by Maggie Pill
“Look,” the big guy said reasonably. “I can tell right now the big dog isn’t going to hurt anybody, and as far as the other one goes, I’ll take my chances. He looks pretty beat up.” Raising his arms, he said, “Reach into my front coat pocket and you’ll find what you need.”
Retta moved gingerly toward him. Buddy growled again, and I bent and took hold of his collar. He strained his neck, snarling at the stranger. Apparently Retta had become part of his family, and he meant to protect her, too.
The man didn’t move as she took a dark leather wallet from his pocket, opened it, and read aloud, “Special Agent Lars Johannsen, U. S. Drug Enforcement Agency.”
When Retta gave the agent his badge back, Buddy growled again. “Be quiet!” she commanded, but it had no impact. Picking him up, I petted his head to let him know things were okay. “I’ll shut him in the bedroom again.”
As I left the room I heard Retta say, “Would you step into our office, Agent Johannsen? It’s more private.” I was shocked at her use of “our” to refer to the office I considered Barb’s. Still, Barb wasn’t there, and it couldn’t hurt to present a professional attitude to a federal agent.
I left Buddy in the bedroom a second time, closing the door more firmly than I had before. “We’re okay,” I told him. “Take a nap.” He didn’t object.
As I returned, though, I wondered if we were okay. Badges can be faked. George had shown Win a badge before taking him prisoner. I’d be more careful than Retta, who seemed willing to believe what any man told her.
Before I joined her and the supposed agent, I went to my desk and picked up the stapler. There weren’t any weapons in Barb’s office, either, and I wanted some kind of edge over the as yet unproven Special Agent Johannsen.
Retta had played hostess, and our visitor was seated in one of the padded guest chairs. She sat in Barb’s ergonomic chair behind the desk. As I came in I took a long look at our guest, trying to see past my distrust. Built like I pictured the ancient Vikings, he exhibited good posture and had reddish-blond hair with silver sidewalls clipped very short. His suit was neatly pressed, and he looked good in it. His face, while not handsome, was interesting, which some say is better. From Retta’s funny little smile, I guessed she’d agree.
When I was seated in my usual place, Johannsen asked Retta, “Are you Ms. Evans?”
She had the grace to look embarrassed. “My sister is away on business. I’m Margaretta Stilson, and this is Faye Burner.” Removing the leather wallet from the breast pocket of his suit, the man flipped it open and passed it to me. “There’s a number you can call if you want to check me out,” he offered.
I almost reached for the phone, but Retta said, “That’s okay, Special Agent. We don’t doubt your word.”
Handing his badge back, I set the stapler on the corner of the desk as unobtrusively as possible. Folding my hands in my lap, I smiled as if I’d never planned to bonk Johannsen on the head first chance I got.
He slid the wallet back into his jacket. “I understand this agency is investigating Stacy Darrow’s murder.”
Retta cleared her throat, and I guessed she was adjusting, as I was. We’d been prepared to lie, but now we would tell the truth and hope to get help from the United States government. “That’s true.”
“The sheriff in Bonner County tells me Darrow is in custody, but not in his custody.”
Retta’s gaze flickered to me for a half-second. “I believe that’s also true.”
“We’d like to speak to Mr. Darrow.”
I noticed the pronoun and wondered if there were other agents in the area or if he used the “royal we” to hint at the power of the agency.
Retta gave him a run-down of the situation, explaining how with Rory’s support, we’d hidden Winston to protect him. I was afraid he’d throw accusations of misconduct at us, but overall, he seemed to approve.
“I wish the locals had contacted us right away,” he said. “We could have protected your client and maybe caught the guys who killed his wife.”
“How could they know the DEA was interested in an apparently ordinary couple and a death that looked like domestic violence?” Retta asked.
“True,” Johannsen admitted. “We had no idea where Mari was until yesterday.”
“Mari? Is that Stacy Darrow’s real name?”
