by Maria Geraci
“Let what—you mean the dead guy? It’s not like I planned this.”
“Tara says she doesn’t want anything to do with us!” Tears fill Brittany’s eyes. “She’s going to recommend to the other producers that they pick Catfish Cove instead of us.”
“Guess I can’t blame her.”
“Can’t blame her! You sound like you don’t even care! This stint on the Cooking Channel was going to prove to everyone that… You do know what everyone in town is saying behind my back, don’t you?”
“What do you mean?”
“They’re saying the only reason I got the job with the Chamber of Commerce is because of Daddy’s influence.”
“Well—”
“I’ve busted my derriere for this city!” The tears flow faster now.
I hand Brittany a Kleenex. “Well of course I care. I want to win Battle of the Beach Eats just as much as anyone else.” Not to mention the twenty-five grand which I was practically counting on.
Brittany wipes her eyes. “Then we need to do something quick.”
“Like what? It’s not like I can undo finding a dead guy during my mid-morning break.”
Her face sets with determination. “We need to convince Tara that Whispering Bay is still her best option, which means we need to dig up some dirt on Catfish Cove. I checked out their chamber of commerce website the other day. Can you believe their city’s tagline is The Fishing Capital of the Southeast? Ha! Sorry, but America’s Safest City is so much better.”
After the events of the past few weeks, I’m not sure our city’s tagline is so accurate anymore, but the last thing I want to do right now is mention this to Brittany.
“Dig up dirt on Catfish Cove? So, all we have to do is find something worse than a dead body in the dumpster?”
“Now you’re getting the hang of it.”
“I was being sarcastic. I don’t think you can get worse than a murder in town.”
“Oh, it could be worse. We just have to find out what that is. We can do this!” Brittany says with all the enthusiasm of her former head cheerleading days. “We can still save our slot on Battle of the Beach Eats.”
“You think so?”
“I know so!” She reaches out and grabs me in a tight hug. “There’s no one else I’d rather go through a crisis with than you, Lucy. I’m so glad we’re best friends now!”
After what seems like forever, the suits let the customers go home. They finish taking pictures and collecting evidence and leave an unwanted “gift” in the form of yellow crime tape wrapped around the building and the parking lot. We might as well put up a big sign saying Stay Away—Something Bad Happened Here!
Sarah and I are told that the place has to remain closed until further notice, but “hopefully” we can reopen sometime next week. Most people would relish the time off, but between the loss of business and the bad press we’re surely going to get (because, hello, dead body in the dumpster!) things aren’t looking too well right now.
Add in the fact that I can no longer count on the chance I might have had for the twenty-five grand if we’d won Battle of the Beach Eats. Sure, Brittany thinks she can change Tara’s mind and still get us on the show, but c’mon, I have a more realistic view of life.
The Bistro on the Beach is doomed.
Or rather, my personal finances are. When Sarah and I bought this place six months ago, it was Whispering Bay’s most popular casual eatery. It still is, at least, I hope so, but the mortgage is humongous. I sunk everything I had into my share of the down payment and still had to borrow money from Will. Add in my credit card debt, and I pretty much live paycheck to paycheck.
Sarah and I are alone in the kitchen tidying up.
“Are you okay?” she asks cutting through the gloomy silence.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
She folds her arms across her chest. Sarah is only a few years older than me and her beautiful blonde self hardly looks the motherly type, but she’s one of the kindest people I know. “You just found a dead body less than a week after being attacked in this very kitchen. You have to be freaked out here.”
Two dead bodies, I want to say, but I’m not supposed to tell anyone about Ken Cameron.
“I’m a little freaked out,” I admit. “But I’m all right.”
“Everything is cleaned up and ready to go for Monday, but I guess we won’t be open, so…”
“What are we going to do?”
She pats me on the shoulder. “We’ll be fine, Lucy.”
Sarah will be fine. Her husband is rich. But me? I’m not so sure.
