Chapter Eight
ONCE THE COPS WERE IN VIEW, Jewels instantly recognized the caramel-colored, feathered, full head of hair adorning the passenger. “Agent Hines,” she mumbled, rolling her eyes in uneasy anticipation of the possibility his visit could involve a face-to-face high pressure solicitation for a date, even though just hours earlier she had almost called him back to accept his dinner invitation.
But the fact Theodore wasn’t alone was a clue the visit must be official FBI business, Jewels reasoned feeling somewhat relieved. At least he wasn’t going to hound her for a date. She wasn’t in a socializing mood and especially not with the sometimes overbearing Agent Hines.
All of a sudden, an icy fist wrenched Jewels’ innards. Her face drained of color. “What official business would the FBI have with me?” she whispered to herself. Sharon’s murder was the first, the only, answer she could fathom. Was Sharon involved in something the FBI was investigating?
Another question leaped into her mind. If the FBI did, in fact, have Sharon under investigation, which would be serious, what becomes of her promise not to turn the SPOF map over to the cops? After all, Hines and his partner weren’t just local law enforcement boys. They were feds. The F-B-I.
What should she do about her promise? Allowing her eyes to slide shut for a brief moment, she combed her soul for the answer, the right answer. Her heart was telling her to trust her friend. To keep the faith of a dying woman. To be true to herself by honoring her word.
But the voice of reason was quick to remind her of the reality of the situation, warning if the FBI was investigating Sharon or SPOF—whatever or whoever that was—and Jewels kept her promise, she risked facing federal charges for withholding evidence in a current investigation ... federal charges that could land her hard time in prison.
The sound of a car engine being put to rest prompted Jewels to open her eyes. The passenger door swung open first. Instantly, as usual, the aroma of Hines’ Ralph Lauren Polo cologne preceded his physical presence, which was not exceptional, but by no means repulsive.
He was about six-foot-two with a solid, athletic build. A cleft chin, chiseled jaw line and a straight, thin nose. Biscuit brown, spaniel eyes were set against mildly pocked, sun-browned skin. And Hines was a sharp dresser. Always wore expensive tailored suits, looking more like a highly-paid corporate executive than a law man.
Granted, Theodore Hines presented an acceptable physical package. But how could she ever take any man seriously who felt the need to wear so much cologne? What was he trying to cover up? She was sure she couldn’t imagine and certain she didn’t want to find out.
“Jewels,” an exuberant Agent Hines greeted, smiling widely and striding toward her with open arms.
Rebuffing his invitation for a hug, she extended her hand. “Agent Hines.”
Shaking her hand, he passed her a puzzled look. “Miz Andrasy, this is Special Agent Folsum,” Hines said mocking her formality as he cocked his head toward the trainee.
Jewels looked over Agent Folsum. Young for an FBI agent, she thought. Maybe twenty-three, but wondered if he was older than he appeared. He reminded her of a slightly chunky, baby-faced Jimmy Smits.
After climbing just two steps up the side stairs of the wraparound porch, Jewels paused. “Now what does the FBI want with me?”
Though she didn’t know it, Jewels’ suspicions about Folsum’s age were right on. He looked nearly a decade younger than he was at thirty-one. Formerly a low-ranking FBI analyst, he had recently completed his Field Agent training at the FBI’s facility in Quantico. Anxious to exercise his new authority, he seized the opportunity to respond to Jewels’ inquiry.
Skirting the edge of the flower bed on the sidewalk at ground level, he kept his eyes on her while hurrying his pace to get ahead of her slow ascent onto the porch. Clearly, he was positioning himself to beat her to the front door. Once about ten feet in front on her, Folsum stopped, thrust his hands on his hips, stood stiff and stared coldly up at Jewels. “Hold it right there, Miss,” he barked, purposely lowering his voice to sound authoritative. More threatening.
Jewels had already been standing still and continued to do so. Annoyance swept her face. “What?” she said, with a hostile sigh. “You been practicing this take-no-shit look in front of the bathroom mirror and think you’re going to use it on me now?”
Agent Folsum’s face heated up, but he continued to stare her down.
Swiveling her head over her shoulder, Jewels shot Hines a dirty look, expecting him to say something, but he just stood on the sidewalk, looking up at her on the stairs. “Hmph,” she huffed, refocusing her simmering eyes on Folsum, “So now what? Gonna, shoot me?” Her tone and demeanor sarcastic.
