by Robena Grant
“Did you get a description?”
“Yes. Latino…but not the guy who shot at me. Oh, and there was another dude in the car. He identified the truck as Henry’s. The mechanic thought he was on the up and up.”
Michael grimaced and raised his eyebrows.
“Look, I don’t know what the hell is going on,” Rachel said sharply. “The guy said something like, ‘Here it is.’ And then he waved the jacket at him and left. I didn’t want the mechanic to be concerned or to feel badly, so I said we’d broken up, and he just wanted an excuse to come visit me. I also said that if he showed up again to call me on my cell phone, and not to turn the truck over to him.”
“Good.” Michael replayed the morning’s events. He frowned. “How would anyone have known about another camera?”
“Maybe he didn’t put two and two together until after I’d left.” Rachel’s mouth tightened. “Or, he might have been looking for something else. Like registration.”
“Yeah, maybe. Or the passenger could have been our guy, and been in contact with someone who knows you. They could have followed us this morning.”
“That’s a stretch,” Rachel said. “He could also have developed the film from the Leica, if he knew how, and seen it was only geese. And then realized there had to be another camera.”
“Your grandfather’s darkroom?”
She shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Is there a one-hour photo place at the sea?”
“You’re kidding, right?” Rachel asked. “There isn’t even a market in Desert Scapes. They have to drive to Salton City to buy stuff. It’s such a crummy area. There are a few inhabited houses, a trailer park, one convenience store that charges an arm and a leg for a loaf of bread, a crummy motel, and a broken down jetty. Oh, and one dingy bar.”
He knew all about the bar. It had become his surveillance home base. With his work being done after dark, he didn’t know much about the amenities in the area.
“There’d be a drugstore in Brawley for sure,” Rachel continued. “But they wouldn’t have been open. Besides, it’s like forty miles away, develop the photos, and then get up here…” She squinted, turning her head to one side. Then she shook her head. “Nah. Not possible.”
He knew they’d been followed. Somebody had watched them enter and leave the PD in Indio. Someone knew she’d left her jacket in the truck when they’d dropped it off at the garage. They probably didn’t want the jacket but instead wanted to search the truck. But for what?
“Okay,” Rachel said, and looked to the right then the left. “Road’s clear, so let’s go. We’ll get my car, and we’ll haul ass down there.”
“Where?”
“The Salton Sea. Grandpa’s cabin.”
“No way in hell,” he said. He wasn’t including Rachel in his case, but it looked like she thought she was already involved. He’d have to think this through carefully.
He drove the speed limit to her house, following the directions, remembering every detail. He heard Rachel mutter a few times about rigid people who obey all the rules. In between the mutterings she’d either blow out puffs of air, or stroke Ralph’s back, and tell the dog she had no decent camera now, and she’d lost the only windbreaker she’d ever loved.
Michael knew to let her rant, and he kept his mouth shut and his eyes on the road.
“Ah, hell,” she said, and rummaged for her cell phone. “I forgot. I’ll have to call work and arrange a few more things.”
“No. Don’t do that,” he said, as her fingers hovered above her cell phone. For chrissakes, she still planned on going down to the sea. Things had changed. There was another aspect of this camera stealing episode to deal with. The stakes were higher. He couldn’t risk her going there. But how could he prevent her from doing so?
She turned to face him. “Why not?”
“Unless, of course, you don’t want to go to work today, because that would be understandable,” Michael said. “You’ve been through a lot. But if you do want to go to Cliffs I’m happy to provide surveillance.”
“For what reason?”
“To protect you.” Michael shot her a glance and she rolled her eyes at him.
He almost laughed, but this was serious. “If they didn’t find what they wanted they might come looking for you. Besides, you’d have more protection at the bar, and I can be there undercover. It’s a public place. You’d have none of that at the sea.”
“But what about the darkroom?”
“Forget that. I’m sure the cops would have gotten any evidence. I’m worried about you. There could be a connection with these guys to you, or your work, or one of your employees.”
