Whiskey and Gunpowder

by Liliana Hart

  I hadn’t thought of that.

  “What did Nick say?” he asked, following me up the agency stairs to the front doors. It was still early, and the doors were locked, so I used my key to get in.

  “He doesn’t know yet. I figured I’d text him later and then give him a few hours to get used to the idea before he sees me in person.”

  I saw his mouth quirk again, and I headed straight into the conference room to get coffee started. There were some trays of fruit in the fridge, but I passed it over for the leftover brownies someone hadn’t finished from the day before’s pastry box.

  “Brownies for breakfast?” he asked, wincing as I heated them in the microwave.

  “Don’t judge. I deserve these brownies. What’s up with the cryptic phone call?” I asked.

  “I was going to wait until you had your coffee. I know how you get.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him, but realized he’d spent enough time around me to know me well. I always forgot he had psychology training and observed people on a level they probably weren’t always comfortable with.

  The conference room was more spacious than my office, so I took a seat in one of the plush chairs and propped my boots on the table while I let the coffee infiltrate my bloodstream.

  “The secretary at the church in Whiskey Bayou emailed me all the personnel files of employees over the last ten years. I wasn’t really sure where to start as far as this stalker goes and figured it might be someone he worked with, either past or present.”

  “Makes sense,” Savage said, grabbing a bottle of water from the mini fridge and then taking a seat across from me.

  I filled him in on my first conversation with the man who’d answered the phone and how he’d said that Tilda Sweeney no longer worked for the church, and then I filled him in on my conversation with Tilda Sweeney.

  “I brought the coroner’s report,” he said, pushing over a file. Whatever was in it was a heck of a lot more than a coroner’s report. It was at least two inches thick.

  “What’s all this?” I asked.

  “A huge mess,” he said. “And a lot of people a lot higher up than me asking a lot of questions.”

  “I don’t like dealing with people higher up than you,” I said.

  “Believe me, I’m not too fond of it either. Fifteen years ago, a man named Carlos Rodriguez orchestrated a huge drug deal down in Miami. The drugs belonged to Frank Cardonas, and Rodriguez got busted with more than thirty-million dollars’ worth of cocaine. He wouldn’t turn on Cardonas. That’s who we really wanted. But Rodriguez was scared shitless of him and he should have been. Cardonas had his own wife tortured and killed, and then he impaled her body on a pike in the closest town to his compound. Everyone was scared of him.”

  “Geez,” I said, the brownie not settling all that well in my stomach.

  “Rodriguez was pretty much a dead man walking. Everybody knew it. Cardonas never let any of his men that were captured live long, even if they didn’t squeal. Rodriguez was pretty high up in the organization, so he had inside information about Cardonas that we didn’t. So Rodriguez was offered a deal in witness protection if he’d turn on Cardonas. And he took the deal.”

  “Are you saying that Carlos Rodriguez and Pastor Charles are the same person?” I asked.

  “That’s what I’m saying. Rodriguez went into the program under the name Charles Gaspar, and after he’d testified and members of the cartel started going down, he was relocated to Omaha, Nebraska. He was given his start-up money while he looked for a job, but he never found anything that stuck. Odd jobs here and there. He checked in with his Marshal like clockwork, never missed a phone call or a visit, until one day he did. By then there was no sign of him anywhere.”

  “What about the real Pastor Charles?” I asked.

  “It turned out Rodriguez had been doing some day labor work at the church. That’s as close a proximity as we can put him with Charles Whidbey. I’m guessing at that point Rodriguez started planning his escape. He waited until Whidbey took his sabbatical so he’d have plenty of time to set things up without too many people wondering where the pastor went. He sent a very nice letter of resignation to the church board, explaining that he felt God was calling him elsewhere and that he had to go. And then he took on Whidbey’s identity and buried his body out in a ravine. He kept Whidbey’s personal belongings—photographs of his wife—anything that would convince people that he was in fact Charles Whidbey.”

  “So whose number was it on the reference sheet that I called today?”

