Phish NET Stalkings

by Denise Robbins

  Jack finished swallowing his coffee and shook his head. “Nada. Well, maybe not a total zilch, but nothing to really go on.”

  “Keep it simple. Give me specifics.”

  Setting his mug down, Jack reached into his pocket, pulled out his notebook, and flipped to the pages on the current investigation. “We located a couple of the diner patrons who had been there before closing.”

  “Did anyone see anything, anyone?”

  “Maybe. Two people saw a man coming in as they were going out.”

  Cooper leaned forward in his chair and put his elbows on his desk. “Did they notice anything about him, could they describe him?”

  Jack shrugged. “Not really. They said the guy was bundled up in a waist-length winter coat. The color was navy. He had on some kind of stocking cap. Again, one of the witnesses thought it was blue. The guy was taller than the male witness, which wouldn’t be difficult when he is only five-foot-eight. The woman would swear the man’s hair was brown. She couldn’t say light or dark, but she swore it was brown.”

  “If he wore a hat, how could she tell?”

  “Either she saw bangs or it was long enough to stick out of the hat.”

  “What else?”

  “That’s about it,” Jack said and shut his notebook, “except for one last thing that they both agreed on.”

  “What?”

  “The guy smelled.”

  “Smelled?” Cooper asked, wrinkling his brow.

  “Yeah. Either he had some serious body odor or the worst breath.”

  “Did he speak? What did he say?”

  “Excuse me.”

  “What did—”

  Jack interrupted. “That’s what he said. Nothing else.”

  He leaned back, blew out a long breath, and rubbed at his chin. “So to recap, the potential suspect is taller than five-feet-eight, may have brown hair, wears a navy coat and stocking type hat, and stinks. Oh!” He sat bolt upright. “Does the diner have video surveillance?”

  “Like I wouldn’t have checked that first thing,” Jack grumbled. “No. There is no security other than a code and really crappy locks.”

  “Well, shit!”

  “I thought I’d get a state sketch artist up here, see if he or she can pull anything more out of the two witnesses, and maybe get a composite sketch of the guy.”

  “He may not even be our perp, but he could be another witness. Did you ask Sharon if she remembered seeing a guy that matches that description?”

  Jack bobbed his head once. “I asked and she didn’t remember.” Jack got to his feet and hooked the coffee cup in his hand. “I’m going to go fill out the paperwork now, document what we know and make that call to the state.”

  “Yeah. I already started mine. I’ll let you know when I’m done.”

  Jack pivoted and started for his office door. He paused and looked back. “You never said how your date went the other night.”

  Coop glanced up at his friend, narrowed his gaze. “What date?” he asked, his lip curving a little at the corner.

  “Don’t play stupid with me. The girl from the bar. I think her name was Jane. You know exactly who and what I’m talking about.”

  “I never kiss and tell, but let’s just say the evening did not go as planned.”

  “Struck out, huh? Well, at least you got back in the game.” With that, Jack left and shut the door behind him.

  Yeah, he was back in the game. After more than two years of being alone, a result of his FBI career, he finally found a woman he could and wanted to spend more than a couple of hours together between the sheets. What woman would want to be involved with him when she couldn’t plan something as simple as a romantic dinner for two when he could and would potentially be gone at the drop of a dime.

  He didn’t blame Tonya for bailing on him. He blamed her for bailing out while he was on assignment, for leaving him with practically nothing but the clothing on his back and mold in the refrigerator. He blamed her for not having the nerve to even write or call in a Dear John letter. One minute she was crying in his arms because he had to leave, the next she was missing in action and leaving him with an empty house and all the unpaid bills.

  That wouldn’t happen again. Things were different now. He no longer had a job where he would have to disappear, go traipsing off across the country or world after some criminal. This time he was putting down roots, and he didn’t have to go any farther than the town or maybe the state line.

  This time if he proposed to a woman there would not be a long engagement. He would haul her ass off to the nearest Justice of the Peace and marry her on the spot.

