by Lynde Lakes
“He mentioned a stint in the marines and traveling a lot. Loves football and fishing.”
“What else?”
Her face burned. “That’s it.”
York shook his head. “I guess you two weren’t as tight as I thought.”
She lifted her chin. “Sounds like you get a perverse pleasure from that.”
An unreadable look masked his face. “Just trying to figure the guy out. A man who conceals family and friends generally has serious problems.”
“Or a rotten childhood.”
York’s expression hardened. “Always his little defender, aren’t you?”
She shrugged. Sticking up for Lee was getting harder. He hadn’t been open with her. Perhaps that was the real reason they had broken up; he hadn’t shown enough of himself to make her even want to work toward a compromise. He simply hadn’t held her interest.
York, on the other hand, in just a few short days, had shown many intriguing complexities to his personality, and the more she knew about him, the more she wanted to know. Yet, something told her it would take years to uncover the many aspects of this fascinating man. Her heart twisted, thinking that soon they would go their separate ways. They’d probably meet again professionally, but by then he’d have found his old-fashioned woman. Jen frowned. And she would… What? Still be alone?
York glanced at his watch, and drove toward Fan Pier, his expression grim. “If we’re going to make your appointment we’d better grab a quick bite.” He pulled into a parking space near the wharf. “Hot dogs on the pier okay?”
“Salt air and salty dogs. What could be better?”
They paused at an umbrella cart parked near the entrance to the pier and ordered a couple of fat, steaming, foot-long frankfurters and iced colas from the vendor, then strolled out to watch the sail boats that dotted the horizon. Jen leaned against the rail and inhaled the sea air. York joined her, jostling her pleasantly as his elbow settled next to hers. She smiled. For this instant, the world seemed right.
She broke off a piece of the bun and tossed it to the gulls. One swooped and snatched the bread in mid-air.
“Not hungry?” He glanced at her from beneath devilish, well-shaped eyebrows.
She fought her urge to trace the arch. “I always share with my feathered friends when I come here.” She tentatively bit into the steamy bun and discovered it was wrapped around the most juicy grilled wiener she’d ever tasted. “Hey, this is good.”
“Nothing but the best for you.”
At his teasing tone, she looked up and searched his deep-set eyes, bluer than sky or ocean, and more unfathomable.
She remembered their kiss. The fire, the instant connection. What would he do if she grabbed his head and drew his lips down to hers for a repeat performance? She tightened her hold on the icy, dewy cup, fighting the hot intensity of his gaze. Based on the passion shimmering there, he, too, battled the inferno raging between them.
They finished eating in silence, seemly both hanging onto their control by a fraying thread, and then headed to Joel’s work place. He wasn’t there, yet his timecard indicated that he hadn’t punched out. A coworker had seen him enter a black limo with two men, and speed away. He’d gotten a partial on the tags.
“I was supposed to pick up a journal from him,” she said. “Do you know anything about it?”
The coworker shook his head. “Maybe Smithy does.” He turned and shouted to another loading-dock worker. “Did Joel leave a journal for this lady?”
“He said he was going to,” Smithy said, “but the redheaded guy giving him a hard time grabbed it from him and tossed it into the limo.”
Her heart pounded. “Redheaded guy?”
“Yeah, well-dressed, white-collar type. He was one of the guys in the limo.”
Jen shifted on her feet while York took down the men’s statements. When he finished, he said, “No point in hanging around here.”
She waited until they were back in York’s car to share what she was thinking. “As far as I know, the only redheaded man involved in all this is Tim Tormont, City Refuse Director.”
York glanced over at her, looking concerned. “Tormont’s toxic waste connection and involvement with the journal calls for a visit,” he said, making a U-turn and heading for the Public Works building.
On the way, she listened as he used his cellular to order an all-points bulletin for Joel and his limo companions, then called his partner to get a report on Zombolas’s interrogation.
The minute York hung up, she asked, “What did Zombolas say?”
