by Emmy Grace
“More elaborate than me renting a costume and harassing people from a street corner?”
“Oh, that’s nothing. Just wait.”
My belly sinks in dread, but I don’t have time to negotiate or argue. “Deal. I need Barry Sleighbaugh’s cell number.”
I hear typing followed by a muted bleep on my phone. “Done. Anything else?”
Is it terrible to hate a brilliant and diabolical teenager?
“Not today.”
“I’ll be in touch.” And then the line goes dead.
I turn my ire for Felonious to Liam. I have plenty to go around, due in large part to him. “What are you doing here?”
“I thought you might need some help.”
I shift my weight to one side and tilt my head. “Mrs. Stephanopoulos or Miss Haddy?”
“I plead the fifth,” he says, walking around me to take a seat on the couch. “So, what’s your plan?”
“I’m not telling.”
“It involves the dentist’s phone. And a trap. It can’t be good.”
“I suppose you’ve got a better plan?”
“Nope. My only plan is to keep you out of trouble.”
“Why? You’re not my keeper.”
“No, but you need one.”
I roll my eyes. “You’ve got issues.”
To this, he grunts. “So? Plan?”
I give him the short and rough breakdown, to which he nods periodically. At the end, I hate that his silence bothers me. Dang you and your FBI mind tricks!
“Well?”
“Not bad, Boucher. Not bad at all. It’s a good thing I’m here, though. You’ll need backup.”
“No, I need you to stay away so I don’t spook him.”
“Then I’ll watch from a distance.”
“You don’t need to do that. I have a stun gun.”
“In other words, you’re still unarmed.”
“You’re so negative. Where’s the confidence? Where’s the Lucky love?”
“You’re not going in alone. It’s too dangerous.” When I just continue to glare at him, he softens the tiniest bit, which unnerves me. Liam and soft are two words that never, ever go together. Ever. “It’ll make me feel better if I can at least be close. Just in case something goes wrong.” I’m in the middle of trying not to faint dead away when he adds, “Please.”
“Pardon me?” His brows drop down into a frown. “Could you repeat that? Because I’m just certain I misunderstood you.” He growls, a sure sign of his growing irritation, which secretly satisfies me. I don’t know why I like pushing this guy’s buttons. “I guess I did hear that wrong.”
I start to turn around when I hear one low, low word. “Please.”
I turn a beaming smile back on Liam. “Since you asked so nicely, that would be fine. I’d love for you to give me some backup. From a distance.” I raise my phone and check my texts. Sure enough, there’s one from Felonious. “Now, to send my bait.”
I grab the burner phone I have for just such an occasion. They were on sale last year for Black Friday, so I bought six. In my line of hobbying, there’s no telling when one might come in handy.
I take a picture of the book with it and send it to Barry Sleighbaugh’s phone with a short message.
Me: I have the book. $50,000 or I tell the cops why you want it.
Less than thirty seconds later, I get a response.
Barry: How do I know it’s real?
Me: You can flip through it when we meet. Nothing to hide here.
It takes Barry a few more minutes to respond to the last, but when he does, I know at least phase one of my plan is off and running.
Barry: When and where?
I give him directions to the back entrance to the park. It’s pretty low traffic during the day, so at night it should be practically deserted. We agree to meet there at 11 P.M.
Me: Come alone.
I add the last because I don’t need an ambush, especially if it were to include Tatt Head. He’s bad news.
It takes eleven an eternity to roll around, probably because Liam refused to leave, but now that it’s time, I don’t even care. I’m a bundle of nerves and fidgety excitement.
“Good luck,” Liam says on the way to his truck. “Don’t forget the signal if you get in trouble.”
“Bock like a chicken. Got it.”
“I still can’t believe that’s what you picked.”
“I can make that work. Believe me.” I give him a thumbs-up and hop into my car.
