Page 36 of The Perfect Betrayal

“Listen, kid,” Riddell growled. “If you have law enforcement show up to talk with you at work, it’s obviously a big deal. Stop being such a pain and come out to the lobby with us for a few minutes. Then you can get back to serving the geriatric set.”

Dawson again looked around the restaurant as if his manager might be about to charge over and ream him out.

“What’s this about?” he asked quietly.

“We can talk about it in more detail elsewhere,” Jessie said, suspicious that Dawson might already have a clue why they were here. “But it involves the deaths of several members of the yacht club where you used to work.”

At those words, the young guy’s jawline clenched tightly. He looked down at his guest check and quickly scribbled something on it. Then he looked back up at them.

“I have no interest in speaking with you,” he said forcefully. When he spoke, his voice was loud and clear, like he was making an announcement to everyone in earshot. “Please stop harassing me and leave my place of business.”

Then he angrily ripped the piece of paper from the guest check, crumbled it up, and tossed it at Jessie. She was about to give him a piece of her mind when she noticed that his eyes were completely at odds with the rest of his demeanor. On the surface, he appeared aggrieved. But his eyes were pleading. She sensed that he was trying to tell her something without speaking.

Riddell stepped forward. He looked like he wanted to deck the kid. But before he said or did anything else, Jessie grabbed his forearm.

“That’s okay, Detective,” she said in an equally boisterous tone, “we don’t need this punk anyway. Let’s go.”

Riddell looked at her like she was crazy.

“Are you kidding me?” he demanded.

Fearing that he would say something to make things worse, she squeezed his arm as hard as she could.

“Trust me,” she muttered. “We should go.”

The detective still seemed befuddled, but after the dressing down she’d given him a few minutes ago, he apparently decided not to push back.

“Fine,” he said, and after giving Dawson an extra scowl, he stomped toward the front door.

Before following him, Jessie bent down and picked up the crumpled piece of paper that Dawson had tossed at her.

“You shouldn’t litter,” she told him before following Riddell out.

The detective was waiting for her in the lobby.

“Are you really going to let that little pissant tell us off like that?”

“Follow me,” she said walking past him.

She left the lobby and went outside, heading straight for the car.

“Any plan to explain what just happened back there?” he wanted to know.

“In the car,” she said.

Once they were both in the vehicle with the doors closed, she opened her fist to show him the crumpled guest check. She unfurled it and read out loud what Dawson had scribbled.

“It says:Burnout Beach, 8 p.m.”she told him, before asking, “Where’s Burnout Beach?”

“It’s a couple of miles south of here, at the southern tip of Redondo,” he answered, his whole body slackening as he realized that the guy wasn’t as objectionable as he thought.

“Well, it seems like Dawson wants to have a chat there,” Jessie noted. “You know this area much better than I do. Why would he pick that place at that time?”

Riddell thought about it for a second.

“You have to take a steep path down from Miramar Park to get to that part of the beach,” he said. “It’s not clearly visible from up above and at that hour. And the sun will have set so it will be almost impossible to see what’s happening on the beach. It seems like Dawson doesn’t want anyone to know he’s talking to us.”

Jessie smiled at that.

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