Changing Tides

by Veronica Mixon

  Twenty minutes later, I took the Savannah exit, spotted a Waffle House, and stopped for a much-needed cup of coffee. I settled into a booth and gave in to the smell of sizzling bacon. A perky waitress slapped down an empty mug and filled it to the brim.

  I rattled off my standard Waffle House order and she turned, faced the cook manning an eight-foot grill. “Mark order scrambled, hold the grits.” I loved short-order-cook jargon.

  I opened my laptop and used one of the burner phones as a hotspot to access Ben’s secret email account. His report on Calvin held a few surprises—primarily that Ben could compile a detailed accounting of Cal’s stock portfolio and bank accounts in as little as six hours. I made a note to increase the security levels on all personal and company bank accounts.

  According to Ben’s report, Cal was broke. Not technically broke because he owned half the family trust, but his cash had dwindled to less than ten thousand. The hairs on my neck prickled. That couldn’t be right. Cal and I received monthly stipends from the trust. He had a good job. His wife was a nurse practitioner.

  Calvin’s wealth, like mine, was mostly paper. But unlike me, he had no historical Savannah real estate to devour his savings. After what I had paid him for the family estate in Savannah, he should be flush with cash.

  I reviewed his stock statements. Over the past two years, Cal had liquidated every position and withdrew the funds in increments of nine thousand or less. But drawing out the money in small amounts would hardly matter, as the banks would notice the pattern and report the conduct as suspicious. Now I understood the DEA’s interest in Cal.

  My eggs and toast arrived, but my appetite had evaporated. Questions looped in my head like a song ditty that wouldn’t shut up. Where had Cal stashed close to a million dollars in cash? Was Beth aware of the missing funds in her husband’s accounts? I paid my bill and climbed back in the Hummer.

  A chirp sounded, and I rummaged through my purse for the culprit.

  “Where are you?” Ben asked.

  “In a Waffle House parking lot.”

  “Alone?”

  “Yes. Why? What’s happened?”

  “I lost your cousin. He came out of Snively’s building wearing shades and a black hoodie. He ducked into the parking garage.”

  Under no circumstances did Calvin ducking around in a black hoodie and sunglasses sound promising.

  “I waited fifteen minutes then followed him inside the garage.” Ben’s rhythm took on an automated tempo, similar to the male version of Siri and grated my already stressed-out cranky mood.

  “Snively’s SUV is still in the assigned slot,” he said. “No subject.”

  Subject being Ben’s code for Calvin.

  “Is there more than one exit?”

  “Not for a car.” There was a pause. “The bottom floor has a half-wall.” Ben’s voice dropped off, and I heard the steady pound of footsteps. “He must’ve jumped over the first-floor wall. Had another car close by.”

  “If Calvin had a car somewhere else, why’d he go into the garage?”

  “Throw off anyone following.” Ben sucked in some air. “Snatch something out of Snively’s car—doesn’t matter why. He’s gone.”

  My adrenaline spiked at warp speed. Damn. “Did you run his credit cards?”

  “No charges or cash withdrawals.” Ben slipped back into his annoying computer cadence.

  I racked my memory for any place Calvin might hide. “He must think the authorities are watching him.”

  “That’d be my guess. I’m going to have a chat with Snively.”

  Recognizing the familiar sound of dead air, I disconnected.

  If Cal decided to bolt, would he leave Beth behind? No, I didn’t think so. I dialed their home number. No answer. I called the hospital. The last I knew she worked in CCU, maybe she worked the early shift. The nursing supervisor said Beth wasn’t on the floor. I asked to have her paged and received a pithy lecture on the use of hospital pages—codes and medical emergencies only. I left my name and number.

  I sat in my car and had an overwhelming desire to have a sob fest. The phone in my hand vibrated and Ben’s number flashed across the screen. I put myself in emotional lockdown. “Any luck?”

  “Yeah, Snively turned out to be a regular fountain of information. Seems your cousin’s panting to talk to you.”

  That was doubtful. “He hasn’t called.”

  “Told Snively you had a tail. Figured your phone’s tapped. He’s planning to lawyer-up, then ask you to soft-pedal your DEA agent friend Erica Sanchez.”

