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around here.”
    “Better
make sure you check it twice,” Brien quipped. I should have groaned in protest.
I could not resist that smile of his, went all mushy inside and simply smiled
instead. Brien reached across the table and covered my hand in his. “We already
know who’s naughty and nice,” he said. I was suddenly ravenous and dove
into that artichoke dip with gusto.
     
     
     
     
     

6 Bad Santa
     
     
    A bout
an hour later, Brien and I rendezvoused at the entrance to the hotel. We headed
down a few steps and out onto the golf cart path. As we walked, the path we
were on wound along the golf course on a downward slope toward the woods and
the cove. If there were surfer shacks down there, I couldn’t see them. I’d bet
money that’s the way the resort wanted it. The beach was a public one, so they
couldn’t keep the surfers away. Still, I wasn’t sure how surfers could get away
with squatting nearby. Brien wasn’t sure either.
    “So,
Brien, did hotel security tell you anything?”
    “Yeah,
they’re really cool dudes, Kim. They aren’t doing the investigating now that
the police have stepped in. The hotel management made a pitch for the head of security
to be kept in the loop so they do know what’s going on.”
    “Which
is?”
    “Dead
Santa is a local guy who hasn’t been around town long. They identified him from
his fingerprints. He’s had a couple run-ins with the police. Drunk and
disorderly, but he’s also under suspicion for theft. I’m not sure what that’s
about because the security guys don’t have a lot of details about him or his background.
His name is Owen Taylor and he had a job working at Corsario’s Hideaway, a bar
in San Albinus. He bussed tables, washed dishes, cleaned up at night, you know,
sculkwork, until they caught him in the place after closing.”
    “Scutwork,”
I corrected him. “You mean scutwork, don’t you Brien? Although it does sound
like Owen Taylor was skulking around. Why was he in the bar while it was closed?”
    “The security
guys weren’t sure, but they thought he had been booted out of Boardertown. That’s
what the non-surfers call the place where the surfers hang out with their
boards. Boardertown as in boards—get it?”
    “Yes.
Cute. I get it.”
    “A local
saw the lights on in the bar and reported someone roaming around in there in
the middle of the night. When the police got there, Owen was asleep in one of
the booths. The cops took him in for breaking and entering. Nothing was missing
from the bar so the owners didn’t press charges. They also gave Owen the boot,
so he was out of a job after that and no longer welcome in Boardertown.”
    “Booted
out of Boardertown, huh? So, Santa was a surfer as you thought!”
    “Could
be. That’s what I hope the surfer dudes will tell us when I use my skills to work
in a question or two about Owen during our conversation about the waves.”
    “What
is an out of work, homeless surfer dude doing in an unauthorized Santa suit at
the hotel, I wonder? Did they find the room where Santa got murdered?”
    “Yes!
From the way they described the location, it was on the floor right above the
balcony where I saw the hanging plant that’s crooked. I mentioned that, by the
way, and they thanked me. They’re going to tell Mitchum’s team about it. The
idea of finding evidence the cops missed made them happy. Mitchum’s been nasty
to the hotel security staff.”
    “That
I can believe! Presuming Detective Mitchum was on his best behavior with us as
hotel guests, I can only imagine what he’s like when he feels free to be nasty.
What did they say about that crime scene?”
    “The
room was a big mess, Kim. They figure that’s where the killer worked Santa
over, and then shot him.”
    “Killers,”
I suddenly realized—feeling quite sure throwing Santa off the balcony was a
two-person job. I said as much to Brien. He agreed.
    “The
police checked to see who was registered in the room at the time and it