“I doubt that.”
“If I were you, I’d go to work. Appear like nothing is wrong, and then—”
“Of course,” she said, clapping her hands together and excitement causing her voice to rise. “Then we’ll flush them out.” She hit Manuel’s number. Michael listened to the sound of a male voice asking questions.
“I’m fine,” Rachel said. “No problem. I’ll be in to work in a short while.”
Intending to ask about her employees, Michael turned toward her as she shut the cell phone off.
“There,” she said, and pointed toward a small, mocha-colored stucco house, with a burnt orange front door. “Pull up behind the red truck. It’s the gardener’s.”
The house had a flat roof, and a Southwestern feel like the adobe houses in New Mexico. Desert landscaping surrounded the entrance. He liked it, and leaned forward for a better look.
“Let’s make this quick,” she said, and opened the car door. She climbed out while fishing the garage remote out of her backpack. “I almost always enter this way. Come on Ralph.”
The garage door went up, and Ralph jumped from the front seat into Rachel’s outstretched arms. “I’ll back the car out,” she said, over her shoulder. “Then you pull the Hummer in. It’ll be safer locked up.”
“Yes. Thanks. Good idea.”
“I can drop you back at the PD and you can pick up another vehicle. I can follow you here later. There isn’t a lot of crime around this neighborhood, but it’s a fancy car.”
She strode away, the backpack hitting the side of her slim leg, and Ralph’s fluffy white tail sticking out from beneath her arm. Michael grinned, and made a mental note never to cross her. What a tough woman. Her grandfather had raised her to take care of herself. And she seemed to know all about police and undercover procedures. It wasn’t a bad idea at all to leave the Hummer here, instead of in the PD parking lot. That meant she’d drive him back here tonight. He could live with that.
He sat back and waited until the Mustang had been driven out, and then he drove in and parked. Along one wall there were rows of tools, each in its assigned spot. She had a workbench too. He liked a woman who was handy with tools. The more glimpses he had into Rachel Copeland the more he realized he liked her. Then he reminded himself this was not a date. He copied down the gardener’s license plate, just in case. And scanned the other vehicles parked in the area.
Stay focused.
He patted the gun, still in its holster, slipped his jacket on so as not to alarm neighbors, and then hurried down the concrete pad. The garage door closed behind him. Rachel had kept the motor running. Her red hair tumbled to her shoulders, and Ralph poked his head out the window. They were both raring to go.
He’d ditch Rachel, and then go back to the garage. He needed answers to questions Rachel hadn’t asked the mechanic. And he needed a make on that car.
Half an hour later, he strolled into the garage.
“Well, it’s like this,” the mechanic said, as he scooted out on a palette from beneath the car he’d been working on. He stood and wiped his greasy hands on a greasy rag, then stuck it in the back pocket of his overalls. “I told Rachel I didn’t pay much attention.”
“Why not?” Michael asked as he followed the man.
“Busier than usual. Phones ringing.”
“So you didn’t
walk to the truck with him?”
“I did, but then the cell phone rang. He was a suave looking guy…neatly dressed, and spoke well. Bit of a charmer, I suppose. Guess I bought his story.”
The mechanic had said he’d gladly answer questions but understaffed, he had to keep on working. Michael had told the guy his questions were not official. He and Rachel were friends. So he willingly followed him around. And other than occasionally missing a word and having to have the guy repeat himself, it all played out fine.
“These are strange parts,” the mechanic said. “Most everyone knows everyone.”
“And you knew this guy?”
“No.” He opened the hood of Henry’s truck and poked around for a minute. “Never seen him before.” He shrugged, and then rubbed at his jaw, leaving behind a streak of grease. “Must be new in town.”
“Could be.” Michael nodded.
“Why the big fuss over a stolen jacket?”
Michael shrugged. “Following a lead on another crime.”
“Yeah.” The mechanic shook his head. “Damn shame that. Henry was good folk.”
