Changing Tides

by Veronica Mixon

  “No one’s sitting on you.” Erica said.

  “Your man in the Explorer followed me from Charleston to Savannah. And last night he stalked me back to Spartina.” Her voice jumped higher with each word. Two forensic cops glanced in their direction.

  “Erica’s right.” Nathan brought their conversing volume down a few rungs. “We don’t have an agent assigned to you.”

  “You tapped my phone.” Kate glared at Erica. “I had a right to know.”

  Erica didn’t rise to the bait.

  “No.” Nathan pushed off the tailgate. “You don’t have the right to know.”

  Kate’s attention swung back to the Corvette. Two attendants loaded Calvin’s body on the stretcher.

  “We’re done here,” Nathan said to Erica, then motioned Willie over. “Appreciate it if you’d ask Sheriff Nelson to forward his preliminary report to my email as soon as it’s available.”

  Erica pocketed her notebook. “Can one of your men drive Kate’s truck back to Spartina?”

  Kate slid off the tailgate. “I’ll drive my truck.”

  “You’ll ride with us,” Erica said.

  Kate’s gaze swiveled from Nathan to Erica to Willie. “Am I under arrest?”

  “Not yet,” Erica said. If Kate were slow and dimwitted, she might’ve missed the challenge in Erica’s voice.

  Nathan stepped between them. “I’ll drive Kate’s truck.” He motioned Kate to the passenger side, passed Erica and lowered his voice. “Restrain yourself, Agent.”

  Willie gave a hand signal to one of his officers and the yellow tape dropped to the ground. Nathan started the engine and rolled out of the lot. The twenty-minute drive should be enough time to get Beth Thompson’s current location.

  “I’ve got to call Beth.” Kate said as if Nathan had spoken his intentions out loud. “She’ll have to fly back to Savannah.”

  “Where is she?”

  She reached under the seat and fished a phone from her purse. Thumbing through a couple of screens, she placed a call and left a message for a callback. “Can you find Beth with her phone’s GPS?”

  “Her cell’s dead.”

  “I gave her another phone. If I give you the number, can you locate her?”

  “Won’t even require a warrant.”

  Kate nodded. Then, as if registering his words, she slowly rotated her neck and eyed him with the intensity of a cobra. “Why wouldn’t a warrant be required?”

  “It’s a burner phone in a drug case. Beth’s also the widow and deserves notification of her husband’s death.”

  “I want to be the one to tell Beth about Calvin.”

  Nathan made a left turn onto the interstate. “Not a job any cop covets. Even Erica shouldn’t argue.”

  Kate leaned her head against the seat rest. “Don’t bet on it.”

  “Why’d you give Beth a throwaway?”

  Kate punched another number on her phone. She asked to speak to Cedar. Her voice remained in control until she described her cousin’s body stuffed inside the trunk. She asked Cedar to meet her at Spartina. Then she stopped talking and focused on whatever the attorney said. “Are you serious?” Kate shook her head in disgust as if Nathan had just farted at a fancy dinner party. “Okay. Yes. Okay, I hear you. No. I’m driving to Florida tonight to tell her in person.”

  The rumble of Cedar’s answer drifted from the phone, but Nathan couldn’t decipher the words.

  Kate grunted. “Why would they do that?”

  She listened.

  “Too bad. Stalking liars don’t always get what they want.”

  Nathan would bet his next paycheck Cedar just told Kate that the airboat was registered to the DEA.

  Chapter Twenty

  Cedar exploded into the library as if propelled by a tornado and pulled me into his arms. “I’m sorry you were the one to find Calvin’s body.” He searched my face, concern with a heavy shot of indignation floated on his face. “You bend or break in this life, sweetheart.”

  The image of Cal stuffed inside Ben’s trunk slammed into my head, then disappeared like a game of hide-and-seek.

  “You need to leave for Florida as soon as possible.” Cedar nodded as he spoke. “Break the news to Roslyn.” His take-charge attitude, a demeanor I’d found condescending in the past, enveloped me like a comforting cloud.