  “Don’t know,” Savage said. “But I’m guessing he had someone from the cartel he kept in touch with. Someone he trusted. If you’ll give me the numbers we can trace them and try to track them down.”

  “Couldn’t be someone too trustworthy,” I said. “After all that trouble and deception someone still found him.”

  “That’s the thing about cartels. Anyone and anything can be bought for a price. The Cardonas cartel ran far and wide. Even with the testimony Rodriguez gave, there are still arrests being made to this day. But my guess is it’s Cardonas’s brother who’s coming after Rodriguez. There was never any lost love between them, and now that Frank Cardonas is behind bars, the cartel falls to his brother, Emile. He’s just not as good at it, and it’s unravelling at the seams. He’s doing such a bad job that we don’t even have to put all our resources into hunting them down anymore. Emile is doing the work for us unintentionally.”

  “You have a picture of him?” I asked.

  “Probably. I’ll see what I can dig up.”

  “I think he’s in Whiskey Bayou. I got a call from Jolene Meader yesterday, and she said she saw a man she remembers coming in the café last fall. He stood out because he had creepy eyes, and he’s back in town. The pictures Pastor Charles gave me were taken over the last several months. Emile could’ve been under his nose this whole time without too many people noticing.”

  “If Emile’s been toying with him this long he’s probably getting ready to finish Rodriguez off. Especially if he knows he came to see you. More than likely, there are probably bugs in his home and office at the church. Emile likes to play, like a cat with a mouse.”

  I was having trouble processing the fact that a man who’d been a beloved pastor in our small town for the past ten years was a drug runner and murderer. And then I had another thought.

  “Ohmigod,” I said, the bottom dropping from my stomach. “He’s not a real pastor. He can’t marry us.”

  “Not to mention the fact he’s a criminal and will go to jail for murder if he’s not already dead.”

  I couldn’t control the tears this time. I was a mess. I was never this emotional. “The wedding is doomed.” And then I dropped my head onto the table and sobbed.

  “As long as you’ve got your marriage license anyone who’s ordained can marry you,” Savage said. “I’m sure we can find someone.”

  I lifted my head up and he winced at the sight of me. I must have looked bad because he didn’t even have a joke.

  “I forgot about the marriage license,” I said. “We don’t have one.” And then I started sobbing again.

  “I can’t help you there,” he said. “And I don’t mean this to come out the wrong way, but you seem more nuts than usual.”

  “It’s the wedding hormones,” I said.

  “It’s some kind of hormones, but I don’t know if it’s wedding related. You need to take a chill pill. Or eat some ice cream. Otherwise you’ll end up sitting on the edge of the Talmadge Bridge and someone will have to climb up and talk you down. It’s a safety risk to everyone.”

  The crying hadn’t helped. It just made my face hurt worse and I couldn’t breathe again. “Ice cream,” I said.

  “There you go.”

  Savage got up and then leaned down and kissed me on the top of the head, and then he disappeared.

  Chapter Thirteen

  An hour later, I was feeling a little better. I’d washed my face and laid on my office floor wit
h an ice bag until I could breathe again. I decided the pity party was over. Savage was right. If I didn’t get myself under control I’d end up on the ledge of the bridge, and nobody looked good after jumping off that thing.

  I decided to call Nick and let him know what was going on. It’s not like I could hide it from him until after we were married, though the thought had crossed my mind. I also needed him so we could go to the courthouse and get our marriage license.

  “Hey, Siri,” I said to my phone. I waited for the little beep and then said, “Call Nick.”

  “Calling Rick.”

  “Rick? Who’s Rick? No, call Nick.”

  “Calling Vicki.”

  I sighed. “Stupid thing. Can’t you understand English?”

  My phone rang before I could call Nick the old-fashioned way, and I saw it was my mother.

  “We’re back,” she said as a greeting. “I think someone broke into the house while we were gone. All the junk food is gone and there are rolling papers next to the bathtub.”

  I pressed my lips together. “Did you have a good trip?”

