by T Lockhaven
“I agree.” Olivia nodded. “Think about it. How could he get a gig at the Bernstein’s party? Mr. Bernstein runs checks on all of his employees.”
“All good questions,” Michael said. “At the moment, all I can think of is that he assumed someone else’s identity. Maybe there is an actual law-abiding citizen named Drew Small, and that’s who he’s passing himself off as.”
“What are the chances of there being two Drews?” Olivia asked.
“I don’t know,” Michael said, “I’m just spit-balling. But one thing I do know is, I’m going to have a talk with Ed Reed tomorrow. Once he finds out who Drew really is…I don’t think he’s going to be the go-to Santa much longer.”
“And George could get his job back!” Olivia’s face filled with hope.
“I’m not so sure,” Michael said. “That news story was pretty damaging.”
Olivia’s face fell.
“But you never know,” Michael added quickly, “he and Ed have known each other for a long time. Maybe he’ll have a change of heart.”
“I hope so. Right now, none of this is making sense.”
“I can see the connection,” Ellie said. “If Drew is running or hiding from the law, he would assume a new identity. The jewelry would provide him with the cash that he needs. My guess is once he gets what he wants, he’s going to bolt out of town.”
“So you think he stole Mrs. Mallory’s necklace?” Michael asked.
“I’m not sure yet…,” Ellie took a sip of her drink. “But things didn’t start happening until he showed up.”
“Maybe he’s just here trying to start his life over again,” Olivia suggested. “I mean, move to a small town, try to blend in and all. If I was trying to hide, and then George started asking me questions, I would probably respond the same way. A job playing Santa would enable him to get some money and perhaps work his way back into society.”
“It just doesn’t feel right,” Ellie said. “I want to know why George got fired from his job. How Drew got his job, and how he landed his gig at the Bernstein’s. It’s too convenient for all of these things to fall into place for Drew.”
“Hi, Jen,” Michael said, looking up, suddenly aware she was standing at the table. “Everything is wonderful, thank you.”
“Oh good, good.” She nodded. “I’m sorry, sir, but is your name Michael West?”
“Why yes, it is.” He puffed up his chest. “I’m such a great writer,” he explained to Olivia and Ellie, “that she already knows me before my first book is even published.” He took the piece of paper from her hand and scribbled his name on it. “There you go. Save that—it’s going to be worth a fortune someday.”
“Thank you.” Jen smiled awkwardly. “Actually…,” she handed the paper back to him, “a man just asked me to give this to you.”
Olivia snorted into her drink.
“Oh, yes, of course, thank you, Jen. Fans come in all shapes and sizes.”
“What is it, Michael?” Ellie said. “Did he ask for your number? Fashion advice?”
“No,” Michael said, suddenly serious. “Someone has information. Jen,” he called out, stopping her. “I’m so sorry….” He waved her back to the table. “But who gave this note to you?”
“A man in a black overcoat. He was wearing a hat and glasses. He gave me fifty dollars and asked me to deliver the note to you.”
“Has he ever been in here before? Is he a local?” Ellie inquired.
“I told him I wouldn’t say who he was.” Jen’s voice faltered. “He said it was very important, and I promised him. He didn’t threaten you, did he?” Her eyes suddenly flew wide open.
“No, no. Everything is fine, it was just peculiar. Everything is fine.” Michael smiled, reassuring her again.
“Are you sure?” she asked hesitantly.
“Yes.” Michael smiled harder. “You kept your word, that’s a trait rarely found these days.”
Jen thanked the group and walked away. Michael could tell she was battling with herself, trying to figure out if she’d done the right thing.
“You gonna clue us in,” Ellie asked, “or keep us in suspense?”
He slid the paper over to Ellie and Olivia.
It read: I have information. Call me.
Followed by a phone number.
Chapter 6
Michael and Olivia piled into Ellie’s Silver Acura ILX.
“Oh my God,” Olivia stammered, “it’s freaking freezing in here.”