  The dike trapping my emotions burst. One tear escaped, then another; after the third tear, I turned into a sobbing mess. “You should have seen him. They jammed him inside a trunk not big enough to hold a set of golf clubs.” My words jumbled and twisted on my tongue. “And Cal’s eyes.” A hazy image of Cal’s face swam in front of me. “They were open, but like a cheap doll’s faded rubber eyes.” I swiped at my tears.

  Cedar guided me to the bar, reached for the brandy and filled a glass. I hated brandy. He shoved the snifter into my hand. “Drink.”

  I set the drink aside and washed my hands in the bar sink. I couldn’t get the smell out of my nostrils.

  Cedar picked up the brandy. “Drink. It’ll help clear your head.”

  I sipped and breathed through the burn.

  He grabbed a Coke from the refrigerator and led me to the sofa. He pointed to the brandy. “Finish. You’ll need the fortification. The marshal wants to talk to you.”

  “He already questioned me at the marina.”

  “That was round one.” Cedar said in his version of a conspiratorial whisper. The words came out slightly lower than an announcement over a loudspeaker.

  I glanced at the closed door, and my heart bumped against my rib cage. “There was something else in Ben’s car.” I retrieved the message from my wallet and handed it to Cedar.

  He put on his readers and scanned the note. “Where did you find this?”

  “On the passenger seat of Ben’s car. In a white envelope addressed to me.” My hands shook so violently I had to place my glass on the table. “I called Mom. Owen’s fine. And Parsi still has his security detail at Uncle Stanley’s.”

  “Your shakes are a delayed reaction to shock.” He placed his arm across the back of the sofa and rubbed my shoulder. “The brandy will help.”

  “I can’t drink anymore.” I wrapped a throw around my shoulders. “There was a picture of Owen and me on Barry Island in the envelope.”

  He held out his hand and wiggled his fingers. “Let me see.”

  “I stowed the envelope with the photo under the passenger seat of the farm truck. But Parsi insisted on driving me back to Spartina, and with the let sleeping dogs lie warning, I assumed that included not blubbering to a US marshal. Until we had a chance to talk, I didn’t want to bring the envelope to anyone’s attention.” My head pounded like a woodpecker foraging for food. I went in search of aspirin, poured a glass of water and swallowed three.

  Cedar’s fingernail tapped his coke can. “Describe the picture.”

  “Owen and I were on the island. In a stand-off with the airboat. Based on the angle of the shot, the photographer had to be sitting in a tree.”

  I went back to the sofa, kicked off my shoes, and wrapped up in the blanket. “If you’re right about the boat being registered to DEA, who do you think took the photo?”

  “Oh, I’m right about the DEA. Printed out a copy of the boat registration as proof.” Cedar sipped his drink.” Don’t let it slip that you know about the airboat. At the right time, we’ll use it as leverage. Snatch the punchbowl before their party starts.”

  Cedar gripped the threatening note between his forefinger and thumb. “I think the Cabral boys sent you this message.”

  “Boys?”

  “My sources say Juan Cabral retired six months back. His nephews run the show now.”

  “Your sources?”

  “Some of my clients have checkered pasts—a couple are still connected.”

  Alarm cinched my throat, and I couldn’t sit still. I jumped to my feet, shed the throw, and paced. Hearing the worst possible option spoken out loud made the unbelievable real. My family is, was, link
ed to a drug cartel and now thugs were giving me ultimatums. “The sleeping dog reference is the warehouse scam. They want me to bury what I’ve found and fortifying their demand by threatening Owen. Did you review the spreadsheet I emailed you?”

  “Haven’t had a free minute.”

  “It’s important, Cedar. Millions of dollars important.” Thirty years of washing dirty money drilled down to a one-page report. I waited for him to answer. “Cedar.”

  He finally nodded, picked up the note again. “This reference to losing Owen again.” He ran his finger over the second line. “They’re talking about your custody case.”

  “Or Adam’s accident. Owen could have been killed.” The tremors began in my heart, and spread down my arms, tingling my fingers.

  “I hadn’t thought of that.” He rubbed his temples as if stress had finally penetrated his cool façade. “Either way, they know a lot about your past.”

  “I can’t reach Beth. Do you think the cartel threatened her?” My stomach burned as if the brandy mixed with the aspirin had ignited a flambé. “The threat against Owen, Calvin’s death, the warehouses, Barry Island—it’s all tied together.” I walked back and sat on the arm of the sofa. “You closed all the company’s real estate deals. You never suspected any discrepancies in the values?”