“I was going to head out, but… I hate to leave you here alone,” she says.
Paco barks as if to say he’s got it covered.
Sarah laughs. “Okay, you’re not exactly alone.” She picks up her bag and fishes out her car keys. “If you need anything or want to sleep somewhere else, you can always crash at my place. Luke’s away for a couple of days on a business trip so we could have some girl time. We could watch Hallmark movies and drink wine and eat chocolate for dinner.”
I smile. “It sounds fabulous and I’m definitely tempted, but I’m going to my parents for dinner tonight.”
She hugs me and makes me promise to call her if I need anything.
I’m about to head up the stairs to my apartment to shower when there’s a hard knock on the kitchen door. I freeze. Okay, maybe Sarah’s right. Maybe I am just a little more than freaked out here, but who wouldn’t be?
“Lucy, it’s me,” Travis says through the door.
Whew.
I open the door to find Travis and a woman I’ve never seen before.
Chapter Eight
The woman is dressed in black pants and a blazer. Late thirties, light brown hair pulled back in a tight bun, clear gray eyes that mean serious business. She shows me her FBI badge. “Agent Patricia Billings. You can call me Billings.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Lucy—”
“McGuffin,” she finishes as she walks into my kitchen. “I need to talk to you. Fontaine here says you might be able to assist us.”
Really? So now Travis wants my help?
His expression turns sheepish.
“What exactly can I do?”
“You’ve found two dead bodies of great interest to the Bureau. Is that a coincidence?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Paco scrunches his nose at her like he’s echoing my reaction. I call this his ‘and what my Momma just said’ look.
Agent Billings notices him for the first time. “Cute dog,” she says dismissively. “It means that somehow you’ve managed to be in the right place at the right time.”
“Or the wrong place at the wrong time. I don’t get my jollies discovering dead bodies.”
She cocks her head toward Travis. “Fontaine says that you solved a murder here last week. I’ve looked up you up, McGuffin. You caught the Angel of Death serial killer, something the FBI has been trying to do for over a decade. How did you do it?” The suspicion in her voice makes me wary.
“I got lucky.”
“Lucky? I don’t think so.” She walks through the kitchen and out into the dining area like she owns the place. Travis and I automatically follow. She glances up the stairs. “You live here too?”
I reluctantly nod. This woman is giving off an unfriendly vibe. Paco feels it too. He’s not barking, but he hasn’t taken his eyes off her since she’s walked through the door like he’s suspicious of her every move. Right now he’s the canine equivalent of Robert DeNiro from Meet The Parents. If he could do the two fingers V sign for I’m watching you, he would.
“Mind if I check your place out?” Without waiting for an answer, she starts climbing the stairs to my apartment.
I dash ahead and block her from my door. “Yes, I mind. What are you looking for exactly?”
For a second she looks startled like she’s not used to anyone telling her no, but she regroups fast enough. “What are you? Some sort of hacker
? How were you able to solve a case that highly trained professional FBI agents weren’t able to crack?”
“Hacker?” I snort. “Lady, I can barely keep my online checking account straight.”
“Lucy hasn’t done anything illegal,” Travis says in my defense. “She’s really smart. And able to read people better than anyone I’ve ever met.”
Aw. Hearing Travis stick up for me makes my insides go warm and fuzzy. But I’m still not going out with him.
Agent Billings looks me over like I’m a bug under her microscope. “Are you going to help us or not?” she demands.
“I’ve already answered all your questions. Other than that, I’m not sure what I can do.” I open the door to my apartment and usher them inside. Normally, when I invite someone to my place I offer them something to drink, but I’m exhausted, and Agent Billings can get her own friggin coffee. Preferably somewhere else.
She sits on my couch. “It goes against every instinct to bring a civilian in on this, but I have no choice. Fontaine told me that you’ve already been filled in on the Joey Frizzone situation. The man you found in the park? Ken Cameron? He was my partner.” Her voice hitches for a second. “I don’t intend to lose any more agents. Or Joey either. It’s imperative that we keep The Weasel safe. His testimony will be the result of over five years of work for the Bureau.”
