Wipe Out Page 2

  I pushed my pint glass to the side. “So what are you looking for here?”

  “I don't know,” she said, frowning. “But I know you're an investigator and I know this all feels weird. Maybe I'm just overreacting because it's Mitchell and I don't want him to be gone.” Her breath caught in her throat and took a steadying breath. “But I'd feel better knowing the truth about what happened.”

  I thought about her words.

  “I don't know,” she said suddenly. “I just know it's weird. But maybe I have lost my mind.” She glanced at me. “I won't be offended if you tell me I have.”

  I shrugged. “I can't tell you that, Anne. Not my place. But I guess I can make a couple of phone calls, see if I can find anything out about the accident.”

  She took another deep breath and exhaled. Her expression looked to be one of relief, like a weight had been lifted from her entire body. “I would appreciate that. And I will pay you. I'm not asking you to do this for free.”

  I picked up the pint glass and finished what was in it, then set it back down. “Let me see if there's anything to worry about. If there's not, it'll be about ten minutes worth of phone calls and we can call it even.”

  She eyed me. “But if there is something to worry about?”

  I glanced at Carter, then back at her. “Let's talk about that if and when we need to.”

  THREE

  “What do you think?” Carter asked, adjusting his sunglasses.

  We were outside on Mission. We'd said goodbye to Anne and watched her walk back toward the church. The traffic was heavier now on the boulevard, cars moving slower as they headed to their destinations. A city bus lumbered past, spewing exhaust, and a man pedaling a bicycle directly in its path flipped the bird in response.

  “I think I have no idea,” I said. “I mean, I understand why it's freaking her out. Totally normal and nothing wrong with that. But I also know that Mitchell was older, the road conditions were probably pretty miserable, and stuff happens. I get that the coincidences are odd, his history with car accidents, but my gut is that's probably what it is. A really shitty coincidence that he died in a wreck.”

  Carter nodded and rolled up the sleeves on his shirt. “Yeah, probably so. I think she's hurting pretty good with him gone. I picked up a weird vibe when she mentioned his wife now.”

  “Me, too,” I said. “But that could just be a strange dynamic anyway, right?”

  “Yep.”

  “But I can call Wellton and see if he knows anything,” I said. “I just didn't want to set her up to be disappointed.”

  “I know,” he said. He grinned, and I knew he was ready to shift gears. “What's on your agenda for the rest of the day?”

  I squinted into the afternoon sunlight. “I need to run over to Coronado.”

  He stuck his hands in his pockets. “You need me to go with?” His tone was casual.

  I shook my head. “No, I'm fine.”

  “Mr. Braddock is always fine,” he said, his grin from just seconds earlier reappearing.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “That I do,” he said. “Just offering in case.”

  “And I appreciate that. What are you gonna do?”

  He pulled the tie from around his neck and folded it up, shoving it in his pocket. “I don't know. Probably grab lunch, take a nap, then conquer the world.”

  “Normal day then.”

  “That's right.”

  “You want a ride back?” I asked.

  He shook his giant head. “Nah. I'm good.” He started walking up the boulevard, back toward the north end of Pacific Beach and the house we were sharing. “No one that's ever conquered the world had to bum a ride.”

  FOUR

  I pulled up in front of Liz's old house, the house that was now mine, and cut the engine.

  The yard was freshly mowed, the curb, sidewalk, and driveway edged, and flowers bloomed in the small terra cotta pots near the front steps. The wooden blinds inside the windows looked far better than the curtains that used to be there. The house had gone from looking like it had been abandoned – which it essentially had been – to the way I used to remember it when Liz lived there.

  The front door opened and a guy about my age in shorts and a T-shirt waved at me.

  I got out of the car and crossed the street.

  “Hey, Noah,” Andy Nabert said, offering his hand. “Thanks for coming over.”

  I held out my hand and he shook it firmly. “No problem,” I said. “I just wanted to take a look before I went ahead and called the guy to fix it.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, of course. Come on in.”

  I followed him into the house and closed the door behind me.

  It all looked different.

  The pictures on the walls were different. The rugs were different. The furniture was different.

  It wasn't the house I remembered.

  But that was actually a good thing.

  “I'm really loving the house, by the way,” Andy said, as we headed back toward the kitchen. “It's perfect, and takes me five minutes to get to the base.”

  I’d had no idea what to do with the house when I found out Liz left it to me. It had sat empty for a long time while I avoided dealing with it. But I'd finally reached a point where I knew I had to be an adult. I wasn't ready to live in it and I wasn't ready to sell it. Carter was the one who actually suggested renting it, and Andy was the first to contact me after I posted an ad. He was an instructor in the Navy SEAL program at North Island and offered me first and last month's rent, along with a deposit, before I'd even asked for anything. He explained that he'd been trying to find a rental on the island because he was going to be there for a minimum of six months and he didn't want to commute across the bridge twice a day. His references and credit were nearly perfect and he'd proven to be an ideal renter for the first three weeks he'd been there. He'd called me only because one of the windows in the kitchen wouldn't open correctly and after trying to fix it himself, decided he should call me before doing anything else.

