Zeph Undercover

by Jenny Andersen

  She relaxed and stretched out, nibbling her own lunch. “I think so, too.”

  She fell silent, enjoying the play of muscle across his six pack revealed by the unbuttoned shirt as he stretched to take another sandwich from the basket. He followed the sandwich with a long drink from a bottle of water and a frisson of new desire rippled over her when he tilted his head back, when a drop of water slid down his neck to trickle down his chest.

  He swiped at it absently. “You can see the whole town from here.”

  Was that a dig, as in wide-spot-in-the-road town? She decided to ignore the possibility. “There’s Dad’s house,” she said. “The big white house to the right of those trees. And City Hall on the near side of the square, and the clinic, this side of town with the red tile roof.”

  “And those are Derek’s cabins. Damned shame,” Zeph said.

  “It is. If I had the money, I’d...” She stopped. She’d never shared her dream with anyone, just held it close and private in her heart.

  “If you had the money?” Zeph prompted, drawing one finger up her arm from fingers to shoulder. “What then?”

  She shivered, as much from the deep voice that resonated through her like a bell as from the touch, and worked to remember the question. “I’d buy all those stupid cabins and tear them down and turn the place into a rehab center for horses.”

  “Rehab? Horses?”

  He sounded genuinely surprised, not judgmental, and she couldn’t keep her enthusiasm hidden. “You bet. Just like a rehab center for people, for all kinds of medical problems. Strained ligaments and bowed tendons and—we’d have lovely soft tanbark and sand rings for exercise, and underwater treadmills. And another vet and enough staff—” She caught herself. “You don’t want to hear all that.”

  “Your face lights up when you talk about it,” Zeph said. “Almost takes my mind off the fact that you’re sitting there about to take your clothes off again.”

  “Take—”

  “Yeah.” He reached for her. “We’re not quite finished here.”

  ****

  The sun had started its afternoon descent when Allie shivered and sat up. “We need to get back.”

  “I suppose,” Zeph said without enthusiasm. “We’ve been lucky to have this long without your damned phone ringing.” He leaned across the blanket and kissed her. “And I appreciate every minute of it.”

  Allie held up her phone. “I’m blessing all the healthy animals of Stone’s Crossing for staying healthy and giving us this afternoon.” She finished dressing and stood. Her legs wobbled and Zeph tried to hide his grin.

  “I see that. Pretty proud of yourself, aren’t you?”

  “If you’re half as happy as I am, I’m satisfied, not proud.”

  At the truck, Zeph held out his hand for the keys. “You look way too relaxed to drive, babe.”

  She handed them over without hesitation. No argument there, not the way her body still zinged with satisfaction.

  Zeph eased the truck around the twisty road. When the road leveled at the bottom of the hill, he reached across the seat to pull her close to his side. “That’s better.” She cuddled against him and he patted her thigh. “Love the bench seat, honey. You gotta keep this truck.”

  Allie murmured agreement. “I’ll drive this sucker until it can’t go another inch, and then have it bronzed as a souvenir of the best day of my life. Keep it in my living room.”

  He laughed. “That high probably won’t last but it’s good to hear.”

  “Don’t want to come down to earth.”

  He didn’t either.

  He slowed down at the highway. A battered old pickup sped up to cut them off and would have clipped the front fender if he hadn’t swerved.

  “Jerks,” Allie muttered.

  “Amazing that old thing can go so fast. But they’ll be long gone by the time we get to town.”

  “If they’re not, we’ll know. There isn’t another vehicle in the whole county with that many colors on it.”

  “Distinctive, that’s what it is. They must have used left-over house paint to get that purple door. Goes well with the orange fender and green hood.” He slowed at the town limit sign. “Why don’t we stop at Betty’s for some coffee?”

  “And pie. Betty’s apple pie has taken first place at the county fair for the last ten years. It’ll be dinner time in a couple of hours, but we could share a piece.”

  “Apple pie?” Zeph said to Betty as soon as he slid into the booth next to Allie. She moved a decorous inch away.

