by Maria Geraci
“Sure. Everything’s peachy. Do you mind if I cut out early? We close in twenty minutes, and there’s no one at the counter. I need to see Travis.”
Jill smirks. “Yesterday it was Will, and today it’s Travis. You sure do have an interesting life.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” I mutter.
Chapter Eight
Cindy, the receptionist for the Whispering Bay Police Department, is on a perpetual quest to lose the universally elusive last five pounds, but she has a weakness for my cranberry muffins, and I’m more than happy to cater to it. “These are low-fat.” I set a bag of muffins on her desk.
Her eyes go rounder than a blueberry. “Thanks!” She opens a drawer and pulls out a dog bone. “I got these just in case you ever brought Paco back for a visit.” She holds the bone in the air above Paco’s head. “Sit,” she instructs.
Paco turns to look at me as if to say, I got this. He sits.
“Good boy,” says Cindy. “Down.”
Paco goes into the down position like he’s been doing it all his life. “Now stay,” she commands.
After he “stays” for a full ten seconds, she gives him the treat. “You’ve done such a good job with him, Lucy. He’s so well trained.”
I wish I could take credit for this “training,” but I had no idea that Paco knew the down and stay command because I’ve never asked him to do it. Maybe this is something he learned from a previous owner. Or maybe … He munches on the bone with a self-satisfied look on his face. Besides the ability to sniff out dead bodies, I swear this little guy can understand human language. I’d give anything to see inside that smarty-pants brain of his, even for just a few minutes.
“I’ve been thinking of getting a dog too,” says Cindy. “So Rusty and I’ve been watching that show with the dog guy to get advice.”
“Dog guy?”
“Yeah, you know, Woofio? He’s a more modern, cool version of that Cesar guy.”
“Never heard of him. What kind of name is Woofio?”
Cindy giggles. “Don’t you get it? Woof-io? You should watch the show. He’s absolutely brilliant at getting dogs to do things they don’t want to do.”
“I don’t know. Paco is pretty perfect just the way he is.” My dog looks up at me with a pleased expression. “So, Cindy, is Travis busy?”
“I heard you two went to the big event last night.” She winks at me. “Congratulations on snagging him, by the way.”
“What? Oh, no, Travis and I aren’t—never mind. Is he in? I really need to speak to him.”
She lowers her voice. “He’s in, but he’s on a really important call at the moment. Top secret. Very hush-hush. I probably shouldn’t have said anything.”
When I don’t take the bait, she tells me anyway. “With the FBI,” she mouths silently.
Travis is on the phone with the FBI? This must be about the photo! At this very moment, he could be finding out the fake J.W.’s real identity.
“Wow. What do you think that’s about?” Even though I know exactly what that’s about.
She shrugs. “Who knows? But this isn’t his first call from that Agent Billings. She’s probably called at least three times in the past couple of weeks that I’m aware of.”
What?
At the look on my face, Cindy backtracks. “Not that there’s anything going on between them.”
A few weeks ago, the feds, under the direction of Agent Patricia Billings, ran an operation here in Whispering Bay to hide Joey “The Weasel” Frizzone from the mob. The goal was to keep Joey alive so he could testify against Chicago’s biggest Don, Vito Scarlotti. For a while, dead bodies were popping up everywhere, and it looked like Joey was about to get his lights punched out until Paco and I uncovered a notorious mob assassin, “El Tigre,” and defused the situation.
Maybe Agent Billings has been keeping Travis abreast of the case. Although the last I’d seen in the news, Joey testified, and Vito was found guilty.
Cindy looks down at the desk phone. “Oh! They’re done talking. Want me to buzz you through the door?”
“If you don’t mind, thanks.”
Paco and I make our way through the station to the conference room, where I find Travis and Zeke Grant, Whispering Bay’s chief of police, with their heads together like they’re powwowing. Zeke spots me first. “Lucy,” he says, “What can I do for you?”
“Sorry to interrupt, but I was wondering if I could speak to Travis?”
