She left the two men and picked up the bag of belongings Hal had brought for her. As she arranged the clothes on the bathroom counter, she surveyed them, trying to decide what to wear to the bar. She couldn’t wear any of her normal clothes; she would stick out like a sore thumb. For a long time, Sadie had refused to take any of her mother’s feminine advice. When she finally started to pay attention, she learned that her mom was a treasure trove of knowledge when it came to hair, makeup, fashion, and a womanly bearing. Victoria might not know how to be a loving wife, but she knew how to snag a man and keep him interested for the long haul. Even with as vitriolic as her relationship with Gideon had been, there had never been any question of his attraction to his pretty wife. Sadie had learned well from the master how to make the most of her already considerable assets. The problem she faced now was that her look was classy and expensive. Her clothes, though a season or two old, screamed money and style. She needed to tone down her look, to try and fit in at a blue-collar mountain bar. Enter the bag of clothes from the back of her closet.
Most of the items were workout clothes. Some of them were trendy pieces she had liked in the store and then decided were no good once she had them home. For whatever reason, she had kept them, and now she was glad. Her normal wardrobe consisted of a lot of natural fibers—wool, cotton, linen, and cashmere, the kind of well-tailored and elegant clothes befitting a local television reporter. The clothes she needed for tonight should be synthetic—polyester, rayon, nylon, the kind of clothes found at any local discount store.
After trying a few things, she decided on a too-short tennis skirt and tube top, covered by a neon fishnet sweater. In the eighties, she would have looked like a Madonna wannabe. Now she looked cheap and tacky. Her hair, which she had already sorely neglected that day, hung limply in her eyes. She left it alone and focused on her makeup, applying too much black eyeliner and mascara, much more than she had ever used. When she surveyed herself in the mirror and decided that both Abby and her mother would be appalled by her gaudy appearance, she knew she had gotten it just right.
Supper was ready when she emerged from the bathroom. She stopped by the bedroom to check on Hal and Bo and chuckled when both men did a double take.
“Can I have your autograph, Ms. Roberts? You were so good in Pretty Woman,” Hal said.
“I wish I could pull off red hair,” Sadie said wistfully. “I tried it once in college. It was horrible. Fiona said supper is ready. I’m going to grab a plate and relieve you. Back in a tick.” She left and returned a few minutes later, plate and drink in hand. Hal left, and she and Bo were left alone to stare at each other. She ate; he watched.
As soon as her fork cut into the peach cobbler, he spoke. “Fine, I’ll talk.”
“What broke you, the food or my skirt?”
“It’s a tossup,” he said.
“I’m starting to like you, Bo.” He didn’t reply, but she thought maybe the feeling was mutual.
Chapter 11
Sadie cut Bo’s ties with some trepidation. What if it was a trap? He could probably take her, Hal, and maybe Fiona. He could tie them up and leave them for days until the investigation was over, or at least until Luke checked on her. Knowing him, that would probably be the first thing tomorrow morning, and she allowed herself a moment of thankfulness for his mother hen ways.
Bo didn’t jump her, though. He stretched and shook his hands and feet, probably trying to get the feeling back.
“Talk,” Sadie commanded.
“Food first,” Bo countered.
“Your way or the highway, huh?” she said.
“Always,” he said.
Sadie called for Hal and requested him to bring Bo a plate. Whatever he had to say wouldn’t be said in front of Fiona. He wolfed down his food, stuffing bits into his mouth with his fingers. The primal display was both disgusting and mesmerizing. To distract herself from his nauseating manners, Sadie sifted through his wallet, pausing on his DHS ID.
“You have a beard in this picture,” she observed. “I didn’t think field agents could have a beard.”
“It has to be neatly trimmed,” he said between stuffing his cheeks with food. “Starving,” he added when she wrinkled her nose.
“Do you always have a beard?” she asked.
He shook his head. She held the ID up to his face and closed one eye. He paused long enough to ask what she was doing.