  I put the throwaway phone on speaker, started the car, and headed for the office. “Did Bubba say why Cal needed a lawyer?”

  “No.”

  “So Cal’s with Cedar?”

  “Maybe. Snively didn’t know where Cal headed when he left. I’m on my way to check out another friend’s apartment. If your cousin isn’t there, I’ll head to the lawyer’s place. How soon before you get back to Savannah?”

  “Change of plans. I’m fifteen minutes from my office.”

  “Does your office have a back door?”

  “Yes. A direct entrance into my office.”

  “Have that door unlocked. If I find Calvin, you and your attorney will be lucky to get an hour before the Feds come calling.”

  This time I disconnected. I called Cedar’s house, his cell, his private office line, and left messages on all three. Then I called his assistant, Shirleen. She informed me her boss would be in court all morning and unavailable until mid afternoon. Shirleen assured me she hadn’t seen Calvin.

  I got caught in Abercorn Street’s morning traffic and came to a dead stop with my gas gauge flashing in the danger zone. We crept by a gas station and I whipped into an empty bay. A blue Toyota and gray Ford Explorer pulled in behind me. An inkling of unease crept down my spine. I was sure both cars had been parked at the Waffle House.

  The Toyota parked in front of the store. A man exited the car and went inside.

  I stuck my credit card into the gas pump. The gray Explorer pulled in three pumps away, but no one exited the car. My already jittery nerves ratcheted up a couple of notches.

  I finished filling my tank and at the first break in traffic merged with the cars heading downtown. Two minutes later the guy in the blue Toyota whizzed by without a glance. I moved into the right lane and reduced my speed to forty, five miles under the limit. Vehicles paraded past in swift succession.

  I stole a glance in the rearview mirror and located the Explorer plodding behind an older model Cadillac. The windows were tinted on the Explorer and I couldn’t see the driver’s face. My palms turned sweaty. I made a quick left on Liberty, then a right on Drayton. By the time I worked my way back to Bull Street, I’d lost sight of him—or her. I’d never been close enough to get a clear view.

  I drove down Bull Street and parked in the private space behind my office. Ben’s yellow Corvette was nowhere in sight. I hustled up the metal stairs and unlocked my back door.

  The Explorer was probably nothing more than a tourist sightseeing Charleston and Savannah. But just to ease my mind, I tipped the blinds and scanned the area in front of our building.

  A gray SUV rolled down the street and past our entrance. “Crap!” The vehicle circled the block like a stalking barracuda searching for prey. But it was mid-morning on Chippewa Square. The only options were slow, stop, start, and poke. There were twenty other parks in the historic district and the same color Explorer with tinted windows hunting a spot in front of my building defied happenstance.

  A white van pulled out a half-block away, and the Explorer snagged the space. If he was my new shadow, from his parked position, he had no clear view of the back staircase.

  Chapter Twelve

  Nathan stood in front of Kate Landers’s refrigerator and reviewed his options; bagels, English muffins, a gluten-free rice cracker the color of shoe leather or a chocolate chip cookie. He snagged the tray of cookies from the middle shelf.

  The mudroom door op
ened and based on the casual chitchat wafting down the hall his visit to Beth Thompson’s would have to be pushed back an hour. Willie Schroeder walked into the kitchen twirling his black sheriff’s hat and laughing at Erica’s tales of city life in Atlanta. Willie caught sight of Nathan, paused and shifted in place.

  Erica motioned him forward. “You want a cup of coffee?”

  “Sure.” He glanced at the tray of cookies on the counter.

  Nathan pushed the platter in his direction. “You saved me a phone call.”

  Transfixed in front of the built-in coffee system, Erica looked as lost as a kindergartner trying to solve eighth-grade algebra.

  Nathan pointed at the green button, pushed, and patted her shoulder. He placed a steaming cup in front of Willie. “How’s the surveillance going on Kate?”

  “Smooth as Tennessee whiskey.” Willie pulled out a stool and sat. He plopped four sugar cubes in his cup and stirred. “Pulled in a favor from the Charleston sheriff. His man picked up Kate crossing the South Carolina line at six-seventeen this morning. Followed her for forty minutes before she turned around and headed back south. One of my cruisers caught her crossing back into Georgia about three hours ago. She was alone and took the Savannah exit. Figured if we got too close Kate would spot a Montgomery sheriff cruiser so I pulled my man off.”

