Wild Crown Read online

  "Stay out of trouble," I called after him as he stormed away, looking for the restroom out in the main lobby.

  An awkward silence hovered in the air, then I finally said to Denise, "You looked great tonight."

  Denise smiled. "Thanks."

  "I gave you a perfect score."

  She seemed delighted and conflicted at the same time. "See, that's why it would have been a conflict of interest."

  My face twisted dismissively. "Nonsense. I gave you a perfect score because I thought you were… perfect."

  She rolled her eyes, then quickly changed the subject. "The bartender that Samantha Baxter left the Bait Station with on the night she was murdered… Ben Brown. He still lives in Coconut Key. He owns the Seahorse Rodeo."

  My brow lifted with surprise. "Really?"

  "Yup."

  "That's good news. Jack and I will pay him a little visit."

  Samantha Baxter was an 18-year-old girl who had been raped and murdered in 1986. Her mother had approached me with the cold case, hoping I could shed some light on the unsolved murder. There had been no movement on the case in years, and I was apparently her last hope.

  At the time, Samantha was in Coconut Key on vacation with two of her friends, Kim and Robin. They had last seen her at the Bait Station. The two girls had wanted to go to another bar, but Samantha wanted to stay and flirt with the bartender, Ben Brown. Witnesses said the bartender had gotten off a little early, and the two had left together.

  The case was a long shot. The DNA evidence from the rape kit had gotten lost in the shuffle. The crime occurred at the advent of DNA technology, and analysis was primitive in comparison to modern standards. Now, through PCR analysis, trace DNA can be analyzed, whereas in 1986, it would take a considerable amount of material. All we had left in evidence was a pair of shoes and a cigarette butt.

  Not much to go on.

  I didn't really know what the hell I would be able to do, but I was going to try.

  My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and swiped the screen. The call was from JD's 18-year-old daughter, Scarlett. She shrieked into the phone, "I finished my first day on set!"

  "That's fantastic. How did it go?"

  She was currently living in Los Angeles, chasing the dream.

  "A little awkward at first. But it was really no big deal. My tits will be immortalized on the silver screen!"

  "Well, that's certainly an accomplishment," I said, flatly, not sure how to respond.

  Scarlett had been cast in a horror film, and one of the scenes required her to be topless.

  "I'm telling you, they didn't waste any time. First day. Got the nude scene out of the way. From what I understand, that's common procedure. They know if they shoot too much footage on you before doing the nude scene, you'll have leverage. You can back out of it because the cost to reshoot with another actress would be too high."

  "Have you told Jack?"

  "No," Scarlett said. "You haven't said anything, have you?"

  "I'm keeping your little secret. But you need to tell him."

  "I will. I'm just waiting for the right moment. I don't want him to spaz out."

  "Newsflash. He's going to spaz out. You realize that?"

  "I'm just waiting until I feel like I can handle him spazzing out. This is stressful, and I don't need him yelling at me right now."

  "Okay. That's totally between y'all. So, other than being topless with cameras in your face and 30 strangers staring at you, how was it?"

  "It was fun. I mean, they covered me in fake blood, which is really sticky by the way. I got hacked in half with a chainsaw. I think it's going to be a really good scene. But there is a lot of sitting around and waiting. It takes them a long time to set up all the lights and the cameras. Then we do several takes of each scene from multiple angles. I mean, we spent the whole day on that one scene."

  "I'm glad it went well," I said.

  "Well, I just wanted to call and tell you how it went. I gotta run. I'll keep you posted!"

  She hung up, and I slipped the phone back into my pocket.

  Denise gave me a curious look.

  "Scarlett. She's doing a movie," I explained.

  "What does she need to tell Jack?" Denise asked, full of suspicion.

  "Yeah, what does she need to tell me?" JD asked, returning to the table.

  I hadn’t noticed his approach.

  I swallowed hard, then cleared my throat, stalling for time while I thought of something to say. "She needs to tell you how awesome her day went. She called to let me know, and she said she'd call you, too."

  Jack frowned at me. "Well, my phone is not ringing."

