by Debby Giusti
Clay gave the officer his cell-phone number. “Call me when you find out what the kid was doing.”
“Roger that. Stop by headquarters later, if you’ve got time. I’ll tell you what we learned.”
Clay appreciated O’Reilly’s invitation.
Two men up to no good in one night. Every cop knew coincidences didn’t apply to law enforcement.
Trouble had found Violet Kramer twice. In Clay’s opinion, that was two times too many.
He turned at the sound of a front door opening to see Violet step on to the porch. Her hair swirled around her oval face in tiny ringlets wound as tight as she seemed.
She wore jeans and a parka and a pair of hot pink, fuzzy bedroom slippers that slapped down the stairs and sidewalk as she stormed toward him.
“What in the world is going on, Clay? Sirens and flashing lights in the middle of the night? How can anyone sleep?”
She glanced at the crowd of neighbors, many of them senior citizens, who gathered on the opposite side of the street and were watching with interest. One sweet older lady waved. Violet smiled a greeting before she turned back to Clay, the smile gone.
He stepped toward her. Did the woman have no fear?
“Everything’s under control, Violet. No need to worry. The police have the perpetrator. They’ll get to the bottom of what he was doing on your street.”
“And what was he doing, Clay?”
He heard the sharpness in her response. Probably due to the late hour or maybe the number of folks who were watching and wondering about her involvement in the drama.
“He appeared to be casing the neighborhood. Officer O’Reilly’s checking on any ties he might have with Chicago and the mob.”
“The mob?” She stared into the patrol car, squinting her eyes against the flashing light. “He looks like a kid.”
“The mob isn’t comprised of only old men. They recruit teens whenever they can.”
Her mouth pursed as if she didn’t appreciate his condescension, then her expression softened. “Have you been out here all night?”
He nodded, noting the confusion that instantly clouded her face.
She hugged her arms. “It’s got to be below zero.”
“Actually, it’s a bit warmer. The weatherman on the radio mentioned five degrees above zero about an hour ago.”
She let out a long sigh. “Then I should offer you my thanks.”
“A cup of coffee would help.”
She smiled and the night warmed.
“One cup and I promise I’ll let you get back to sleep,” he said.
“Come on, then.” She turned about-face and slapped her slippers up the steps and into the house.
Clay followed, noting the scent of vanilla as she lit a candle on the coffee table and hurried toward the kitchen. Working quickly, she poured coffee into the basket of the dripmaker. The smell of fresh grounds mixed with the candle into a rich blend as he pulled a straight-backed chair from the table and slipped into the seat.
He eyed her makeshift attempt to secure her back door with one of the chairs. For all her external bravado, the earlier break-in had bothered her.
Violet placed cream and sugar on the table and poured two mugs with the hot brew.
“Thanks.” He raised his mug and eyed her through the steam. Her lips were swollen with sleep and her cheeks puffy. Sitting across the table from her, Clay felt that Violet had lowered some of her earlier barriers.
“You think the second guy had ties to the mob?” she asked, her voice filled with question.
Clay shrugged. “Hard to say. But he didn’t belong on this street. Plus, he was packing an automatic.”
Her eyes widened. “A gun?”
“That’s right. A gun.”
She straightened her shoulders. “Missoula’s had problems, Clay. A bad element has infiltrated the city, and the police are struggling to handle the increased crime.”
“They responded both times we needed them tonight,” he said in their defense.
“Well, it’s been a problem.”
“How’s Stu feel about law enforcement in the city?”
“He thinks they’re handling the situation the best they can, but—” She hesitated.
“But you don’t?”
“I have a natural concern about the tactics they use.”
“What kind of answer is that, Violet? You’re either for the cops or you’re not. Has there been graft or corruption?”
She shook her head.
“What about racial profiling?”
“No, nothing like that.”
Sounded as if the main problem with law enforcement was Violet.
Clay took a sip of coffee, allowing the stillness to settle around them. “When I left you earlier, I saw a scrap of paper outside your back door.”
She cocked her brow.
“The words Back off were typed on the note. The guy may have dropped it as he ran away.”
“Wouldn’t Officer O’Reilly have seen the paper when he was checking outside the house?”
“Easy enough to miss a scrap of paper.”
She looked down and nodded. When she glanced back up at him, her face was pulled tight with concern. “So, you think the break-in was a warning from the Martino family?”
“They may have contacted someone local to put pressure on you. As I mentioned, Violet, my advice is to stop making any inquiries into mob activity. Lie low until things die down.”
She shook her head. “I’m not going to be frightened off from doing my job.”
“You’ve got to use some common sense. Let the FBI and the cops handle the mob. They’ll bring the Martino family down, but it will take time and good investigative skills.”
“Which you’re saying I don’t have?”
“Of course not.” He wasn’t getting anywhere tonight. He glanced at the wall clock. Four-fifteen. Violet needed to crawl back into bed, and he needed to head over to police headquarters. He wanted to learn what O’Reilly found out about Jamie Favor. The cops would keep watch over Violet for the rest of the night. Besides, dawn would be here soon enough.