“The Greek claimed the meeting with Monroe was the trucker’s own idea and that he offered to clam up for ten thousand. Zombolas further stated that since the guy was lying about everything, he told him to go to hell.”
“So after they shared a burger they went their separate ways? Do you buy that?”
“He has a witness. The mayor.”
She snickered. “But who’ll vouch for the mayor?”
“Good question. Anyway, the mayor said Zombolas dropped off Monroe and came straight to the pub where the mayor was meeting with some local businessmen. The men verified the times the mayor and his assistant arrived and left.”
“Even if those guys are honest, the mayor and Zombolas, together or separately could’ve hired a hit.”
“No argument. But without proof, we had to let Zombolas go.”
If he was the killer, he was free to kill again.
****
Jen shivered when York turned into the Public Works parking structure. His tight expression mirrored her feelings.
He snorted and shook his head. “I wish I could’ve grilled Zombolas before they cut him loose. Ted would have held him longer if he could.”
Jen nodded. York didn’t have to explain. She knew only too well that the police had to tread lightly when dealing with the mayor’s office. She’d been strapped into a similar straightjacket herself a few times.
When they entered Tormont’s office a few minutes later, his secretary Connie greeted York by name. Jen knew Connie had talked to the investigators after Gordon’s murder, but for an instant she was thrown off guard to learn that York was one of them.
“I’m glad you’re here, Detective,” Connie said, brushing back some of the blonde curlicues that framed her face. “I got this in the mail—no return address.” She handed York a report and an attached note.
As he scanned it, Jen moved closer to take a peek and caught a whiff of his sandalwood aftershave. He looked down at her, and for an instant their gazes locked. She fought the urge to step back from drowning in their blue depth and probing intensity.
“The note says this report has a bearing on Gordon’s murder,” he said. He glanced at Connie. “Did you read it?”
“Twice,” Connie said with a Bostonian twang in her voice. “It covers a service station property. But I don’t know how the report applies to what happened to Gordon.”
Jen thought she did. And maybe who sent it.
York flipped through the report. “Looks like someone wanted to bring things to light without getting involved. But why send it to you?”
“I wondered that myself,” Connie said.
“May I take it with me?” he asked. “I’d like to go over it carefully.”
Connie nodded. “Is there something else I can help you with, Detective?”
“I need to talk to your boss, Connie,” he said, his voice deep and, to Jen, sexily commanding.
“I’ll try to contact Mr. Tormont for you. But he may not answer his cell.” Connie glanced at her watch. “Unless he missed his flight, he’s on a plane heading for a refuse conference in Atlantic City.”
“Does Tormont know Joel Ferguson?” York asked.
His hand rested lightly on Jen’s back. Too aware of how right it felt there, she wondered, even as the warmth curled around her heart, if his touch was meant to keep her silent.
“I don’t recognize the name,” Connie said, glancing through her journal
of incoming calls. “No. No Ferguson called here, at least not in the last two months.”
“What about Sniffles, aka Kenny Duncan?” York’s voice took on an edge.
Connie shook her head.
“How about Lorenzo Monroe?” Jen asked, desperately wanting to find a connection.
“Don’t even have to look it up,” Connie said. “Lorenzo is an easy name to remember. Called here Monday. Really stirred Tim up. Tim shouted into the phone for several minutes, then like a bull seeing red, he charged from the office.”
Jen felt the pressure of York’s touch on her back intensify. Again, she wondered if he was warning her to keep her mouth shut.
“Did you hear any of the conversation, Connie?” he asked.
“Something about repercussions and toxic waste.” Connie paused and bit her lip as though struck by a pertinent memory. “That reminds me,” she said. “That last night before Gordon was murdered, we went out to dinner at Ye Olde Union Oyster House. During dessert he got a call on his cell. He mentioned toxic waste, and when he hung up he said we’d have to cut the evening short. That he had to meet a guy on a hot story.”
The pupils in York’s eyes contracted and Jen knew he’d connected one of the dots.