  “It's this one here,” he said, pointing to the window next to the back door. “I started messing with it, but I just didn't want to screw it up anymore and figured I should check with you first.”

  “Yep, no problem,” I said.

  “And I remembered you said something about replacing a couple of windows and I wasn't sure if this was one of them.”

  Before I'd offered it for rent, Carter and I had gone over to the house to figure out what needed to be done to it. We'd fixed a few things ourselves but left the larger tasks, mainly because they were going to require money. Carter had a contractor friend come out to take a look and one of his suggestions was replacing the windows on the backside of the house because of their age.

  “Yeah, this is one of them,” I said, moving the latch on the window and lifting it up. The pane rose up just fine, but wouldn't stay, instead sliding back down into the base. I played with it for a minute, then set it back in place. “Okay. I'll get a guy out here this week. It's not something I can do myself and we'll probably need to replace the window. So it might be a couple of weeks before it's completely fixed.”

  “No problem at all,” Andy said, waving his hand in the air. “Just figured you should have a look before I did anything dumb to it.”

  “Nothing dumber than what I might do if I tried to fix it,” I told him. I looked around the house. Apart from the structure of the house, everything was different. Different furniture, different area rugs, different photos and artwork hanging on the wall. “Everything else is fine?”

  Andy nodded. “Oh, man, you don't even know. This location couldn't be better. I keep telling the guys on the base where I'm living and they don't believe me. I wave at them when they're sitting in traffic to leave the base and I cruise by on my bike.”

  I smiled. “Nice.”

  “My CO is not happy,” he said. “He lives over in North Park. Can't believe I scored this place. He said if I ever move out, he's next
in line. These are tough to come by.”

  “Yeah, they are,” I said. “Well, I'm glad it's working out.”

  “Yes, sir, me, too,” he said.

  And I was glad it was working out. I wasn't sure how it was going to feel having someone I didn't know live in a house I still thought of as Liz's, but I was grateful that the person who was in it was so happy to be there. I thought that would make her happy.

  “Once I get ahold of the window guy, I'm going to give him your number,” I told him as we walked back to the front door. “I'll have him call you and you guys can figure out a time that works for him to come do the measurements and installation.”

  “That'd be terrific,” Andy said.

  I opened the front door and paused for a moment. The memories of all the times I'd left Liz's house and she'd been standing right behind me came rushing at me. I almost expected her hand to touch my shoulder. I braced for it, certain the warm touch of her fingers would land on my shirt.

  But, of course, it didn't.

  “I'll call you in a couple of days,” I told him.

  “No rush,” Andy said. “Thanks again, Noah.”

  As I walked down the front steps and crossed the street, I didn't feel as badly as I thought I might. I'd avoided going to the house since Andy had moved in because I just couldn't fathom seeing someone else in it. But there was a strange sense of comfort in seeing a guy who'd made it his own and who genuinely loved the house. I wasn't avoiding it anymore, and it hadn't screwed me up in the way I feared.

  I got into my car and looked across the street at the house again.

  I didn't miss Liz any less than I ever had.

  But maybe I was doing better than I thought.

  FIVE

  I got back to the house in the late afternoon and needed to hit the water.

  The house Carter and I had been living in was at the north end of Pacific Beach and faced the ocean. It was older and needed updating, but it had a roof and was a short walk down to the sand. Those things outweighed anything else the house was in need of.

  I changed into my trunks, grabbed the six-foot Rusty off the wall, and headed toward the water.

  I headed toward the stairs that led to the sand and saw a Ford Explorer with a Michigan license plate parked at the curb on the opposite side of the street. A woman about my age was struggling to get a surfboard off of the roof rack. She was standing on the running board of the SUV and tugging on the straps that were lashed to the rack.

  I stopped. “You need a hand?”

  “I'm fine,” she said, over her shoulder.

  She had on a hot pink, long-sleeved T-shirt and denim shorts. Rubber flips on her feet. Her tan suggested she might be local, but the struggle with the roof rack and the license plate suggested otherwise.

  I laid my board down on the grass next to the walk and crossed the street.

  She was fighting with the buckle on the strap.

  “You're gonna scrape the board if you drag the buckle across it,” I said. “The rental shop will be pissed.”

  She turned to me. She had long red hair, green eyes, freckles that blended in with her tan, olive skin. “The rental shop?”

  “You know how you leave your credit card number?” I said, walking around to the other side of the Explorer. “If they see dings or scrapes in it, they'll charge you.”

  “Right,” she said.

  I looked at the straps and saw they were twisted. I tried to straighten them out, but couldn't loosen the tension. The board was a little bigger than mine and looked like it had seen plenty of water. “If you let me unbuckle it for you, we can get it off and you can be on your way.”

  She smiled. “By all means.”

  I walked around to her side and she stepped down from the running board. I put her at about 5 foot 8 in the flips. She swept her hair over one shoulder and waved her hand toward the car.

  The buckle was twisted, too, and the strap had been fed through incorrectly. I managed to pull it all apart and lift the board off the rack, handing it to her.

  She took it from me with both hands. “Thanks.”