“Sure.” Zeke turns to Travis. “I’m going home early this afternoon. You okay to handle things here at the station?”
“Not a problem, chief.”
Zeke takes a minute to rub the top of Paco’s head. “Hey, little guy. Seen any dead bodies lately?”
Travis shakes his head as if to say, Don’t encourage her.
“You’ll be the first person we call if he comes across one,” I say pleasantly.
“Say hi to Mimi for me,” I call to Zeke on his way out the door. Zeke’s wife, Mimi, is the town’s mayor. She gave birth to twins a couple of months ago. Two babies, a son in middle school, and a daughter in college. I have no idea how they do it.
“I can’t imagine being mayor and the chief of police and taking care of one baby, let alone two,” I say.
“They’re busy, all right.” Travis looks at his watch. “Speaking of busy, it’s not yet two. What are you doing here? Did you close early?”
“Not exactly. I just saw Victor Marino. Guess who’s going to help Victor publish a fictional version of his autobiography?”
Travis’s expression tightens. “J.W. Quicksilver.”
“I told you, he’s not J.W. Quicksilver. By the way, I hear you were on the phone with the FBI.”
“How do you know that?”
Rats. Me and my big mouth. I don’t want to get Cindy in trouble. For one thing, I really like her, and if she finds out I told Travis what I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone, she might start clamming up on me. “I, um, overheard you and Zeke down the hallway,” I fudge.
He nods grudgingly, which tells me my wild stab was right on point.
“I was talking to Agent Billings,” says Travis. “You remember her, right? I just sent her the photo. She’s looking into it.”
“What does Zeke think?”
“He thinks it sounds shady.”
“Good. Because it is shady. I couldn’t get Victor to tell me how much money he’s already given to this con man, but you can get it back, right?”
“Let’s not jump to any conclusions. If this guy is running a scam, we have to be able to prove it. Then the victims have to file a complaint. And then there’s the question as to whether this guy is who says he is. There’s a lot of ifs here, Lucy.”
Not really. Which Travis will discover tonight. Just a few more hours to go …
“So, how is Agent Billings?”
“Okay, I guess.”
“Did you two catch up on the Vito Scarlotti case?”
“Not really. I was more interested in seeing what she could find out about this guy from last night.”
“But she has called to update you on the case, right?”
“Lucy, the FBI has more important things to do than call some small-town cop and fill him in on their cases.”
“So you haven’t spoken to her since she left Whispering Bay?”
“Nope.”
Oh boy. The hair on the back of my neck is doing a jig. Travis has just lied to me.
I try to conjure up a mental picture of Patricia Billings in my head. Late thirties, medium height, FBI field-standard fit body. With her light brown hair always pulled back in a bun and a no-nonsense look in her eyes, she’s hardly femme fatale material, but there’s a sharpness about her that most men would probably find interesting.
Could Travis and Patricia Billings be involved?
They must be. Otherwise, why lie to me about their phone calls? Sure, he and I aren’t a “couple,” but he’s the one who’s been trying to make that happen. Not me.
I try to swallow past the lump of disappointment clogging my throat. People lie to me every day about all sorts of silly things, but between this and Sarah lying about Heidi’s reason for being in the café … It’s too much.
I pick Paco up off the floor and hug him. A woman’s best friend is definitely her dog. “Do you think you can come to Betty Jean’s book club meeting tonight?”
“Why would I do that?”
“So you can make an arrest.”
“That’s jumping the gun, don’t you think?”
“Then consider it your civic duty to attend. Didn’t Zeke just tell you to handle things? Because I can guarantee that tonight, something big is going to go down at the meeting.”
Travis’s eyes narrow. “Like what?”
“Like … just promise me you’ll come. Seven o’clock. Betty Jean Collins’s house.”
“I don’t know where she lives,” he says stubbornly.
“You’re a cop. Look up her address.”
