"That's just it. It's what he doesn't do. He's made an art form out of acting laid back. Like the world's crazy and he's too cool to get taken in. Pull up his clips and look—he just makes a few dry comments. Maybe shrugs. People go nuts for it. And he endorses his own Lazy Style merchandise, like headphones, but sometimes he doesn't even bother mentioning them. Doesn't have to. His viewers jump on it. And he gets lots of money for the views and from advertisers."
More evidence that the world was going crazy. "Does it say how he got involved with Madeline Smith?"
Zula raised an eyebrow. "Aha, so that's what this is about. You know Justin Case posted a clip about you pulling them over, hassling them? It was pretty funny. Well, People Magazine said they met at a New York exhibit of her paintings. Her art's pretty good, for a spoiled brat. And they're the hot, hot couple right now. But she's quite the man-eater so it shouldn't last long."
"Zula!"
"Just saying! Hold on a sec." Zula took her mic off mute and dispatched a patrol car to check on a house alarm.
"Sorry," she said. "Anyway, so Justin Case isn't quite A-List, yet. But he's pretty big competition, Pepper, if you're hot for Madeline Smith."
Pepper didn't want to get into that. "Can you run a check on him?" he asked. "Convictions, arrests, anything? It's important background info, for the Keser case, and totally kosher since Case's staying at Eagle's Nest."
"So, maybe it won't be illegal for me to check him out?" she snorted. "Just piss off my pop if I help you? Sure, why not? But, seriously—you think Justin Case is trouble?"
"I know he is," said Pepper, and he meant it. "I just don't know whose yet."
"Are you holding out on me again?" Special Agent Alfson asked Pepper.
He'd ambushed Pepper right outside the New Albion police station. Was leaning on Pepper's truck, arms crossed, in a tan suit and tie that was pretty much as out of place as any suit on the Cape.
This was really turning out to be a bad day. Pepper's cheek felt like it was on fire, where it'd been stitched up. And he'd just had his rear end chewed up by the General—Sergeant Weisner requested Pepper be suspended for ignoring her order to wait for backup before charging into the bar. Pepper had admitted to the General that he'd heard Weisner's order, which pissed the Chief off even more…not accepting the easy way out, pretending he hadn't heard her order on the radio. The General had been more disgusted with Pepper than usual. About an eight on his disgusted scale. And now, here was Alfson with a self-satisfied curl to his lips.
"Holding out what?" asked Pepper, sipping his cup of coffee from the station with a little extra defensiveness and innocence. Since he was holding out, but not on anything Alfson could have figured out, right?
"The guy you assaulted in the bar. Dunne. Did you know our advance team interviewed him recently? He threatened the POTUS's life about six months ago. Something about a big section of offshore fishery being shut down, destroying his God-given constitutional right to fish. Threatened to use Garby for tuna bait. Called it self-defense."
"A letter?"
"No, a phone call to the White House switchboard, which was re-directed to one of our agents. Then someone from our Boston office drove down to put a scare in him. Threatened him with five years in prison and a quarter million dollar fine. Maybe Dunne was high when he called—he didn't seem to remember much, but didn't deny it. Our folks in Protective Research concluded he wasn't a credible threat. Dunne went on our lowest level Class I Watch List, but our advance team interviewed him again last week since he lives near Eagle's Nest."
"But not Keser?"
"No, two other agents. And they assessed him again as not a credible threat. But your lieutenant—his report about the bar incident says he just happened to be arresting Dunne for having a couple papers of crank? Yeah, right. So Mr. Local Expert, what do you know about Dunne that you didn't share with me?"
Not a fucking thing, asshole. Pepper had been holding out on totally different topics than Dunne. "First I heard about it, partner. Thanks for sharing the info with me. But I was surprised to hear the Secret Service gave a quote to the press that we have a witness in the clambake murder? What're you doing, using Dunne for bait?"
"Since someone leaked that the victim was Secret Service, we're getting a lot more involvement from D.C. Including PR decisions we might've handled differently here on the ground."
Classic federal reflex—pass the buck. "Well, while info's flowing freely, what more details can you share about Keser's work at Eagle's Nest in the days before his murder?"
