by Liliana Hart
“I’m sure he’d be glad to know he has someone to fall back on if times get hard,” Jack said.
“I just mean he’s kind of like a puppy. Adorable, and cute, and mostly house trained.”
“How come y’all have been married a month and Jaye isn’t pregnant yet?” Ben called out after we’d gotten out of the car.
“I take that back about adopting,” I said to Jack.
Jack laughed and yelled back to Carver, “Because she bought her birth control pills from a vet who sold them out of the trunk of his car. It’s like my Kryptonite.”
“I knew Michelle did it on purpose,” Carver said. “I’ve known that woman for five years and she’s been pregnant four of them.”
“You know you’re the one who can control that, right?” Jack asked.
Carver smiled and shrugged. “I know, but I’m kind of irresistible, and sometimes she just attacks me. I think she plans these things.”
“Are you going to tell her to stop?” Jack asked.
“Hell no,” he said. “Do I look stupid? Don’t answer that.”
Carver was an average guy—average height, average weight, and average features. His hair was sandy blond, his eyes were green, and he wore tortoiseshell glasses. He had a duffle bag slung over his shoulder and a hard shell briefcase in the other. Jack had once told me for as long as he’d known Carver he’d never seen him without a girlfriend. Women loved Carver.
Carver was brilliant with electronics, and in the briefcase was a super computer of his design. He called it Miranda. I’m not sure why, since his wife’s name was Michelle, but Jack told me not to ask, so I hadn’t.
Jack unlocked the front door and turned off the alarm, and then he showed Ben to one of the guest rooms on the second floor so he could drop off his bag. When they came back down, Ben was telling some outrageous story and Jack was laughing. For that alone, I would always love Ben. There was a lot of stress that went along with Jack’s job. And because of my job, there were many nights we brought work home with us. I needed to do better at making sure we had non-work time when we were at home in the evenings—time where we just held each other on the couch and watched TV or played pool or darts in the game room and drank beer.
But Ben always had some story or other to tell, though I was almost positive they weren’t all true. And it was a pleasure to see Jack at ease and the stress he’d been carrying around fall off at the presence of his friend. I followed them into the office so Ben could set Miranda up on the desk.
“I’m sorry, baby,” Ben said as he carefully took her out of the padded case. “I know you don’t like to be locked up.”
“I always expect her to answer him,” I whispered to Jack.
“You never know,” he whispered back. “Their relationship is not natural.”
“She can hear you,” Ben said in a sing-song voice.
Miranda wasn’t just a laptop. The suitcase itself was part of the computer, and he hooked up wires, connecting them, and then he plugged it into the wall.
“I’m assuming you invited me for the weekend because you missed me,” he said. “But just in case, I’m prepared to put this beauty to work. Things have been rather slow at the office lately. There’s so much red tape and bullshit going on in the upper levels of the bureau that the rest of us are finding ourselves without a lot to do.”
“We’ve got an interesting case,” Jack said. “Eighty-five-year-old woman was clonked over the head in the early morning hours on Monday, and then subsequently eaten by her cats for a couple of days until her body was found.”
“Gross,” Carver said, eyes wide.
“There are people all over the place in that neighborhood, even that early in the morning. One of them was leaving for work about that time, and six others met in one of the yards to stretch and go running. No one saw or heard anything. Everyone thinks she’s just a sweet old lady who bakes for everyone. She used to be a pretty well-known baker, and when she sold Rosie’s Sweet Shop she didn’t sell her recipes. Everyone assumed she was hiding her world famous recipes on her laptop. I forgot to mention that the laptop is nowhere to be found.”
“Hold on a sec,” Carver said, putting up a hand. “You’re telling me your victim is Rosie McGowen? Oh, man. That sucks. My mom used to order every birthday and anniversary cake from her. I’ve never tasted anything like it. You think someone killed her for her recipes?”