  “Comin’ right up,” Betty said, heading for the kitchen. After two steps she turned back. She inspected Allie thoroughly, then turned her gaze on Zeph. Then back to Allie. “Well, boy howdy. Took you two long enough,” she said, and continued to the kitchen.

  “She knows,” Zeph muttered.

  “Yep. Sure does.”

  “God. This place.”

  “Get used to it.”

  The smile in her eyes belied the lack of sympathy in her words and he thought about getting used to Stone’s Crossing. What would it be like to live—his brain jolted, caught between Allie—heaven—and Stone’s Crossing—hell.

  Allie saved him with a question. “Not to change the subject, but are you planning to do anything about Wendover today?”

  “No. And remember I’m trying to work undercover. Of course that’s a pipe dream in this place.” He dropped his voice so he wouldn’t be overheard. “I need to talk to Margaret Bartelett.”

  “Why?”

  “I want to know if she really saw someone lurking around her house.”

  “You think Bill—?” Allie’s voice had risen in indignation and she clapped her hand over her mouth.

  “I know he’s involved in something he doesn’t want me to know about. And he does know Blanton and your buddy Mentrine,” Zeph said in a near whisper.

  “That doesn’t mean he was Derek’s partner. Are we going through this with every man in town?”

  “Every person in town. Every single person.” Logic said Rodriguez had become his top suspect, but until the guy showed up, talking to him wasn’t an option. “Until I find the right one.” That might take him a long time. All of which he’d have to spend right here in Stone’s Crossing. None of the newest, trendiest restaurants. No concerts. No gym, with its Spandex-clad little honeys. Only Allie.

  It hit him like a fist to the jaw—he wouldn’t mind. The only honey he wanted seemed to be the one sitting next to him right now. No spandex, no chic Rodeo Drive clothes, no up-to-the-minute slang. Only Allie, ringing every chime he’d ever possessed.

  He glared at Betty when she set coffee and an oversized wedge of flaky-crusted pie bursting with cinnamon-flecked apple on the table.

  “Small towns,” Betty reminded him with a wicked grin.

  “Small towns,” he repeated after she left. “I suppose everyone—um, how’s your father’s dad-radar?”

  “You mean, will he know—uh—”

  “Yeah, I mean will he know—uh.”

  “Probably.”

  “Great. Just great.” He dug into the pie. The condemned man ate a hearty meal.

  “If you’re going to talk to Margaret, you’d better go soon,” she said. “It’s Friday.”

  “All day,” he agreed, not moving a millimeter. “Does that have some special meaning in Stone’s Crossing?”

  “It’s Margaret’s bridge day. She’ll be leaving in about half an hour, and you won’t be able to talk to her until tomorrow.”

  “Guess I’d better go then.” He shifted closer to her. Margaret Bartelett didn’t seem important enough to warrant moving. He changed his mind when Lincoln slammed through the door.

  “Dad,” Allie exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

  “Looking for Granger.” He sank into the unoccupied half of the booth. “I didn’t see you at the house this morning and no one was at the clinic, so I tried here.” He glanced around the diner and lowered his voice. “I thought you might want to finis
h looking at my files on Blanton. With my permission this time.”

  His sarcasm hit the bulls-eye and Zeph steeled himself to show no reaction. “Great idea,” he said heartily. “I have an errand to do on the way. Shouldn’t take more than half an hour or so.”

  “Fine.” Lincoln stood and started to turn away. His gaze sharpened on Allie, then bounced back to Zeph, and his eyes glinted with suspicion. “Where were you all day?”

  Zeph struggled to keep a poker face and said in the blandest voice he could manage, “Picnic lunch up on the mountain.” Allie blushed and scooted a couple of inches away from him. He pulled her back.

  Wentworth eyed him silently, a long, considering look than made Zeph want to squirm. His gaze shifted to Allie and Zeph could see his expression change to judge-about-to-pronounce-sentence. But he didn’t say anything. After one long look at her, he turned back to Zeph. “I suppose you had to,” he said in a voice that could deep-freeze lava.

  “Dad!” Allie exclaimed. “You’re acting like—”

  “A father,” Zeph said. “Cut him a break, Allie. He’s entitled. He doesn’t know if I’m a good guy or not.”