  Willie peered over the condiment tray, fished out a toothpick, and stuck it in his mouth. “She must’ve changed her mind about going to Charleston.”

  Nathan mulled that over.

  Willie leaned in Nathan’s direction. “I don’t believe Katie has anything to do with the crew working on the island.” He settled back against his chair and sipped his coffee. “Now Calvin.” Willie shook his head. “That one’s slicker than snot. But Kate’s a sweetheart, and just because a cat’s got kittens in the oven, don’t make them biscuits.”

  Nathan looked to Erica for clarification. Straight faced, she nodded as if Willie had made perfect sense.

  Nathan kept his voice neutral. “Kate and Cal have a bond and we’re counting on him making contact.”

  Willie adopted the face of a man wearing shoes a size too small.

  “You hear anything on Thompson?” Nathan asked.

  Willie crossed a foot over his knee. “Got a few locals that’d give up their sister for a dime bag. I applied decent pressure. Even rounded up a couple of dependable snitches.” He blew then slurped his coffee; the toothpick remained firmly in his mouth. “Nothing came of it. Nobody’s seen or heard from Calvin.”

  Nothing in Willie’s casual demeanor indicated he was holding back information. “How about the marina,” Nathan said. “Anything pop?”

  Willie looked over the selection of cookies. “Couple of things. According to my wife’s cousin Linda who works in the sales office, three months ago a female brought in the paperwork to buy a boat, a decked-out Grady White.” He chose a double chocolate chip and removed his toothpick before taking a bite. “The lady arrived before eight, her paperwork was in the name of Calvin Thompson, but the lady wasn’t his wife. Joe, the owner, whisked the woman into his office. It was an all-cash, hush-hush transaction. He had Linda deposit fifty grand in the company bank account and she saw him put another stack of bills in the safe. According to state records, Cal paid over a hundred grand for that boat.”

  Nathan made a note. “You get the woman’s name?”

  “Joe never said, and the purchase documents were already notarized, so Linda didn’t talk to her.”

  “We can take a ride over,” Erica said. “Have a chat.”

  Willie’s foot slid off his knee with a thump. “If I bring a DEA agent to the marina, Linda’s liable to be fired. She’s already jumpy about telling me part of the cash went into the safe and not to the bank like normal.”

  “Tell you what,” Nathan said. “You swing by and have a friendly chat. If Joe gives up the woman’s name, there’ll be no reason for us to follow up.”

  Willie’s mouth firmed so tight his bottom lip disappeared.

  Nathan thumbed back a couple of pages in his notes. “Owner’s Joe Coffey, right? Lives on St. Simons Island?”

  Willie laid his half-eaten cookie on the counter and gave a tight head bob.

  “Boat paperwork appears legit?” Erica asked.

  “Signed and sealed,” Willie said. “Everything was in Thompson’s name, not his wife. Calvin never showed his face.” He stood, picked up his hat. “You planning to use my men for any more surveillance details?” His voice no longer held a friendly vibe.

  “We’ll take it from here.” Nathan said.

  Willie fiddled with the brim of his hat. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think Kate’s involved with this drug bunch.” He faced Erica as if he expected her to chime in.

  Nathan let the silence lay.

  “I’ll get back to you on Joe.” Willie set his hat on his head, tipped the brim. “I’d appreciate being kept in the loop.”

  “We’ll be in touch.” Nathan stayed put and let Erica walk Willie out. He liked Willie well enough and thought he was a good man. But cartel money could buy a lot of good men. For now, the sheriff would remain a few feet outside the loop. He opened his laptop and noted two new reports in his inbox, one from the Florida detail, the other was Kate’s phone log. He scanned Kate’s calls. Consulted his notes and rechecked the dates.

  Erica walked back in the room. “God, I’m starving.”

  “Got the impression Willie thinks we’re railroading Kate,” he said. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say the sheriff’s nursing a crush.”

  “Could be.” Erica opened the freezer and removed a package of blueberry bagels and placed one in the toaster. “In high school over half the county was in love with Katie. Even I had a girl-crush.”

