Page 28 of Sighs By the Sea

He always looks out for me. Always. The best partner a detective could ask for. I need to repay him somehow. He’s always picking up the pieces of my messy life. When my father died of cirrhosis, he practically put the whole funeral together. I also suspect he paid off my father’s debts all over town. The man had an open tab at practically every dive bar in LA. It probably wasn’t much, but still, a huge weight off my shoulders.

I miss my dad in my own way, but a small part of me is glad his suffering is over. Not just with his disease, but with life. My father drank for a reason, though I have no idea what it was. He never opened up to me or spoke to me if he could avoid it. Still, the man was my father, and I wish it could have been different.

After we were put into foster care, we weren't allowed contact. The minute I turned 18, that changed. I found him, and we had a sort of strange relationship from that point on. I never lived with him again but did occasionally answer his calls to pick him up off a dirty bar bathroom floor. Not the typical father-daughter stuff, but it was fine.

Okay, it wasn't. It fucking sucked. I shake the awful thoughts away. It doesn’t help to sit in the past. I have work to do. Pulling up the number to the surf shack, I connect the call.

“Sanderson Surf. This is Roger,” a voice says.

I look down at my notes. No Roger on my employee list. He must be new. “Yes, may I speak with Matilda Jacobs?”

“Sure thing.” He pulls his mouth away from the phone. “Til!” he yells.

“This is Tilly.” Tilly’s voice is pleasant, but it’s clear she’s busy.

My finger goes to my hair. “Yes, this is Detective Parker with LAPD. I was hoping we could—”

“Oh yes, Maggie. Grayson told me to expect your call.” There’s new venom in her voice.

Damn. I wonder if Grayson told her all about our not-date at the Cuban place? And why am I calling it that anyway? It was a date. With an agenda, sure, but there were candles lit, good food, and flirting. I'm an idiot for paying. It clearly hurt his pride.

But smacking my face about that will have to wait. “I’m glad.” I wince. Did I really just say that? “Would you be willing to come in for an interview?”

There’s silence on the line for several moments. I know I didn't lose her because I can still hear the bustling shop in the background. The sound of surfboards being moved and customers chatting blends with the faint roar of the ocean, creating a lively backdrop. So I wait. Finally, she huffs out a breath. “Is this a formal request? Do I need to call my lawyer?”

I shake my head. “Not at all. We’re concerned with Grayson’s safety. There looks to be a contract on him.”

Tilly laughs, a sharp condescending sound. “Of course there is. And the San Diego department is handling it.”

“We suspect the hit was organized by your grandfather.”

“He’s in jail.”

“And you must know that this sort of thing happens from jail all the time.” Silence again. "Miss Jacobs?"

She sighs. “I'm here. You want me to talk to him.” It’s a statement of fact. Tilly is a smart woman.

“Yes.”

There’s a deep breath on the other end of the phone, and I’m not sure if it’s resignation or prepping for a tirade.

“Let me tell you something, Detective…” Oh shit, a tirade for sure. “My grandfather is a sick man. Not diseased or infirm. Just sick. Him in jail is right where he should be, and I am done with him. He does not exist and could be dead for all I care.”

When her rant is over, I weigh my words carefully before beginning to talk. “Miss Jacobs, I appreciate your candidness. But please, let me explain. I…” I put a hand on top of my head and squeeze my eyes shut. What I want to say is that I care for Grayson, but that would probably earn me a second tongue-lashing. “I want to help. I uh, care about them. Er, George and Grayson.”

"Care?" she scoffs out. "You arrested him and are probably looking for an excuse to do it again!"

Tell me why I'm doing this because, at the moment, I really don't know. "I assure you, I am not."

"Let me ask you this, Maggie. You see Grayson jaywalk, do you give him a ticket?"

"We really don't hand those out anymore, unless it's on the freeway—"

"Okay, he forgets to pay for a newspaper at a coffee shop then."

"I would mention it and insist he goes back to pay," I say confidently.

"Right. Easy. Now tell me what happens if some guy almost hits George with his car, driving like a maniac. Grayson punches him, do you call it in?"

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