise me you'll think it over."

Great. I could expose Ray's womanizing to help keep my best friend's career from getting flushed down the toilet, while turning myself into another Paula Jones. And in league with the Devil herself, no less.

I thought I'd gag swallowing my pride, but said, "I'll think it over. But that's all. And I'll need more than verbal assurance of your good faith."

I left before Jinx could see the anguish written all over my face.

*****

I needed to clear my head, so I took a brisk stroll down the boardwalk. The fresh tang of ocean breeze cleansed the coffee shop's rotten fish smell from my body. That and my increased inhalation rate. What started as a stroll turned into a march. I stomped while fuming over Jinx's threat—or was it a proposal?—and the fact that she had photos of me and Ray. The thickening crowd parted like the Red Sea before Moses. I think my speed and facial expression sent a signal to make way. Or else. Before I knew it, I'd reached Thrasher's French Fries stand, which meant I was nearing the end of the boardwalk. The tantalizing smell of potatoes cooked in peanut oil tickled my nostrils. I stopped and stood, a rock awash in a sea of people.

What are you doing? I was wasting time and the thought made me even angrier.

I turned and pounded the boards to where I'd parked.

*****

I started the car and joined the flow of Coastal Highway traffic. Was it safe to assume that Billy Ray's male friends—Curtis Little and Dwayne Sutterman—wouldn't give me the time of day? No, but I was pretty sure they wouldn't welcome me with open arms. I turned into a strip mall featuring a coffee shop that advertised Wi-Fi access.

I settled in with a cup of black coffee and turned on the laptop. After opening the browser, I checked my email. My inbox was crammed with messages—mostly junk I could read later—however, one message caught my eye. Someone named Amber from the Farmworker Protection League had responded to my request for information.

The message read: Feel free to come by our offices so we can talk. The email had a phone number in the signature line.

I let out a breath and almost smiled. At last. One person in this burg willing to talk to me. Perhaps I'd unearth a lead.

I dug out my cell phone and dialed the number.