  “It was nice to get away. It’s the only recourse I have when Scarlet comes to town. I spent thirty years having to put up with her when your father was alive, but now that he’s gone I can get the hell out of Dodge. It’s either that or kill her.”

  “I’m glad you had a good time,” I said.

  “Have you seen your sister?”

  “Nope, last I heard she had to go paint.”

  “Is the wedding still on?”

  I was silent for a few seconds. Someone must have already told her about my face. It was impossible to keep secrets from my mother. “Is there any reason it wouldn’t be?”

  “Just curious,” she said, her voice unusually high. “Is there anything you need me to do? I hope you don’t mind that I’m recycling the dress I wore at your last wedding. I didn’t figure I should go to the expense of getting another one when that one has hardly been worn.”

  “Good thinking,” I said.

  “You could’ve done that with your wedding dress, and saved yourself a fortune. I’ve heard how much those dresses at Le Couture are.”

  “Nothing to worry about. Nina and Aunt Scarlet picked up the tab.”

  My mother was silent as she contemplated what that meant. “Is it anything I want to know about?”

  “Nope, water under the bridge.”

  I said goodbye to my mom and then called Nick.

  “You must have left early this morning,” he said. “I just got home and you were gone.”

  I dodged a bullet there. I could imagine how pissed he’d be if he’d come home and found me looking like Michael Jackson from the “Thriller” video.

  “We should probably talk about a couple of things,” I said.

  “Should I sit down for this?” he asked.

  “Not necessary. But maybe don’t get too comfortable. We haven’t gotten our marriage license. I totally forgot we needed one.”

  Nick blew out a breath. “I forgot too. I can meet you at the courthouse in half an hour. I should probably shower first.”

  “And maybe we could get our wedding bands while we’re out. And ice cream.”

  “What are you not telling me?” he asked.

  “My face might look a tiny bit different when you see me. But don’t be alarmed. I can wear my veil. Or a mask.”

  “How different?”

  “Remember when we saw Mickey Rourke that day in Charleston, and we weren’t sure if it was him or not?”

  “Damn,” he said. “What happened?”

  “It wasn’t my fault,” I assured him.

  “It usually isn’t. You’re just a magnet for disaster.”

  “I was trying to keep Aunt Scarlet from assaulting this girl who’s going to jail for insurance fraud, but the girl thought I was coming after her instead of Scarlet, so she punched me in the face. The good news is my nose isn’t broken.”

  He sighed again. I was a trial. “I’ll see you at the courthouse.”

  When I hung up the phone I was feeling a little better. Nick had a calming effect on me, probably because nothing ever really got him bent out of shape. He let things roll off his back. Unless they didn’t, and then it was best to get out of the way.

  I grabbed my emergency makeup kit from my bag and put my concealer to good use. It didn’t make a huge difference, but my nose didn’t look so red and swollen. I put on a little extra eyeliner and mascara and smudged it some, so maybe people would think I was just going for an extreme smoky eye look.

  By the time I was finished, it was almost time to meet Nick. I put my coat on and a pair of sunglasses, and headed to Kate’s office to let her know I’d be out. When I got to the end of the hall I saw her door was closed and the light was off. I’d forgotten she was stuck in court all week testifying. Better her than me.

  The courthouse was literally across the street from the agency, so I turned my completed files over to a silent Lucy on the way out and cut through Telfair Square. Nick was already waiting for me on the front steps.

  He was wearing dark-gray slacks and a light-blue, button-down shirt. His badge was clipped at his waist, and he wore a black wool overcoat. His lips pressed together tighter the closer I got, and when I stood right in front of him he carefully removed my sunglasses.

  “Weirdly enough, this isn’t the worst I’ve seen you,” he said.

  “And you’re marrying me anyway,” I said, leaning in to kiss him gently. “Maybe everyone inside will think you’re forcing me to marry you. Should I slip someone a note that says Help, I’m being kidnapped?

