The Body on Ortega Highway Read online

  The Body on Ortega Highway:

  A Detective Santy Mystery

  By Louise Hathaway

  Copyright Louise Hathaway 2014

  Smashwords Edition 2014

  Chapter One

  Desiree Beauchamp hitchhiked for the first and only time when she was sixteen years old. She knew it was dangerous. The urge to do it happened one day as she was sitting in her history class in high school. She was feeling depressed because her boyfriend, Aaron, had stopped coming around like he used to. She didn’t understand why, as hard as she tried. She had really thought he was the one. In her mind, they had a close relationship. They were right for each other. He had even bought her tickets to a Taylor Swift concert because he knew how much she liked her. They had a great time at the concert, came back to her house afterwards, and watched a W.C. Fields’ movie together. He had fallen asleep on her shoulder; she liked that he felt comfortable enough to relax that way with her. It was like they were an old married couple; it was that easy to get along together. But lately, he wasn’t giving her the time of day. He never came to her house anymore, and he used to come over at least three times a week. He wouldn’t even tell her why or what the problem was. A few days ago, after school, she’d forgotten the key to her bike lock and didn’t know what to do. Aaron walked by and she asked him to help her unlock her bike. He was able to bend the lock and release the chain from the bike’s spokes; but then he left, without saying a word to her the whole time. Leaving her nothing but a bent and ruined lock.

  ‘What did I do wrong?’ she kept asking herself. ‘I thought he liked me. Maybe he doesn’t like my body?’ After all, he had said to her, “Why can’t you have a body like Kristie Brown?” who was a cheerleader. ‘Is he really that shallow? I thought we had a real connection. Maybe I’m too weird? Maybe I scare people away?’

  She longed for the kind of relationship her friend had with her boyfriend. He played guitar and sang love songs, as he dreamily looked into her friend’s eyes. She wished someone would sing her love songs. Her cousins all had boyfriends. She felt like the ugly duckling in her family. ‘Why can’t I be like everybody else in the world?’ All of a sudden, sitting in that history class, she was filled with the burning desire to go to Laguna Beach--right now! She had to get out of this high school and away from these people. Only problem was, she didn’t have a car.

  She just wanted to go somewhere to clear her head. She ditched her next class and walked out of school. She hoped her Mom would write a note for her tomorrow. She walked over to the on-ramp for the 5 Freeway going south and stuck out her thumb, hoping no one she or her parents knew would see her. Not to mention, anyone from school.

  Almost immediately, a car pulled over. A man who looked about 40 and was driving a Volvo reached over to open the passenger door for her. He asked her where she was going. When she told him that she wanted to go to Laguna Beach, he said, “I’m on my way to Dana Point. I can swing by there and drop you off.”

  “That would be great.”

  His car felt cool inside: a welcomed respite since it was a hot day. He asked if the air conditioner was on too high for her. She told him it was perfect.

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  “Desiree.”

  “A French name. It means desire.”

  “I know.”

  “Is your family French?”

  “They’re Belgian.”

  “I see. My name’s Paul, by the way.”

  “Hi Paul.”

  He drove in silence for a while as she sized him up. She thought, ‘I know he’s older, but maybe a mature guy is what I need, especially after what happened with Aaron.’

  “So, Desiree: do you have a boyfriend?”

  It was like he was reading her mind, almost. She answered, “No. Not anymore.”

  “Really?” he asked. “I can’t believe it. Why doesn’t a cute girl like you have someone special in her life?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You really are beautiful, you know.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And very sexy.”

  “Thanks,” she said, feeling a little uneasy.

  He was quiet for a few more minutes and then said, “You know, I love it when I can see the tan lines from a girl’s bikini straps.”

  “Oh really,” she answered.

  “Do you have tan lines from your bikini straps?”

  “Probably,” she told him.

  He reached over and pulled down the side of her sleeve to see if she was tanned there.

  “Don’t do that,” she told him, pulling her sleeve back up.

  “Okay. Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  “It’s okay,” she said, dejectedly.

  “So what are you going to do when you get to the beach?” he says, trying to lighten the mood.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Just watch the waves, I guess.”

  “Would you like to stop for something to eat first?”

  “No, thank you. I’m not really hungry.”

  “But I am,” he said. “And I’m the one who’s driving us to the beach,” he said, with a nervous laugh. “It won’t take long. I promise.”

  He pulled off the road when he saw a Denny’s in Dana Point. They walked in and sat down. He ordered a beer and a hamburger. She ordered some hot tea. He asked her about school and what classes she liked. He complemented her looks some more and tried to make her feel more at ease. He asked again about her boyfriend.

  “I don’t have one anymore. Remember?”

  “Well, tell me about the one you had.”

  She explained what happened and how Aaron had treated her.

  He said, “He’s crazy for dropping a pretty girl like you.”

  “Thanks.”

  He asked, “So, how far did you two go, anyway?”

  “How far?” she asked.

  “You know; how far did you go sexually. You don’t have to answer.”

  “All the way,” she said, feeling uncomfortable but somewhat bold. She was starting to enjoy being with him, almost against her will. And definitely against her better judgment.

