by Sara Rosett
That slowed me down. Jorge was an illegal alien from…Mexico. Wasn’t he? I thought back over what I knew of Jorge. I didn’t really know anything about him. I’d assumed he was from Mexico simply because of his appearance and because he worked as a day laborer, but what better place to disappear in America than in a community of people who kept to themselves? They wouldn’t turn him in even if they suspected he wasn’t a Latino. They’d have too much to lose.
Tony waited to see what else I asked. For someone in law enforcement, he was remarkably willing to answer my questions. Of course, he could be lying. Maybe he wasn’t with the FBI and maybe he really was a terrorist.
“Okay,” I said slowly. “If Jorge was part of a terrorist cell, why would a cell like that trust you?”
“An American boy? Normally, they wouldn’t. But they might eventually trust an American who had an American mother and an Iraqi father. They’d trust someone like that who sought out his roots at the local mosque and became a follower of Islam. I was recruited there. Of course, they wouldn’t trust me so much if they knew about my time at Quantico.”
“So let’s say that you’re FBI and Jorge and the other man were terrorists, why would you be so stupid and lose a memory chip with all that information on it?”
“I slipped up. I was distracted.” A faint blush appeared on his cheeks. At first, I thought it was a reaction to the cleaner that must still be on his skin, but then he said, “I shouldn’t have changed my focus, but I was worried—” He broke off as the flush increased. He uncrossed his arms and stood straight, one hand on a shelf, the other on his hip, which drew back his jacket. I still didn’t see any evidence of a gun.
As I thought about what Tony said, a few pieces clicked into place. “It was Summer, wasn’t it? You were worried about her. That’s what distracted you.”
He shrugged. “Any friend would be.”
Right. Just a friend. Well, if that was the way he wanted to play it, I could go along. “Tony, is that your real name?”
The atmosphere shifted and he shut down a little. “That’s not important here.” I thought Summer would disagree with that statement, but let it go. He continued. “What is important is that you give me the memory chip and that you convince Summer to forget about it.”
“That shouldn’t be hard. She thinks you can’t do anything wrong.” I thought a shadow of a smile crossed his face, but he hurried on.
“Good. She’s got to continue her normal routine. No more disappearances. Mr. and Ms. Archer have to believe that nothing has changed. Summer and I are still loyal employees worthy of their trust.”
“And Jorge?”
“Jorge was a yardman who died in a tragic accident.”
“That’s not what the police think. They think Summer pushed him. And they’re doing their best to prove it.” He grimaced at that, but seemed to steel himself. “That’s the best way.”
That last part made me mad. I’d calmed down quite a bit. I wasn’t breathing in little gasps and my heartbeat wasn’t thundering in my ears, but I felt my blood pressure rise. “You think that’s best? That Summer is a suspect?”
He held up one hand. “Yes. It is best. I know it’s hard. Believe me, I know. But if Summer is a suspect because she knew Jorge in his role as a yardman, then it keeps the focus off his other activities. We’re close to shutting this thing down and I need you not to say anything to anyone else about what you’ve found out.”
“The memory chip is in my purse.” I gestured at the floor near his foot. “Take it.”
He gave me a long look, then squatted and picked up my purse. Tony opened it and pulled out the chip, then handed my purse to me.
Even though he said he was FBI, he might be making all this up. Despite being splattered with cleaning spray, Tony still looked composed. I took in the cut of his suit, the heavy watch, and thought about his car, a very expensive, new car. The man on the Mall had insinuated that Tony liked America too much and was getting too comfortable. A power struggle inside their little group could be another explanation.
My head was beginning to throb from the fumes in the small space. I wanted out of the room. Agreement seemed the way to go. “Okay, I’ll talk to Summer and convince her not to say anything to anyone about the memory chip, but you’d better keep her safe.”
“You don’t need to worry about that.”
I believed him. And that was strange, because I didn’t know if I could trust anything he’d said earlier, but I believed him now.