  “Not funny,” he said. “I’m already going to take flak from the guys once they hear about this. Your story better be credible for how this happened.”

  “Easy enough. Scarlet hit a woman with a banjo, and then the woman punched me.”

  “Yeah, that’s totally credible. Let’s get this done.”

  He took my elbow and led me up the stairs and inside. We went through the security process and they locked up Nick’s weapon so we could go through the metal detectors. Every person we passed stared at me and then scowled at Nick. I put my sunglasses back on.

  It turns out getting a marriage license isn’t that complicated. What dragged it out was the poor woman behind the counter who kept sending Nick on errands and then asking me over and over again if I needed help, or if she could give me the number for a woman’s shelter. I appreciated the Good Samaritan in her, but I was really needing that ice cream and she was holding me back.

  By the time we left, Nick’s jaw was clamped tight and the little vein in his temple was throbbing.

  “We can take my unit to finish up,” he said. “Black Betty doesn’t exactly scream low profile. We’re already getting enough stares.”

  “No one who knows you would ever think you did something like this to me,” I said, trying to reassure him. “This isn’t the first time I’ve had a black eye. I’m sure it won’t be the last.”

  “That’s very comforting,” he said.

  Nick was driving his truck today, and it was big and black and the headlights bulged like bug eyes. While I was gracefully hitching myself into the passenger seat, I had a thought about Pastor Charles and the information that Savage had given me. I wasn’t using my greatest strengths to my advantage in solving this case. Despite the fact that Pastor Charles was a murderer and wasn’t actually a real preacher, he still belonged to Whiskey Bayou. At least until everyone found out the truth.

  I scrolled through my phone until I found the number Jolene Meader had called me from. She answered on the first ring.

  “Jolene, this is Addison Holmes.”

  “Yeah?”

  “This case I’m working on is a real head-scratcher. You see, Pastor Charles is having a little trouble with a stalker.”

  Jolene gasped and said, “Get out of town. You think it’s that guy?”

  “I think it very well could be. The guy keeps leaving Pastor Charles ph
otographs of himself. He even broke into his house and left some on the nightstand.”

  “I told you he had creepy eyes. Creepiest eyes I’ve ever seen. Dead inside if you ask me. Who would do such a thing to a preacher of all people?”

  “That’s what Pastor Charles hired me to find out. But in the meantime, we can’t let this man get away with what he’s doing.”

  “Nobody messes with our preachers. I’ll kick his ass the next time I see him.”

  “Maybe don’t do that,” I said, wishing I’d thought a little farther ahead in my plan. “He’s armed and dangerous.”

  “Don’t matter none to me,” she said. “I got that sawed-off under the counter. I’ll put a hole right through his face and go back to serving pie.”

  “Hmm,” I said. “Do you think you can put the word out about this man? What he’s driving? I’ll text you a picture of him and you can pass it around. Everyone needs to look out for Pastor Charles, but without letting Pastor Charles know we’re looking out for him.”

  “Got it,” she said. “He sure does have a lot of pride for a preacher. He should probably repent about that.”

  “I’ll pass it on to him next time I hear from him.”

  Jolene disconnected, and Nick was staring at me. “I feel like I’ve missed something important,” he said.

  “We’ve run into a slight hiccup with the wedding,” I said. “We don’t actually have anyone to marry us. It turns out Pastor Charles isn’t really a pastor after all. His name is Carlos Rodriguez and he killed the real Pastor Charles and took over his identity.”

  “That seems like more than a slight hiccup.”

  “I’m sure we can find someone to marry us. Everyone is ordained nowadays. I was watching Pitbulls and Parolees on Animal Planet the other day, and one of the dogs was ordained.”

  “Why hasn’t Pastor Charles been arrested?”

  “We can’t find him,” I said. “He’s a slippery devil. Savage is all over this case. Turns out the fake Pastor Charles used to be in WITSEC and flipped on Frank Cardonas.”

  Nick whistled long and low. “I’m guessing Frank is a little pissed since he’ll be behind bars the rest of his life.”