He placed the mug on the table and pushed back his chair. “Coffee hit the spot. Thanks.” He glanced at the chair wedged against the doorknob. “As I said earlier, might be a good idea to have dead bolts installed.”
“I will.”
She followed him out and waved goodbye as he walked down the front steps. Violet Kramer was stubborn and from what she’d said tonight, evidently, she didn’t like cops.
That didn’t put him in good stead. He wasn’t one to let things bother him. But for some reason, Violet’s opinion was important.
Violet was still thinking about everything that had happened the next morning. A break-in and another man apprehended in her front yard. Were both incidences tied with the mob? Surely not, no matter how much Clay West tried to convince her they were.
The Chicago FBI wanted her out of the picture, and Clay was determined to scare her into backing down. He’d learn soon enough that she didn’t scare easily.
Violet finished writing a short article on the Missoula Women’s Circle and their philanthropic work, which Stu had requested last week. Hopefully, he’d find the information to his liking.
Task completed, she checked her old college Web site where she kept hoping someone would leave a comment with information on Aunt Lettie’s long-ago murder. But just as always, that in-box remained empty. Violet opened her working e-mail and found it void, as well.
Her phone rang.
She pulled the receiver to her ear, wondering if she’d hear Clay’s voice. Not that she was interested, of course.
“Hey, Vi, it’s Ross Truett. I got my hands on that photo you requested. Should arrive in your e-mail momentarily.”
She smiled. “I owe you.”
“Let me buy you dinner and we’ll call it even. I’ve got business in Missoula on Friday.”
“Sounds great. Call me when you get to town.” Violet hung up
and drummed her fingertips on her desktop, waiting for the incoming e-mail.
Ross was a college friend from a moneyed family who had rapidly worked his way up to assistant editor of the Yellowstone County Reader. The young editor had everything going for him. At least that’s what her mother would say. She’d also say how happy she’d be if Violet connected with Ross on a permanent basis. Correction. Her mother would be thrilled. But as far as Violet was concerned, he wasn’t Mr. Right.
Clay West came to mind.
Talk about Mr. Wrong.
Hopefully, he’d be heading back to Illinois in a few days. Cute as he was, the detective had a cocky, smug attitude. She’d teach him a lesson or two about trying to change a woman’s mind when she had her course set. Once she had gathered enough evidence to complete the Mafia story, Clay would realize she played hardball.
Then she had another thought. What if she wasn’t the reason Clay had come to Montana? What if law enforcement suspected a third woman would be murdered? Made sense they’d want their undercover cop in place when surveillance learned of an another impending Mafia hit in the Treasure State. Perhaps this time in Missoula. The cops and the Feds wouldn’t want Violet snooping around for fear she’d interfere with their operation.
And the next victim? Shouldn’t she be warned?
Clay would probably remind Violet she was in danger, too. But the Mafia hadn’t found her yet. Despite what he had said.
The message from Ross appeared on her screen along with an attachment. His comments were almost identical to what he’d said over the phone. Dinner the next time he was in Missoula. Attachment for your eyes only. Keep the photo under wraps.
Violet saved the file to her flash drive then glanced around the newsroom. The others—occupied in their own work areas—either chatted on their phones or had their eyes focused on their monitors.
Clicking on the attachment, she watched the photo unfold across her screen. A woman lay on the floor, her neck scraped and bruised. Death by strangulation was never pretty.
Carlie Donald. May she rest in peace.
Would there be a third victim? If so, God help her, as well.
FOUR
Violet spent the next few hours covering a fund-raiser for a local charity event. She’d compiled the information Stu wanted but still needed quotes from the event chairman and other key figures. She’d been playing phone tag with them all morning.
Frustrated at her lack of progress, Violet logged on to her e-mail. A new message from Gwyn appeared in her in-box.
I tried to call you, but your cell went to voice mail. After talking to you on Sunday, I realized this might be the only time Angelo’s out of town for a while. To throw him off, I told him my mother was sick and that I needed to fly home to Texas. Instead, I caught a flight to Spokane. I rented a car and arrived in Missoula about thirty minutes ago. Can we meet? I saw a coffee shop near the UMT campus. Favorite Grinds. I’ll be there at 11:30 a.m. today.
A mix of surprise and excitement swept through Violet. She had wanted to help Gwyn, but never expected she’d come to Missoula. Leaving Angelo and the mob behind had taken courage.
Gwyn had told Violet about the two women in Witness Protection who had been murdered. Surely, she realized Angelo could follow her. No matter what she needed, Violet would do everything she could to support Gwyn’s decision to change her life for the better.
Violet checked her watch. Eleven-ten. She needed to hurry. Reaching for her purse, Violet glanced up to find Jimmy staring over the top of her computer screen.
“Looks like you got a hit,” he said.
She closed her e-mail. “Do we need to talk about personal privacy?”
He tilted his head and exaggerated a pout. “You never minded sharing information in college.”
“College ended three years ago, Jimmy. Things have changed.”
He stared at her before asking, “What happened with that detective from Chicago who kept calling yesterday?”