  He’s starting to feel bold, also; and says, “So, Desiree. How many orgasms have you ever had in one session?”

  His question confused her. She didn’t know what he meant about “in one session”. She said, “I don’t know; maybe about three.”

  “Wow!” he replied, surprised that she was so forthcoming.

  She was surprised she even said that: it wasn’t true. She wanted to get as far away from him as she could. “I think I’d better go back home now,” she said. “My parents will be upset if I don’t come back on time.”

  “You don’t want to go to the beach with me? It would be so nice to watch the sun go down with you.”

  “No. It’s getting late.”

  His mood changed and he said, “Haven’t you ever heard the expression, ‘Cash, grass, or ass; no one rides free’?”

  “No. I haven’t heard that one.”

  “Don’t you think you owe me a little something?”

  “No. Can we leave, please?”

  “You expect me to head back in the opposite direction that I was coming from, just so I can drive you back?”

  She picked up her purse and said, “No. I don’t expect you to.” She stood up to leave and said, “Goodbye.”

  He didn’t try to stop her. He walked to the cashier and paid their bill. She watched him as he got into his car and drove away.

  *******

  ‘What am I going to do?’ she asked herself. ‘I just want to go back home. I can’t exactly call my parents and tell them to pick me up. They’d wonder how I got here in the first place. This is one of the s
tupidest things I’ve ever done. What an idiot I am!!’ She started crying and crossed the street, heading back north to Tustin. ‘It’s too far to walk,’ she told herself. She felt that she had no other option but to hitchhike back home and never, ever do this again. She stuck out her thumb and a dirty VW van pulled over. She walked up to the van and saw a guy in his early thirties who was wearing a tie-dyed shirt. She thought, ‘He’s obviously not the world’s best dresser, but he looked friendly enough.’ He rolled down the window on the passenger’s side and asked, “How far you going?”

  “To Tustin.”

  “I can take you there. I have to make a quick stop on Ortega Highway first. Is that okay?”

  “Ah…Sure, I guess,” she said.

  He reached over, opened the passenger door for her and she climbed inside.

  Chapter Two

  Clarissa Santy, a homicide detective at the Orange County Sheriff’s Department, is flying home from Savannah, Georgia, where she and her husband have just spent their honeymoon. She is looking at all the vacation pictures they took. “Look at this one, Ron,” she tells her husband. “Isn’t Reynolds Square beautiful with these red azaleas?”

  “Yes. We definitely picked the right season to go to Savannah.”

  “Look at this one of you in Bonaventure Cemetery,” she says, handing him the camera.

  “That’s a good one. Look how huge these oak trees are. I wish our trees had hanging moss like this.”

  “It’s very Southern. Very William Faulkner.”

  “Very ‘True Blood’ and ‘Vampire Bill’.”

  He looks at the next picture and says, “Oh, look how cute you look in front of the Mercer House.”

  She takes the camera away from him, and grimaces when she sees herself. “I look fat.”

  “No you don’t. You look voluptuous.”

  “Right.”

  “You were too skinny when I met you. I like my girl with a little meat on her bones.”

  “Well, then you came to the right place,” she says, laughing. She looks down at her arms and says, “I’m covered with mosquito bites--how do people who live in the South put up with this?”

  Ron says, “I’ve lost count of how many bites I have.”

  “These Southern mosquitos must think we’re fresh meat or something,” Clarissa says, and starts looking at their pictures again. “Look at you here by the fountain in Forsyth Park. You look so handsome in your black suit!”

  “Out with my girl for a night on the town.”

  “I can’t wait to see how our little statue of the Bird Girl looks in our garden.”

  “Me, too. We’ll have to plant some azaleas around it.”

  “Good idea. And some tea olive bushes, too. We’ll recreate the wonderful fragrance of Savannah, right in our own back yard.”

  Suddenly, the plane starts rocking and the “seatbelt” sign flashes on. A voice comes over the loud speaker and says, “Ladies and gentlemen. The captain has turned on the fasten seatbelt sign. Please return to your seats. We will be experiencing some severe turbulence.”

  Even the stewardesses abandon their drink trollies and go back to their seats--always a bad sign.

  “Why do I always travel in the Spring?” Clarissa says. “There are always thunder storms in the South this time of year.”

  Trying to distract her, Ron says, “What do you miss the most from home?”

  “I miss Gumbo,” she says, speaking of their Jack Russell Terrier.

  “Me, too. I can’t wait to see him running towards us when we spring him from the vet.”

  Clarissa says, “I can’t wait. I miss my blueberry coffee from the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf.”

  “Yuck! I don’t know how you can stand that stuff.”

  “It’s an acquired taste. Like oysters on the half shell.”

  “Yuck,” he says.

  “Don’t be squeamish, Secret Agent Man.” Ron has just finished a week of training at FBI headquarters, and Clarissa’s got a new pet name for him.

  Ron says, “I wish we didn’t have to go back to work so soon.” He is an investigator at the District Attorney’s Office.

  “Don’t remind me of work,” she says, as she puts away the camera and takes out today’s L.A. Times that she bought at the airport in Atlanta. “Well, it looks like we’ve had another heat wave. Yesterday was 95 in Santa Ana!”