“So I’ve heard.” The mechanic had jumped straight to Henry’s disappearance, and possible death. Logical, Michael supposed, but he’d neither deny nor confirm.
“Getting back to today’s issues, what about the passenger? What did he look like?”
“Can’t say I noticed much about him,” the mechanic said, his voice echoing from deep within the bowels of the motor of Henry’s truck. “The car was parked to the side. He was small, or could have been slumped down in the seat. Now that I think of it, he had on a black knit cap, but he never really looked in my direction. I only noticed him when I glanced up as they left.”
Michael stilled his reaction to the mention of the black knit cap. “Did you notice the make of the car, or the color?”
“Blue. I think. Dark blue.” He raised his head and narrowed his eyes. “Small, four door. Most likely a Honda…Latinos like them.”
“Thanks. Thanks so much. If I have any more questions, do you mind if I come back?”
“No problem.” The guy raised his head and started to straighten.
Michael patted his shoulder. “Go back to work. I’ll see myself out.” Almost out of the bay, he stopped and called back, “Why did you glance up when the car left?”
“It was lowered and noisy…one of those noisy mufflers.”
“Recent model?”
“Within the last four years, would be my guess.”
****
Pedro sat slumped in the car seat while his cousin took the film into the local drugstore. He prayed to the Virgin Mary that nothing on that film would raise suspicion. His cousin had been so excited when he’d shoved the truck’s registration under Pedro’s nose. He’d always claimed that he knew the old guy, just couldn’t remember his name.
Now he was bragging. He knew the red-head was the granddaughter, but he’d said less about her. Pedro started getting nervous. His cousin had been gone too long. He jumped when the car door opened.
“We can pick it up in an hour,” his cousin said, sliding back into the car, and shoving a brown plastic bag at him.
Pedro looked in the bag. Stuff to clean up his head wound.
“We’ll drive a few miles to a Latino owned roadside stand,” his cousin said. “Fresh produce. They got burritos.”
Pedro nodded. He could use a burrito.
“I’ll take care of that cut for you when we get there.”
In the excitement of following the granddaughter of the old man—and finding out what the guys name was—his cousin had forgotten about the other film. The one Pedro had left in the darkroom to develop. He would keep his mouth shut on that. Later, he would return to the cabin.
****
A little after noon, Rachel hurried to the back door at Cliffs. She’d dropped Michael at the PD, and then gone home to shower. She touched the damp curls of her ponytail. She’d put on a black top, short leopard print skirt, heels, and added silver hoop earrings and make-up. On the way here, she’d been tempted to drive back to the cabin. But then she’d decided to trust Michael. She’d given the cops two weeks. She’d give him twenty-four hours.
“Manuel. Hi,” she said, and dropped her purse onto a chair. Guilt tightened her gut, knowing she had to spy on him.
Manuel had the supplies book open, and looked up. “Rachel!” Relief flooded his dark features, then he smiled, and hurried around the desk. “What happened? Are you okay?”
“Sure.” How much should she tell him? She trusted Manuel. Didn’t she?
She glanced at the entrance to the restaurant next door. They’d be serving lunch. She’d told Michael to come in after four. That way he’d be here at shift change for the restaurant.
The early shift restaurant waiters, busboys, and kitchen staff, would still be there. The late shift would arrive soon after. Plus the bar and lounge people would have arrived. Michael could casually check them all out.
“Tell me everything,” he said and perched his hip on the edge of the desk.
“Well, there isn’t much to say really. A drifter held me at gun point, and then he grabbed my camera and equipment. Then I had to give a full report at the police station.”
“It took such a long time.”
“Oh, yeah, so sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner.”
Hell, why couldn’t she tell him the truth? Michael had her suspecting everyone of being bad and wanting to cause her harm for some reason. She hated lying, or even being evasive. That wasn’t her style. But then she remembered that she had placed her trust in Michael. “Sorry. I went to breakfast with a friend, and then I went home to clean up and—”
“Good. But you look a bit shaken. Here, sit down,” he said, and walked back around the desk and stood holding the back of the chair. “Can I get you coffee?”