“Give me a second.” Ellie started the car and cranked the heat up to high. “It warms up fast.”
“Sounds like the last words someone says before they freeze to death,” Olivia exclaimed through chattering teeth.
“All right,” Michael said, “I’m going to call our mysterious stranger.” He jabbed the digits into his phone and selected speaker.
Moments later, a raspy voice answered.
“Hello?” Michael asked, not sure what to expect.
“Is this Michael West?”
“Yes….”
“Where are you now?”
“If the next question is what are you wearing?—I’m gonna insist on you buying me a drink,” Michael replied.
“Last chance, Mr. West,” the caller demanded.
“Fine, I’m about to leave Rumor’s restaurant, but you already knew that….”
“Meet me in ten minutes at the Ocean Deck. Last booth on the left, beneath the swordfish. Come alone.”
“Why can’t you…?” Michael was speaking to a dead line.
“You aren’t going to really go there and meet him, are you? It could be Drew. It could be a trap!” Olivia said.
“It’s not Drew…and I don’t think it’s a trap.”
“How do you know? He could have easily disguised his voice.”
“I know, because Jen knew him, and I trust Jen’s gut.”
“You’re trusting someone you don’t even know?”
“Even if it isn’t Drew,” Ellie surmised, “it could be a crazy person, maybe even someone dangerous from Drew’s past.”
“First of all, the Ocean Deck is usually crowded, so there will be plenty of people around. Secondly, if this was a dangerous person from his past searching for him, all he would need to do is show up at the mall. He’s pretty easy to spot.”
“Is there a thirdly?” Olivia asked. “Because bad news always seems to come in threes.”
“Yes, it’s obvious Jen knows who he is…and I’m betting we probably know who he is as well. He just wants to meet in a place a little less conspicuous. There is bad news, though,” Michael continued. “I have to make it all the way to beachside in seven minutes now, in rush-hour traffic.”
“But we don’t…,”Olivia turned toward the highway as a single car passed by “…have traffic.”
“I’ll switch on FaceTime,” Michael said as he climbed out the backseat. “That way you can listen in.”
“Good idea.” Ellie nodded. “And, Michael, don’t do anything stupid.”
“It’s the Ocean Deck.” Michael shrugged. “What could possibly go wrong?”
Ellie and Olivia followed Michael’s red Miata down A1A past rows of condos and hotels, all fighting over prized real estate, facing the ocean.
Ellie was born in Lana Cove. She hated the thought of beautiful beachfront land being bought up by developers. As oceanfront parcels became available, the citizens of Lana Cove fought back against greedy investors by purchasing land, so they couldn’t build.
“Ellie…Ellie,” Olivia was talking.
Michael’s right turn signal flashed red, like a winking cyclops with hay fever.
“Sorry.” Ellie smiled, deep in thought for a moment.
“Let’s park at the iHop. That way we’re right across the street from the Ocean Deck if Michael needs us.”
“Sounds good.” Ellie braked and waited for a car to pass, then pulled into the lot. She’d just parked when her phone rang. She pressed ‘accept.’ Michael’s smiling face appeared on
her screen. “Hey, handsome.”
“Hey, Ellie, I’m going to put my phone in my front pocket. Hopefully you’ll be able to hear me okay.”
“All right,” Ellie said. “Good luck and be smart.”
“Guys, I’ll be fine. You’re dealing with a trained professional. See you in a bit.”
“Michael! Michael!”
Ellie’s phone rang again.
“Sorry, I hung up,” he said.
“No kidding.” Ellie looked over at Olivia, who was making the sign of the cross over her chest.
Michael stepped into the doorway of the Ocean Deck and paused, allowing for his senses to catch up to the garish interior. The smell of fried and battered food filled the air, congealing with Bob Seger belting out that he still loves that old-time rock and roll.
Michael tilted his head, checking out the long row of picnic tables covered in red-and-white checkered tablecloths. Greasy menus lay against the wall, festooned between ketchup and mustard squeeze bottles. In the center of the table stood a beautifully ornate metallic stand, supporting a Jenga-sized tower of wet wipes. A card on the table let customers know they could request bibs if they ordered crabs or lobster.