Folsum and Hines remained motionless at the edge of the fancy red brick walkway, gazing up at her.
“Probably not a good idea,” Jewels badgered, stomping up the remaining few steps onto the porch, briskly walking about thirty feet toward the front door.
The moment she started moving, Folsum sprinted into a dead run the length of the porch and up the front steps, cutting her off before she reached the entry. With hands planted on his hips and chest puffed out, he tarried, blocking Jewels from her own front door. It was that take-no-shit look again.
Not in the mood for this crap, Jewels folded her arms across her chest, squared her shoulders and widened her stance, posturing for a standoff. “Ooooouuuuwww. Big, bad FBI man gonna try intimidation tactics to keep me from entering my own home?” Jewels taunted, fury building, becoming more and more pissed ... at Hines for not calling off his wanna-be enforcer.
Folsum swiftly retrieved a pocket notebook and pen from the inside of his suit jacket, clicked the top of the pen, then engaged his machine gun mouth to rapidly fire damning questions. “The woman in the deli, exactly who was she to you? What was your relationship with her? Why did you decide to meet? How long have these meetings been going on—”
“Enough,” Jewels angrily interrupted, gesturing a quick swipe of her extended thumb across her throat as if to cut it. “Do you have a warrant? Are you here to arrest me?”
Folsum and Hines stood like statues, mute and unmoving. Befuddled looks washed their faces.
Wagging her head in aggravation, “I didn’t think so,” she said with a huff. Narrowing her eyes at Folsum, she quickly looked him up and down, “Now get out of my way, young man, or I’ll call my attorney.”
Folsum, once again red-faced, immediately stepped aside and backed down the steps, allowing plenty of room for her to pass.
Stamping toward the front door, she paused, “If the FBI must speak with me, they may do so after my attorney arrives.” Fumbling with the keys, she madly searched for the one that fit the door.
Hines shot daggers at Folsum who responded with wide eyes and raised shoulders.
Agent Hines trotted up the porch steps. “Miz Andrasy, wait,” he admonished, tapping her on the shoulder.
Shrinking from his touch and keeping her back toward him, she continued fiddling with the house key. Butterfingers! She dropped the keys, stooped down, quickly picked them up.
When she stood up, this time Hines grabbed a meaty hold of her shoulder, forcefully spinning her around to look at him.
Jewels wobbled on her stilettos, but quickly gained balance. “Get your hand off me.”
“Please, Miz Andrasy, let me explain,” he calmly said, instantly releasing his grip and taking a step away from her. Shaking his head in regret, he meekly explained, “Agent Folsum ... well, he’s new and a bit overzealous. And, well ... he didn’t mean anything by that, really. And, well ... I’m really sorry. It’s just that ... well—”
“Pretty deep subject for such a shallow mind,” she coolly interrupted before forcing a laugh.
Hines and Folsum volleyed quizzical looks back and forth for a second before cautiously laughing, too.
“I’m sorry,” Jewels said with a long sigh. “I’ve had a rough day, and—”
“Say no more,” Fols
um interrupted, resting his hand over heart and bowing slightly to her. “It is me who owes you the apology.” Nodding at Hines, “The boss said you were someone we could have a little fun with and I guess I went too far.”
“Really.” Cocking her head, she lobbed a puzzled look at Hines. “Is that what he said?” Her voice edged with intrigue as she continued to fiddle with key. Finally the massive oak door unlocked.
Boo-Boo, her three year old golden retriever, bulldozed her way between the door and wall before Jewels could even open it all the way. The dog rushed out onto the porch, enthusiastically greeting her like she’d been gone for years instead of just a few hours.
Jewels adored her big cuddly Boo-Boo Bear. Immediately bending down and wrapping her arms around the dog’s neck, she energetically stroked the silky hair on her back for a vigorous mini massage. “How’s my little moon pie today?” Her voice was high pitched and baby-talk playful. Robert and she had chosen the pup from a litter of eight. Boo-Boo was their baby and the closest thing to a child they would ever have.