“Sure, I understand. So…what does all this mean? Who’s the guy in the dumpster?”
“The man you found today was no FBI agent. His name is Mark Rinaldi. He’s a professional hitman. Or rather, he was.”
“Do you think he’s the one who killed Ken Cameron?”
She hesitates. “No.”
“But you do think this Mark Rinaldi was here to kill Joey?”
“Definitely.”
“But…that makes no sense. I mean, I get why this Rinaldi character wants to kill Joey. Money, right?”
“Word on the street is that Vito Scarlotti has put a half-million-dollar contract on Joey’s life. No questions asked.”
“Holy Wow. For half a mil I’ll kill him myself.”
Agent Billings raises a brow at me.
I clear my throat. “Just kidding.” Sort of. Boy, this woman really can’t take a joke.
“So what was the motive to kill Mark Rinaldi? And Ken Cameron?”
“Very few people know where Joey is, but…obviously the word leaked out.”
“You think Agent Cameron ratted Joey out? For money?”
Her gray eyes blaze with fury. “Absolutely not. Ken was an upstanding guy. The best. But…he could be sloppy sometimes.”
Oh. I get it now. “The two of you were more than partners?”
“We were friends,” she says simply.
A lot more than friends if my Spidey sense is on track here. For the first time, I feel sorry for her.
“Ken—I mean, Agent Cameron must have let Joey’s location slip. He probably realized it, but before he could warn any of us, he was killed to keep quiet.”
An interesting theory. But I have another one too. One that isn’t so nice. One that involves Ken Cameron selling Joey out for money and then being double-crossed.
“But what was the motive to kill Mark Rinaldi?” I ask, confused.
“Rinaldi was killed by another hitman.”
“Another hitman?” I squeak. This is getting worse by the second.
“Every thug with a five-cent brain is probably on their way here now to Whispering Bay to take out The Weasel. Five hundred thousand dollars is a huge incentive.” She glances at Travis, then her gaze goes back to me. “Both Agent Cameron and Mark Rinaldi were killed by the same person. A bullet hole clean between the eyes is the trademark work of a deadly assassin who goes by the name El Tigre. He’s based out of New York and works primarily for the Russian mob, but Vito’s half-million must have been too big a temptation.”
“The Tiger, huh? What does he look like?” Because this is someone I probably want to avoid.
“No one has ever seen El Tigre. At least no one who’s lived to tell about it.”
“So… this El Tigre killed Mark Rinaldi as a warning?”
“El Tigre killed Rinaldi to get him out of the way. The warning, as you put it, was dumping the body in a public place. He wants to make sure everyone in town knows he’s here. It’s his way of telling any other contenders that Joey is his hit and anyone who gets in his way is going to end up in a dumpster just like Rinaldi.”
I shudder. Correction: El Tigre is definitely someone I want to avoid.
“If you don’t know what he looks like, how can you catch him?”
Agent Billings narrows her eyes at me. “Because you’ve seen him.”
“Me? What are you talking about?”
“Part of El Tigre’s M.O. is that he always dumps a body in a place he knows. Leaving Mark Rinaldi in your dumpster wasn’t a coincidence. El Tigre was here to scope the place out beforehand. Most likely as a customer.”
“You mean I served him coffee? I wish I could help you, but I can’t think of anyone who’s come in here who looks like a dangerous killer.”
“But then, you didn’t suspect the Angel of Death until you caught her, did you?”
True.
“El Tigre is smart. He could be disguised as almost anyone. Some meek mannered tourist, perhaps.”
“It sounds like it’s going to be almost impossible to fish this guy out. Why not just whisk Joey to another location? Wouldn’t that solve your problem?”
“The judge has moved up the trial date, so we only need to keep Joey here a few more days. There’s no time to relocate him.”