  Wentworth favored Zeph with another long stare. “Well, at least you’re not a slacker,” he said finally.

  Zeph looked at Allie. “You make a habit of playing with ne’er-do-wells?”

  Her blush deepened. “No! For Heaven’s sake, Dad.”

  He ignored his daughter. “I’ll see you at my office, Granger,” he said, and grumped out the door.

  “Yeah, like that’s going to be fun,” Zeph said. He looked at his watch. “Let’s see. It’s three hours and twenty-seven minutes—approximately—since we removed our clothes. Does everyone in town know by now?”

  Allie swallowed a giggle, turning it into an unladylike snort. “Pretty much.”

  “Great.” When Allie’s phone rang, he controlled a flinch. “Mabel? The mayor? Or maybe Monty? I’m sure he’ll have some comment on our picnic.”

  Allie ignored him while she answered the call. After a moment, her face went grim. She threw down her napkin and nudged Zeph out of the booth. “Sorry, Zeph, I’ve got to go,” she said and bolted out the door.

  He had to go, too. Go and face her father.

  ****

  Zeph walked up the hill to Wentworth’s house to pick up his car. About halfway there, the same shaggy brown dog he’d seen his first day in town cruised up to him, stopping to get his ears scratched. No one back home would believe this. Zeph gave the dog a final pat and kept going up the hill. Hey, if you’re working undercover, you have to blend in. Sure. Just like you blended with Allie this afternoon. Nope. Not ready to think about that.

  He climbed into the Carrera and checked the map Betty had given him to Bartelett’s place. Sure, he’d check out the prowler story, just as the mayor had asked, but with luck he’d learn more than that.

  A curtain twitched at the window when he pulled into the Barteletts’ driveway and stopped by the front door. When he knocked, the door opened a stingy few inches. A woman peered out at him, well-groomed, about Bartelett’s age, and suspicious. After Zeph identified himself, she kept him shivering in the breeze while she considered. “Your husband asked me—” The door slammed. “Call Lincoln Wentworth—”, he shouted before he considered what Wentworth might say about him. “Or Sheriff Rollins. She opened the door and he gave her his most trustworthy smile

  “Hmph. You’d better come in,” she said.

  Gratefully, he stepped into the warmth of the entry hall. A dog with long hair rushed over and sniffed at his shoes. A week ago, he would have bolted, but now he only kept a wary eye on the tail to be sure it kept wagging. “This is Bongo,” Mrs. Bartelett said and he ran a hand down the dog’s back.

  She closed the door behind him and motioned him to a chair in the living room. Bongo followed and sat at his feet. “Bill said I saw a prowler? What has the man been smoking? I drove to Nevada City this morning to see a friend. I left while he was still in bed. I can’t imagine what he’s thinking.”

  All his detective nerves quivered. Something fishy here, maybe only a lack of communication, maybe something deeper and darker. After all, Bartelett had said she didn’t have a car today. “I thought he phoned you several times before lunch. On your cell phone, perhaps?”

  “I don’t have one of those. They cause cancer, you know.” She stopped and her expression hardened. “He had a woman here,” she said, her voice flat. “I thought I smelled perfume when I came home.”

  “Ah…I’m not sure I follow your reasoning.” Especially if she hadn’t been anywhere. Nutty as a fruitcake, maybe? He’d take a look at the garage when he left and see if it held a car. He could ask Monty to check phone records, but the Barteletts and their relationship probably didn’t warrant an investigation.

  “He’s been a bundle of nerves ever since you came to town. He says you’re a detective.”

  “Yes. But Allie—”

  “He doesn’t believe that’s why you’re here. He thinks you’re investigating something. I imagine he thinks I hired you. He was just fishing to see if you were—what’s the term—surveilling him—this morning. I’m sure of it.” She crossed her arms and her mouth flattened to a thin line.