The agents took a quick step backward as the one-hundred-twenty pound fur ball bounced up and down, squealed with delight, and happily wiggled its entire body in Jewels’ embrace. Clearly this was a well-established welcome home ritual. It was also clear Jewels was in no hurry to rush it despite the presence of two hovering FBI agents.
Finally Jewels stood up, straightened her suit, readjusted the handbag on her shoulder and bloody jacket on her arm, then stepped through the door, holding it open wide. “Come, Boo-Boo,” she called, patting her thigh as a signal the dog should enter the house. Obediently, she followed, but instantly parked in the middle of the entry creating a furry blockade, eyes eagerly fixed upward on her momma. “Move Boo-Boo. Get out of the doorway so the nice FBI guys can come in and grill your momma just for the fun of it.”
Hines tilted his head back in laughter. “I promise, no more bad cop routines.”
Raising a brow in a questioning slant, she grinned. “I guess we’ll soon see.”
Boo-Boo responded to the visitors by dashing off down the hall, quickly returning with a half-skinned tennis ball. She nudged the ball into the palm of Agent Folsum’s hand.
“Interesting. Despite your earlier antics, Agent Folsum—”
“Michael. Call me Michael.”
Smiling and nodding. “... she must sense you’re a good person, Michael. Boo-Boo is rarely this friendly with strangers the first time she meets them. It usually takes her two or three visits before she warms up.”
Hines forcefully blew air out between gritted teeth. Growled. Neither Jewels nor Agent Folsum acknowledged his negative reaction to her calling the rookie agent by his first name, though both noticed it. How could they not?
“Gee, I’m honored,” Folsum said, staring at the slobbery ball in his hand.
“Go ahead, throw the ball in the house. I don’t mind. But be forewarned: play ball with Boo-Boo once and, as far as she’s concerned, you’re friends for life. Shun her once, and she’ll never forgive or forget you.”
Directing the agents into the formal living room, Jewels instructed them to make themselves at home. “I’m dying for a Diet Coke. Would you gentlemen like to join me?”
The agents nodded in agreement.
Hustling off to the kitchen, Jewels was eager to dump the blood soaked jacket from her arm and the heavy purse on her shoulder. Plus she really needed another Diet Coke.
Fine country wood furnishings added a warm glow to the hunter green and burgundy plaid fabric of the sofa. The two wine colored over-stuffed wingback chairs parked opposite the sofa looked too inviting for the agents to refuse. They each plunged into a chair, both sighing in comfort.
An ornately hand-carved wooden mantel added pizzazz to the towering stone fireplace. Venetian plastered walls were adorned with original western paintings, several by Gary Carter, a distinguished member of the prestigious Cowboy Artists of America. Folsum almost instantly relinquished the comfort of the chair to examine the art more closely.
Boo-Boo followed him, persistently nudging the ball into his hand. Obliging the dog’s request, he continued tossing the slobbery ball around the room.
Returning with a stack of bright yellow paper napkins, a plate of chocolate covered chocolate cake donuts arranged in a pyramid, and three glasses of Diet Coke, “Help yourself, guys,” Jewels said setting the tray on the coffee table. “Thought you might like some donuts.” Teasing, she added, “They are the preferred snack among you law enforcement types, aren’t they?”
“And apparently of beautiful women as well,” Agent Micheal Folsum quickly returned.
“Every girl’s gotta have her chocolate and I keep quite a stash,” Jewels said in good humor.
Everyone chuckled.
Snagging one of the glasses, she sat down on the sofa and noticed the agent was studying her art collection. “Michael, are you a Gary Carter fan or just fond of western art?”
“Oh, Carter. Cowboy art. Western art. Arnold Friberg. I love all the fine arts, especially the more outdoorsy stuff,” he confessed, admiration in his voice as he continued scrutinizing the paintings.
“Me, too. I’ve got a large limited edition print of Prayer at Valley Forge hanging in my office. Mister Friberg wrote a personal inscription to me on it. It’s one of my favorites. Remind me to show it to you before you leave. You’d probably also—”
“Enough already, you art critics,” Hines interrupted, a tinge of jealously in his tone as he picked up a soda, quickly pounded it down in one big gulp, then slammed the empty glass on the table.
