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  “Meaning?”

  He leaned forward. “We both know that this business with the Coastal Commission is rife with complexities. And without going into detail, allow me to suggest that these complexities can be resolved in very short order.”

  “How?”

  “It’s the age-old question. Who wouldn’t be interested in becoming the beneficiary of a generous windfall?”

  I stared at him blank-eyed.

  “A windfall that would provide an economically sound future, one with no financial insecurities. Clear sailing, as they say, for the rest of one’s life. How does that sound to you, Mr. Steel?”

  “Like extortion.”

  “Oh, come on, Buddy. May I call you Buddy?”

  Again I remained silent, fairly certain as to where this was headed.

  “I’ll deny having said it, but I’m offering you riches beyond your wildest imaginings. Say the word and within hours your life will have changed forever.”

  “And if I said no?”

  “You’d lose my respect.”

  “Yikes.”

  “Don’t sneer at this, Mr. Buddy. You’ll never have such an opportunity again. Should you say no, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”

  “It’s not going to work, Boris. May I call you Boris?”

  He scowled.

  “If whatever it is you’re doing here turns out to be criminal, you can bet your ass I’m going to find out exactly what it is and then provide you with a period of incarceration beyond your wildest imaginings. I’m not for sale.”

  Petrov shook his head. “You’re making a big mistake.”

  “You think?”

  “I know. Do reconsider the offer, Mr. Steel. There’s still time to change your mind.”

  Without responding, I opened the car door.

  The man in the black suit stood glaring as I exited the limousine. Once I was safely out, he got in and it sped away.

  TWENTY

  As I entered my office and dropped my stuff on the desk Marsha Russo meandered in and plunked herself down across from me.

  “You’re certainly Mr. Popularity this morning,” she said with a smirk. She produced a handful of phone messages.

  “Call out any name you think of and I’ll match it with one of these babies.”

  “There’s no need, Marsha. Just let me have the lot of them.”

  “Damn. I was sure you’d enjoy the game.”

  “You were wrong.”

  “Cranky, are we?”

  Marsha had been part of the Sheriff’s detail since even before my father’s first term. She was a robust woman, possessing great energy, a shtarker, as the Sheriff was fond of calling her, quick-witted and brandishing an unnervingly smart mouth. I was her frequent target, which tickled me. She kept me and pretty much everyone else on our toes.

  “May I please have the messages?”

  She forked them over. “Best you start with Lytell and Wilder. They’ve been jumping out of their respective skins.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Shall I wait around? This promises to be very entertaining.”

  I glared at her.

  “Okay, okay,” she said as she stood up. “Deprive me of my pleasure. See if I care.”

  She closed the door behind her.

  “It’s about time,” Skip Wilder said answering my call.

  “What?”

  “He’s very concerned.”

  “The District Attorney?”

  “Mr. Lytell, yes.”

  “Put him on.”

  “He’s not here. And I’m not here, either. Are you in your office?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll call you back.”

  The call came after a ten-minute wait. “I’m outdoors. On a cell,” Wilder said.

  “Because?”

  “Let’s just say for a very good reason.”

  I let that sink in for several moments. Why would the Assistant District Attorney step outside and call me on his cell phone?

  “If he’s not there, I presume you’re empowered to speak for Mr. Lytell.”

  “I am.”

  “Then speak.”

  “He’s very concerned.”

  “You already said that.

  “It required additional emphasis.”

  “Emphasis noted.”

  “This private property issue isn’t going away. Craig Leonard is petitioning the California Superior Court. He’s seeking an immediate injunction.”

  “Point him in the direction of James Morrison.”

  “He’s gone.”

  “Who’s gone?”

  “Morrison. Left the job. Moved out of town. No forwarding address. Buh-bye.”

  “How could that be?”

  “Off the record?”

  I sighed.”Okay.”

  “It appears as if a large chunk of money may have been dropped into the mix.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Petrov may have proffered a very significant financial option that in the past always managed to catch the attention of the Coastal Commissioners.”

  “You think the Commissioners were bought off?”

  “They have a history of it.”

  “I thought Morrison was brought in to put an end to the corruption.”

  “We all did.”

  “But?”

  “He resigned and retired.”

  “And you think he caved?”

  “Look, Buddy. We don’t know what happened. But something other than everyday business came into play. Not only did Morrison resign, but the Coastal Commission did a sudden about-face regarding their consideration of Petrov’s beach as a sanctuary. Why would they do that? Based on past performance, we suspect graft.”

  “A safe assumption.”

  “You think?”

  “You’re right about Petrov.”

  “Regarding the payoffs.”

  “Yes. Which is why you’re outside on a cell phone.”

  “You can’t be too cautious.”

  “What do you advise?”

