“This just seems all so…extravagant. And unnecessary. Cops don’t live like this.”

“First off, sweetie, you’re not a cop anymore. Second, extravagance is never unnecessary. I know this. Trust me.”

Before Stacy could argue, she added, “I promised I’d call Connor the minute we’d checked in. Do you mind?”

She didn’t and used the opportunity to go to the bathroom. While there, she checked her cell and found that Malone had tried her again. He hadn’t left a message either time.

When she emerged, she found Billie waiting by the door, expression that of a cat presented with a saucer of cream.

“Good news. He’s free now.”

No surprise there either-the carrot was Billie, for heaven’s sake.

The trip from the Lodge to downtown Carmel-by-the-Sea took less than fifteen minutes, including parking the Jaguar at a meter on Ocean Avenue.

Carmel-by-the-Sea was as picturesque as Stacy had imagined it would be. More so, actually. Like a town out of a fairy tale, but inhabited by humans instead of fairies, elves and hobbits.

As she and Billie strolled up Ocean Avenue, her friend filled her in on all things uniquely Carmel. Billie explained that there were no street addresses in Carmel. Everyone had a post office box that served not only as a place to receive mail, but also as a social hub. Many a piece of news had been shared-then disseminated-from the post office.

“What about ambulances?” Stacy asked, disbelievingly. “Or FedEx deliveries?”

“All done by direction, description or association. For example-” she pointed to Junipero Avenue “-the third house from the corner of Ocean and Junipero.” She pointed toward another. “Or, the house across the street from the Eastwood place on Junipero.”

Stacy shook her head. In today’s high-tech world, it seemed impossible that any community still operated this way.

Stacy glanced at her friend. “By the way, when you say Eastwood, you don’t mean-”

“Clint? Of course I do. He’s a great guy. Very down-to-earth.”

A great guy. Very down-to-earth. Billie said this as if they were personal acquaintances. Buddies, even.

She wasn’t even going to ask.

They reached police headquarters; the officer at the information desk called the chief, who directed them to his office.

Chief Connor Battard was waiting. A big, handsome man with a head of dark silvering hair, he held his hand out when Billie made the introductions.

Stacy took it. “Thank you for agreeing to see us, Chief Battard.”

“Happy to help.”

Although his words were directed to her, he could hardly take his eyes off Billie.

“As I explained on the phone, I’m looking into Dick Danson’s death.”

“I have the file here. You’re welcome to it.” He slid it across the desk to her. “I’m sorry, but it can’t leave the building.”

Of course. Standard operating procedure. Stacy didn’t move to pick it up. She preferred to ask questions first. “On the phone, you mentioned a warrant for his arrest. What for?”

“Embezzlement. From a company he was doing game designs for.”

“Think the charge would have stuck?”

“Point’s moot now, don’t you think?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

The chief frowned. “What are you thinking?”

She shook her head, not ready to share her theory. Yet. She wasn’t in the mood to be laughed out of the room.

“How certain are you that it was a suicide?”

“Pretty damn certain. We had a warrant for his arrest. A search of his property turned up, considering the circumstances, the notable lack of an outdoor grill. Or any other device requiring portable propane. Those canisters were in his car for one reason only-to cause a really big explosion.

“He drove off Hurricane Point. Again, in terms of getting things done, he picked the right spot. And most damning, he left a note saying he had nothing to live for.”

“Did your investigation back that up? Did he have financial or emotional problems?”

The chief narrowed his eyes, obviously growing annoyed with her questions. She supposed she didn’t blame him.

“Frankly,” he said, “the case was open and shut. We had a positive ID. A suicide note. And a pending arrest. Danson was seeing a shrink. Let’s just say the man wasn’t shocked by the news. I didn’t see a need to dig deeper. It’s all in the file.”

“Thanks,” she said, disappointed. She’d been so certain she was onto something, now she felt like an idiot. And one who had blown a lot of time and money on an unsound hunch.

Her instincts had turned to shit. She picked up the file. “Why don’t you and Billie go catch up. Get dinner. I’ll review the file.”

“Great.” He rubbed his hands together in what Stacy was certain was anticipation of being alone with Billie.

“I’ll get you set up in one of the interrogation rooms.”

Stacy spent the next couple of hours alone with the file, a Coke and bag of corn chips from the vending machine. Long after the chips and a soft drink were history, she was still reading.

And learning little new. Sure, details. Times. But nothing that promoted her hunch.

Dick Danson was dead.

And she’d left Leo and his family alone with a killer.

She called Billie to let her know she was finished. She heard music in the background, people laughing. Connor offered to have one of his officers drive her back to the Lodge.

Apparently, the night was still young.

The officer, a nice young man barely out of his teens, dropped her off at the hotel. She lit the fire, ordered room service and slipped into her robe.

Her cell rang. She saw that it was Malone. Again. This time she answered, ready to grovel if need be. Admit to being a hunch-happy, burned-out, instincts-shot has-been.

She needed to hear his voice.

“Malone.”

“Where are you?”

He sounded tense. He wasn’t going to like her answer. “In California. The Lodge at Pebble Beach.”

A long silence followed. “You’re playing golf?”

She smiled at his obvious confusion. “No. Checking out a hunch. With Billie.”

“Man-eater Billie?”

Funny, she had thought of her that way, too. “The very one.”

“Can-do Killian. Girl Wonder. The hunch?”

“I’ve learned my lesson, actually. My hunches suck.”

He laughed, but the sound was tight. Humorless. “The playing cards are dead-August Wright and Roberto Zapeda. Partners. Professionally and personally.”

“Any connection to Leo?”

“His interior designers.”

“Shit.”

“I’d say. Your boss is knee-deep in it right now.”

“Leo? What-”

“Got to go.”

“No, wait-”

He ended the call. She flipped her cell shut and looked at the crackling fire. All this luxury was wasted on her.

Time to go home.

CHAPTER 44

Friday, March 18, 2005

Carmel-by-the-Sea, California

6:30 a.m.

“I’m not ready to go home,” Billie said, sliding into the Jaguar’s passenger side seat. “I love that room. I love being waited on. I love the coast.”

“Stop whining. You have a business to watch over. Not to mention a husband.”

She made a face. “Rocky’s attitude won’t be changed yet. I need another couple of days for him to really appreciate me.”

From what she’d heard about Rocky St. Martin, really appreciating Billie would take more energy than the man had left. Even on a good day.

“Face it,” Stacy said, “the trip was a bust. Not only that, while I was here, living in the lap of luxury, the playing cards turned up dead.”

“Now who’s whining?”

Stacy scowled at her. “Stay if you’d like, I’m going home.”

Billie sighed dramatically, slipped on her sunglasses and leaned her head back against the rest. “Connor will be despondent.”

Stacy angled her a glance as she started the car. “And you?”