Hines’ abrupt words and uncouth behavior caught Jewels’ usual good manners off guard. “Party pooper. No wonder Boo-Boo doesn’t like you.” Wincing at the harshness of her words, she wished she hadn’t said them like that. Quickly, she pressed the glass to her lips, swallowing a drink of Diet Coke.
Folsum caught the whirlwind of tension building and launched a stab at de-escalating it. Turning to Jewels he offered a courtesy bow. “Pardon me, Miz Andrasy. Special Agent Hines is absolutely right. We’re here on business.” Stepping toward the coffee table, he picked up a glass of Diet Coke, then stood to the side of the couch, gazing down upon Jewels. “I’d very much love to see that Friberg print, but not tonight. Maybe we could get together another time, go out for a drink, talk art....”
Michael was hitting on her, but, incredibly, she wasn’t bothered by it. Jewels wondered why she didn’t mind the notion of seeing Michael when she had been so adamant about saying no to Hines who had been bugging her for a date for months.
Though she had never thought about it before this very moment, the fact was, Boo-Boo didn’t like Theodore. But why? Her mind floated back to nearly two years ago. The dog had made a point to steer clear of Agent Hines the half dozen times he had visited the house as her source when she was writing the series of articles on the FBI’s Most Wanted. Jewels subscribed to the notion dogs have an innate ability to read human character and to sense good from evil but ... then again, maybe Agent Hines simply wasn’t a dog-loving person and Boo-Boo picked up on that instead.
Swallowing another drink of Diet Coke, she refocused her thoughts on the now and decided, all things considered, it was best if she didn’t respond to Michael’s suggestion about going out for a drink and talking art. Instead she just quietly sat. Smiling. Sipping Diet Coke. Unintentionally looking drop dead gorgeous.
Hines was still seated in the comfy chair but looked like an agitated house cat primed for a fur-flying confrontation with a rival. Folsum had returned to ogling the paintings, occasionally drinking the cold refreshment.
After a moment of awkward silence, Hines cleared his throat and leaned forward toward the coffee table, closer to Jewels. Holding a small electronic device, he waved it at her. “Miz Andrasy, I would like to record our conversation. Is that okay with you?”
Nodding in agreement, she crossed her legs to get comfortable and then motioned for Boo-Boo to come over. The dog clim
bed on the couch, collapsed next to Jewels and parked its head in her lap.
Agent Hines inched near the edge of the chair, sat erect and straightened his suit and tie.
Stroking the dog’s silky golden hair, Jewels probed. Her voice was calm, tone cooperative. “I must admit, gentlemen, I’m most curious. What in the world does the FBI want with me?”
“Exactly what was your relationship with the deceased, Sharon Jeppson?” Hines asked, his voice cold, FBI businesslike.
Jewels’ lips pursed. Hines hadn’t answered her. An intense contemplative look fell upon her face. Flashing a look over at Michael for his reaction to Hines’ stern questioning, she realized he wasn’t paying attention. He was mesmerized by the paintings. Frowning, she focused on Hines. “Hmph. The FBI isn’t usually involved in a murder case unless that murder is related to something they’ve been investigating. That only means one thing: you feds were watching Sharon.”
Negatively shaking his head, Hines’ eyes glanced down at the floor. “I’m not at liberty to discuss the case—”
“Ah-ha,” Jewels exclaimed, shooting her finger in the air, her body bouncing up and back down on the couch without disturbing Boo-Boo. “You are working on a case that involves Sharon.”
Concentrating on the art, Folsum hadn’t picked up on the sudden escalation of tension. Casually he glanced over at Jewels. Did a double take. Eyes drawn to her sexy long legs draped over the edge of the couch and crossed at the ankles, his attention instantly captured. Paintings all but forgotten.
Sighing with disapproval, Hines resumed questioning. “Miz Andrasy, please just answer the question. What was your relationship with Sharon Jeppson?”
Thinking, Jewels rolled her tongue around inside of her right cheek as if it were a piece of jawbreaker candy. Tenderly patting Boo-Boo on the head, she answered, “We became friends through drama club in high school, but it’s not like we were best friends or kept in touch after graduation. As a matter of fact, until earlier today, I don’t think I’ve talked to her since our five-year class reunion, which was...,” Jewels paused looking up at the ceiling to search her memory, then, “about eleven years ago.”
Mistaken Trust (The Jewels Trust Series) Page 7
