Surfing Detective 02 - Wipeout

after nine a bakery van painted with a big red heart with the word “Love’s” inside it pulled to the curb by the ABC Store next to Starbucks. The driver began unloading donuts and sweet rolls and cinnamon buns destined for Denny’s
.
I sipped my coffee. Then a black Mercedes, maybe the same one that had followed me, pulled alongside the van. The van obstructed my view, so I couldn’t see who got out. Two doors slammed, then the Mercedes pulled away. I kept my eyes on the van until I heard, behind me, Summer’s whispering voice.
    “Mr. Cooke?” She edged into the booth across from me. Today’s maternity dress was baby blue, which did nice things for her eyes. “Have you found any evidence yet?” She cut straight to the chase.
    “I’m working on it. Yesterday I interviewed several surfers who saw Corky at various North Shore breaks. One named Ham Makanani was in the water Christmas Eve at Waimea and saw the whole thing. He doesn’t doubt your husband drowned, but it’s going to be tough to locate any tangible evidence.”
    “But isn’t tangible evidence what we need to convince Mr. Gold?”
    “More or less, and I will pursue every lead . . .” I thought for a moment about her husband’s alleged redhead girlfriend.
    “I hope you find something,” Summer glanced down at her enormous belly, “before the baby comes.”
    I followed her gaze and couldn’t help but wonder aloud, “Should you have flown here, Summer, with your baby due so soon?”
    “I had to make this trip.” She peered at me with those intense violet eyes. “Without that insurance money the baby and I are lost.”
    “What about your family, or Corky’s family? Can’t they help?”
    “Not really.” Summer sighed. “Corky was estranged from his parents. He deeply loved his mother, but never got along with his stepfather. A few years ago they moved to Idaho. I don’t even know where in Idaho. But Corky’s folks never cared much for me, anyway. They didn’t call or write when Corky died. I thought I’d at least hear from his mother.”
    “What about your family?”
    “Just my mother is left. She lives on social security from check to check. She usually needs help from me—not the reverse . . .” Summer paused. “If I didn’t need that insurance money I wouldn’t have come all this way.”
    The waitress refilled my coffee. I decided to take a different track. “The BMW convertible you mentioned. I’m going to visit the dealership later this morning, but I need more to go on. The model, the color, the year, the license—any specifics would help.”
    “We’ll, I’m not a ‘car person.’” She uttered the phrase wistfully. “Cars, for me, are just a way to get from here to there. But Corky loved expensive, exotic cars, though he could never afford to own the ones he worked on in his detailing business.”
    “Were there any BMWs, even in California, that he may have he detailed?”
    “Mmmm . . . there was this one beautiful maroon car with cream-colored leather.”
    “Was it a convertible?”
    “I think so . . .” She paused again. “Yes, the top was cream or beige, the same color as its seats.”
    “So the only BMW you can remember him working on was a maroon and cream convertible? Any idea what year it was?”
    “Brand new. Or almost new.”
    “Do you remember the owner?”
    “Only that it was a California customer.” Summer looked puzzled. “But I doubt that car would be here in Hawai‘i.”
    “You’re probably right. But it’s all we have to go on. I’ll check it out with the dealer.“
    “Will you call me as soon as you find out anything?”
    “Of course . . .” I hesitated. “You know, when I called you before, I wasn’t sure I dialed the right number. There was a man’s voice on the answering machine—an older man with a thick accent.”
    “I got your message.” Summer looked away. She rose, her bulging figure setting her slightly off-balance. “Do you need any more money?”
    “No.” I waved her off. “You’ve given me plenty for now.”
    Summer made her way toward Denny’s exit, then down the stairs to street level. Where the Love’s bakery van had been, Summer now waited by the curb. A man in a dark suit was talking on a cell phone next to her. Then I noticed he wasn’t just standing next to her; he had his free arm hooked into one of hers, as if escorting her.
    The black Mercedes pulled up again and Summer and the man climbed into the back seat. It whisked them off