“Trying to picture you without it,” she said.
“Why?”
“Curiosity,” she lied. In truth she was trying to decide if she found him attractive. Beards had made a comeback in recent years, but facial hair did nothing for Sadie. She liked her men clean-shaven. “Men who have beards are usually hiding something.”
“Like their identities,” he said.
“Like a scar—emotional or otherwise. Did the other kids pick on you, Bo? Is that why you became a cop and grew a beard?”
“Yes, that’s exactly it. This kidnapping has saved me years of therapy.”
“You’re welcome,” Sadie said.
He finished his food and set down the plate. “My turn.”
“Your turn to what? Rip a calf apart with your bare hands and eat it raw? Because that’s the only thing that could rationally follow in this situation.”
“My turn to analyze you. You’ve had your fun at my expense today, but now it’s my turn to say some things.”
She waved her hand, an indication for him to carry on.
“You have issues with your dad who, by everything you’ve said, is either a cop or a serial killer. You try to pull off a carefree vibe, but something bad happened to you. Whether it’s actually bad or whether your cheerleader brain simply defines it as bad has yet to be determined. What’s bad to you? Not getting into your first choice sorority or death? Depends on how shallow you are. I’ll give you credit and say I think you might swim near the deep end of the pool. You were also married, but you’re young, so it probably means it was a college mistake. There’s something going on between you and the doctor, but both of you are trying to suppress it. I can’t figure out why, but I don’t really care.”
“There’s nothing going on between me and Hal,” Sadie said. “We’re friends.”
He shrugged. “I should probably tell you one more thing before this peaceful interlude is over.”
Her stomach started to churn; she didn’t like his tone.
“If you think I believe in forgive and forget, then you’re sadly mistaken. This isn’t over. If I were you, I’d sleep with one eye open.”
“Duly noted. Now, I want to know what you had on Johnny.”
“I’m sure you do, but you know what they say: never trust a guy with a beard.” He stood and brushed the crumbs off his hands before reclaiming his wallet. “See you around, Sadie. Thanks for the grub.”
Sadie looked around for something to throw at his retreating backside. Everything nearby was ineffectually soft. She could try to Taser him again, but she didn’t know the effects of repeated Tasering. For future reference, she should look into that.
“You have no honor,” she yelled after him. Her words struck and were answered with a deep chuckle before the front door opened and closed. After another minute of deciding whether or not to have a tantrum, Sadie set aside her anger and went to the kitchen. Hal and Fiona were just finishing the dishes.
“Supper was good,” Sadie told Fiona. “Thank you. You should open a restaurant.”
“Nah,” Fiona said, her cheeks warming pleasantly.
“Did you get the information you needed from Bo?” Hal asked.
“No. He lied to me, the rat. I should have left him tied up all night.”
Hal set aside the dish towel. “Ready?”
“Yes,” Sadie said. “Fiona, we’re going to the bar to ask some questions about Johnny. Besides Argus McGee, do you know who his friends were or where else he might have hung out?”
“Not since he came back to town. Rumor had it that he was real high and mighty
lately, like he thought he was better than everyone else.”
“Where did he work while he was away?”
Fiona shrugged. “Somewhere near the ocean. Shirley went to visit him once and came back with a jar of sand and shells.”
“Thanks,” Sadie said, though the information wasn’t helpful. Johnny must have worked at a government facility to make the DHS interested in him, but anywhere in DC was only a short drive from the ocean. For that matter, Langley and Quantico were both close to the shore, but Sadie didn’t see him working there. That many cops in one place would have been able to sniff out a weasel-faced crook like Johnny. It had to be somewhere government but without a lot of cops. Congress? The Capitol? The Library of Congress? One of the archives, or perhaps a research facility?
He must have taken something valuable, something he thought would set him up for life. For that reason, an archive or research facility made sense, but which one? There had to be a lot of them, and some of them were probably so secret that no one had ever heard of them.