Violet had never mentioned where Clay was from. “How do you know he was from Chicago?”
Jimmy raised his brows. Guilt was written all over his face.
Frustration bubbled up in Violet. “You tapped into my voice mail?”
“Only because you were tied up. The phone kept ringing. I wanted to make sure it wasn’t urgent in case I needed to rescue you.”
First Clay, now Jimmy. Why did men think she couldn’t take care of herself?
“You invaded my privacy,” she was quick to point out.
“I’m worried about you, Vi. If you keep pushing your own agenda, Stu might cut you off for good. You said the story you’re working on is big. Remember we’re in Missoula, Montana. Your moment of glory ended with the internship in Chicago.”
She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Moment of glory?”
“You pushed hard to land that internship and sacrificed friendships to get there.”
“What?”
“A number of us had input into that final article you submitted with your application.”
“Your photos were the only things I used that weren’t my original work, and I gave you full credit for each and every shot.”
Jimmy closed his mouth and stared at her.
Realization hit Violet like a two-by-four. “You wanted the internship.”
“I wasn’t the only one.”
“Did anyone else feel I acted unfairly?”
He didn’t respond.
“Give me a name,” she prodded.
“All right. Ross Truett. He was in the running.”
Violet stood, pushed back her chair and grasped the edge of her desk. “I didn’t take the internship from anyone. I earned it fair and square.”
Throwing her purse over her shoulder and grabbing her coat, Violet closed down her computer, pulled out the flash drive and swished past Jimmy.
What he’d said stung her pride. She’d never done anything to undermine anyone else. In fact, she’d been elated when Jimmy received praise. Ross, too.
Violet shrugged into one arm of her coat while the other sleeve dangled down her back. The elevator opened.
The first face she saw stepping on to the third floor was handsome, clean-shaven and smiling with a Cheshire-cat grin.
“Violet, I was hoping we could talk.”
“Clay?”
Stu was the next to disembark just as Quinn walked around the corner. His face clouded when he saw the traffic jam by the elevator.
Violet tried to capture her elusive coat sleeve, feeling like a worm writhing on the cement after a rain. Any minute now, she expected a size-twelve shoe to smash her underfoot.
Clay grabbed the edge of her coat and redirected her flailing arm into the opening. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, but she was grateful for his help and made a feeble attempt at introductions.
Clay shook hands with Stu. “Good to meet you, sir.”
The editor looked at Violet over the top of his bifocals when she mentioned Clay worked for the Chicago P.D. “Don’t tell me you’re interviewing him for that story I rejected yesterday?”
“Story?” She feigned surprise.
“About the women murdered by the mob?”
So Stu had been listening.
Clay continued to smile, which she didn’t appreciate.
The cop might find her present situation amusing, but trying to untangle herself from the noose Stu had slipped around her neck wasn’t a laughing matter.
“You’re not digging up more information, are you?” Stu added, like icing to a cake that was already top-heavy and ready to crumble.
“No, sir.” She glared at the detective, hoping he’d help her out of her predicament.
Clay gave her a women-can’t-refuse-me wink she found especially annoying. “I thought we had a date for lunch.”
“Not today.” She glanced from Stu to Quinn, who had moved into the circle, and to Jimmy, who stood off to one side.
Behind them, the elevator doors remained ope
n.
Undoubtedly, God was offering her a way out.
“Excuse me, gentlemen, but I have an appointment to keep.”
Violet pushed through the men and entered the elevator just as the doors closed. She let out a deep breath, relieved to be free of all of them. Well, maybe not Quinn. He’d been an innocent bystander.
Stu, Jimmy and Clay, on the other hand, were people she never wanted to see again.
Clay ranked at the top of the list.
“I could use a little help here.” Violet glanced toward the heavens as she braked for yet another red light.
Everything was working against her today.
Stu and Clay on the same elevator? Talk about bad timing.
Once again, her cheeks burned as the scene at the paper replayed in her mind. Undoubtedly, she’d looked like a bumbling fool, struggling to put on her coat, one arm in, one arm out, babbling introductions and making no sense at all.
True to character, Clay had kept that cool cop facade she found both intriguing and irritating. Why was his body language impossible to read?
Stu was the exact opposite. One glance at his face said it all. He thought she’d gone off the deep end again. So much for gaining the boss’s confidence.
Jimmy would probably have a few pithy comments to lob her way the next time he hovered around her desk. The only thing she’d read in his expression was disappointment.
The coffee shop appeared on her left. A no-parking zone stretched to the corner. Traffic was heavy, and Violet inched through the intersection and found a place to park about thirty yards down on the right.
Thank you, Jesus, for small favors.
Keys and purse in hand, she hastened along the sidewalk to make the rendezvous. Even at this distance, she looked through the coffee-shop windows and spied a number of customers sipping specialty drinks at small circular tables. Others waited for orders at the counter.
As Violet paused at the crosswalk for the light to change, someone caught her eye. Pretty with long brown hair, furrowed brow. Could that be Gwyn?
The woman’s eyes locked on something behind Violet. Her face twisted. She rose from the table, grabbed her purse and left her coffee.