A smattering of patrons sat at the bar watching Sports Center. Michael navigated to the rear of the restaurant, where a man in a black jacket and black stocking cap sat with his back to him, beneath a giant swordfish named Eddie.
The mysterious man motioned for Michael to sit across from him—he kept his head down, staring at his beer. One of Michael’s exercises as a writer was to break down the components of a character: their demeanor, their clothing, and their idiosyncrasies. The old saying, actions speak louder than words, usually turned out to be true.
Whoever this man was, he didn’t want to meet Michael’s eyes. He hid his identity behind a stocking cap pulled low over his eyebrows. Thick black glasses perched on his nose, and he had a mustache that Michael was pretty sure was fake. His hands were tan, even in the middle of winter, which told Michael that he must spend a lot of time outside, perhaps fishing or boating.
“Put your phone on the table.” The man gestured to the tabletop. He had a raspy voice, that itchy sound you usually only heard from lifelong smokers or people who drank too much dairy.
“What?” Michael wasn’t sure he’d heard the man right.
“You heard me, put your phone on the table. I want to make sure no one else is listening in.”
Michael gave the man an appalled expression and then slowly fished his phone out of his pocket, making sure to press the ‘end call’ button. Just to annoy the man, he placed it face down on the table. The man grabbed it and flipped it over.
A woman in jeans and a black t-shirt appeared at the table, her arms and neck covered in tattoos. The man dipped his head, and she placed a beer in front of Michael and walked off.
“Thank you,” Michael said. “So, I obviously received your message. You said that you had information for me?”
“I do. I’m only talking to you because I think you have George’s best interest at heart.”
“Of course I do,” Michael said. “He’s a good friend. I think what happened to him is horrific.”
“I do, too, and I’m risking a lot just talking to you, so when I’m finished, I’m going to walk away. Sit and finish your beer, and then leave. Understood?”
“Understood,” Michael said solemnly.
“Do you know Ed Reed?”
“I know of him. George mentioned him, but I don’t know him personally.”
“Mr. Reed has a lot of influence locally. His brother is the head of the town council. Most people don’t know it, but he pulls the strings for many local businesses—and he has a lot of connections.”
“Okay.” Michael cleared his throat. “I get it. Powerful and influential, thumbs in a lot of people’s pies.”
“Exactly.” The man pulled out his cell, swiped across the screen, and then slid it across the table to Michael.
Michael stared at the man’s phone, and his heartbeat quickened. “May I?”
The man nodded.
Michael stared at the first image and then zoomed in. “That’s Mr. Reed and the elf.”
“Swipe once more,” the man replied.
Michael swiped forward. He immediately recognized Drew’s car. A figure was crouched in the backseat with a camera, taking pictures. Although the figure in the image was blanketed in shadow, Michael could tell it was Drew. “How did you get these? Where were these taken?”
“At Luna’s. Keep swiping, there’s a few more.”
“No,” Michael gasped, “not the Honey Dew Motel.” It was a cheap, by-the-night motel, with a less-than-reputable reputation. Picture after picture documented Ed Reed’s indiscretion. There he was getting out of the car with the woman, then at the door of the motel, and then stepping into the room.
“Here’s what’s interesting.” The man gestured to the phone. “See this next picture? That was taken two minutes after they went into the room.”
“Doesn’t say much for Mr. Reed.” Michael chortled, then immediately regretted it, seeing the expression on the other man’s face. “Sorry…vivid imagination,” he said, tapping the side of his head.
“The point is, she dashed out of that room after two minutes. My guess is he made himself comfortable. She probably snapped a picture or two and then ran out.”
“Wow.” Michael exhaled and shook his head. “A set-up, and Drew documented the whole thing…. Pretty obvious now how he got the Santa gig and the Bernstein job.” Michael slid the phone back to the man. “There is one thing I’m confused about. How did she get into Luna’s? It’s a members-only bar—you have to be invited by a member.”