"What?" Alfson was now drumming his fingers on Pepper's truck's hood. Pepper was wishing he hadn't washed it so recently.
"You said he was assigned to review the people who'd be inside Eagle's Nest? Must have been from Acker Smith right down to the gardeners, right? Maybe Keser hit a nerve about Smith or one of his people, something nasty enough that they would kill him to bury it?"
Alfson just stared at Pepper. Shook his head sadly…dismissively. "That sounds pretty exciting, but it's all make-believe, hard stop. Keser didn't uncover anything like that about the folks at Eagle's Nest in his interview. I already told you, his work was routine—a security review of the buildings and personnel at Eagle's Nest and Smith's huge yacht. Confirming bulletproof windows were installed at the Guest House, that kind of thing. And coordinating the security perimeter with other agencies, like the Navy with their dolphins sweeping the harbor. No red flags were tripped."
Alfson said it so smoothly, so condescendingly, that Pepper almost believed him. Even about the dolphins.
"But you guys had to vet the people at Eagle's Nest pretty hard, right? Security checks, financial backgrounds, all that? To let Smith host Garby?"
Alfson guffawed. "The Secret Service doesn't let the POTUS do anything. We aren't calling the shots. We just jump in front of them."
Pepper gave a weak chuckle for partnership's sake. "Maybe it'd still be helpful for me to read Keser's work files. See what he might've focused on."
"Sorry partner, the advance team's work is classified. And since I doubt you have any security clearance, you'll just have to trust me. They didn't produce anything about Smith or anyone else at Eagle's Nest that'd lead to Keser's murderers. And they didn't identify any new security risks to the POTUS. Smith's rich, he's an asshole, he's dying. But he's the POTUS's rich dying asshole and his whole team checked out. Now I'm meeting with Hanley in half an hour, so if you have any other leads I can share which don't imply we've been sitting with our thumbs up our asses?"
Pepper didn't. "If I get any solid info, I'll call you right away," lied Pepper. "But one other thing? Can you put me on the gate list for Eagle's Nest? I'd like to talk to Smith, maybe his staff. With you, of course."
Alfson shook his head. "You really trying to get close to Smith? Or is this maybe about his smoke-show daughter? I hear there's some history between you two? Sorry buddy, that compound's now a federal security area. Locked down, land and sea. Even the shoreline—like I said, the Navy's had their trained dolphins working the area for underwater explosives, the whole nine yards. It's big time. And if a local cop shows up and starts harassing the POTUS's host? It'd take one call to D.C. before I'm freezing my nuts in the Anchorage field office and you're back on a street corner somewhere just as far away, playing your guitar for pocket change."
Right now, that wasn't sounding too bad, Pepper with the guitar and Alfson with iced nuts. Pepper knew he still needed to try to talk to Dunne, one on one. But his priority was to get into Eagle's Nest to move his investigations forward. So he'd have to get through those gates soon, even if he had to get inside without his dear buddy Alfson…
Chapter Twelve
Later that morning, Pepper waited at New Albion's town pier. Wearing boat shoes borrowed from his dad, for God's sake.
He'd called Maddie and after a little how you been and remember when, Pepper offered to show her something out in the bay that'd change everything she knew about the world.
&nbs
p; "It's fate, you calling," she'd said. "Because I've got a big problem and you're the only one who can save me."
It was the kind of clear, warm day which makes Cape Cod legendary, with just a light breeze to keep him coolish. At a quarter past eleven, a low sleek tender boat approached the pier. With a beaming Maddie. Short white skirt, striped blue tee shirt. Blonde hair flying. Again with the big red sunglasses.
But unfortunately, Justin Case was onboard too. He was not beaming. More of a smoldering scowl, very expressive. Probably practiced it in front of a mirror every morning.
The tender was captained by a tall thin balding man. Bristly blonde mustache. Crisp white uniform. With economical moves, he steered the tender to a stop inches from the dock.
Pepper stepped aboard and got a lingering hug from Maddie, followed by pecks on both cheeks. European style, nice. But no kisses from Justin. He was playing with his sunglasses, ignoring Pepper.
"God Pepper, you grew up into quite the hottie!" said Maddie, giggling and squeezing Pepper's arm.