“We thought that might be the case at first. Several of the neighbors mentioned companies had tried to buy them from her in the past. She even had a high tech safe installed in her home to keep her laptop in. But then we checked her financials,” Jack said. “I emailed everything to you. She’s got a bank account that’s been doing nothing but accumulating money over the past several months. I’m not talking about a little bit of money. I’m talking about several million dollars. But we’re not sure where the money is coming from. The code that shows up on the bank account isn’t one we recognize, and when we did a search for it in the database nothing came up.
“And all the deposits are from the same place?” Ben asked.
“Yes, and there’s no pattern to it. It’s different days, different times, different amounts. Sometimes there are several deposits in one day. But there’s at least one deposit every day.”
“It sounds like Rosie couldn’t get away from the entrepreneurial side of things,” Ben said. “If she’s selling products online, she could collect money for services in a third-party account, and then she could transfer money directly to her bank account. But several million dollars? That’s a hell of a lot of cakes she must have sold.”
“I’m not so sure it was cakes,” Jack said. “We’ve got no reason to believe she was running a business like that. I don’t think she’d have been able to keep it a secret in that neighborhood. Everyone knows everyone else’s business. We think this was something different. Maybe not all together on the up and up.”
Carver raised his brows. “Maybe online gambling?”
“One of the neighbors thinks she was a madam, pimping out high-priced call girls. Our vic had a tendency to leave at all hours of the night and not come back until morning. We’ve run her bills in her regular checking account. There’s no rent or utility payments going to any other building or residence but her own. But I have to admit the idea isn’t completely without merit.”
“Well, someone obviously stole the laptop for a reason,” Ben said. “There has to be something valuable on there.”
“That’s why we’re hoping you can help us.”
“It’s possible I can track her computer if I can get her IP address. That’s the truly scary thing about technology nowadays. Someone is always watching, and they know where you are, where to find you, and usually if you’re thinking of going somewhere.”
“Got it,” I said. “So if we need to disappear, don’t take our phones or computers with us.”
“Phones, computers, watches, GPS, eReaders, digital cameras, stereos, credit cards…if you need to disappear it’s a hell of a lot harder than you’d think it would be.”
There were two knocks on the front door, and then it opened. We all turned to look and see who it was, and then I remembered it was Friday.
“I brought pizza,” Vaughn said as he looked at all of us while we stared back blankly at him.
“Great,” Jack said. “I’m starving. Jaye and I didn’t get a chance to eat lunch today.”
“Am I interrupting?” Vaughn asked. “How’s it going Ben?”
“Not too bad,” Carver said. “I get to be here for the weekend instead of neck deep in diapers, so there’s that. My wife is at the spa.”
“I always said she was a smart woman.”
“Wait a second,” I said. “You’ve met Carver’s wife?”
“Sure. She had to come pick him up the night of the bachelor party. We figured it was time to call her when he kept looking for his computer to make out with.”
“You swore the secret oath,” Carver said, looked
aggrieved. “You weren’t supposed to tell anyone that.”
“We were there,” Vaughn said. “And it was very disturbing, I might add. And the secret oath doesn’t count with Jaye. You know Jack has already told her. It’s one of those married people rules.”
I looked off into the distance to avoid eye contact with Ben and whistled a little tune. Jack had told me all about the bachelor party.
“Oh, fine,” Carver said. “Laugh it up. But I wasn’t the only one who had too much to drink that night. And if I could remember any of the embarrassing stuff you guys did, I would spill it in a heartbeat.”
“Maybe you should stick to whiskey instead of those lemon drop martinis,” Jack said. “Those sugary drinks make you forget your own mother.”
I covered my laugh behind my hand, thinking Carver had one too many dings in his man card for the day.
Vaughn came into the office and put down three large boxes of pizza, and I went into the kitchen to grab a beer for everyone. When I came back in I heard Vaughn ask again if he was interrupting.
“I figured Carver could pay his room and board for the weekend by helping us out with our murders.”