  "Sounds like she's busy," I said. "I'm sure she'll touch base with you later."

  "Maybe if I stop paying rent on that apartment of hers, I’ll get a phone call?" Jack grumbled.

  We sipped our drinks, and Jack still looked aggravated. "I can't believe that guy called me Tubby! Am I really tubby?"

  Denise and I stared at our drinks and said nothing.

  Jack scowled at us. "I'll show you both. I'll get my sixpack back. You watch."

  I raised my hands innocently. "Hey, dad-bod is in right now."

  Jack's eyes narrowed. "Okay, smart ass. Let's make this interesting." Jack dug into his wallet and pulled out a crisp hundred-dollar bill and slapped it on the table. "I got a C-note that says I I'll have a sixpack by summer."

  "Define summer?" I asked. "Are we talking the end of summer, or the beginning?"

  "May 1st."

  "Okay," I said. "You're on."

  He grabbed the bill and slipped it back into his pocket. It wasn't about the money. It was more of a gentleman's wager.

  "You going to cut out pizza, beer, and cheeseburgers?" Denise asked.

  Jack scoffed. "All things in moderation."

  We finished the first round, and Denise decided to call it a night. "I've got a long day tomorrow, and a full evening. I will see you gentlemen later."

  I pushed away from the table as she stood up. "Let me walk you to your car."

  "I'll be fine. I've got a gun in my purse, remember?"

  I raised my hands in surrender.

  She strolled out of the bar, and I took a seat at the table and watched her saunter away.

  Jack motioned for the waitress to bring us another round. Within moments, we had two fresh drinks on the table. I sipped the smooth whiskey, and the taste numbed my lips and warmed my belly. I couldn't get the image of Skylar Van Doorn out of my brain. The image of her blank, lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling lingered on my retinas.

  "Snap out of it," JD said, pulling me out of my daze.

  "Just thinking about Skylar. She's only a year older than Scarlett."

  "I know," JD said with a grim face. "Thank God Scarlett cleaned up a little. Hopefully she's keeping her nose clean out there."

  "I think she is. She seems focused."

  "Let's hope she stays that way."

  Scarlett had dabbled in illicit substances before. And Los Angeles wasn't the kind of place that made it easy to avoid temptation.

  I spotted Brooklyn Chase across the bar, drinking with some of the girls. We exchanged a few glances, and she smiled back at me. A few moments later, she left the girls and sauntered toward the table.

  "Incoming," Jack muttered.

  Brooklyn was definitely a bombshell.

  She strolled up and leaned against the table with a delightful smile and sparkling eyes. "Is it against the rules to fraternize with the judges?"

  Jack smiled. "We're not judges anymore. Fraternize all you want."

  "What happened, did you get fired?" she asked with wide eyes.

  "In light of current circumstances, my partner decided it would be best if we withdrew," Jack said. "In his infinite wisdom, I concurred."

  I rolled my eyes.

  Jack smiled and leaned closer to the beauty.

  "Mind if I join you two?" Brooklyn said, taking the seat that Denise had warmed up.

 
"Not at all," Jack said.

  "So, you guys are like actual deputies?" Brooklyn asked.

  "With badges and everything," JD replied with a grin.

  "So, if I ever get in trouble, I can just throw around your names, right?" she asked with a devious sparkle in her gorgeous blue eyes.

  "You can throw our names around," Jack said. "I'm not sure how much good it would do you."

  She chuckled.

  "What kind of trouble were you planning on getting into?" Jack asked.

  She smirked. "The night is young."

  JD lifted his beer. "To troublemakers."

  We all clinked glasses and sipped our drinks.

  "You two certainly look like a couple of troublemakers," Brooklyn said.

  JD feigned offense. "I am a sweet, innocent angel."

  Brooklyn scoffed. "Fallen angel."

  "On the path to redemption," JD assured.

  Brooklyn laughed again.

  "I have to confess," she continued. "I came over here with an ulterior motive."

  I arched a curious eyebrow.

  6

  "So, the girls wanted me to come over here and pump you for information about the scoring," Brooklyn said.

  "You can pump me all you want," JD replied.