“Don’t be naïve, Michael. She’s a young, beautiful woman. For someone like that, the management tends to look the other way for obvious reasons.”
“Yeah, I can understand that,” Michael acknowledged, “but still…, Mr. Reed is married, and well-known. I’m sure that he’s very cautious.”
“You’re right, but the woman was just as cautious, and very subtle. You see, Michael, just like you, I am a student of human behavior, and I’ve developed a rather, shall we say, keen eye of picking up things that are out of place. I was sitting at the far end of the bar enjoying a cocktail and a fine Cuban cigar when she came in. I noticed her because she hovered in the doorway for a moment. At first, I thought she was looking for a friend, but then she made her way to the bar and sat next to Ed.
“She completely ignored him for the first twenty minutes or so, but then they started conversing. She was good at playing the part of being disinterested…even James, the bartender, didn’t give the two a second glance. I, too, was about to lose interest when she pulled her phone out of her purse.
“I assumed she was texting someone—until she laid her phone on the bar so he could read the screen.”
“She was asking him to follow her, I’m guessing,” Michael said.
The man took a sip of his beer. “Yes, he read whatever she wrote, nodded slightly, told James he had a million things to do, paid his tab, and left. She ordered another drink, sipped it for fifteen minutes or so, thanked James, and then paid her tab with cash and walked out.”
“I wonder what she wrote. I mean, think about it. Ed Reed left the bar and waited outside for fifteen minutes. That’s fifteen minutes of contemplating whether you’re making the right decision.” Michael leaned back in his seat and shook his head. “So, she blackmails Reed, he gives Drew the job, and…,” Michael thought aloud, “calls Mr. Bernstein, asks him to hire Drew, and our friend George gets fired.”
“Now you’re getting the picture.”
“Literally. But I don’t understand,” Michael said, puzzled. “Why are you showing me this? It’s not going to help George get his job back, and the local news eviscerated the poor guy.”
“I’ve lived in Lana Cove my entire life, as has George. I want you to find out what Drew is up to—and this woman—and expose th
em.”
“It’s pretty clear what’s going on.” Michael thought for a moment and decided to proceed. “Drew’s real last name is Calvetti. He’s got a list of crimes a mile long, grand theft, assault, bank fraud, you name it. I plan on visiting Ed tomorrow, but honestly, after seeing those pictures, I’m not sure Ed’s going to roll over on Drew—he’s got too much to lose.”
“I agree…there are some very delicate things at play here, and I have to tread very carefully. I know your history. I know you’re smart and tenacious. Drew is up to no good, and I feel that bigger things are at play here. I want you to find out what he’s up to—if we can get him behind bars, then maybe we can save George and Ed.”
He slid a thick envelope over to Michael.
“What’s this?” Michael tapped it with a finger.
“An early Christmas present. Let’s just call it an advance for your first book.”
Michael pushed the envelope back to the man. “I can’t take this.”
“Oh, but you will, and you must, you must. I need you to clear George’s name. This isn’t just about his livelihood, it’s about his reputation. We don’t know what else Drew has done; we don’t need Lana Cove’s community to begin toppling like dominoes.”
Without another word, the man shoved the envelope back to Michael, threw a twenty on the table, stood, and walked away.
Michael sat stunned as the man exited the bar. He opened the envelope and fanned through a thick wad of hundred-dollar bills. What the heck had just happened?
His phone buzzed. He flipped it over. A text from the mysterious man’s phone—he’d sent him the pictures of Ed Reed with the woman.
Michael glanced around. No one seemed to be paying any attention to him. He touched Ellie’s name and sent her a quick text: On my way, I’m okay.
Chapter 7
“I’m telling you, it was like something out of The Twilight Zone,” Michael said, carrying three piping-hot cups of tea into the living room. “Be right back.” He hurried into the kitchen and came back moments later with sugar, honey, and spoons.