  “Yep,” I said, rolling up the strap. “If you keep the straps flat when you put it back on, it'll be easier.”

  “I'll try and remember that,” she said. She held the board out to me. “Am I holding it right?”

  “To walk with?” I asked. I shrugged. “I'd carry it under your arm if that's comfortable or on top of your head. You don't want to scrape it on the ground.”

  She looked at it, then swung it around and tucked it under her left arm. “Like this?”

  “That'll work,” I said, scratching my head for a moment. “Just some friendly advice. Some of the guys down here, they aren't particularly nice to new folks.”

  She smiled. Straight, white teeth. “You mean people who don't know what they're doing?”

  I shrugged. “I guess. Stay a little further to the north at the bottom of the stairs and you'll be okay.”

  She nodded, then looked toward the water. “Maybe you could show me? So I don't embarrass myself?”

  “Sure.”

  I walked over, picked my board off the grass, and we walked down the stairs to the sand.

  “You don't have a shirt or shoes,” she observed. “You must be a regular.”

  “I live close by,” I said. “Less for me to lose.”

  “Of course.”

  The water was fairly calm and not too crowded. The sand was warm beneath my feet and relatively free of seaweed.

  We walked to within about six feet of the water and I pointed just to the north, where there was an empty patch of water. “You'll be fine right there. Waves are small and there's plenty of white water. Though that board might be a little tough on you. Not usually what they hand out for rentals.”

  She dug the tail of the board into the sand, standing it up straight, and kicked off her flips. She unbuttoned the shorts and let them fall to her feet, exposing black swim shorts. She pulled the long-sleeved shirt over her head, exposing a hot pink, short-sleeved rashguard underneath. She dropped her shirt on top of her sandals and then pulled an elastic off her wrist and bound her hair into a loose ponytail.

  She pulled the board out of the sand and winked one of those green eyes at me. “Thanks, Superman. I'll do my best.”

  She ignored my advice about heading to the north and headed straight out to the lineup of half a dozen surfers right in front of us. She jogged into the water, then laid the board out and jumped on top of it, gliding easily across the water, paddling effortlessly. She duck-dived beneath the first real wave to approach her and came out of it on the other side, her red hair now a dark shade of brown. She paddled out to the end of the lineup, said something to the guy in front of her, and he nodded. She waited her turn and when it finally came, she paddled hard in front of the wave. It picked her up and she was on her feet no problem, left foot forward. She cut down the small face, carved hard at the bottom, and snapped the nose back to the top of the water. She bounced through the water until the wave died off, dropped to her stomach, paddled back out.

  I laughed and shook my head.

  I'd been had by my own perceptions.

  I paddled out to the lineup. She never looked my way, keeping an intense rhythm to what she was doing. If I was being honest, she was probably better than I was. Fast, strong, graceful. She was fun to watch.

  After about an hour, her eyes flitted across the water, and her gaze stopped on me. She paddled behind the lineup and around to where I was.

  “Look, I had—” I said.

  “I just wanted to say thanks,” she said, cutting me off. “There's no way I ever would've been able to do all this without your help.”

  I laughed. “I was trying to—”

  “I mean, I could've drowned out here,” she said, smiling. “Thank goodness you took such pity on me.”

  “Apologize,” I said, to her, bobbing up and down on my board. “I was trying to apologize.”

  She ai
med her nose for the shore. “No need. But thanks for the help, Superman.”

  I watched as she paddled toward the sand, jogged out of the water, picked up her clothes, and disappeared up the stairs.

  SIX

  “Any morning that has you calling me usually ends up being a shitty day,” John Wellton grumbled.

  It was the next morning. I'd gotten home from the beach, showered, made some dinner, left a message for the window guy, then headed for bed. I woke up early and figured I'd start with Wellton to see if he could provide any help with Anne Sullivan's concerns.

  “You love me,” I said, balancing the phone against my ear as I pulled a bottle of water from the fridge.

  “If by love you mean can't stand, then sure.”

  “That hurts my feelings.”

  “If you had any, I might believe that,” he said. He waited a beat. “What gives? I've got a department meeting in ten minutes and a lieutenant who wants to chew me out after that.”

  “What'd you do?”

  “Nothing worth getting chewed out for. What's up?”

  I laid out the basics of the story Anne told us.

  “Long story short, I'm just wondering if you can tell me if anything looks weird in the accident report,” I said.

  “Which means I'd have to get a copy of the accident report.”

  “With your charm, nothing's impossible.”

  “Wow,” he said. “Sucking up. You must really wanna help this girl.”

  “She's an old friend and I think she's genuine in her concern,” I told him. “I'm not sure if anything's there, but I told her I'd check.”

  “Of course you did,” Wellton said. “Hang on. And there won't be any shitty music to entertain you.”

  The line went quiet for several minutes. I hadn't talked to Wellton in a while and it was good to know he was just as irritable as ever. Or maybe it was just talking to me. In the same way that he brought back memories of Liz for me, I was sure I did the same for him. He'd yet to mesh with a new partner since Liz's death and I wasn't certain he ever would. They'd been close, and he'd taken her death as hard as I had.