  “You’re kidding. All our plants are going to be wilted.”

  “I know,” she says, as she continues reading. “Oh, my God!”

  Ron says, “What?”

  “How horrible!!”

  “What? Tell me what’s happened.”

  “A 16 year old girl was dumped on Ortega Highway.”

  “Is she dead?”

  “Yes. Oh my God!”

  “What?”

  “Somebody chopped off her arms.”

  “How terrible.”

  “I wonder who’s been assigned the case,” Clarissa says, and she scans the article. “Oh, no. It’s that idiot Ric Vente.”

  Chapter Three

  They are back in Orange County by 4:00 in the afternoon and drive straight to the vet’s office in Irvine, before even stopping to unload their luggage at their house in Santa Ana. They are afraid that the vet’s office will be closed by the time they get there to pick up Gumbo and they’d have to wait an extra day before they could see their little guy. There’s already a ton of rush-hour traffic on the 5 Freeway. By the time they reach the off ramp to the vet’s, it’s 4:55. Ron steps on the gas and when they pull in to a parking space in front of the vet’s office, the car screeches to a halt.

  They jump out of their car and are relieved to find the door to the office is still open. Their vet is very particular about closing hours. Clarissa tells the receptionist that they’re here to pick up Gumbo and asks, “Was he a good boy?”

  The tired-looking lady says, “We had three Jack Russell Terriers in here over the weekend. All they did was jump, jump, jump. I told the attendant to take Gumbo out on a very long walk.”

  “We’re sorry. He’s just an excitable boy,” Ron says.

  “He’s no different from any other JR. It comes with the breed,” the lady says.

  “Can we see him, please? We’ve really missed him,” Clarissa says, feeling somewhat guilty for being a bad “Mom” who has a misbehaving child.

  The receptionist makes a phone call to the back of the office and says, “Gumbo’s parents are here to pick him up.”

  A lady in the waiting room with her toddler hears this and starts laughing.

  Clarissa says, “We childless couples tend to go a little overboard when it comes to our fur-children.”

  The lady says, “Our dog is like a member of the family, too.”

  They hear a bunch of commotion when the door to the back room opens. Gumbo sees them and comes running towards them like a bull in a china shop, with the vet’s assistant desperately trying to keep hold of his leash. Clarissa and Ron run to greet him and Gumbo pees all over the floor in his excitement.

  Clarissa says to the assistant, “So sorry.”

  The girl says, “It happens all the time. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Thank you,” Ron tells her as he puts on Gumbo’s harness and leash.

  Gumbo practically smothers them both with kisses. The little toddler laughs and says, “Can I pet your dog?”

  Clarissa says, “Sure. He likes people. Other dogs are another story.” As she says this, another assistant brings out the little girl’s dog and Ron swoops up Gumbo, fearing a melee.

  When Gumbo leaves the office, he stops to smell and pee on every bush he can find. Ron shoves him in the car, closes the car door, and feels exhausted.

  “Isn’t he fun?” Clarissa says, laughing. On the ride home, Gumbo sits on Clarissa’s lap with the sun hitting his face, and falls fast asleep, just like a gentle little lamb. When Ron nears their house, Gumbo wakes up like a light bulb has been switched on and starts howling. He climbs over both of them, frant
ically going back and forth to each side window. He even tries to climb on top of the dashboard. He can’t wait to patrol the perimeter of “his” house to make sure there’ve been no intruders in his territory while he’s been gone. A possum had been giving him a lot of grief before they left, and he wants to see if it’s still out in the backyard. When Ron pulls into their driveway and opens his car door, he tightly grips Gumbo’s leash as the dog shoots out of the car like a bullet. Ron opens the front door and lets him loose.

  Ron says, “Tell me again why we have a Jack Russell?” he says, with exhaustion.

  “Because they have such personality?”

  “That’s one way to look at it,” he says, laughing and plops down on the sofa.

  “It’s so stuffy in here,” Clarissa says, and starts opening windows.

  Ron says, “I guess it’s too late to pick up our mail at the post office.”

  “Yep. Afraid so.”

  “What do you want to do for dinner?”

  “I’m tired and I just want to relax tonight. I don’t feel like going to the store.”

  “Do you want me to order a pizza?”

  “That would be great.”

  Clarissa stays behind while Ron drives over to the Pizza Hut, and starts going through her email when the home phone rings.

  Clarissa picks up the phone and says, “Hello?”

  “Hello, ma’am. I’m sorry to bother you. I’m a student at Chapman College and I’m calling to ask if you’d help me with a brief survey I need to do for my Sociology Class?”

  “I don’t know. I’m really busy right now. How many questions do you have?”

  “I only have a few. Please, ma’am. It’ll only take a few minutes of your time. I’d really appreciate it.”

  “Okay. But make it short.”

  “Really? That’s great. Let’s get started right away,” he says, rifling through some papers.

  “Okay. Shoot,” Clarissa tells him.

  “Okay. Let me get my piece of paper. Okay. Here we go…I’m not going to ask for your name or where you live. That’s personal.”