Justin was giving Pepper a death glare, which Pepper pretended not to see.
"But what happened to your face?" gushed Maddie. "Anyways, I'm so glad you called. What's your big surprise?"
"I'm sure you've seen dolphins before…but I'll bet you've never seen trained Navy dolphins!"
"Say what?!?!"
"Sure. I heard all about them from Alfson, the Secret Service special agent I've been helping out. All very hush hush. The Navy taught a special team of dolphins to do all kinds of things. They search for underwater explosives, watch for hostile swimmers, even attack America's enemies. The feds are using them to patrol right offshore of Eagle's Nest."
"How would dolphins know if a person in the water was like, America's enemy?" scoffed Justin.
Maddie laughed, way into the idea now. "Training, silly!"
Over the rumbling idle of the tender's engine, Pepper explained the Navy had been training dolphins and seals that way for decades.
"What if they have little uniforms!" Maddie exclaimed. "Let's go Vinter!" She was practically bouncing as the captain slid them away from the dock and motored off parallel to the shore, then angling gradually toward deeper waters. "I just gotta get out of these clothes," declared Maddie, and she shimmied down her white skirt to reveal a yellow bikini bottom. Off came the shirt, and there was the matching yellow bikini top.
Wow.
"That's my honey!" yelled Justin over the engine noise, and he made a grab for her, but she eluded him, giggling.
"Eyes on the water!" she yelled. "First one to see an attack dolphin gets a big fat kiss!"
"I got your big fat--" yelled Justin, but a surge in the tender's engines drowned him out as the boat leaped forward. It also threw Justin off balance, and he fell back in a tangle of ropes and clothes. Pepper was holding on to a seat back and barely avoided ending up on top of Justin. Score one for the townie!
When Justin finally staggered back to his feet, he was checking out a long nasty scratch on his arm welling with blood. Pepper noticed his cursing was pretty energetic--not so lazy style. He wrapped his arm in a big white towel and sat off toward the back, apparently wounded inside and out.
They cruised back and forth off the coastline near Eagle's Nest. Pepper had to admit he wanted to see a Navy dolphin too. They saw a pod of humpbacks that almost made Maddie forget about the dolphins. Vinter killed the motor as they approached and the whales passed by pretty closely: four adults and a calf. Maddie hung out over the rail toward them like she couldn't stand to be so far away, eyes and teeth flashing, long blonde hair whipping in the offshore breeze. Ridiculously cute. And easily mistaken for a teenager again, at least to Pepper.
They didn't see any dolphins but, as Maddie reminded them, that didn't mean they weren't down there. Eventually giving up the search, their boat curved away toward an enormous yacht anchored a half mile offshore. Mirror black hull with a red stripe and a white bridge. The name stenciled on its bow was Madeline Too.
"Permission to come aboard?" asked Pepper with his flirtiest smile. And enjoyed Maddie's yes and Justin's scowl.
It was the nicest 193-foot yacht Pepper had ever set foot on. Cost ninety-five million dollars to build, Maddie said with a shrug. It had ten staterooms. Eighteen crew. Was comfortable with twenty guests. Even more comfortable, she giggled, for just two...
That caused more not-so-lazy glares from Justin. He was taking Maddie's attention to Pepper pretty damn hard. Which Pepper didn't give a fig about. But Pepper had to admit, it was dizzying to see wealth on display at this extreme level.
"You want to know the punchline?" asked Madeline, leading them through sliding doors into the main cabin. "Daddy built two of these boats a few years ago. Two! Hired the Vinter brothers fresh from Norway, one to captain each boat. And they're identical, even the furnishings, except for two things. The other yacht is named Madeline, not Madeline Too."
"What's the second difference?"
"The other Vinter doesn't have a mustache. He can't, says so in his contract. Daddy wants to be able to tell them apart," she giggled. "Otherwise the two Madeline's are identical twins."
"Why two yachts?"
"One for the Mediterranean, the other one for the Caribbean and the east coast. Obviously!"
"Sure, obviously."
"But the Med boat's in Florida right now anyway. They had to swap out a generator or something."