“Excuse me, ladies. I need to make a few calls.” He turned and exited to the outside corridor.
Connie came from behind her desk, looking pale. “What’s going on, Jen?”
She didn’t dare tell Connie anything. Tormont could call. Connie wouldn’t purposely tip him off, but she couldn’t chance a slip of the tongue. “All I can tell you is York has some strong suspects.” She patted Connie’s hand. “We’re making headway.”
“York? You and the detective are on a first name basis, I see. You guys kinda like each other, don’t you?”
Suddenly uncomfortable, Jen lowered her eyes.
“Don’t even try to deny it,” Connie said. “A person’d have to be deaf, blind, and stupid not to feel the vibes coming from you two.”
Jen hadn’t heard York slip back into the office, and jumped when he spoke.
“We’d better get going.” His husky tone vibrated through her.
Connie covered her mouth with her hand as though aware she’d let too much slip.
Jen’s face flamed. How much had York heard?
York gripped her arm as if she’d broken some kind of sacred rule. As they left Tormont’s office, Jen worked to downgrade her embarrassment by concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. It wasn’t until they were back in the car that she’d gathered her thoughts enough to speak. “Where to now?”
He faced her and took both of her hands in his. “I was hoping you could tell me. Brock gave his police-tail the slip.”
“What does Lee have to do with all this?”
“Maybe nothing, but I’d like to keep tabs on him. Any idea where he hangs out?”
“Gun shows and the shooting range at Grover’s Gun Club.”
They tried the club, but he wasn’t there. And hadn’t been there.
“We’re batting zero,” York said, sounding down. “I’m going back to the department. I’ll drop you off at your office. Finish up whatever you need to do there. I’ll be back at five and we’ll head for Salem.”
She blinked in surprise. “The trip’s still on after what I wrote?”
“Why not? Like you said, it’s old news. Past history.”
Her stomach fluttered, and then knotted. “How can we leave with so many things hanging?”
“This isn’t a big trek, Jen. If we need to get back, it’ll take us less than an hour. Besides, maybe Hawthorne has the info we need to fill in the gaps.”
He squeezed her hand, stroking her knuckled with the pad of his thumb. “We can discuss this more on the way to my folks’ place.”
His folks’ place. Why did the idea of meeting them suddenly make her palms sweat? “Why don’t we put a rain check on this weekend? We’re onto something here, and we should stick with it.”
“I already set it up for you to talk to my neighbor about the mayor and Coble.”
Darn, York. He knew that dangling the mayor’s secrets in her face would make her cave. Yet, how could she forget the rising tide of intrigue here in Boston? But what if his neighbor had the missing nugget of information to cut through the snarl of facts, pinpoint the most likely players, and make everything fall into place? She had to go.
Fifteen minutes later, she had barely returned to her office when Dory’s head popped into the doorway. “Did you set that cop straight?” She handed Jen a Styrofoam cup of tea, then perched on the edge of the desk, and swung her dangling leg.
“He had a legitimate gripe, Dory.” Good God, now she was defending two men, but why did she feel the need to defend a man like York who certainly could take care of himself? Maybe it was guilt. “The billboard story gave him big problems at work.”
“Poor baby. I hope you told him he brought it on himself.”
Jen sighed. “Yeah. I did. But I don’t feel good about it.”
Dory shook her head. “You’re falling for him, aren’t you?”
Jen got up and went to the window. She stared out, but saw nothing but his face. “I could. But don’t worry, I’m not willing to risk my heart on someone who couldn’t love me.” Her pulse quickened. But what was she going to do with her feelings for him?
“Good.” Dory blew out a puff of air as if in disgust. “Him and his old-fashioned woman fetish. You’re too smart to be seriously interested in someone with such inflexible ideas.”
She wished it were true. At the moment, she didn’t feel nearly smart enough.
Dory took a sip of tea. “What brought you into the office today?”