“You’re quiet,” Hal said as he and Sadie drove to the bar. “Did Bo upset you?”
“No, I’m thinking and trying to put together the scraps of Johnny’s life. We need more information.”
“Which we will hopefully get tonight,” Hal said. He was staring at her out of the corner of his eye, trying not to get caught.
“What is it?”
“You look good.”
“I look cheap.”
“It works for you,” Hal said.
“I had no idea you were into this type of girl. That worries me,” Sadie said.
“It’s not the type; it’s the girl. I find your chameleon aspect appealing,” Hal said.
“Bo thinks we have a thing,” Sadie said.
“We don’t have a thing. We’re friends.”
“Exactly,” Sadie said. They arrived at the Bird Dog Bar. The tiny lot was already crowded, a fact that boded well for their mission. Either it was always crowded on a weeknight or the locals wanted to gather and talk about the discovery of Johnny’s body. The night should yield a treasure trove of information if they played their cards right. Hal held the door for her. More than a few heads stopped talking to look in their direction, most of them male.
“If we separate, we can cover more ground,” Sadie said.
“Don’t try to sugarcoat it for me. You need to work your magic, and having me nearby will stymie your efforts to flirt,” Hal said.
“I can flirt just fine with you nearby,” Sadie said. She stood on her toes to kiss his cheek and they went their separate ways. She moseyed to the bar and sat beside a woman who was watching her intently.
“That your guy?” the woman asked, though up close she was more girl than woman. Sadie would be surprised if she was old enough to legally drink the beer she was sipping.
“That’s my cousin,” Sadie lied.
“So, you’re not together,” the girl continued, and it took a moment for Sadie to realize she wasn’t joking.
“I made a vow not to date any more of my cousins,” Sadie said.
“Haven’t we all,” the girl mused.
Sadie decided not to touch that topic with a ten foot pole. “I’m Sadie.”
“Laurel.”
“Pretty name.”
Laurel snorted. “My dad thought it was all poetic or something. He named me and then ran off, never to be seen or heard from again. I’d rather have a dad than a pretty name.” She took a sullen sip of her beer. Sadie ordered something she had no intention of drinking and beamed at the bartender when he asked for ID, an occurrence that happened with less frequency the closer she moved to thirty. He winked at her and poured cheap whiskey into a smudged glass. He was probably Gideon’s age and missing a few teeth, so she hoped the wink was fatherly and not flirtatious. She decided to take it that way and stuffed a few dollars in the nearly empty tip jar beside the register.
She picked up the glass and turned on her stool so she was facing the bar. The whiskey smelled like rubbing alcohol and probably tasted the same. Sadie had no desire to find out. It was a prop, much like her outfit. Even her decision to sit beside Laurel was a calculated move. Laurel was on the prowl; her body language and microscopic skirt said so. Sadie’s decision to join her made them a pack—a pride of lionesses waiting for a kill.
“Crazy week, huh?” Sadie said.
“Aren’t they all?” Laurel said and knocked back another sip of the beer. She had no intention of using her drink as a prop, but that was good news for Sadie. Alcohol loosened lips and inhibitions. If she waited long enough, Laurel might spill secrets about everyone in the room.
“You from here?” Sadie asked.
“If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be here,” Laurel said. “Nothing happens here. I’m so sick of this place I could puke.”
Sadie didn’t point out the obvious fact that Laurel was free to leave anytime she desired. Some ties were more binding than chains. Running away was the ultimate dream, but problems had a way of catching up, something Sadie knew all too well. She scanned the room, looking for a new topic, and found the perfect opening. “Who’s that guy?”
Laurel’s bleary vision followed Sadie’s and she shook her head. “You don’t want him. That’s Argus McGee. He’s trouble.”
“I like trouble,” Sadie said.
“He’s the wrong kind of trouble.”
“Sounds like you speak from experience,” Sadie said.