He nodded. “Almost three years ago in New Mexico, Maria Constanza Verdugo, known as Mari, agreed to testify against her boyfriend, Maximilian Santiago. She was his bookkeeper as well as his lady, so she knew a lot about his business.”
“Which is drugs, since the DEA is involved.”
He nodded. “Max controls a large chunk of drug traffic in New Mexico. We wanted him badly, and the agent in charge thought he’d convinced Mari to help put him away.”
“Why would she turn against her boyfriend?”
“A few black eyes, to start with.” Johannsen unconsciously brushed a hand over his own eyes. “Each time Max got upset, he got more violent. Mari began to be afraid she wouldn’t live through his next temper tantrum.”
“Poor thing.” I didn’t realize I’d spoken aloud until they both turned to look at me. A DEA agent and a cop’s widow might be used to stories like this, but it made me sad. Maria/Mari/Stacy had probably never known real love.
Johannsen went on, “As part of the deal, Mari was going to bring us Santiago’s record book. That and her testimony would have sent him to jail for life.”
“It didn’t happen?” Retta folded her hands on the desk.
It occurred to me I should be taking notes, but I didn’t want to ask, being totally out of my depth. The DEA? Drug runners? I concentrated on remembering so I could tell Barb everything.
“It did not. We’d arranged for her to go into the witness protection program.” Shifting in his chair, he went on, “Unfortunately, Mari had her own scheme. After she milked everything she could get from her handler about how to disappear, she used the information to drop completely off the grid.”
“On her own? That took guts.”
“She took the book and a great deal of Max’s money.”
Retta glanced at me, pleased that our guesses were proven correct. “This woman cheated a drug lord and scammed the DEA? Was she really dumb or really brave?”
Johannsen ran a hand over his hair. “She fooled us all.”
“The least she could have done was mail the book to you.” Retta seemed ready to side with the authorities on this one, but I saw Mari/Stacy’s side. That book was supposed to be her protection. She’d wanted it nearby to ease her fears that Max would find and kill her.
Retta asked, “Can you tell us what’s in the book?”
Johannsen shrugged, indicating that secrecy didn’t matter. “Santiago’s contacts: Who he bribes, who supplies him, and who he supplies.”
“So the book can still hurt Basca.”
“We know the man you call Santiago as Max Basca,” I put in. Briefly I recounted Max’s visit and described him.
“That’s the guy.”
“Why do you think Mari broke her deal with you?”
He smiled thinly. “I can give a few million reasons.”
I whistled. “That’s how much she took?”
“It’s an estimate. It was drug money, most of it in small bills.” His nostrils flared. “Mari insisted on waiting until the end of the month. The agent was so eager to keep her happy that he missed all the signs.”
“That she planned to take the money and run.”
“Mari never intended to go into Witness Protection.” Johannsen’s tone was bitter. “She was just waiting for Santiago’s haul to be as fat as possible.”
Retta’s right brow rose. “I bet your superiors weren’t happy with you.”
His face flushed. “You guessed right. I was the agent who should have known better.”
“I believed Winston when he said he was divorced.” Retta waved a hand, dismissing human frailty. “It’s not a sign of weakness to think the best of peopl
e.”
Her comment seemed to please Johannsen. “How much did Darrow know about his wife’s past?”
“Not a lot.” Briefly Retta recounted Win’s path from factory worker to gigolo.
“No wonder I didn’t find much information on him,” he said when she finished. “Two crooks who found each other, neither aware of the other’s dishonesty.”
“Which one of them led you here?” I asked.
“Neither. I’ve been keeping an eye on Santiago and his boys. One of them, George, flew up here ten days ago. Later, Santiago and two others followed. I wanted to see what they were up to, but while my request for travel was working its way through the chain of command, we learned that Mari’s fingerprints matched a woman who’d been murdered up here.”
“Bet that speeded up your permission to come north.”
He chuckled. “Big time. When I checked in at the Detroit office, they told me the victim’s husband had been abducted by a fake FBI agent. I rented a car and drove up.” He gestured at the snowy scene outside the window. “Can’t say I enjoyed the drive. How do you people do it?”