  His fatherly concern mutated into a mask of irritation. “I’m not a property appraiser. I prepared and filed legal documents. And Noah wouldn’t have appreciated me meddling into his business.”

  True. Granddad had no patience with meddling. And an attorney working as a closing agent would have no reason to visit the real property. “Hard to believe in thirty years something didn’t jump out as suspicious.”

  “Could say the same about you.” Cedar eyed me over his reading glasses. “You’ve been intimately involved in the company for three years. Did you suspect?”

  I yielded with a dip of my head. “You’re right.”

  He dropped the note on the cushion between us. “Tuck that away for now.”

  Six lines, written in neat black print, designed to create panic. It worked. I folded the paper into quarters and stuck it in my wallet. “I should have listened to Erica, and sent Mom and Owen to a safe house with a full team watching over them.” It wasn’t the first time I’d ignored Erica’s advice and regretted my decision.

  The worst days of my life replayed in my head like the scene snippets of a movie in fast forward. The agonizing month when Adam and Owen had disappeared. Weeks of searching.

  Adam, Owen, and Erica stepping off the plane.

  Police hauling a handcuffed Adam away.

  Owen screaming for his dad.

  Erica pleading for me to be reasonable. My stubborn refusal. Owen clinging to Erica. Refusing my comfort.

  Owen’s face when we buried his father a year later. Begging me to promise I would never, ever leave him. Ever.

  And here I was, a hundred miles away, skirting the law and facing arrest.

  A phone buzzed. It had to be Ben. I rushed to my desk, but the ringing didn’t come from a burner. My iPhone flashed.

  —Come 2 kitchen. ES—

  A message from Erica. I slipped into my shoes and answered.

  —in 5—

  I had three text messages from Owen. I skimmed through them, a picture of a black stallion racing across an open field gripped my heart. As soon as I found a way out of this mess, I was buying Owen a horse.

  I texted back a thumbs up, a smiley face, and a big red heart.

  Cedar sat, hands crossed and as quiet as a kid in the principal’s office.

  “I have one more thing to tell you,” I said. “Do you know Cecil Lucifer Cummings?”

  “No. Who’s he?”

  “Evidently, an alias. I found old passports in Cummingsʼs name with Granddad’s photograph.”

  Cedar reared back, mouth agape. I would have expected less reaction if I had said my grandfather had been a resident of Mars. “Where’d he use the passport?”

  “Central and South America.”

  Cedar removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “That stays in this room. Do not mention Cummings to anyone. Even in your sleep.”

  “I’m sure it’s connected to the money laundering scheme for the Cabral’s.” My heartbeat danced, like the barrel of monkeys had escaped the nursery rhyme and landed in my chest. “There’s no way to explain away thirty years of washing dirty money. Calvin’s dead and Parsi has a murder to investigate.” Realization filtered from my brain into every pore of my body. “Cal owned half the company. Barry Real Estate and Development will be one of the first places Parsi will look for his killer.” The room faded and a floating sensation filled my body. I slid to the sofa, inhaled to a five count, and slowly expelled the air from the bottom of my diaphragm. “I have no choice but to be honest, show Parsi the note, and ask for his help.”

  Cedar shook my knee. “Are you all right?”

  I rested my head against the cushion and closed my eyes. “Just give me a minute.”

  “You need to forget about asking Parsi for help. Word on the street is the DEA has a snitch. Two agents were killed in Charleston. One was undercover. It’s the reason they sent a US marshal to take over Erica’s DEA team. Parsi’s a trained behaviorist. His primary job’s to find the snitch.”

  I opened my eyes, raised my head. My brain felt as if it’d been marinated in mud. “What did you say?”

  “One of Parsi’s men is a Cabral snitch. There’s no such thing as a safe DEA house for your family. If the cartel’s behind Calvin’s murder, and they’re threatening your son…” He gave me a sage nod.

  My thoughts spun. I was a law-abiding citizen in the middle of a family of crooks who did business with the freaking cartel. And I remembered from eighth-grade civics: ignorance would be no excuse. Panic gripped my chest and squeezed. I switched to timed breathing and let my heart settle.