“What else? The strangler story. After he broke in on me twice and killed my source, I can’t think about anything else.” She paused, trying to tamp down her surge of fear. “The unnerving thing is that the strangler and toxic waste stories are entangling. And someone wants me dead!”
Dory gave her a little squeeze. “Maybe you should back away from this. Chasing a story is one thing, but—”
The phone rang.
“Better take this,” Jen said, picking up the lighted line. She mouthed, don’t worry.
Dory paused, biting her lip and looking very worried. When Jen made a shooing gesture, she disappeared out the door.
“Jen Lyman,” she said into the mouth piece.
“It’s about time you answered the phone.”
She stiffened at the sound of Lee Brock’s voice. She took a deep breath and forced a teasing tone. “Tried to call you several times like I promised, but you’re a hard man to reach. Where are you?”
“With friends. The hotel was getting expensive.” He chuckled. “And since you didn’t invite me to stay with you—”
That was the last thing she wanted, and he knew it. She grabbed a pen. “What’s the address and phone number?”
“Meet me at Jimmy Diamond’s bar after work, around five.” He paused. “Remember the first time I took you to JD’s? It was St. Patrick’s Day and you wore that shimmering green dress that clung in all the right places."
She groaned internally. “Look, Lee—”
“My friend’s out of town,” he interrupted as if what she was about to say was unimportant. “He has one of those pricy beach houses in a hidden cove. You’d love it. We can go to his place after, if you like.” His voice deepened. “And be alone. Just like old times.”
When newspapers are written in invisible ink! She closed her eyes briefly. Her heart pounded. She hated to betray a friend but setting Lee up so York could put a tail on him again might be the only way to clear the guy. Once Lee was cleared, she would apologize. “I’ll meet you for a drink, but that’s all.”
She called York and informed him of the appointment so they could leave a bit earlier.
Thirty minutes later, Jen started feeling uneasy again. It wasn’t quite 5:00 p.m. when she and York approached Jimmy Diamond’s bar. They wer
en’t late, but York seemed to be in a big rush. With his tight grip on her elbow, she struggled to match his long, swift stride as they crossed the parking lot. His seemingly alert gaze swept the area.
Her stomach knotted. “What’s the hurry?” she asked a little breathlessly.
“Can’t keep Brock waiting.” The edge to his voice added to her growing uneasiness.
The sun lingered low in the sky behind them. For an instant a shadow appeared in the alley next to the bar, then disappeared behind a dumpster. A shiver slid down her spine. “Is your undercover man here?”
“Across the street, green Merc.” York’s eyes narrowed and looked down at her. “Why, what did you see?”
She scanned the area around the dumpster for further movement, seeing only cardboard boxes and the dark inward jut of a doorway. “Nothing, I guess. Just a shadow.”
He pulled her along, cupping her arm and tucking her closer to his side as if to shield her.
They entered the bar into a world of dim coolness, leaving the August heat and early evening brightness outside.
His hand tightened on her arm as he seemed to case the place. She fanned the stale, alcohol and smoke-filled air. The after-work crowd of giggly secretaries and overweight business men, still in their workday clothes, sat in clusters around tiny, circular tables, flirting outrageously with one another. Bursts of rowdy laughter came from a table of college-age guys.
From a jukebox in the corner blared a song about a lost love, its words drowned in the buzz of partying. Jen scanned the sea of dark-haired men. Not a sunny blond among them.
“Looks like he stood you up.” The relief in York’s voice didn’t make sense. The sole reason they were here was for his undercover man to pick up Lee’s trail.
A sense of disloyalty washed over her again. “Lee wouldn’t do that. I’ll ask around.”
She described the tall, muscular blond to the barmaids. None had seen him. “Wouldn’t forget a guy who looked like that,” one said.
York shook his head and scoffed. Jen darted a sharp look at him then headed for the corner of the bar. York followed close on her heels, mumbling something about this being a complete waste of time.
When she elbowed her way between two guys on leather stools, she heard York’s low growl behind her. “Not a good idea,” he said.