  “A soft heart might be apt to give away privileged information,” Nathan said.

  “Locals think of the Barry family as above reproach.” Erica brewed fresh coffee and sat across from Nathan. “Especially Kate. But Willie will hold up his end.”

  The smell of warm blueberries and coffee filled the air. Nathan gave in, rose, and took another bagel from the package. He plated Erica’s, popped in another. He rummaged in the refrigerator and found cream cheese and a tomato. “And you? You grew up closer to Kate than the sheriff. You think she’s above the fray?” He placed her toasted bagel on the bar.

  “Thanks.” Erica pinched off a quarter and slow chewed. “I’ve seen her at her best and her worst. The princess is stubborn, sometimes even unreasonable, but anyone who believes Katelyn Landers has ties to the cartel is as crazy as a bat.”

  Nathan spread cream cheese on his bagel, sliced the tomato, and put a thin sliver on top.

  Erica’s mouth puckered as if she’d just sucked down half a grapefruit. “Tomato on a blueberry bagel? That’s just gross.”

  Nathan took an oversized bite. Chewed. Wiped his mouth. “Kate’s not playing straight. I don’t have a clear read yet, but something’s up.”

  “She’s in full-court-press to save Cal’s butt.” Erica’s tendency to justify Kate’s actions didn’t stand up well for unbiased detective work. “And as usual, Calvin’s in over his head,” she added.

  They chewed their breakfast with only the occasional bump of Erica’s knee against the wall breaking the silence. The inability to infiltrate a new man into the cartel’s ring was taking a toll on the team’s mojo. But Nathan was confident something would break. “Kate’s smart enough to be…what’d you call the ring leader?” Nathan said. “The Mack Daddy?”

  Erica shook her head. “Kate’s too smart to be a cartel Mack Daddy. Besides, she doesn’t need the money and doesn’t have a killer’s instinct. Too soft.”

  “That’s the point. Who’d suspect an enchanting southern lady?”

  Erica’s eyes locked on Nathan’s. “Enchanting?”

  “World’s full of enchanting criminals.”

  The spark in Erica’s eyes flattened-out. “Even if I could wrap my head around Kate heading up th
e Southeast’s largest drug ring, no way she’d use Cal. Cal has the social skills of a skunk. Nobody realizes Cal’s a screw-up better than Kate. And setting up Cal to take the fall on the dive boat doesn’t wash for me. Kate kept her job at the bank and managed to oversee her grandfather’s business for three years before he died.”

  Nathan brushed crumbs from his pants. “She traveled to Savannah at least twice a month during those three years.”

  Erica grunted her dissent. “Running drugs ain’t no part-time gig.”

  Removing a napkin from a shiny copper tray, he wiped a dollop of cream cheese off the bar. “Kate’s uptight and overprotective of her family, more so of her kid.”

  “Guilt’s a strong motivator.” Erica crossed her fingers. “Owen and Adam were bound tight.”

  “Why would Kate have guilt over her ex-husband dying?”

  “The day of the accident Adam and Owen were on their way to a college ballgame.” Erica sat back in her chair. “It was Kate’s weekend with Owen, but Adam blew her off. When he didn’t drop Owen at the appointed hour, she left a message on Adam’s voicemail threatening to haul him back to court if he didn’t drop Owen at her office within the hour.” Erica’s voice softened. “Adam had already pushed the judge one too many times.” She rose and took her plate to the sink. Leaned forward and looked out over the river. “Adam was an easygoing guy, but when Kate pushed he saw red and turned as mean as a rattler. Police report said he was going close to ninety when he flipped his car.”

  “I saw the speed in the crash report, but nothing about a voicemail.”

  “Vivienne told me.” Erica opened a cabinet, tore a paper towel from a roll hidden inside and wiped water off the sink’s counter. “Adam called his sister to complain about Kate on his way back from Gainesville. Vivienne blames Kate for her brother’s death.”

  “And you think Kate agrees? Shoulders the blame?”

  “We’re not exactly on speaking terms.” Erica threw the paper towel in the trash. ”But knowing Katie, that’d be my bet.”

  “Are you tight with the sister?”

  “I’m Owen’s godmother.” She glanced away. “Vivienne keeps me in the loop.”