“Murders?” Vaughn asked. “As in plural? I thought Carl Planter shot himself.”
“That’s the impression everyone is under,” I said. “The homicide hasn’t been made public yet. Someone injected him in the back of the neck with ketamine before they helped him shoot himself.”
“Damn, this place is going to hell in a handbasket,” Vaughn said.
“How come everyone gets to cuss but me?” I asked.
“Because you’re the one who wanted to stop,” Jack said.
“Oh, right. Blame it on me.”
“Look on the bright side,” Vaughn said. “You’ll have enough in your quarter jar to take a really nice Christmas vacation.”
“Are you staying for the weekend too?” Carver asked. “Is this like a bachelor party replay, but without all the embarrassing stories? When are the others getting here?”
“You ask a lot of questions,” I said.
“I like to be informed,” he said. “Knowledge is one of my strengths. Though oddly enough, listening is one of my weaknesses. I learned that from my last bureau psych exam.”
“I’m here because Jaye and I are going to track down Madam Scandal,” Vaughn said. “But now that you’re here you can probably do it ten times faster.”
“Who’s Madam Scandal?” Carver asked. “Is this a TV show? Because I don’t get to watch anything unless it has talking animals or those weird, big-headed animated kids who never seem to have any parents. They just run around town making decisions without supervision. It’s ridiculous.”
“Madam Scandal is like the TMZ of King George County,” I told him. “Last year, I saw an ad pop up on my Facebook account for The King George Tattler, and it had a little intro story about Kurt Studman. Of course, I was instantly hooked because Mr. Studman has been teaching at the high school a long time. Super hot, by the way. Studly Studman is what we called him. He taught government senior year and all the girls had a crush on him. I mean, like, smokin’ hot. His muscles rippled every time he wrote on the chalkboard.”
“He wasn’t that hot,” Jack said.
“Yes, he was,” Vaughn said, chiming in.
“Anyway, I clicked on the link and it brought me to this website. Very professional looking, but designed to look like you were reading an actual newspaper, but online. And right there on the front page was this expose about Studly Studman,” I said. “And it went on to say that he’d pick a senior girl out of every graduation class and they’d have to sign this confidentiality agreement. And then he’d introduce them to the arts of sensual pleasures. And then when they graduated, he’d let them go and pick the next girl. He’s been doing this for more than thirty years. He’s only in his fifties now.”
“And he’s still hot,” Vaughn said. “He comes into the health store a lot now that he’s unemployed.”
“I don’t know how she did it, but Madam Scandal knew the names of almost every woman in every graduating class. I knew he was showing favoritism to that stupid Vicki Turner. There was no way she got through that class without cheating. She was gorgeous, but I’ve seen her misspell her own name before. Dumber than a box of hair,”
The guys chuckled and Jack said, “It’s probably time to move past it, Jaye. It was a long time ago.”
“Yeah, well, I got to the end of the story and there was another story. This one about one of the councilmen. But the story was cut off halfway through, right at the good part, and there was this link telling me if I wanted to read the rest of the story, I could subscribe to the newspaper and get it every week for $19.99. So of course, I clicked on it and signed up. It’s been worth every penny.”
“That’s outrageous,” Jack said. “I can’t believe you’re spending twenty bucks a month on that.”
“Worth every penny,” I repeated, not blinking.
“Why don’t we see if we can find out whose killing people on Foxglove Court, and then maybe Carver can help you figure out who Madam Scandal is.”
“I hate it when my parents fight over me like this,” Carver said. “If only you would give me a sibling to spread some of the attention around, maybe I wouldn’t need a lifetime of therapy.”
“I doubt we’re the cause of why you need therapy,” Jack said dryly. “I can think of many other reasons.”
“Before you distract me again,” Carter said. “You mentioned Carl Planter. Who is that and why did someone inject him with ketamine?”
“Victim number one’s next door neighbor,” I said.