“Practice.” Retta set her elbows on the desk and leaned her chin on folded hands. “Agent Johannsen, can you clear some things up for us?”
He chuckled. “If it gets me to Darrow, I’ll try.”
I thought it was nice of him not to use his authority to demand we do as he said, but Retta promised nothing. “Stacy ducked out on the DEA because she wanted Santiago’s money.”
“Yes.”
“But she lived pretty conservatively. Why was that?”
Johannsen’s expression turned glum. “When I first approached Mari, I implied we had more on Santiago than we actually did. She thought she was just a part of our case, but she was pretty much it. Once we lost her and the book, we couldn’t touch him.”
“When he remained free, she knew he’d come for her.”
He nodded. “All she could do was stay low and hope we got him some other way.”
“I suppose she thought her disappearing act ruined her chances of getting any more help from the DEA.”
His sigh said a lot. “Let’s just say my boss wasn’t happy with either of us. It had taken us almost a year to set things up, and we walked away with nothing.”
“To escape Max, Mari became Stacy Kern then Stacy Darrow, a not-very-interesting wife from Michigan.”
Johannsen gestured at the computer on the desk. “Bet you didn’t find any photos of her.”
“Barb found one from their wedding day,” I replied, “but she’s looking down.”
“I taught her that,” he said with a hint of satisfaction. “It’s hard to avoid getting your picture taken these days, but if you look down, it messes with facial recognition software.” He added, “Mari learned her lessons well.”
“We figure Basca traced her through Internet activity,” I said. “Maybe some mystery readers’ group.”
“We warn them about that.” Johannsen took a deep breath, and his massive chest got even bigger. “Some people can’t give up their favorite things, though. The sheer size of the Internet makes them think they can fly under the radar.” After a pause he asked, “How did she explain the money?” When Retta told him what she’d learned at the bank, he raised his brows in appreciation. “Car washes? That’s a good one.”
Next Retta told him about the boxes Win had described. “A couple million in small bills is a little cumbersome,” he commented. “Darrow was a good choice. Most guys would have been way more curious.”
“He’s an aging professional boyfriend,” I said. “He took the meal ticket she offered and never questioned it.”
Retta seemed uncomfortable with the subject of Win’s women. “You contacted the local police when you arrived?”
“I started with Sheriff Idalski, who told me about an odd incident at a local diner.”
“Where I saw you a few hours later.”
“Yeah. Idalski said Darrow came in with two men and left with three women. The descriptions I got from the help confirmed my suspicions that the men were George and a big guy named Carlos. Idalski mentioned that some ‘lady detectives’ had been hired to help Darrow prove his innocence, so I guessed you took Darrow away from George. I decided to do some investigation on my own before I introduced myself.”
“I thought you were one of them.” Feeling my face warm I added, “Sorry I had Gabe block your car in.”
He waved a hand, dismissing my interference. “You didn’t know. I think that plow guy called someone, though. Probably he told George you’d come back for the car.”
Remembering the black SUV that had ended up in the ditch, I realized he was right. If not for the driver’s inexperience with winter roads, they’d have followed me right to Retta’s, and we’d all have been in trouble. The urge for a cigarette tingled in my blood, but I resisted. There was more to hear.
“Idalski says someone in his department has been helping George out, but he hasn’t figured out who it is yet. He suggested I work with the police chief here, but when I stopped in yesterday, he was out. Today when I went back, they said he was unavailable.” His eyes locked on Retta. “While I was there, I heard one end of a call from a bank manager, saying Mrs. Evans of the Smart Detective Agency was asking about Mrs. Darrow.”
Retta blushed prettily. “A small lie, since Barbara Ann can’t be in two places at once.”
“And the police chief?”
“In the hospital.”
Johannsen’s sandy eyebrows twitched. “Did he run into George and Carlos?”