I unlocked the door, swung it open, and stepped out into the hall quickly, just in case Tony lunged for me. He didn’t. He followed me into the hall, straightened his cuffs, and disappeared into the men’s restroom.
It was so anticlimactic that I laughed. I slapped my hand over my mouth because if anyone turned the corner and saw me standing in the middle of a deserted hallway laughing, they’d think I was crazy. And when they got a whiff of the chemical smells on me, they’d think I’d been sniffing cleaning products to get high. I felt a bit nauseated and unsteady. Must be all the fumes. I hurried across the hall to the women’s restroom.
I felt calmer after I used the restroom and then washed my hands and my arms, but as I looked in the mirror, I realized that the wet paper towel I was holding was trembling as I blotted my forehead and checks.
I tossed the towel in the trash and collapsed into one of the wicker chairs beside a table with a flower arrangement and a box of tissues. I closed my eyes, leaned forward, and rested my head on the heel of one hand. All that adrenaline was working its way out of my bloodstream. I took a couple of deep breaths.
A few women came in and out and I just sat there, resting. It was all too crazy. I’d gotten myself mixed up in a terrorist cell? Could that even be true?
I noticed a pair of cowboy boots positioned a few inches in front of me. I pulled my head up and let my gaze run up the denim skirt and western-cut shirt to Lena Stalling’s face. She looked aggravated.
An Everything In Its Place Tip for an Organized Trip
Carry-on luggage
If you’re flying, check with your airline for travel restrictions, including what items you’re allowed to carry on. Here’s a few essentials you’ll want to make sure you bring in your carry-on bag:
Prescription medications.
Glasses and/or contacts.
Decongestant and/or motion sickness medicine.
Reading material—a good book or book on tape can make those frequent flight delays less irritating.
Water—purchase after clearing security.
Gum.
Essential travel documents like tickets, hotel confirmation numbers, and passport.
Valuable items you don’t want to pack in your checked luggage like business paperwork or expensive camera equipment.
Chapter Twenty-four
With her hands braced on her hips and her head tilted to one side, she said abruptly, “You okay?”
“Sure. I’ll be fine in just a minute.”
She ignored me. “You don’t look okay.” She contemplated me for a few seconds with a frown, then shook her head and sighed. “No use. I can’t walk away.” She sat down in the other wicker chair. “Are you sick? Do you have low blood sugar?”
“No, I’m not sick. I’ll be fine. I just had a bit of a shock.”
She reached in her purse and handed me a package of peanut butter crackers. “Eat some of these. I’ll be right back.”
I opened the package and pulled out a cracker. It flaked as I bit into it.
A few minutes later, Lena swept back in and popped the top on a can of Coke. “Drink this.”
“Oh, I couldn’t take your drink. I’ll be fine in a minute. I usually drink diet anyway.”
“Drink it. You need the sugar. You’re pregnant?” I nodded and took the can from her and washed down the dry, salty cracker. “You can’t go without eating. I can’t believe women today. You have to gain weight to have a baby.” She sat down in the chair on the other side of t
he table.
“No, it’s not that. Believe me, I’m not into dieting while I’m pregnant. I’m not into dieting ever, actually. Anyway, it’s just tonight I was so distracted with, well…it’s hard to explain.”
I devoured more crackers and downed them with swigs of the Coke. “Thanks. I feel better.”
“Good.” She pulled her lipstick and a tiny mirror out of her purse. “Sorry to be so bossy.” Her words were indistinct since she wasn’t moving her mouth as she talked while she reapplied a coat of red lipstick. I had the feeling she wasn’t sorry at all and was used to ordering people around, for their own good, of course. She rubbed her lips together and checked her tiny mirror. “I used to be a nurse. Old habits die hard, you know.” She capped her lipstick and slid it and her mirror into her purse. “You rest in here a little longer and finish off that drink.”
“I will, but before you go, can I ask you about Jorge?”