  “Off the record?”

  “If you insist.”

  “I insist.”

  “Okay. Shoot.”

  “We believe Team Petrov is going to reconstruct the fence. Maybe it would be better to leave it alone this time.”

  “You mean allow closure of the access points?”

  “Yes.”

  “No.”

  “What?”

  “No. I won’t leave it alone.”

  “You need to hear me, Buddy. You can no longer count on the support of the Coastal Commission. The Sheriff’s Department is exposed. Best to leave it alone.”

  “Was there anything else?”

  “Don’t be goaded into making a mistake.”

  “It wouldn’t be my first.”

  “There’ll be reverberations.”

  “Then I’ll wear anti-reverberation gear,” I said and hung up.

  I leaned back in my chair. “Petrov,” I muttered to myself, “I guess he found a few takers.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  “Your dime,” Jordyn Yates said when she returned my call.

  “And good day to you, too, Jordy.”

  “What’s up, Buddy? I’m a busy girl, you know.”

  “Is the California Superior Court in your bailiwick?”

  “You mean do I argue cases before it?”

  “Yes.”

  “I do.”

  “Is it any fun?”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “Seems that Leonard, Howard and Arthur are arguing for injunctive relief from my having re-established public access points on the property owned by Boris Petrov. They’re arguing that I interpret
ed the law incorrectly.”

  “Go on.”

  “Our Russian friend, Mr. Petrov, wants the fencing on his property restored and public beach access denied.”

  “And Craig Leonard is making a case for this to the Court?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you want me to go up against him?”

  “I do.”

  “What about the Coastal Commission?”

  “You mean why aren’t they taking the lead?”

  “Something like that, yes.”

  “Looks as if the winds have shifted. The executive who was chosen to restore and uphold the Commission’s integrity resigned and fled the state.”

  “Because?”

  “Rumor is Petrov laid a bundle on them.”

  “You mean you think he paid off the Commissioners?”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “And Leonard and Company?”

  “I’m guessing their fees were significantly raised.”

  “So they’re arguing a case on behalf of Petrov against a suddenly benign Coastal Commission.”

  “That’s what I’m thinking.”

  “This isn’t good, Buddy.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Without the support of the Commission, you have no standing.”

  “Other than the marching orders I was originally given.”

  “I don’t think they’ll hold up. Particularly if the Commission has changed its tune.”

  “So, what do you advise?”

  “Well, you could start by taking me to Cabo San Lucas for the weekend.”

  When I said nothing, she went on. “I don’t think the judge will rule against Craig Leonard.”

  “Even if what he’s arguing is wrongheaded?”

  “Without the Commission’s assent, yes.”

  “Shit.”

  “Cabo’s looking better and better.”

  “If you went up against them, could you win any kind of a delay?”

  “For what reason?”

  “I don’t know legally, but before they shut the door in my face, I’d love to investigate these alleged Petrov payoffs more closely. This whole thing stinks. And I hate to think some Russian thug is buying his way out of it.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay, what?”

  “I’ll see if I can stall things.”

  “What are the odds?”

  “You mean for the average bozo lawyer or for me?”

  “For you.”

  “You have to ask that? Really, Buddy?”

  TWENTY-TWO

  My father had summoned me and when I rang the doorbell, it was opened by my stepmother, the estimable Mayor Regina Goodnow.

  “If there’s even the slightest bit of poop anywhere, you’re destined to step in it,” she chided by way of welcome.

  “I guess it’s a good thing I’m not here to see you.”

  “Boris Petrov, Buddy? Really?”

  I ignored her. “Where’s Burton?”

  “Why must you always be such an inveterate pot-stirrer?”

  “I’ll find him, Regina. Thanks just the same.”

  As I started toward the back of the house, she couldn’t resist rubbing it in. “He needs this crap like a hole in the head.”

  I was feeling slightly sour this afternoon and it was an effort to stop myself from ringing her chimes. “Duly noted,” I said, moving swiftly away.

  The Sheriff was ensconced in his chair on the back porch, a gin and tonic sweating on the table in front of him. “Drink?”

  “It’s not that I don’t want one,” I commented as I sat down across from him.

  “But?”

  “Slurring my words is the last thing I need to be doing just now.”

  He grinned. It was clouding up in anticipation of late evening rain showers and the air was turning thick and muggy. A pair of crows were going at it in a neighboring tree, screaming at each other ceaselessly.

  “Sounds like me and Regina,” the old man quipped.

  He was unusually cheerful. The experimental drug regimen was doing him good. “My phone hasn’t stopped ringing,” he added.

  “And the consensus?”

  “Mixed. A goodly number are known to curry Petrov’s favor. The rest hate him.”

  “And the dividing line?”