Chapter Nine
I’m still reeling from Travis’s lie about Agent Billings, but I need to focus on tonight. Hopefully, Will isn’t flipping out. He promised me he’d be at Betty Jean’s house and make everything right, and I trust he’ll keep his word, but he has to be anxious. Has he let his publisher and agent know what he’s going to do?
As his best friend and future girlfriend, I should lend him my moral support.
I stop by the library. Faith tells me that Will has left for the day, so I swing by his house, but there’s no answer when I knock on the door. I call his cell, but it goes to voice mail. Huh. Maybe he went to go shoot some pool or get some last-minute advice from Sebastian. Since I have a few hours before I need to show up at Betty Jean’s, I stop by the rectory.
“Hey, Lucy.” Shirley is all decked out like she’s going to the prom. Big hair. Big rhinestone earrings. Sparkly dress.
“You look fancy.”
Shirley pats her hair. “I went to the salon this morning. Wasn’t last night fabulous? And to think we get J.W. all to ourselves tonight! I don’t think I’ve been this excited since the St. Petersburg Boys Choir came to sing for us last Easter.” Shirley must be easy to please, because it was St. Petersburg, Florida, not Russia.
“Yeah, sure. Last night was great.” I sound wooden, but pretending to be excited about this faker is getting old. I glance at my watch. Two hours to go until this charade is over. “Is my brother in?”
“Sorry, hon, he went to do some home visits.”
“Do you know if Will came by to see him? Or called him maybe?”
“Not that I’m aware. But he could have come by while I was out getting my hair done.” Shirley frowns. “Everything okay?”
“Sure, everything is fine,” I lie.
She goes back to filing papers. “See you this evening at Betty Jean’s,” she says cheerfully.
Paco and I go back to the car, and I try Will’s cell again, but nothing. Where can he be? And why isn’t he answering his phone? I’m probably making a big deal out of nothing, but my Spidey sense tells me that something isn’t right.
I try to shake off this feeling of dread. It’s only natural that my woo-woo clock is ringing off its base right now. The past few days have been crazy. I can’t wait to wake up tomorrow to normalcy. Normal for me, that is.
We head back to my apartment above The Bistro. I take a quick shower and put on the new T-shirt I threatened to wear to last night’s book signing, I LIKE BIG MUFFINS AND I CANNOT LIE. If anything, it will be good for a laugh, which we might all need tonight.
I place the muffins in a protective container, then take Paco for a quick walk around the building before we head out. I’m early, but I thought I’d run by Will’s house one more time on my way to Betty Jean’s. I’m loading up my car when Brittany’s red Mustang squeals into The Bistro parking lot. She jumps out of her car. “Thank God I’ve found you! Something disastrous has just happened.”
Disastrous for Brittany can be anything from a broken nail to finding pickles in her tuna salad sandwich. What she needs is a good stiff dose of reality. “Calm down. What’s wrong now?”
“You’re never going to believe this.” She scrunches up her face like she can’t bear to tell me. “J.W. Quicksilver is a fake.”
Finally. “Oh, I believe it all right. So Will told you the whole story?”
“Will? What’s he got to do with this?” Brittany begins pacing around the parking lot in her high heels, and she never wobbles once, which is impressive. “I’m going to be the laughingstock of the ACCE!”
“The what?”
“The Association of Chamber of Commerce Executives. Lucy, do you think they’ll kick me out? Or … do you think I’ll get”—her voice drops to a horrified whisper—“fired?”
“Brittany, I’m confused. Tell what what’s going on.”
Paco makes a movement with his head suspiciously close to a nod. It’s like he’s agreeing with me. From the beginning, please.
“Remember I was telling you about my plans to hold a book festival here in town? I contacted J.W.’s publisher to let him know how thrilled we were to have J.W. here and how we’d love to have him back for another event and to see if possibly we could get some other big-name authors here too.”
“Like Lee Child?”
Brittany winces. “Don’t remind me. I feel so … ” She shrugs it off, but I’m pretty sure the word “foolish” was on the tip of her tongue. “Anyway, I got an email back this afternoon from the publisher. He had no idea what I was talking about. He said J.W. doesn’t do public events. At first, I thought maybe it was a standard reply, but the wording wasn’t right, so I called.”
