Maggie’s thoughts were all over the map as she watched the fax eat up the pages she’d printed out from Dennis West’s file. In some respects it seemed like she’d stepped back in time, then seconds later she was staring into the future. Life was beyond strange sometimes. Then again, everything happened for a reason. All she had to do was figure out what that reason was.
She turned around and looked at the red chair as she remembered the days and months that she’d sat in it, learning the ropes. They were good days. And a few bad ones, but it went with the territory. She hoped Dennis West would appreciate those same good and bad days. Her gut told her the kid had what it takes. Ted and Espinosa thought so, too; she could tell. Kind of like having a kid brother to look after. She laughed then, a sound of pure mirth.
Life was looking good. Really, really good.
Chapter 12
Aweak sun was just creeping over the horizon when Maggie walked into her kitchen to start the new day. Should she make coffee or pick up some on the way? She hated making these kinds of earthshaking decisions so early. She was headed out to Pinewood to talk to Myra and Charles. She looked at the empty pot and decided to stop at the first convenience store she came to so she could fuel up on her daily ration of coffee. Decision made, she was out the door and headed for her car moments later. Her neighborhood was stirring even at such an early hour. Two couples were walking their dogs. The good-looking stud two doors down was starting his morning run. She made a mental note to get back into her exercising routine. She always felt better when she exercised. Soon. There were more important things on her agenda right now.
Before unlocking her car, she looked around, then upward. It felt like rain. Again. And her knee was bothering her. When her knee bothered her, it usually rained within a matter of hours. She was better than any weatherman when it came to predicting the weather. She looked at the huge trees, now bare of their leaves, that lined the sidewalks. Yesterday there had been leaves on some of them, but they were gone. Probably because of the high winds that rattled the house last night. It was, after all, autumn, and wind and rain were daily staples, not to mention goblins and witches. All that remained were skeletons. The trees were one of the main reasons she’d moved to this particular neighborhood in Georgetown. She loved the old trees in the spring and the way they shaded the sidewalks and the front of the houses like giant umbrellas. The trees were one reason, and having Jack, and now Nikki as neighbors, was the other reason she’d snapped up the house she still lived in. She made a mental note to call Jack and Nikki later in the day even though she knew that they knew she was back. One should never slough off good friends like Jack and Nikki.
It was cold, way too cold for late October. She had never liked the cold because she didn’t like to bundle up, and she sure as hell hated shivering. If only she’d had the presence of mind to come out and warm up her car. She accepted the fact that she wasn’t clicking on all of her cylinders. Soon. All she had to do was shift into her neutral zone and take it from there. Easier said than done.
The ride out to Pinewood was uneventful. Neither Ted nor Espinosa had been in touch this morning. True, they were busy with Dennis West. But Ted always checked in. Always. Well, things were different now, she reminded herself. All she wanted was to get back on her old footing and get on with life.
Maggie heard the dogs as she sailed through the open gate at the old farmhouse. The fact that the gate was open told her Myra was in the kitchen and had seen her car approaching on the security monitor. She hoped the coffee at Pinewood would be better than what she’d picked up at the fast-food dump she’d stopped at. Breakfast would be good, too. But only if Charles was making it. Myra might serve toast with butter and jam, but that was about it. She was way too hungry for just toast and jam.
The kitchen door opened, and the dogs barreled out. Myra held out her arms, and Maggie rushed into them. She savored the feeling of being held close by someone who cared for her.
Myra’s arm around Maggie, she led her into the kitchen, where Charles was busy at the stove. “Look who’s in time for breakfast!” Myra said happily.
Maggie rushed to hug Charles. She sniffed appreciatively. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to settle for toast and jam.” She giggled. “No offense intended, Myra.”
“And none taken, dear. Sit! Sit! Tell us how it went last evening with the young man.”