  The image of hauling Jane’s very fine, firm ass across the threshold flitted through his mind and made him chuckle. Yeah, he might just have to try that.

  * * * *

  She found an antique door chest she just had to have. It had glass on three sides, the metal drawer pulls were still intact, and the wooden shelves were in one piece. “Gorgeous,” she murmured as she ran an ungloved hand down one leg. “Girl legs. All curves and smooth.”

  The older man, a Mr. Peters, chuckled behind his meaty fist. “Girl legs? I’ve never heard anyone call them that.” He rolled his shoulders. “I like it.”

  “They are.” Jane returned his smile and handed him the money for the cabinet. The legs were a perfect match to the ones on her dining room table. Once she cleaned and refinished the cabinet, it would look beautiful as a china cabinet in her dining room. She could not wait to get it home, but she was having too much fun to leave the flea market now. There were just too many things to see, touch, and just plain enjoy.

  “Thank you, darlin’. We’ll load it up when you’re ready to go.” He nodded in the direction of two other large men, his sons.

  “Thank you.”

  She continued strolling through the sea of antiques and junk. At one eight-foot table, she discovered some gorgeous, mint condition, carnival glass. When the breeze kicked up, the temperature seemed even colder, dropping below the high of thirty degrees. It did not deter Jane. She simply pulled a hat out of her pocket, tugged it on her head and continued to shop with purpose.

  Standing next to a table that held all kinds of salt and peppershakers she felt the hairs on her neck raise as if she were being watched. She set the Aunt Jemima saltshaker on the table and glanced over her shoulders. She didn’t see anyone. At least not anyone she recognized. She moved on past a table that held old crystal, past a table swarming with antique tools and several other uninteresting paraphernalia until she came to a table of knickknacks.

  The vendor, a middle-aged woman bundled into a bright pink parka stood behind the table and offered a sincere smile. Jane eyed the array of trinkets all neatly arranged by category and front to back by height. She was a true sales person who understood presentation was the key to a sale. If someone couldn’t find it then they couldn’t buy it.

  She picked up a kitchen fairy, an adorable blonde pigtailed fairy with clear iridescent wings sitting atop a blue measuring cup filled with chocolate chips. “Cute.”

  “They were made in the twenties,” the woman offered.

  Placing the fairy back on the table she told the vendor, “You have a fabulous collection.”

  “Thank you.” The woman’s smile widened before she blew into her gloved hands and stomped her feet for warmth. “My mom, my grandmother, and even my great-grandmother have been collecting for years.”

  Jane glanced up from her perusal of the objects. “A family tradition?”

  The woman let out a bark of laughter. “More like a family obsession.”

  “Do you have any frogs?”

  “What kind? Dancing ones, standing ones, or see-no-evil, hear-no-evil, speak-no-evil frogs?”

  Now it was Jane’s turn to chuckle. “Not quite so exotic. More like anatomically correct frogs.”

  “What?” the dealer guffawed. “Are you serious?” she asked as she looked past Jane.

  Jane pivoted and peered around. Was i
t just her imagination? Again, the hairs on the back of her neck tickled her nerves. She rolled her shoulders and turned her attention back to the woman and her wares.

  When she didn’t see what she was searching for she blew out a disappointed sigh and let her shoulders slump. “Bummer.” She had really thought today would be the day she would find David’s birthday present.

  She started to walk away when the woman behind the table hailed her back. “Lady, are you for real?”

  Jane lifted one perfectly arched brow. “Meaning?”

  “Do you know how much one of those ceramic kitchen frogs is worth?”

  Jane’s heart did a little leap in her chest. “You know what I’m talking about?”

  The older woman swept her pink clad arm across her tables. “Does it look like I don’t know my business?”

  “No, ma’am.” She took a step closer. “Do you know where I can get them?” She handed the woman her business card and after she took it offered her hand. “I’m Jane East.”

  “Caroline Jacob. Can you afford it?”