  Zeph shifted uneasily as a mix of sympathy and suspicion warred for dominance. Poor Bartelett. Zeph wouldn’t have traded places with the man for an opening-night table at the hottest new restaurant in town. If Bartelett hadn’t been lying, this woman was a total Froot Loop. “If that man spent half as much time working as he does chasing his little bimbos…” Mrs. Bartelett said ominously and the dog whined. Or growled.

  Sympathy for Bartelett lost out to keeping a watchful eye on the dog. “You’ve had this kind of trouble with him before?”

  “Oh, yes. That’s why we moved here.”

  “You sure it was other women? I saw a picture of him with Mayor Hunnewill and Chaz Mentrine. That’s pretty high flying company. He could have—”

  “No. He never really met either one of them. I remember that night. A big photo op, and he just pushed his way into the center of things. Both of those men seemed quite put out. I’m sure they’d never seen him before.”

  Her words almost made him forget Bongo’s spooky, pale blue stare. Almost. “Interesting.” Disappointing. So Bartelett was nothing but a celebrity wannabe, not a criminal. “Then the only reason for moving to Stone’s Crossing was to get him away from the temptations of the big city.”

  “He couldn’t turn down the chance to be such a big frog, even if the pond is a tiny one. But that was my reason, yes. It was either live somewhere I could keep tabs on him or kill him.”

  “Please don’t do that. I’d have to testify to your statement, and I’d really hate to do that to you.”

  “All right.” She smiled at him. “I wouldn’t want to put you in an uncomfortable position. You’re a very nice young man, and I’m sure you would never cheat on Allie. But you can bet I’m going to make my husband’s life miserable. And that woman’s, if I can find out who she is. I wonder if it’s that Mabel down at the library…hmmm…” Still mumbling about various women in town, she ushered him to the door and closed it behind him.

  He walked toward his car, then veered to check out the garage. Not a car in sight. “Huh,” he muttered. All that stuff about driving to Nevada City looked to be nothing but crazy ravings. Bartelett was in for it, one way or another, with a crazy, jealous wife.

  Zeph eased into the Carrera with a frown. He’d never stuck with a jealous woman for longer than it took to say goodbye. Allie had had some issues with his...call it full...dating life. Which no longer sounded all that tempting. This afternoon...Allie...the forever feelings she gave him... Color him confused.

  On the way back down the hill to what Stone’s Crossing called downtown, he couldn’t spare any worry for Bartelett. The prospect of spending the rest of the day with Lincoln Wentworth meant he needed it all for himself.

  ****

  Zeph
squared his shoulders and walked into Wentworth’s office. He’d rather face a street gang than Allie’s father. At least it was almost dinner time. He wouldn’t be stuck here for long.

  “That you, Granger?”

  Zeph stiffened, bracing himself for the lecture. And how stupid was that? He and Allie weren’t guilty high school kids. “It’s me.” His voice cracked.

  “Come on back.”

  Zeph found him in a small conference room, sitting at a table covered with papers and looking distracted. Zeph braced himself, but Wentworth seemed to be so engrossed in his research that the whole Zeph-and-Allie thing had taken a back seat. “I’ve been going through Blanton’s records for the years before he was arrested,” Lincoln said as soon as Zeph sat across from him. “Up until now, I’ve only monitored current activity.”

  Zeph swallowed his relieved sigh and raised an inquiring eyebrow.

  “Nothing changed when Rodriguez started managing the company. Except that profits have been dropping year by year.”

  “Odd.”

  “Isn’t it.”

  “You think Rodriguez has been involved all along? Maybe skimming profits without Blanton on hand to restrain him?”

  “I would never have believed it of him. I heard him arguing with Derek about the quality of supplies on several occasions. He wouldn’t have done that if they’d both been involved.”

  “So maybe Mabel was right.”

  “Mabel?”

  “Said she thinks someone might be telling Rodriguez what to do.”

  “No paper trail of that.”

  “Speaking of paper trail, have you found copies of lists Blanton left for Rodriguez?

  “Yes. Perfectly above board.”

  “Too bad. What was that list I found at your house?”

  “Jobs for which lawsuits about the quality were filed.”

  “How far back did you go?”

  “Eleven years.”

  “The year before Blanton framed Luke for murder. Before he became mayor.”