“Extremely well. I liked him. Ted and Espinosa fell all over themselves to help him. Hero worship goes a long way with those two, and that young reporter just idolizes the two of them. All Dennis had to say was that Ted was his idol, and it was clear sailing. Right now, as I speak, they should be headed to Human Resources to get him all set up. Then it’s to the barber and some department store to outfit him in the manner to which Ted thinks a reporter should become accustomed. They have some banking to do—you know—set it up so his pay can go in as a direct deposit. The guys have it under control.”
“He knows his business, then?” Charles queried.
“Do you mean does he have a fire in his belly the way they say good reporters have? The answer is yes. He certainly isn’t stupid. He’s gutsy, maybe too much so for his own good, but both Ted and I recognized that in him. Been there, done that, have the T-shirt to prove it. Ted will rein him in if he goes off half-cocked. We put him up at the Post condo. I made sure Annie okayed everything. She said do whatever it takes, and we did it.”
“He’s a definite asset then?” Charles queried again.
“Absolutely. Which brings me to the reason I came out here this early. I want the four of us to head out to Baywater today, as soon as I get back to town, and the guys finish up what they’re doing. Dennis has a rapport with some of the families, and we need to use that. Did you come up with legends yet for all of us?”
“I’m almost done. I think it’s okay for the four of you to head out to Baywater. I want you to register at the Harbor Inn. Take three rooms. Use your own background when you get there. But only on one condition.”
“Name it,” Maggie said, eyeing the plate of fluffy scrambled eggs Charles had set in front of her.
“Backup. I’ll have Avery Snowden send a few of his people. I’m thinking two women and two men.”
Maggie picked up her fork. She knew better than to argue with Charles, who would ultimately go to Annie, who would then side with Charles. “As long as they don’t get in our way or stand out. I told you what that town is like. Eight strangers milling about is going to send up red flags.”
“You won’t know they are there; nor will anyone else. Trust me. Having said that, we need to generate a little curiosity if, as you say, the whole town is buttoned up. Expect to be stopped by the local police the first chance they get. That’s so they can get and run your information through all their databases. Make it easy for them. Speed going through town.”
Maggie’s eyebrows shot upward. “Did I just hear you right, Charles? Are you sure you want us to do that?”
“Oh, I’m sure all right. Avery’s people will be everywhere. We need to know how tight the town control is as soon as possible. And remember this, the only words you know if one or all of you get arrested are, ‘I want a lawyer.’ ”
Maggie laughed out loud. “We can do that.”
“Where’s your special gold shield, dear?” Myra asked.
Maggie stopped eating long enough to dig into the pocket of her wool slacks. She held it up. “I always carry it on my person.”
“Don’t use it unless you have to,” Charles warned.
“Gotcha. Anything else I should know before I head back to town? By the way, what is the latest with Pearl? Are they making any progress?”
“As you say, it’s all going on. They’re baiting the trap, so to speak. I spoke to Mr. Sparrow around midnight, and he assured me that Pearl should be in the clear in less than forty-eight hours. Unless, of course, something goes awry. No need to go into details here and now. Everything is under way.”
“That’s good to
know. I don’t know how she managed to live with all that surveillance for so long. Scumbag bastards!”
Charles nodded and smiled. Maggie did have a way with words. “Stay in touch. Hourly is best, but I’ll settle for every two or three hours. Straight up at twelve whenever possible. It doesn’t necessarily have to be you; Ted or Joseph can call in.”
“Okay.” Maggie finished the last of her breakfast, dabbed at her mouth, and asked for some coffee to go.
Myra’s eyes sparkled. “I wish I were going with you, dear. Please, be careful.”
“Always, Myra. Always.”
Ten minutes later, Maggie was back on the road and headed for Alphabet City, also known as the nation’s capital. She stopped for gas and sent Ted a text while she waited for her tank to fill. My ETA is one hour from now. Be ready to roll. Sign out the van. I’ll leave my car in the motor pool.
The response came at the speed of light. Hot damn. Maggie laughed as she capped her tank, replaced the nozzle, and grabbed her credit-card receipt. “ ‘Hot damn’ is right,” she said, swinging onto the highway.