Pepper remembered his truck was overdue for an oil change. Who said the rich are different from you and me?
Justin went to find a bandage for his arm so Pepper grabbed the chance. "Maddie, why'd you never come back after you went to Europe for senior year?"
She frowned. Even her frown was sexy. "This place is just too small! And daddy was such a tool, I stayed as far away, and had as little to do with him as I could. Except spend his money. Hey, I think I bruised my tush when Vinter gunned the tender's engine…can you take a look?" She bent over a bit, stuck out her rear end, pulled her white skirt up.
Pepper didn't see any bruise. But she was so tanned, he had to examine her backside extra carefully to be sure…
"Hey hey!" Justin thumped back down the stairs and gave them the hairy eyeball. He had a series of little band-aids on his arm. "Girl you need to keep that thing covered, you'll make Officer Friendly here do something he's gonna regret!"
"Just a health check," smiled Pepper.
"Hitting on someone's girl might be bad for your health," sniffed Justin. "I'm getting a beerski—come on Maddie!" And he limped off up the stairs without making any further threats, which was probably good for his health.
But Maddie didn't follow Justin. She stepped in close to Pepper and her eyes narrowed. "It's been great seeing you, Pepper! Reminds me what I was like, just a silly kid. Before…" She made a hand gesture to finish her thought. Then grinned. "But I feel like a bad girl today," she said. "Justin told me last night to stay away from you. He should have known—that's such an aphrodisiac!" And she grabbed Pepper by the shirt, pulled him close for a peck on the lips, then ran off laughing up the stairs to the deck.
Pepper didn't wag his tail and follow. Instead, he peeled off, went down a long hallway. One of Agent Keser's last official acts before he was killed had been to do a security review of this very yacht—could Keser have seen or done something that led to his death? He still doubted that Keser's snatching was random or opportunistic. Was the answer—or at least a damn smidge of a clue—onboard?
So Pepper did his own mini-sweep, checking rooms to the left and right. Mostly bedrooms, with absolutely nothing suspicious or helpful. Toward the back, he found what must be the master suite. Enormous bed. Giant bathroom. And a little alcove serving as a kind of office. An expensive but functional desk, of dark mahogany. No computer.
Pepper quickly opened the desk's stack of drawers. They were mostly empty. Nothing interesting.
He gave a tug on the top drawer. Locked. He pulled out his penknife, slipped it into the crack above
the drawer, where the lock mechanism should be. Wiggled the knife's tip around as best he could. Pretty tight fit. Jiggled the drawer. If the many movies he'd seen were any guide, the lock should pop open. Which would almost make up for the minor damage he was causing to the drawer's edge, flattening and scraping the shiny finish.
But the lock didn't pop open.
Pepper regrouped, knowing time was short. He could be caught at any moment. Pepper checked the big drawers again, more carefully. On the left side of the middle drawer, way back and high up, hung a little key on a tiny hook. And yep, it unlocked the top drawer which held only three manila folders.
The first folder held insurance info for the ship. The ship was registered to Fulmar Limited, with a Delaware address. Had Fulmar also been the registered owner of Maddie's Porsche? It rang a bell…
He'd have to check into the corporate name and Delaware address. Pepper took a picture of the top page with his phone. The rest of the document was a form contract. He was flipping through the other folders and not seeing much of interest when he heard footsteps in the hallway. Getting louder.
Pepper shoved the folders closed, then the drawers. Locked the top drawer and pocketed the key, no time to rehang it from the little hook.
Ripped off his tank top, threw himself across the master bed.
And Pepper was lying on his side, shirtless and flexing like a jackass, when the bedroom door pushed open and Captain Vinter's face peered in. Then jerked back. Then he stepped into the room.
"Ms. Smith is looking for you," he said in his roller-coaster Norwegian accent. Almost made the name Smith sound exotic. But his blonde mustache was twitching suspiciously.
"I was hanging for Maddie," said Pepper with his biggest fake pout. "She's not still on deck with that hippie, is she?"
"This is Mr. Smith's bedroom, the door should have been locked. You'll please…" Captain Vinter gestured for Pepper to vacate, like someone would command a particularly stupid dog.
Killing Shore Page 8