  She sneered at him playfully. "I personally don't care, but they want to get an idea of how they scored. Are judges—excuse me, former judges—allowed to discuss scoring with contestants?"

  JD glanced to me for approval.

  "I think that might be crossing an ethical line," I said.

  Brooklyn frowned and turned out her bottom lip. "Aw."

  "I can tell you that you all were fantastic," Jack said.

  Brooklyn smiled. "Like I said, makes no difference to me. I'm just doing this for fun."

  "Are you having fun?" I asked.

  "I am right now," she said, her blue eyes staring into mine.

  There was enough of a sparkle in her gaze to let me know she was interested—or pretending to be in order to get what she wanted.

  “You know, flirting with me isn’t going to improve your score," I said. "It's out of our hands."

  Her face twisted with offense. "That's not why I was flirting with you. I thought you were cute, but, who knows, maybe you're just a pompous asshole?"

  She pushed away from the table and strutted back to her girlfriends, putting an extra sway in her sumptuous hips just to rub it in.

  Just like that, she was gone. Like sand through my fingers. I was left speechless, fumbling for something to say.

  JD glared at me. "Way to go, slick."

  "What?" I shrugged.

  "The girl was smoking hot, and you screwed it up."

  I frowned, dismissively. "Come on, these girls want one thing," I said, my voice thick with cynicism. "That's to win the pageant."

  I was trying to make myself feel better about losing the opportunity.

  "That girl may have wanted one thing, but it had nothing to do with the pageant. You need to pull your head out of your ass."

  Jack griped for a few minutes, then finally settled down. We finished our drinks, paid the tab, and left the Seven Seas empty-handed.

  We strolled through the parking lot to Jack's lizard-green Porsche speedster. I climbed into the passenger seat, and Jack cranked up the beast. The engine howled, and the tires squealed as we peeled out of the parking lot.

  The wicked acceleration pinned me against the leather. My sport-bike had made me numb to excessive speed, but with a 3.9 second 0 to 60 time, the Porsche could certainly inspire thrills.

  With the top down, the wind blew through my hair. Music pumped from the speakers. Stars flickered in the heavens above. The night was beautiful.

  Jack zipped back to the marina at Diver Down.

  "Try not to scare the girls away next time," Jack said as I stepped out of the vehicle.

  I gave him a mock salute, and he dropped the car into gear, let out the clutch, and peeled away into the night.

  I strolled down the dock toward the Vivere. The boats swayed gently in their slips. The waxing moon hung in the air, casting a cool light over the water. Gentle waves lapped against fiberglass hulls.

  I crossed the gangway, stepped to the aft deck, then pushed into the salon of the super-yacht. Buddy greeted me with an eager grin. He bounced up and down, his tail wagging, his tongue hanging from his mouth.

  I knelt down and petted the rambunctious Jack Russell Terrier. He licked my face and begged for attention. I loved on him for a bit, then moved below deck to the master suite and peeled out of my suit. I put on a pair of cargo shorts, a T-shirt, and sneakers, then leashed up Buddy and took him for a walk.

  He did his business behind the dumpster near Diver Down, then I took him for a short walk to burn off some energy. On the way back, we stopped into the bar before closing time.

  Alejandro announced last call and served up a round of drinks. He asked me if I wanted anything, but I was done for the evening.

  He looked tired and overworked.

  "We've got to get somebody else in here," he said. "I'm pulling double duty."

  "I know. I talked to Madison. She’s extending her vacation. We should probably hire someone, at least on a temporary basis."

  “How long is she staying?”

  I shrugged. “Sounded like she is keeping it open ended. I guess she’ll be back when she gets sick of the mountains.”

  “She’s gotta come back before the baby is born,” Alejandro said.

  “I’m sure. But we’ll probably need an extra employee anyway. She’ll have her hands full for a while.”

  I didn't know the first thing about hiring employees or running a bar/restaurant. "What do we do? Run an ad online?"

  "That might be a good start. I can make an announcement on social media that we're hiring. Start taking applications. We can go through an interview process. You'll have final say, of course."