It was thirty minutes past high noon when Ted Robinson rolled the Post’s van into the town of Baywater. Maggie rode shotgun, while Espinosa and Dennis West sat in the back. The intrepid reporter had talked nonstop the entire trip. Twice Ted told him to button it up, and he did, but it was impossible for Dennis to contain his excitement or, as he put it, “I can’t believe I’m here with all of you and that we’re going to make it happen and you actually are going to try to get arrested.”
Ted told everyone to be quiet so he could hear the robotic voice on the GPS. “Okay, two lefts and a right should bring us to the Harbor Inn. Did you decide how you want to do this, Maggie?”
“Charles said three rooms. You and I will share one room, Espinosa and Dennis will each have their own. Double beds in our room, Ted, so don’t go getting any ideas.”
Ted strove for a nonchalant tone when he said, “Works for me.” His stomach felt like a beehive of hornets had taken over his intestines.
“How soon do you think we should get ourselves arrested?” Espinosa asked in a jittery voice.
“Not till we get something to eat and map out a plan, which you guys were supposed to do before we got here that you didn’t do,” Maggie snapped.
“That’s not true, Maggie,” Dennis West replied. “We said you were going to interview Jon Eberly, Peter Ciprani’s friend, because I think he knows more than he told me. You can actually walk to his office from the Harbor Inn. The three of us are going to go to the outskirts of town, where some of the people I interviewed live. Properties here are really spread out. We need wheels. Maybe we should rent another vehicle.”
“I think the kid is right. I saw an Easy Rental office right on Main Street, next to some insurance office,” Espinosa said.
“Yeah, yeah, that’s Jon Eberly’s office, the guy Maggie is going to see. Then it will make sense for her to rent the car,” Ted said. “Okay, guys, we’re here. Bail out. Let’s get situated and meet in twenty minutes in our room. A word to the wise. Do not leave anything in your room you don’t want anyone else to see. That goes for the van, too, so take everything with you.”
Espinosa shot Ted a baleful look and pointed one by one to everyone’s backpack. “Duh.”
“Okay, okay!” Ted shot back.
Registration wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, the foursome decided, when they met in Maggie and Ted’s room twenty minutes later.
Maggie was perched at the end of the bed and looked at her colleagues. “I hope we didn’t make a mistake using the Post’s credit card.”
“The way I see it is it has an upside and a downside. Take your pick,” Ted said, looking around the spacious room, which was clean and neat as a pin. The spreads and drapes were bright chintz and looked to have been freshly laundered. The furniture was hard rock maple and polished to a high sheen. There was an Internet hookup, a twenty-six-inch TV, and a DVR plus an honor bar. The floor was heart of pine with braided rugs. Two comfortable easy chairs were positioned at each end of the bay window that overlooked a small garden with colorful, painted Adirondack chairs. The bathroom was simply a bathroom, with over a dozen towels stacked on a portable shelf. It was all he could do not to stare at the two beds and what they might possibly come to mean where he and Maggie were concerned.
“Okay, let’s hit the road. Ted, you call into Charles every two hours. I’ll take the hour in between since we’re splitting up. You guys check in with me. Just send a text. Dennis, which way is Mr. Eberly’s office?”
“Go out the front door, walk down the driveway, and make a left, then a right, and that will put you on Main Street. What time are we going to meet?”
“Six sounds good to me. I’ll go first, you guys wait ten minutes, then leave. Try not to get arrested until later.”
Ted hooted as the door closed behind Maggie. He eyed the red numerals on the digital clock on the table between the two beds. Shit! Two beds. Double shit!
It was a blustery day with dark clouds scudding across the sky, but so far it hadn’t rained. The way her knee ached, Maggie knew it would rain by midafternoon. Traffic in the center of town was light. She didn’t see a single pedestrian and thought it strange. She did, however, feel unseen eyes on her as she walked along, looking up at the names on the plate-glass windows.
There were benches under the streetlamps along the promenade that were already lit on that dark, gloomy day. Huge urns of colorful fall flowers stood outside all the stores and offices. She thought the town must have a very active garden club. All in all, it was a neat, tidy town. Too neat. Too tidy. For her liking.