“Oh, well that can’t be a coincidence,” Carver said.
“Right the first time,” Jack told him. “He came home from work for some reason, met with someone who gave him a shot of Special K, got him to the tub before his body was completely useless, and put the gun in his hand and helped him pull the trigger.”
“Sounds like a hell of a neighborhood,” Carver said. “We’ve been thinking about moving. It might be possible now that there are a couple of vacancies on that street.”
“Morbid. And that’s saying something for this crowd,” I said.
“Not me,” Vaughn said. “I don’t actually think about dead people all day.”
“Then you should have more beer,” Jack said. “You’re about to see Carver work his magic with Miranda.”
“Are you sure you don’t need to put them in a room by themselves. Things escalated pretty quickly last time.”
“Shut up,” Carver said, taking the chair behind the desk. He laced his fingers and cracked his knuckles.
“So the FBI takes time to help out with stuff like this?” Vaughn asked.
“It’s more of a favor,” Jack said. “We could get the information, eventually. But technology isn’t as up to speed as it needs to be to get some of the information. Unfortunately, submitting for a tax increase to fund the department doesn’t really go over too well in an election year.”
“This is why you play politics instead of me,” Vaughn said. “You’re much more diplomatic.”
“Jack, do you still have that big screen?” Carver asked. “I can connect through Bluetooth and put everything up there.”
There was a remote on the wall next to the light switch and Jack grabbed it and hit a combination of buttons. A projector and a screen came down from the ceiling and a blue light shone against the screen. It only took seconds for Carter to have dual screens showing on the wall.
“I’m going through vic one’s financials, specifically the account that’s been accumulating money. It’s actually a pretty sophisticated setup. It’s going through a couple of different dummy accounts, and one of them is offshore, before ending up in her bank account. I’m thinking her plan was to see how long she could get by without paying taxes. Probably for the rest of her life if she was eighty-five.”
“I still can’t see Mrs. McGowen as someone who sells sex,” I said. “Eve
n when I was a kid she was just a sweet old lady. She liked to hug, and she always smelled like sugar cookies. She wasn’t exactly a siren.”
“I guess she didn’t need to be,” Jack said. “She just needed to be a good business woman.”
“It’ll eventually lead us back to the website where she’s selling her products. Or girls,” Ben added. “Come on, baby. You can do it. Slow and easy now,” he said, stroking the side of the computer.”
“You’re creeping me out, Carver,” I said.
He grinned. “I know. That’s only one of the added benefits.”
I rolled my eyes. “Does anyone need another beer?”
“I do,” Vaughn said.
“I’ll switch to water,” Jack said.
“Carver?” I asked. “I think we have some wine coolers.”
The others laughed and Ben shot me the finger, chuckling as he went back to the computer. I needed some time to think, away from the others, so I headed to the kitchen to get the drink refills. I couldn’t trust my dad. And I also knew he wouldn’t give up on getting those flash drives. I needed to know what was on them, maybe more than he needed them.
The evidence of what he’d done was irrefutable. He’d admitted as much. He’d said he was just a soldier, doing the job he’d been hired to do. But who’d hired him? The CIA? The FBI? Or maybe some foreign government who was paying for American secrets. The flash drives were his insurance policy. As long as he was alive and had them in his possession, he was a threat. Which meant Malachi Graves was a threat to everyone he involved in his crimes. Including me and Jack by default.
I’d always loved the windows in this house, but suddenly, I felt very vulnerable standing in front of the bank of windows in the kitchen, looking out into the darkness. Was he watching me now? And still, the child in me wondered if he loved me, or if I was as expendable as so many other lives had been.
“You tempted me with the wine cooler,” Carver said, coming into the kitchen. My head snapped around in surprise, and he held up his hands in surrender. “Don’t shoot.”
I let out a breath and shook the fog from my head. “Sorry,” I told him. “I get lost looking outside sometimes. The darkness has a tendency to suck you in.”