  She coughed into her gloved hand. That was a novel approach to determining if a potential client could afford to buy something. Just ask.

  “Uh, yes. I believe I can afford it as long as the price is not beyond the value of the product.”

  “Hold on a second.” She held up a hand and retreated under a tarp pinned over the back of an SUV.

  Excitement and anticipation bubbled through Jane. Could it really be? Could she after months of searching have finally located David’s birthday present? Giddiness fizzed inside her.

  Caroline returned minutes later carrying an old shoebox and set it at one end of the table. With careful movement, she opened the lid, slid tissue paper aside, and revealed two green ceramic frogs. Jane’s heart stopped for a second as she took in the bright pink lips on the female frog and the cigar hanging out of the male’s mouth.

  “Holy shit,” she breathed out in reverence.

  Caroline chuckled. “My great-grandmother had these and I couldn’t bear to part with them at first after her death.”

  “I don’t blame you,” Jane whispered. “Family is everything.” In spite of not having her family, never knowing her father, losing her mother at an early age, and the death of her adopted grandmother, Jane understood sentiment and missed family. “May I touch them?”

  The older woman bobbed her head. “Just be careful.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  After removing one glove, Jane reached into the box, lifted the female frog from its protective cover, and flipped her over. Both she and Caroline let out a burst of laughter. Sure enough, it was a female frog. Lips and all. She turned the knick-knack this way and that and confirmed there wasn’t a chip on it. With the same care, she checked out the male frog. He was in just as good a condition.

  Putting the frog back in his cushioning, she looked up at Caroline and asked, “How much?”

  Caroline pursed her lips in thought then rattled off a number. A large number. A number not out of the realm of the knickknack’s worth, but still on the high end. Looking at the older woman she took her measure and decided she was waiting to haggle, so Jane made her a counter-offer. It wasn’t too low, but low enough to know Caroline wouldn’t accept the offer.

  She shook her head and grinned at her. “I like you,” Caroline said and made a counter-offer.

  “Deal.”

  For a moment, Caroline’s eyes seemed to bug out and her flushed face paled.

  “I can give you some cash and the balance in a check. Unfortunately, it’s not safe to carry that kind of money around in cash.”

  Caroline scoffed and set the box down, bobbling the lid as she did. “I never thought I would actually part with them. I never thought anyone like you would be at a flea market.”

  “Someone like me?” Jane asked.

  “A lady with manners, respect, and who owns her own business. Someone who could actually afford a real and valuable collectible.”

  Jane chuckled into her palm. “I go to flea markets all the time and I have never met a vendor who cared more about her stock and her display.” She reached into her bag and fished out her wallet. “If you ever need a job just give me a call. I own a small boutique and you would be a terrific asset.”

  Air whooshed out of Caroline’s lungs. She leaned one hip against the table as Jane handed her a check and an envelope of cash. “You’re for real aren’t you?”

  Jane’s brows knit together in puzzlement. “For real? What do you mean?”

  “You’d give me a job just like that.” Caroline snapped her fingers, reached under the table, and pulled out some bubble wrap. She began wrapping and taping the box. “Safety precaution.”

  She smiled to herself. “Yes. I’m a good judge of character. I make quick decisions when I know something is right.”

  “Like the frogs. You have a special place for them all picked out.”

  “Oh, those are for a friend.”

  Caroline gave a high-pitched whistle. “Must be some special friend.”

  “He’s very special and very dear. He’s also my business partner and he would love you.”

  The older woman tied the handles of the plastic bag together and handed it to her. “I’m here every Sunday so if you ever need anything else you let me know.”

  “Caroline, it has been a real honor to meet you and a real pleasure to do business with you.” Jane clutched David’s birthday present to her chest. “I hope you consider my offer and give me a call.”

  Caroline waved the business card. “I’ve got your number. Thanks. I hope your friend likes his gift.”