I drive directly to the park. Liam takes a different route and parks one street away, which is actually at a slightly higher elevation than the spot we’re meeting, giving him a great vantage point. There are a few dusk-to-dawn lights illuminating the parking area and entrance, and with his binoculars, he should be able to see us no problem. It’s times like these I wish I had all the tools and gadgets and equipment that real law enforcement has. Bugs and trackers, and parabolic mics and recording devices. I’d be like a kid in the candy store. But, alas, for tonight, it’s my cell phone or nothing. I choose the cell phone.
Upon my arrival, I walk to the meeting place and wait. Within two minutes, I see headlights sweep the area, stop, and then shut off. That must be him.
I take a few deep breaths, my fingers rubbing over the busted cover of the fake black book. “This will work, Lucky. This will work.”
I see Barry Sleighbaugh appear at the rear park entrance and start toward me. I have a moment of doubt, of misgiving. Maybe I should’ve let Liam come. Or at the very least worn a disguise. If this goes wrong in any way, he wouldn’t have much trouble locating me in a town this size.
My stomach clenches with nervous tension, but it’s too late to back out now. This will work. It has to.
“Did you bring the money?” I ask when he’s within earshot.
He holds up a black duffel bag. It’s so amazingly cliché, I feel like this whole scene needs a theme song. Like The Who music or some other epic band.
“Where’s the book?” He stops a good distance from me.
I hold it up. “No reason for me not to hold up my end of the bargain.”
“Let me see it.”
“You first,” I tell him. I gesture with the stun gun in my jacket pocket, which looks enough like I’m carrying a real gun to be convincing. I hope. “And don’t try anything funny or I’ll swear you accosted me in the dark and I had to shoot you in self-defense.”
He steps toward me and opens the bag. It’s full of money, which is a pretty cool sight, if I do say so myself. I won’t keep it, of course, but it’s a little bit awesome to think I can shake down a criminal for fifty large.
Holy crap! I’m even thinking in CSI speak now.
He sets the bag down between us. “Your turn.”
I hand him the book and wait. He flips through it, but doesn’t examine any one page very thoroughly. I was counting on that, on him not knowing for sure what’s in it in order to verify that it’s legit.
He closes the book. He seems satisfied, even when he flips it over to take in the general condition of it. “What happened to it? It looks like it’s been in a dumpster for a year.”
“I accidentally dropped it and rolled over it with the wheel of my car.” I shrug. “It’s still legible, though.”
He nods before looking up and pinning me with a hard stare. “Don’t tell anyone about this or it will get ugly for you.”
“I won’t. I wouldn’t dare cross the man who killed Andrew Ames.”
His expression... If I didn’t know he was involved, his face would assure me that he was. He is.
“How do you know about that?”
“I keep my ear to the ground. Plus, I’m smart.” I tap my temple.
“I wish you hadn’t said that,” he says, and he seems genuine, which is odd for a killer.
“Just tell me why, Dr. Sleighbaugh. Why did you kill Andrew Ames?”
“I-I had to,” he stammers nervously. “He knew too much. Well, he might’ve. We c
ouldn’t be sure.”
“We?”
“Uh, I mean I. I couldn’t be sure.”
“But there had to be a way of finding out without killing him.”
He starts shaking his head. “I don’t...I wasn’t... It had to be done. It was the only way.”
Now, granted, I’m an amateur sleuth, and granted, I have no formal training in pretty much anything that could come in handy for this particular hobby, but I have a gut. And that gut seems to be pretty flippin’ good at knowing when something isn’t right.
And, right here, right now, something isn’t right.
“One more question, Barry. Something I’ve been wondering about.” I half-expect him to say he’s not answering any more questions. A real killer would do that, but I don’t think that’s who I’m dealing with. “Why did you axe him in the back and the head? Wasn’t that overkill? No pun intended.”
“He...I had to. He saw me and he...he put up a fight. I just swung.”
He fell for it! Sweet Mary, he fell for it!
Andrew Ames wasn’t axed in the head. I saw his body and his head was fine. Not a single scratch on it that I could see. And I’d have been able to see a huge gash in his noggin from twenty paces.