“Apparently. He’s okay, but he can’t help us now.”
“So do I get to meet Mr. Darrow?”
“That depends.” Retta gave him a coquettish smile. “Are you the outdoor type?”
He frowned. “For scuba diving in Baja, yes, but I bet you’ve got something else in mind.”
“Ever driven a snowmobile?”
“Can’t say that I have.” He added gamely, “But I can learn. You’ve got him out in the woods somewhere?”
“Safest place for him.” Retta was rearranging Barb’s desktop as she spoke, and I made a mental note to put things back the way Barb likes them. “We’ll take two machines and bring Winston and Barbara back. She’s the deputy Sheriff Idalski mentioned.”
“I see.”
Checking her watch, Retta frowned. “It’s too late to go today. You need to get outfitted, and I’ve only been out there once. I’ll need daylight in order to find the place.”
“Sounds reasonable.”
“Go to the Sled Store on Carroll Street and get outfitted. Tell them I sent you, and they won’t sell you anything extra.” Retta’s glance was coy, and I rolled my eyes at the idea she could flirt in such serious circumstances. For all the notice either of them took of me, I might as well have been that stapler.
On the back of one of our business cards, Retta wrote the name of the store she’d mentioned as well as her home address. Handing it to him she asked, “Do you have a card so I can contact you if something changes?”
Taking out his badge wallet again, Johannsen withdrew a business card for each of us. “Thanks,” Retta said, rising. “Be at my house at eight tomorrow morning. We’ll start with a lesson on how to make a snowmobile go.”
“I hope you’ll show me how to stop, too.” The agent was teasing her! My eyes rolled again as Retta agreed with a giggle that stopping was also a necessity.
Johannsen rose to go. “Thanks, Margaretta, and—” Realizing he’d forgotten my name, he merely waved.
“My friends call me Retta,” she called as he exited.
Once he was gone I asked, “Would you know a fake DEA badge from a real one, Retta? Because I wouldn’t.”
“No,” she admitted.
I stood, leaning over her in an earnest need to make her listen. “This is life or death stuff. You can’t go riding off with that man without knowing he’s the real deal.”
With a look that said I was over-react
ing she said, “Why do you think I asked for his card?”
“Anybody can make a business card!”
“That’s why we’re going to check it out.” Consulting the card, she turned on Barb’s computer and navigated to the DEA website. In a few minutes she’d ascertained that the main number on the card was indeed the Albuquerque, New Mexico, office. Punching in the numbers, she asked, “May I speak to Agent Johannsen, please?” After a moment she said, “That’s all right. I’ll try his cell. Oh, wait! Maybe you can answer my question. I’d like to get him new swim fins for his birthday. Any idea what size shoe he wears?” At the response, she laughed. “Yes, I thought so, too. The biggest size they have should be good.”
Replacing the phone, she told me, “They have an Agent Johannsen, but he’s away for a few days. He has very large feet, as you might have noticed.”
“Okay,” I said. “He’s for real, and you’re going to take him out to the cabin.”
“It solves our problems.” She counted three points on her fingers. “We need two machines to bring Barbara and Winston back. Johannsen doesn’t think Winston killed his wife, and he can help us prove it. And DEA agents carry weapons at all times. It’ll make me feel better to have a man along who’s armed, trained, and authorized to kill if necessary.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Barb
By five o’clock, the shadows of snow-laden pine trees dimmed the window at the front of the cabin, darkening the grubby, wavy glass. I kept the generator filled with gas, afraid if it stopped I wouldn’t get it started again. To give him something to do, I’d ordered Darrow to feed the fire. Though he complained about having to wade out to the stack at the side of the cabin to bring in more wood, he seemed a little less anxious when he was busy. From his demeanor each time he pulled on his boots to go outside, it appeared that keeping a fire going was the hardest job anyone has done in the history of the world. For someone who’d spent his life catering to women, he certainly seemed unwilling to continue the practice with me. I was apparently not his type—and I thanked my lucky stars.