“You know how it is in a small town. Everyone gets passed around until you’ve pretty much dated everybody. We need some new blood.” Her gaze settled longingly on Hal who was talking to a group of older guys in John Deere baseball caps. They looked like farmers who stopped in for a chat after a long day in the fields. In this area, tobacco was still king. The men were relics, the last of a dying breed. They spoke animatedly to Hal, using grand hand gestures and a lot of laughter. Hal could get anyone to open up, Sadie thought. Reluctantly, she turned her attention back to Argus McGee.
He was younger than she, probably somewhere around Laurel’s age. Though she had known the father, she had never met the son, hadn’t even known of his existence. She could have guessed he was Fergus’s son by his appearance, however. They were both large, barrel-chested men. Sadie had the unfortunate experience of seeing Fergus in a pair of shorts once at a family picnic. His legs had been tiny toothpicks, barely capable of supporting his large upper body. The contrast had been so dire that Sadie had asked Gideon about it. He only works out the places people can see, Gideon had said. He lifts weights with his arms because they’re not covered by his uniform, but nobody sees his legs, so he doesn’t bother to exercise them. He’s lazy. It had been such a rare occurrence to hear Gideon badmouth any of his fellow officers that the exchange stuck in Sadie’s head. She guessed the same was probably true of Argus. His arms and chest were bulky and well-sculpted, but he wore jeans to cover his legs.
He was nice looking in a rural, country boy sort of way. He also wore a cap, though his was emblazoned with Ford’s logo. His flannel shirt had been cut at the sleeves to display his impressive biceps. Sadie wondered what he would do if she asked to take a look at his calves. She smiled and let her gaze fall on Argus, waiting a few beats until he turned her way. She dropped her eyes demurely to her drink as if contemplating a sip. Not in a million years, she thought. The booze here, though doubtlessly watered down, was probably cheap enough to cause blindness. She looked back up and caught Argus watching her. Their eyes locked and Sadie smiled, forcing her revulsion away. He was repulsive to her for many reasons. Not only was he a prime suspect for murder, but he was younger, poorer, dumber, and the son of a man she loathed for family’s sake. Until now, she hadn’t realized that she disliked Fergus on Gideon’s behalf. The thought galled her, but there was nothing she could do about it. Family loyalty was family loyalty. The enemy of her father was her enemy, too.
Though he was clearly interested, Argus made no move to approach. Sadie added another strike against
him. Among the things she couldn’t abide in a man, cowardice topped the list. She would give it a rest and work on Argus later. If she had to, she would approach him. That might work better anyway. A boy like Argus would respond well to an ego feeding.
“I’m telling ya, you don’t want to get mixed up with him,” Laurel warned after having observed the flirtatious exchange of glances.
“What’s wrong with him?” Sadie asked.
“Nothing his daddy won’t fix.”
“What does that mean?” Sadie asked. “Is his dad rich or something?”
“His dad is the sheriff,” Laurel said. She lowered her voice to a whisper and looked around. “Argus gets in trouble, and his dad fixes it, if you know what I mean.”
“Like speeding tickets?” Sadie said. “I’ve heard of cops fixing their kids’ tickets.” Not that Gideon had ever done such a thing for her. One of his officers had tried to let her off with a warning once, but Gideon got on the radio and told him to write the ticket and make it a big one. Then he took all of Sadie’s babysitting money to pay it off and made her pay the difference on his insurance premium.
“Speeding tickets and everything else. Argus got into some pretty bad stuff, and his dad made it all go away.”
“Like what?” Sadie leaned in to match Laurel’s excited whisper. Laurel opened her mouth to spill her secrets, but the door opened, catching her attention. She gasped and froze, staring at the door like a pointer hound. Sadie turned to look at what could possibly be so entrancing and saw Bo.
“You’ve go to be kidding me,” she muttered. Didn’t he have any original ideas? This was her spot for reconnaissance, and she didn’t appreciate his intrusion.
Salvaged to Death Page 11