  “Oh, he is going to love them.” With that, Jane spun on the hard packed dirt and headed back to the booth where she bought her door chest then straight to her car. Giddiness carried her all the way to her vehicle where she safely tucked the box into the back seat well of the truck. She started it up and waited for the two burly young men to load and secure the cabinet. After she tipped them, which seeing the slacked jaws took them by surprise, she took off in a cloud of dust and happiness. Today would be the day. She just knew it.

  “Yippee.” She pummeled her gloved fists against the steering wheel with joy as she went slowly over the dirt and gravel roads. Even though the cabinet was padded with blankets, she didn’t want to risk any glass breakage due to careless driving.

  As soon as she hit the paved road, her truck signaled low gas. “Dang.” She had at least fifty miles to go before she ran out, but she hated risking getting caught in traffic or some other roadway disaster and being stuck without a gas can or a station close by. At the first sign she saw for fuel, she checked her mirrors and signaled to change lanes for the next exit.

  She pulled up to the pump and hopped out, slipping her gloves on and her purse over her shoulder as she went to pay before pumping. Whistling to herself, she exited the heated building shoving her wallet back into her bag when she ran headlong into a soft brick wall. “I’m sorry,” she muttered then glanced up. Her heart lodged in her throat.

  “Bob?” she said incredulous when her heart finally dropped back into her chest.

  “Jane.”

  He wore a grim smile beneath his brimmed hat. “What are you doing out this way?” she asked, trying to keep her voice calm when she felt anything but. Inside, her nerves were shaking, on high alert, sending all kinds of warning signals.

  “I was at the largest flea market in New Hampshire. What about you? You’re kind of out of your element.”

  “Oh. I didn’t know you were into antiques. Did you find anything you couldn’t live without?”

  Hands in his pockets, his gaze raked over her, eyed her up and down. What the heck?

  “Yeah, I found something.”

  Something about the way he answered was like raking fingers across a chalkboard. Her shoulders lifted as unease trembled against her spine. “Uh, if you’ll excuse me, I have to put gas in the truck.” She started past him.

  “Se
e you,” he muttered in a low rumble.

  “Nice to see you.” She strolled past him, the tiny hairs prickling at the back of her neck. It wasn’t until she had the nozzle in the gas tank and was pumping the gas before she glanced back at where she left Bob. She didn’t see him. He had disappeared.

  Jane lifted and dropped her shoulders. It had to be nothing. Maybe it was an innocent run-in. She worried her bottom lip. It had to be nothing. Otherwise, she might think Bob was stalking her. She shook her head. No. He was a sloppy kisser, had horrendous breath, and sweated profusely, but she shook her head again. He couldn’t be a stalker. How would he have known where she was going? It had to be a coincidence.

  Shoving all thoughts of Bob aside, Jane finished pumping her gas then hopped back into her truck. She headed home with thoughts of stopping for a cheeseburger as a special reward for a very productive day. A well-earned reward, she thought, as she looked both ways then turned left and pulled out into the road in the direction of the highway.

  EIGHTEEN

  It was late by the time he wrapped up the paperwork and checked in on the status of little Joey with the state worker. The kid was so dang cute and seemed to be adjusting to the environment he was in, despite the tears for his mommy. It was the kids that got to him, more than any other, he thought as he backed out of the driveway of the foster home social services had placed Joey in. No matter whether he worked for the FBI cybercrime unit or was Chief of Police in a podunk town in New Hampshire, when children were involved or hurt in a case his work-hardened heart changed to mush. Not to the point that he couldn’t act, but to the point that he wanted to go home and curl up and bury himself in the arms of a warm woman.

  Cooper pulled out into the dark street and thought of a particular warm woman with who he would like to curl up. Jane.

  In spite of her denial of wanting to see him again, he knew she didn’t mean it. She had been too giving, too receptive to him. Maybe he needed to slow down, take the pace of their relationship to a saunter and not a race. But he didn’t want that. Something about Jane made him want to get to the finish line in a hurry.