  "Sounds good. Why don't you do that?"

  "I'm on it." He hesitated for a moment. "Look, I don't mind putting in the extra hours. Like I said, I need the money. But I'm doing more than just showing up and serving drinks. I'm managing inventory, handling marketing, and now you want me to oversee employment responsibilities."

  I knew where he was going with this. "You're taking on responsibilities above and beyond your initial job description. I understand that. And you should be compensated for it. Think about it, tell me what seems fair, and we we’ll work something out."

  Alejandro smiled. "Will do."

  I left him to wrap things up and headed back to the Vivere.

  The next day, JD and I went to the Seahorse Rodeo on Oyster Avenue. It was a Western restaurant and bar that served a combination of surf and turf—100% Angus beef filets, sirloins, and ribeyes, along with shrimp, lobster, crawfish, and crab, all served up with a Texas flavor. There were paintings of gorgeous cowgirls wearing bikini tops and Stetsons riding atop seahorses. It had a rustic interior with saddles hanging from the walls and life preservers. It was an odd clash of culture, but the food was damn good.

  The smell of grilled beef filled the air as we walked inside the establishment which instantly spurred JD's hunger.

  "Maybe I'll try the whole keto thing," JD said. "That way I can eat all the steak and bacon I want."

  "You're really going on a diet?"

  He shook his head. "Diets don't work. I'm making a lifestyle change."

  I arched a skeptical eyebrow. "Really? And what are you going to change?"

  He shrugged. "I don't know yet. I'm still working on that."

  We made our way to the main bar and asked the bartender if Ben Brown was available.

  "Yeah, hang on a second," the cute brunette behind the bar said. "Can I tell him who's asking?"

  "Tyson," I said. "Old friend from high school."

  She looked at me with doubtful eyes, then disappeared to the back office. She returned a few minutes later and said, "He'll be out in a minute."

  I had never met Be
n before in my life, but I figured he might run out the back door if he knew the Sheriff’s Department was calling.

  Ben ambled out of the office and headed our way.

  He was in his mid-50s, and the years hadn't been kind. He was a little bit heavier, and a little bit saggier, than he probably would have liked. His brown hair had all but lost the battle against the gray, and his once vibrant blue eyes were dull and bloodshot.

  His eyes squinted, trying to place my face. There was an obvious age difference. He looked at JD, then back to me. "I don't know you." Then his eyes flicked to Jack. "You look kinda familiar."

  Jack looked kind of familiar to everyone. His resemblance to a notable '80s rockstar was uncanny.

  I flashed my badge. "Tyson Wild, Deputy Sheriff."

  He sighed and looked perturbed. "What's this about?"

  "We'd like to talk to you about Samantha Baxter," I said.

  He dipped his head in astonishment, and his brow lifted with surprise. "Now I see why you made up that little story about being old friends from high school."

  "I figured you might not have wanted to talk to us otherwise," I said.

  "You're right. I don't want to talk to you. I've already told you boys everything I know about that night. Go check your records."

  Ben turned and headed back toward the office.

  "If we could just have a moment of your time," I said. "The case is still unsolved, and Samantha's mother is getting older. She's afraid she's never going to find out what happened to her daughter."

  He stopped in his tracks and paused for a moment. A lengthy sigh escaped his lips. He spun around and asked, "Am I still a suspect?"

  "We want to rule you out," I said.

  "I thought I already was ruled out."

  "Come on," I said. "Help us cross you off the list for good."

  7

  “I rue the day I ever met Samantha Baxter,” Ben said.

  He led us to a rustic, wooden booth in a secluded corner of the restaurant. Rusty horseshoes decorated the end-cap of the booth, and a black-and-white picture of a Longhorn hung on the wall.

  We slid across the maroon cushions, opposite Ben.

  "That girl ruined my life. It's been constant ever since that night. You people came around, threw me in jail, asked questions, accused me of something I didn't do. I lost friends. I lost my job. People looked at me like a pariah. And now you want to come around and start that bullshit again?" His cheeks reddened. He grew angrier by the moment as a wave of memories and emotions flooded through him.