“Sure, that would be nice. I’m really fine though.”
Manuel hurried out to the quiet bar and she could hear him talking to another employee, reassuring that everything was fine. She glanced at the books. He’d brought them up to date. He’d proven himself to be a talented bartender, who also came with great office skills. She’d never had anyone who could wear as many hats as Manuel. No job was too big, or too far beneath him. He took out the trash.
“Oh, thank you,” she said, and looked up as he placed a cup of coffee on the desk. Hell, he even brought her coffee. “And thanks for doing the books. They were so far behind.”
“I know. It’s been hard for you the past two weeks.”
Rachel nodded and took a sip of coffee. She really didn’t want to discuss Grandpa.
“Any news on your grandfather?”
Damn. She shook her head, and then took another sip.
“Are the cops thinking there’s a connection between his disappearance, and this?” He waved his arms around for emphasis. “We were all talking…wondering—”
“Oh, no,” Rachel said, not quite meeting Manuel’s eyes. So, they’d been talking. “No not at all. This was some random thing.”
“Good.” Manuel walked to the door. “Let me know if you need anything. I’ll check on the restaurant, and then get the bar ready.”
Rachel nodded and eased back in the chair. It felt nice to sit here in the quiet; safe in her tiny back office. And away from madmen with guns…and hot detectives who gave pursuit. It had been an exciting morning. She glanced at her watch and wondered when Detective Michael would make an appearance.
****
Michael dirtied up his dirty blond hair. He used a product that he often used when doing undercover surveillance. It removed the natural sun streaks and made the hair look darker. Then he popped dark brown contacts into his eyes, and put in a fake tooth cap he’d had specially made to change both his teeth and his smile. The eye tooth jutted out a bit and altered his otherwise perfect teeth. He grinned widely. His mother would have a fit if ever she saw that, after the thousands of dollars paid to the orthodontist.
<
br /> Unfortunately he’d shaved this morning so he still looked a little too clean. His dark brown beard stubble would begin to show by evening; the famous five o’clock shadow. He’d always shave again in the evening, if he had a date. He looked into the mirror. Just a regular dude having a beer, and with his black t-shirt displaying a hint of the tatts that ran up his biceps, the blue jeans, dark glasses, black work boots, he thought he’d fit in at the bar. The four-to-six crowd were usually workers hitting the bar on their way home from work. The after-six crowd would dress for the evening. He wondered what time Rachel would finish work.
Thinking about seeing her again gave him a slight rush. He tamped down on that. No sense mixing business with pleasure. That could trip a guy up. But pleasure…yeah, he had to admit it would be exactly that to sit in her bar and casually observe.
****
“What will it be?” Rachel asked, and sat a coaster on the bar in front of Michael.
His gaze was fixed on the television, suspended above the bar and showing a replay of a football game. He slowly lowered his head. “Got Bud on tap?”
“Yes.” She put a small dish of mixed nuts in front of him and went to get the beer.
He looked different. Still hot, but different. She missed the natural highlights in his hair. And the eyes. It was hard to see Michael in that dark brown brooding gaze. Manuel brushed past her as he reached for the martini shaker.
“The girls are starting early,” he said, and inclined his head toward two busty blondes at the end of the bar.
She knew them well. The “ladies” worked the bar scene with ease. She noticed one of them checking out Michael and felt a twinge of annoyance. Not that it would be her business if he decided to take the woman up on any offer of sharing a drink, meal, or a bed. She pressed her lips tight. One woman pulled a barstool closer, and slid onto it exposing a long length of thigh.
Michael glanced down.
She couldn’t blame him. The woman was young and she had everything going for her. Rachel grimaced. Her legs were a bit short. And the boobs, she looked down. Lucky if they were a 36B. Cleavage was all dependent on the bra. She put the beer down in front of Michael a bit hard, and some of the liquid sloshed and trickled down the side of the glass. He raised his head and there was a glimmer of amusement in those fake eyes.