This tells me a lot.
The bottom line is: Barry Sleighbaugh is not the killer.
But, then, who is?
20
I get rid of Barry as quickly as possible, which isn’t hard. Probably because he’s not a cold-blooded killer. He’s more of a bungling pseudo-criminal. Not that whatever he’s involved in isn’t bad enough, but I stopped being nervous around him the moment I realized he didn’t kill Ames.
When the dentist is out of my sight, I whip out my phone, turn off the recording, and dial Liam. It just rings, so I start jumping up and down to signal him to follow Sleighbaugh. I hope he sees me.
I wait a minute so Barry can get gone and feel safely unfollowed before I run to my car. I’m ducking inside when Liam finally answers.
“Where have you been?” I scream. Then, “Never mind. You’re ex-FBI. You know how to tail people. Follow Barry Sleighbaugh.”
“Calm down. I saw you flailing around like a mental patient. I’m tracking his taillights up ahead.”
“Oh, good.” I lean my head back and take a deep breath. “Good. Tell me where you’re heading. I’m on my way.”
There's a pause. “Hmmmm.”
“What’s hmmmm?” I ask.
“I’m just wondering what Lucky would do in this situation. Would she graciously give me the information I’m requesting because I’m trying to help, or would she be a total b—”
“Point taken. I’m sorry I’m me and you’re you and the stars are bright and the sky is blue. Is that better? Now tell me where you are.”
“Was there another word you wanted to add on to the end there? Rhymes with fleas.”
I grit my teeth so hard I think they might crack. “Please,” I manage to grind out.
“Of course, I’ll tell you. He’s headed to his fiancée’s place.”
He gives me the address. Thankfully, I know roughly where it is. Not that it matters very much. Before I can get there, Liam calls again.
“He’s leaving. He went in with the book and came out without it. I think he stashed it with the woman. I don’t know what he’s up to. I’m going to stick with him. You come and keep an eye out on her.”
He hangs up, not leaving me much choice.
Trisha Haliburton lives in a posh condo on the eastern edge of town. Luckily, Salty Springs isn’t the sort of place where a gate is needed. Otherwise, I’d be screwed. But as it is, I drive right in, choose a parking spot in front of a unit a few down from hers, and I settle in to wait.
I’m fuming over how I got stuck with the controlling snob and Liam got to follow Barry when said controlling snob comes out her front door. She glances left and right, very suspicious behavior in my opinion, tucks something tightly against her side, and rushes to a luxury car parked in one of her unit’s spaces.
I text Liam that I’m on the move to follow her just as she fires up the engine and reverses slowly out of the lot. She doesn’t speed, but she doesn’t waste time either. I try to follow at a safe distance, recalling every single cop show I’ve ever seen where covert surveillance was detailed.
I’m beginning to believe she knows I’m back here when she turns into the back of an old, vacant tavern. Another car is there, and I can see a silhouette behind the wheel.
If my good luck had been brought on by a spider bite, I know what I’d call the tingle of warning that skitters down my spine. But since that wasn’t the case, I’m just going to call it my lucky tingle. I hope it’s as reliable as my lucky gut.
I guess I’m getting ready to find out.
I kill my lights and pull over. I get out of my car to creep along the edge of the building, careful not to step on any of the broken bottles lying around. That would completely betray my approach.
When I’m close enough to hear voices, I recognize one of them. The man’s. I peek around low and fast to see if I can get a glimpse to confirm, and what I see paints a very different picture than I’d come up with before now.
The man is now standing outside his car, leaned up against the driver’s side door. Trish Haliburton steps up to him and hands over something. I don’t have to be able to see in the dark to know what it is. It’s the black book. The fake black book. And I don’t have to be able to see any more clearly than I can right now to know who she’s handing it over to.
Tatt Head.
Leopardo.
The Leopard.