“You talked to his publisher?”
“To an assistant. She told me that there was no way that J.W. Quicksilver did any kind of public appearance and that we were being bamboozled. My entire professional reputation is at stake here. I’m the one who insisted we do the big event at Daddy’s restaurant last night. All those people who came and bought tickets … Do you think I could be arrested? For aiding and abetting in a scam?” She bends over and rests her hands on her knees like she’s sucking for air.
“Take slow, deep breaths,” I urge. Then, for good measure, I rub her back. The last thing I need is for Brittany to start hyperventilating and pass out in my parking lot.
“I don’t know who this impostor is, but I even got the Chamber of Commerce to comp him a beach house while he was in town. I’m not a violent person, but I could absolutely kill him.”
Yikes. “I’m sorry.”
She straightens up to look me in the eye. Her gaze sharpens. “Why don’t you seem surprised by any of this?”
I might as well tell Brittany everything. Or at least, the parts that are mine to tell. “Because I know who the real J.W. Quicksilver is.”
For a few seconds, she’s speechless. But Brittany being Brittany, she recovers quickly. “You do? But how? Where is he? Is he here in town?”
“I can’t tell you. Not yet anyway.”
“Who else knows about this?”
“Just me, the real J.W. Quicksilver, and Travis. Well, Travis doesn’t know the identity of the real J.W., but I warned him that the man we saw last night was an impostor. That is why I was trying to get a picture of him. So Travis could run it through a facial recognition program.”
Brittany looks duly chastised. “I didn’t mean to rat you out. It just sort of popped out of my mouth. But oh, Lucy, you’re so clever! Was Travis able to identify him?”
“Not yet, but this guy is running a publishing scam here in town. He’s taken money from Victor Marino and who knows how many other people. And I’ll bet you my last muffin tin that it’s not the first scam he’s pulled.”
Brittany goes pale. “This is getting worse by the second.” She looks around the parking lot and spots my car with the door open and the container of muffins sitting on the seat. “Are you still going to Betty Jean’s book club tonight?”
�
��Yep. We have to pretend everything is status quo or we might scare this con man and his gang into skipping town. If that happens, we might never find out who he is or recoup the money he’s stolen.”
“Gang? You mean—”
“Anita the assistant and a man who’s going by the name of Hoyt Daniels. Maybe there’s more too. Who knows? Once they get to Betty Jean’s, we have to act like everything’s normal. Then the real J.W. Quicksilver is going to show up and tell everyone who he is. Travis will arrest the bad guys and, voila! Everything will be fixed.” Hopefully.
“That’s brilliant! Except … I hope no one will blame me for any of this.”
“Why should they blame you? You’re just as much a victim here as anyone else.”
“You’re right.” She squares back her shoulders. “In some ways, I’m probably his biggest victim. This is all Betty Jean’s fault. She’s the one who brought him to town. She should have done a better job of vetting him. First, he conned me into throwing him that huge party at Daddy’s and then he conned the city out of a free beach house. I’ll probably have to testify against him in court. Don’t you think? I might even be the prosecution’s star witness.” She reaches out and grabs me in a hug. “I knew I was right to come to you with this! Thank you, Lucy! I feel so much better.”
Now that this crisis is taken care of, Brittany can focus on more important things. She reads the slogan on my T-shirt and tsks. “At least you didn’t wear that last night. You were playing with me, weren’t you? When you sent me that horrible picture of you in the miniskirt?”
Travis didn’t think it was so horrible.
“I hope you learned your lesson. No fashion advice. Unless I ask for it.”
She makes an X over her chest. “Promise.” Her eyes go sparkly. “But if I was to give you some fashion advice, I would tell you to wear exactly what you wore last night, down to the last little detail. You looked wonderful! Travis couldn’t take his eyes off you.”
I get all twitchy. “That’s probably because I had food in my hand most of the night.”
“Don’t do that,” she says.