  Cedar removed his phone from his jacket pocket. “If you want your family in a safe house, we’ll create one. Of course, you’ll go, too. But you can’t up and disappear and still expect the authorities to believe you’re not involved with the Cabrals.”

  “I can leave the spreadsheet for Parsi to find.”

  “You make sure your family’s safe, then you can worry about a tell-all to the Feds.” Cedar’s fingers flew over the keys of his phone. “I have a friend with properties on the West Coast.” He walked to the bar, propped his phone against the wall and poured the rest of his coke into a glass of ice.

  His phone buzzed. “I’ve pulled in a favor. Found a friend who’ll rent you her house in California. It’ll take a few hours to work out the details, but you should be able to leave by tomorrow.”

  “What will we tell Parsi and Erica?”

  “Nothing.” Cedar paced the room with drink in hand. “You’re not remanded, and I’ll make sure we keep it that way. You’re free to leave, and we’ll tell them you’re going to visit with Roslyn to give her the news about Cal in person. Parsi has security there, so he should be okay with that arrangement.”

  He rejoined me on the sofa. “When you and your family disappear, my story will be that you were exhausted and are recouping in an unnamed health spa.” He patted my knee. “While you’re gone, I’ll contact the banks and smooth things over.”

  I didn’t think even Cedar could smooth away bank fraud, but that was tomorrow’s problem.

  “I’ll handle it, sweetheart. Just stay calm.”

  For the first time since I opened the trunk of Ben’s car, I felt a modicum of peace, like an elixir of calm pouring into my veins.

  I went to my desk, unlocked the bottom drawer, and removed my copy of the spreadsheet. I folded it in thirds and placed it in my purse. “Maybe I should email a copy of the spreadsheet to Parsi once we arrive in California. Ben showed me how to send anonymous messages. I could walk Parsi through the ins and outs of the money trail. Prove I planned to cooperate.”

  “Don’t email anything to the Feds until I give you the okay.�
� Cedar handed me a tissue.

  I hadn’t realized I was crying.

  I tried registering the emotions sliding through my body, sadness, relief, fear, but a relentless aching heart trumped them all. “Once Mom and Owen are settled, I’ll come back and face the consequences.”

  “Don’t leave California without talking to me first.” He pulled me into his arms. “I’ll see you through this. You may be a little worse for wear, but you’ll survive.”

  “Without going to jail?” My voice broke, and I let go, sobbing into his neck like a five-year-old who’d fallen off her bike.

  “Do as I say and there’ll be no jail.” He gave me his handkerchief.

  I wiped my face, tucked my blouse into my skirt, and made an attempt at composure. “I’m afraid something’s happened to Ben.”

  “If the cartel’s behind Cal’s murder and Erica’s team has a snitch…” Cedar’s voice lowered to a true whisper. “No telling what happened to your investigator. You want to be very careful in this meeting with Parsi. Letting sleeping dogs lie could mean no confiding to the cops.”

  “They’re living in my house.” I hiccupped, and glanced around for my water.

  “Don’t admit anything. Get your family safe first.”

  I opened my mouth to argue, Cedar’s hand shot into the air. “Just consider leaving for a week. That’s all I’m saying. Spend time with your son, and if you still want to confess all, I’ll stand beside you.”

  It didn’t quite sit straight on my shoulders, but murderers had threatened Owen. “The sooner I admit to what I know, the better.” I was sure withholding information from federal agents had to be an enormous risk.

  “No disrespect to your highfalutin’ morals, young lady.” Cedar’s tone seethed with impatience. “Keeping your mouth shut a few days is an understandable response to your cousin’s murder and a threat to your boy.” He placed both hands on my shoulders and gave me a wake-up-fool shake. “You or your mother could be next. You have no choice, Katelyn.”

  “Joseph manages the warehouses,” I said. “He knows I’m not involved with the cartel. He can attest to my innocence.”

  “Considering Joseph must be on the cartel’s payroll, I’d say he’s not much of an insurance policy.” Cedar sighed, expelling enough carbon dioxide to keep the rain forest alive for a month. “I’m the one who’ll keep you out of jail. And I can defend your actions to a judge all day long.”