She studied me warily for long moment; then she said, “Jorge?”
“Yes, a man who did yard work, construction work. Manual labor. I know that you knew him, that you knew him in Georgia.”
“Doesn’t sound familiar,” she said as she quickly zipped up her purse and got ready to stand up.
“Yes, it does. It took you a few seconds to figure out how you were going to act when I mentioned his name. That hesitation gave you away. And I also know that you sent him a check, a rather large one, and wanted to meet with him.” She didn’t look so commanding now as she studied me and chewed on her lower lip, eating away some of the fresh lipstick.
She went on the attack. “How do you know that? And why do you care?”
“I’ve got—let’s call them connections,” I said. She didn’t need to know that my connection was a stack of stolen mail. Besides, I’d just had an enlightening conversation with an FBI agent. That was a connection, if there ever was one. “And I have a relative who’s suspected of pushing Jorge off the platform in the Metro and killing him. She didn’t do it.”
Lena relaxed and leaned back in the chair. “You think I pushed him?” she asked as she ran the purse strap through her fingers.
“You were on the platform.”
She raised her eyebrows at me questioningly.
“There’s a photo.”
“I see.” She kept running her fingers over the stitching on the strap. “Well. I didn’t push him, so I have nothing to worry about, do I?”
“If you didn’t push him, then no, you don’t have anything to worry about. Did you see who did?”
Lena shook her head. “I was checking my watch when it happened, so I was looking down and didn’t see anything.”
“Did you see a woman with long red hair on the platform near you?” I asked.
“No,” she said impatiently. “I didn’t look around and catalogue the people beside me. I was thinking about my meeting I had in twenty minutes. The meeting I didn’t make because of what happened.”
She was annoyed and I could tell she was about to cut off my irritating questions, so I said, “You’re really here in D.C. on business? I thought you might be here to make sure Jorge didn’t cash your check. Or maybe it was to convince Jorge to keep your relationship with him quiet? Or was it only Jay MacInally you don’t want to know about it?”
Her eyes narrowed. “So that’s it. You want me to tell you about Jorge and you won’t tell Jay about him?”
Since I’d obviously hit a sore spot, I nodded and she said, “Fine. Okay. Jorge was on a crew that drywalled. I was having the inside of my garage finished. Anyway, he let me know he was available to do other work, landscaping, handyman projects.”
I’ll bet he made himself available, I thought, but kept that to myself. “And he was a contract employee to you?”
“No. We had a romantic relationship.” I hadn’t expected her to admit it so readily and I didn’t know whether to believe her or not. Would Jorge romance Lena, then turn around and pursue Summer a few weeks later? She must have read the skepticism on my face.
“You think I’m too old? That he wouldn’t be interested in me?”
“No, I think you’re a very attractive woman.” A very deceptive woman, too. “But you wanted your relationship to stay a secret? Is that why you sent the money?”
“No, of course not.” She was offended. “It was a loan. Jorge wanted to start his own landscaping business.”
I suddenly felt sorry for this beautiful, aging woman. She got scammed and she didn’t want to admit it. “Why here? Why start his business in Washington, D.C.? Why not Georgia, near you?”
“Georgia was seasonal work to make ends meet. This was where he had family.”
I didn’t say anything, but I didn’t think anyone had claimed Jorge’s body and Detective Brown had asked if he had family. Mrs. Matthews gave the impression that Jorge only had a few visitors, not hordes of family coming and going. And that thought reminded me of Mrs. Matthews’s comments about the one visitor Jorge did have.
“You visited him at his apartment here, didn’t you? Not this last week, but before.”
She looked a bit uncomfortable. “Once. I went there once.”
Rebecca Matthews had said the woman was crying, so her visit hadn’t gone well. It seemed Lena wasn’t going to say anything else about that, so I asked, “Was he involved with anyone dangerous?”
“No.” She said it quickly, but her gaze dropped to her hands.