He flips through it, holding it inside, under the interior light of his car. He snaps it closed and straightens, turning back to Trisha. Then he reaches for her. Winds his hands around her upper arms. She comes up onto her toes a little. They’re nose to nose and death for Trish could be imminent.
My heart is pounding. What if he tries to kill her? What will I do? What can I do?
Just as I’m reaching into my pocket, prepared to rush the cartel leader with nothing more than the element of surprise and a stun gun, he pulls Barry Sleighbaugh’s fiancée into his arms and he kisses her.
Quite passionately I might add.
And, just like that, I know what happened. It all makes sense now.
I can hear slurpy noises and little moans all the way over here. And at one point, Trisha’s hand is rubbing circles on Leopardo’s bald head so fast, I wonder if she’s expecting a genie to pop out.
He cups behind her knee, hikes up her leg, and spins her around to pin her to the car door. I have to resist the urge to look away. It’s getting hot up in here. At least for some people.
Finally, Trisha leans back and says breathlessly, “I told you I’d take care of it. I told you I wouldn’t let you down.”
“You’re so brave. So brave and so vicious.” He growls the last part lustily and takes her mouth again.
When it looks like their make-out session isn’t anywhere near finished, I duck back around the corner and take out my phone to text Liam again.
Me: Trisha involved with Leopardo. They’re here!!!!!!!!!
I drop him a pin of my location. I have every intention of calling Clive when I hear the scuffle of feet on gravel. I peek around at the couple to find that the lovefest is breaking up.
“Be careful,” she says. She kisses him again. “The next time I see you, we’ll both be free.”
They kiss again and then Trisha starts to back away toward her car. I feel a little jolt of panic. It probably wouldn’t be too hard to track Trisha down again, but if Leopardo disappears before the cops can nab him for this, he might get away for good. We will have foiled his plan to fake his death using Jorgenson, but there’s probably no chance we’d be able to get ahead of him a second time.
I panic.
Before Trisha can open her door, I pop out from my hiding place and bark, “Hey! Where do you think you’re going?”
For about six secon
ds, I have regrets. Lots of them.
But then, as with most of my mistakes, what’s done is done and that I have two choices—continue or retreat.
Here’s a hint. Retreat isn’t really in my nature. I’m more the “in for a penny, in for the pound” type.
In other words, onward!
My pulse is hammering furiously as I walk toward the couple.
“Excuse me?” Trisha replies, all haughty and arrogant, like she’s not the lowlife here.
“I said where do you think you’re going? We still have business here.”
She glances over her shoulder at Leopardo who has moved his hand around behind him. He’s a thug, so there is no doubt he has a gun stashed back there. “Do you know her?”
“No.” Leopardo slowly shakes his spotted head back and forth. “The question is: Does she know us?”
I walk forward casually, like every muscle in my body isn’t trembling with fear and adrenaline. “Of course, I know you. Didn’t Barry tell you I’d be coming? No?” I laugh and wave my hand. “That Bar. What a doofus.”
“Who are you?”
I have to buy time and the only thing I can use is the book. The real book.
“Just a concerned citizen. You see, I have this book. It just sort of fell in my lap and I’ve been trying to figure out what to do with it. I mean, it’s loaded with all kinds of helpful information. Barry seemed to think the two of you might be interested in it.”
“Book?”
“Well, it’s more like a ledger. Or a history book.”
“You mean this history book?” Leopardo holds up the decoy.
“No, I mean the real one. I made that one today. Sprinkled some coffee on it, stomped on it a while, ran over it with my car. I probably overdid it, but…it worked, right?” When Leopardo looks doubtful, I add, “Take a look at the third page. There’s a name on there. Gumbo. That’s my pet pig. You’ll see some details about kidnapping. That’s actually how I got him.” I pause. “I guess it’s true what they say, all authors include parts of their real life in their work. I didn’t even really mean to. It just sort of happened.”
Leopardo confirms what I’m saying. I know when he’s convinced. In a fit of anger, he throws the book through the open window of his car.