  “Those who receive and those who don’t.”

  “Big surprise.”

  “For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing the right thing, Buddy. This schmendrick is as crooked as my late Uncle Herbert.”

  “Uncle Herbert was crooked?”

  “Scoliosis.”

  “Very funny.”

  “Plus he’s got allies.”

  “How many are Coastal Commissioners?”

  “Good question. Enough to have faced down James Morrison, that’s for sure.”

  “Why?”

  “You mean why would they go up against Morrison?”

  “Yes.”

  “Follow the money.”

  “Bribes?”

  “Not in any traceable manner, but a credible source mentioned an unconscionable sum and suggested it was the basis of the Commission’s sudden reconsideration of Petrov’s property status.”

  “You mean the sanctuary status?”

  “Bingo. Craig Leonard is readying a slate of environmental gurus who will testify that the sanctity of Petrov’s beach property is essential for maintaining a valid coastal ecological support system.”

  “He made a run at me.”

  “Petrov?”

  “Promised me riches beyond my imagination.”

  “And?”

  “I accepted his offer and I just stopped in to say farewell. I’ve purchased a castle in the south of France and I can hardly wait to get there.”

  He glared at me. “Must you?”

  I grinned at him. “What he did purchase was a group of ecological mercenaries who would slice up their own mothers if the price was right.”

  “It’s good to be the king,” the Sheriff said. “Except if there’s someone around who’s capable of de-throning you.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Keep going, Buddy. Unleash Jordyn Yates. Call out the Commission. Make headlines. Challenge Craig Leonard. Sooner or later, just as in the past, the corruption will be revealed and a new slate of Commissioners will replace the old. And maybe then, just maybe, the payoffs will stop.”

  “Talk about an ideologue,” I said.

  “Old age and infirmity do that to you.”

  “Are you worried you’ll be dragged into this?”

  “I don’t have any idealistic illusions, if that’s what you’re getting at. These bastards at Petrov’s law firm will do everything they can to bring us both down. I say let ’em try.”

  “Even if it threatens to get uncomfortable for you?”

  “Bring it on,” he said.

  TWENTY-THREE

  “Leonard filed,” Jordyn Yates announced when I picked up her call. “San Remo Superior Court.”

  “And?”

  “I filed as well.”

  “So what happens now?”

  “We go to court is what happens.”

  “When?”

  “Soon. I’ll let you know when I hear from the bailiff.”

  “I assume I can attend.”

  “Our case would be up shit’s creek if you didn’t.”

  “So, I’ll take that as a yes.”

  “I knew there was a reason I’m so nuts for you, Buddy.”

  “I’ll look forward to hearing from you.”

  “And seeing me, too.” She ended the call.

  I turned my chair to the window and sat back with my feet up. It was threatening rain and the sky was a m
ass of windblown dark clouds.

  What little I knew about the San Remo Superior Court focused mostly on the judge, Her Honor Marielle Lemieux, a Freedom native and coincidentally, the mother of my high school sweetheart, Analiese Lemieux.

  Small town.

  Judge Lemieux had been a partner in a prominent San Remo-based law firm and was elected to her first six-year term on the bench when Analiese and I were dating. She was a prepossessing woman with a ready smile, quick wit, and, as a single parent, wary of me and my intentions regarding her daughter.

  Now she, like my father, was just beginning a third term in office. A highly regarded justice, her responsibilities as the sole judge in a small county branch of the California Superior Court were wide-ranging and absolute.

  I hadn’t seen her in a number of years but when I joined the Sheriff’s Department to assist my unwell father, one of the first congratulatory notes I received was from her.

  My reverie turned to Analiese Lemieux, now a locally prominent attorney, wife, and mother. We were seventeen when we discovered each other. On the first day of the fall semester of our senior year. She was seated across the aisle from me in History class. She caught me staring at her. A quizzical look darkened her face.

  She frowned. I smiled.

  After class, I caught up with her in the hall. She was tall, athletic-looking, graceful. Mid-length layered copper blond hair haphazardly surrounded her angular face with its prominent cheekbones, celestial nose, sultry lips, and deep brown eyes. I was visibly smitten, which annoyed her.

  “What?”

  “Buddy. Buddy Steel.”

  “So?”

  “Are you always this unfriendly?”

  “Mostly.”

  “Okay. I just wanted to introduce myself.”

  “And now you have.”

  “Yes.”

  “Was there anything else?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like, will you marry me?”

  She stared at me for several moments, then walked away.

  The next day I followed her again.

  “Is this going to be a regular occurrence?”

  “Probably. Yes.”

  “And if I object?”

  “Without even giving me a chance?”

  She sighed loudly and started to move off.

  “After school,” I shouted.

  “What after school?”