“I don’t understand. How can I help?”
“El Tigre likes to return to the scene of his body dumps. It’s a vanity thing. His way of telling us that he can be anywhere or do anything he wants. In the past, he’s come back to leave some tiny scrap of evidence that links back to the murder. It’s nothing we can ever use to find him, he’s much too clever for that. Just enough for us to know that he was here.”
“Like what?” I ask.
“In the past, he’s taken the victim’s ID, then returned it to the scene of the crime. Another time he returned a ring. Completely clean of prints of course. Things like that.”
“Sounds creepy.”
“It’s rather brilliant, actually,” says Billings with a hint of admiration in her voice. “What we want is for you to keep an eye out for anyone suspicious. Can you do that for us?”
“I’d love to, except Agent Parks, or was it Rollins—anyhoo, one of them told me we had to keep The Bistro closed until further notice. If the place is closed, then how is this El Tigre going to come back here without raising suspicion?”
“I can override that closing. If you agree to help us, The Bistro can open up Monday morning right on schedule. We’ll install invisible cameras that will be manned twenty-four seven. You’ll be completely safe.”
If we can open up Monday as usual, we won’t lose revenue. Which takes a bit of the sting out of losing the Battle of the Beach Eats gig.
“What if I don’t agree?”
She shrugs. “Then we might have to keep The Bistro closed indefinitely. Until we tie up all the loose ends, which might take weeks. Who knows?”
“That’s blackmail.”
“It’s called cooperating with a federal agency and helping your country.”
She’s got me there. “Okay, sure. I’ll help. What if I see someone acting funny, what do I do then?”
“You immediately call Fontaine here. He’ll be our liaison. And if you remember anything, anything at all that stands out, then report that too. Anything, no matter how small or trivial could be important.”
“I guess I could do that. What about my partner Sarah? Shouldn’t we tell her what’s going on?”
“Absolutely not. The only reason I’m bringing you in on this is because you’re already aware of the situation we have going on in town. The fewer people who know, the better.” She gets up to leave. “
Another thing.” She makes a disgusted face. “Apparently, Joey has a thing for your double chocolate chip muffins. He’s requested I bring some back with me.”
“Sure, I can do that.” I try not to sound as ridiculously pleased as I feel. Double chocolate chip is my favorite too.
She shoots Travis a parting look. “You get Joey’s muffins. I’ll meet you in the car.”
I barely wait till she’s out of earshot. “Boy, she’s intense. So what happened to ‘I know nothing, I’ll say nothing, and I’ll do nothing.”
“What happened is that the Bureau needs your help,” he says tightly.
“Looks like you need it too.” Gloating isn’t a good look, but I can’t help myself.
Travis glances between Paco and me. “I admit, at first I thought the bit about the dog finding the dead body was…crazy, but this makes three dead bodies now.”
“I told you. Paco has skills.”
“You expect me to believe that he’s a ghost whisperer?”
“I think you already do.”
“Let’s say I buy it. What else am I missing here?” He spears me with an intense gaze. It’s almost like he can see right through me. For one horrible second, I wonder if Jim told Travis about my gift. But no, Jim wouldn’t do that. He promised me he wouldn’t tell anyone, and I believe him.
“You’re not missing anything,” I say firmly. We go down to the kitchen where I put a half dozen muffins, five of the double chocolate chip and one orange cranberry (in case Joey needs a bit of variety), into a bag and hand it to Travis.
“You’re not staying here tonight, are you?” he asks.
“Why not?”
“Someone literally dumped a dead body in your back yard. I’d feel a lot better if you stayed with your brother or your parents.”
“Well, I wouldn’t. I like my own bed just fine, thanks. Now if you don’t mind, I’m having dinner with my family tonight and I’m already late.” I make a shooing motion with my hand.
“You’re the most stubborn… Okay. But don’t forget to—”
“I know, I know. Lock the door behind you.”
Chapter Nine