“Are you sure? It looks like Jorge was mixed up with some shady stuff.”
She kept her attention fixed on her hands. “No, definitely not.”
She wasn’t going to talk about any unsavory connections that Jorge had, so I went back to his relationship with her. “He’d taken your money and wasn’t calling you back. You decided to give him a little push and take care of the whole thing. Your money stayed in your account and you didn’t look foolish either.”
She sputtered, “That isn’t true. There’s no way—”
“What I don’t understand is why you’re with MacInally,” I continued.
She said, “Jay’s a dear. I watch out for him. He’s too trusting. I’ve always felt…protective of him. I don’t want anyone taking advantage of him.”
“That’s not the impression I have of him. He seems to be someone who can take care of himself.”
She sighed. “He comes across as tough, but I knew him after he was wounded. He was fragile. And he still is.” She stood up, settled the strap of her purse on her shoulder. Her hips swayed as she moved to the door. “Don’t let his facade fool you.”
The door sighed shut and I took a deep breath. I actually felt better, steadier, and the blood no longer seemed to be pounding through my head. I brushed cracker crumbs off me, threw the can and wrapper in the trash, and examined my face in the mirror. Amazingly, I didn’t look too bad, considering I’d been at the center of two confrontations in the last, what, half an hour? And one of them had involved spray cans of foaming bathroom cleaner. Except for a dark patch of fabric on my shoulder, which I figured was from the cleaner, and scraggly hair, I looked about the same.
I finger-combed my hair, touched up my lipstick, and did the best I could to blot away the dark spot on my shoulder. It wasn’t totally gone, but I heard voices moving down the hallway outside and I hurried to join the group of people on their way back to the atrium. I didn’t want to meet up with Tony, or anyone else in the hallway. I was going to plant myself beside Mitch and not move for the rest of the night while I tried to sort through the confusing jumble that was my brain.
I wasn’t quite quick enough to reach the atrium without being waylaid. I was a few steps behind the group of people when I saw Lena marching down the hall toward me with her face set in a determined way. I quickened my pace, but she slipped around the group, grabbed my arm, and pulled me over to one side of the hall.
What was it with people grabbing my arm tonight? I’d had it with being manhandled. I wasn’t about to get dragged away again, so I ripped my arm away roughly an
d said, “What?”
She took a step back and said, “Sorry.”
Maybe I overreacted just a tad.
“Sorry,” she repeated. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Despite her apologetic words, her expression was set and resolute. “I couldn’t walk away without telling you.” She gestured to my stomach. “You’re pregnant. I don’t want to be responsible for…anything. You have to be careful.” She lowered her voice. “You asked if Jorge was involved in anything dangerous. He was. He had a group of, I don’t want to call them, friends, I guess. I don’t know what other word to use. I don’t know anything about them, except that you don’t want to be on their bad side.”
“Who were they?”
“I don’t know. All I know is that one of them worked for Ms. Archer. There was a struggle going on between Jorge and this other man.”
“On the platform? You saw them fighting?”
“No,” she said impatiently. “It was a power struggle. Jorge wanted to be in control and the other man was threatened. The other man got rid of Jorge. I know he did.”
She paused and I didn’t think she was going to say anything else, but then she rushed on, the words tumbling out. “I know what you were insinuating back there. You think Jorge swindled me.” She swallowed and blinked rapidly. “I didn’t want to admit it to myself, but I could see it in your face. The way he came to me, made sure I knew him, suggested jobs he could do. It’s obvious now, looking back. He sought me out. And he’s the one who wanted the blackmail thing. I didn’t want to do it, but he talked me into it. And the thing is, we didn’t have to do it. He’d have done it for me.”
“What blackmail thing?” I asked and she clamped her red lips together, shock in her eyes. She hadn’t meant to say that, but I put her words together with the interaction I’d seen earlier in the evening. Tony said he’d sent Jorge to Georgia. Lena knew Mr. Archer.