She stopped, read the lettering on the window, and again on the double-hung door. She opened it and walked into a small foyer, where a middle-aged woman sat behind a plate-glass cubicle. “Can I help you?”
“I hope so. I’d like to speak with Mr. Eberly on a personal matter.”
“And your name is . . .”
“Maggie Spitzer. I’m from the Post. In Washington, D.C. I’m a reporter.” Before the woman could say anything, Maggie handed over her Post credentials for perusal.
“Yes. I see. Please have a seat, and I’ll see if Mr. Eberly can see you. He’s been tied up all day so far.”
“I have nothing else to do, so I can wait. All afternoon if necessary.” Tied up, my foot, she thought. She settled herself in one of the uncomfortable chairs and whipped out a tattered paperback novel she carried with her for just such occasions. She’d been reading chapter seven for the past ten years, and if asked what the novel was about, she would have said she didn’t have a clue.
The receptionist cleared her throat to get Maggie’s attention. “Mr. Eberly said he can spare fifteen minutes. If you need more time, he suggests we arrange an appointment.”
“Fifteen minutes is fine,” Maggie said, jamming the paperback back into her backpack.
Maggie’s first thought was that she had been right. Eberly, Peter Ciprani’s best friend, wasn’t busy and had probably been playing on the Internet. There wasn’t a file, a folder, or any kind of paper on the man’s desk. She couldn’t see what was on the computer because it was angled away from her line of sight.
Jon Eberly was an ordinary-looking man with a receding hairline. He was pale and had liver spots on his cheeks and chin. He had soft brown eyes, a pleasant smile, and was dressed casually, his button-down shirt rolled up to his elbows, his tie loose at his neck. He walked around the desk and held out his hand. A tall man, wearing pressed khakis and boat shoes. Definitely casual.
“Jon Eberly.”
Maggie was surprised at the firmness of his handshake. She exerted pressure of her own and saw the man wince. Strike one for her side. I am not a helpless little woman. “Maggie Spitzer. I’m from the Post in Washington.”
“Well, that’s not exactly around the corner now, is it? Did one of my clients get into some kind of trouble in the District, and you need verification of their insurance?
Glad to help if that’s the case. Please, sit down. Coffee, soft drink?”
“No thanks, I’m fine. None of the above, Mr. Eberly. I’m here, as are several of my colleagues, but they’re off doing other things right now. We’re planning an in-depth story on Peter Ciprani. Supposedly deceased. Turns out he isn’t deceased at all. He’s very much alive,” she lied, hoping to see some kind of reaction. “He’s the brother of two judges here in Baywater. But then I suspect you know that since you and Mr. Ciprani were best friends growing up and through college. It’s wonderful to have such a long-lasting friendship.”
Maggie had always prided herself on not only her reporter’s instinct but also on being able to read people, especially when you blasted in like some avenging bird and hit your quarry with a broad assault. To his credit, the only thing that changed on Jon Eberly’s face was a slight tightening of his lips.
“Wherever did you come by such a statement? It’s cruel. Peter has been . . . dead for many, many years. Why would the Post be looking into something like this? I’m sorry, but this is in such bad taste. I don’t think I want to discuss this any further.”
“Well, that’s entirely up to you, Mr. Eberly. It’s not just Peter Ciprani we’re writing about. We’re actually planning an . . . exposé of his twin sisters. I’m told he plans to cooperate. It doesn’t matter to me right now one way or the other if you talk to me today or not. People saw me come here. I and my crew are registered at the Harbor Inn. Tomorrow and the day after tomorrow, there will be more of us descending on this quaint little town. We at the Post think the good citizens here in Baywater have lived under the Ciprani-style rule of law way too long. I always like to lay my cards out on the table, so all parties know exactly what’s going on. Do you still want me to leave?”
Jon Eberly ran his hands through his thinning hair. Suddenly, he looked like a deer caught in the headlights. He sucked in his breath and let it out with a loud swoosh.
Blindsided Page 13
