Trust No One

by Barbara Phinney

  Nick noticed Helen's landlord outside, already starting his fall cleanup. The day was good for it, with clear skies and just the barest of the constant breeze that blew over the city. Through his open window, Nick inhaled deeply, drawing in the scents of the fall and cooler temperatures.

  And Helen's freshly shampooed hair.

  He should never have insisted she stay at his house, he realized belatedly. How was he supposed to concentrate on this illegal investigation of his while she sat beside him, smelling like tangy sweet apples?

  "Do you trust Mark? He doesn't seem to trust you."

  He turned to her as he parked his truck in the driveway. Her mind wasn't on the investigation, anymore than his was. Only she wasn't thinking of hair.

  "Mark's a good cop," he answered. "A bit of a straight arrow for my liking, but okay."

  "That's not what I asked you." Helen undid her seat belt, but made no move to climb out.

  "That's the only answer I have for you." With his terse words, he threw open the driver's door. He listened to Chester greet Helen, who managed to thwart his questions with a smile and a quick word on how they were pressed for time.

  Up in her apartment, they both went straight to the VCR, Nick pulling it out until the cables in the back protested. Quickly, he unscrewed them and freed the machine.

  "Where are Globatech products made?"

  "Mostly in Canada, but a few are made in the United States and some components are made in Japan," Helen answered. "I know that because it's one of the founding tenets on the company. Quality products made at home."

  Nick flipped the machine over and scraped back the corner of the label with his fingernail. Under the gentle pressure, the label peeled neatly away. A Spanish name appeared.

  Nick squinted at the fine print on the upside down VCR. "This was made in Colombia."

  Helen peered at the writing, leaning too close to him. "I don't understand. Globatech is very strict with its policies. The only reason we have some parts from Japan is their products or parts are classified and sealed units, used in special equipment. The owners would never buy from Colombia."

  "This time they did."

  "What does it say?"

  "It says it's a fake."

  "A fake? A knockoff?"

  Nick nodded. "Looks that way. I don't recognize the real name of it, but I bet it's not allowed in Canada."

  "Why not?"

  "Probably doesn't meet Canadian Standards Association guidelines."

  Helen backed up to the corner of the couch and sank down on the arm. "What are we going to do now? Take it with us?"

  "No." He carefully replaced the label and returned the VCR to its place on the shelf, taking his time screwing in the cables again.

  The hairs on his arms were tingling, too, telling him with absolute certainty that it was better if they kept quiet about this VCR. For the time being, anyway.

  Helen watched him. "Why didn't you know that Jamie had rented warehouse space to Globatech?"

  Nick carefully finished his task. "The investigation was just getting started. These things take time. And the investigation had been headed in a totally different direction, too."

  "But you were investigating drug smuggling, not a black market in electronics, right?"

  "We figured Cooms was bringing in drugs somewhere along the coast, possibly on fishing boats." He looked up at Helen. "Cooms smuggled drugs. He'd been doing it for years. But he had legitimate business interests, too. I bet if we checked out the rental agreement between Cooms and Globatech, it would be perfectly legal."

  "It would have to be. Like the federal government, the city also gave Globatech a forgivable loan, but one of the stipulations was that they could monitor their books. Globatech complied. In fact, the city has already been in once to look at them."

  Nick crossed his arms. Of course, not everything Cooms did was illegal, but something about Globatech wasn't right. "We need to get into Globatech's warehouse."

  "Not right now, we don't." Helen stood up. "Mark's waiting for us at my mother's house."

  He'd nearly forgotten. Naturally, her mother took priority. "Let's go then, and later, we can figure out how I can get into the warehouse."

  Helen held the door to the stairs open. "Why can't Mark just get a search warrant?"

  "Because," Nick answered, glancing down the stairs to ensure they were alone, and that Chester wasn't at the bottom. "Mark needs to prove to the judge that it's related to the investigation and to do so, he'd have to tell how he discovered his suspicions. I know Mark. He wouldn't want to tell the judge it was because of a suspended police officer's illegal investigation. Mark won't lie, therefore he won't get a search warrant."

  Outside, Chester's lawnmower roared to life. Helen stared at Nick, capturing his attention with dark blue eyes that had suddenly lost their sensuality. Now they were cool and dark. And even her full bottom lip seemed tighter as she leaned closer to him. "Because of the new security regulations, the warehouse is locked at all times, including during a normal workday. I have the keys to the warehouse in my desk, but we have to go to my mother's house first." She waited patiently for him to answer, her lips set.

  Blackmail. Or bribery. A curse lingered on his tongue. He didn't want to ask for her help. He didn't want to have to drag her around with him, needing her, and needing to protect her at the same time.

  Pushing away the thoughts of her pouty little mouth, her warm, scented body, he knew one inevitable thing.

  He was screwed.

  * * *

  Helen couldn't help but feel a tiny bit pleased. Except now wasn't the time to gloat. Nor was it time to think about Nick's not-so-legal investigation, or the revelation that he didn't trust anyone but himself. Her mother was still missing and Mark was waiting to help her.

  Nick followed her downstairs and Helen made a beeline for his truck, ignoring Chester. Once they found Momma, she'd help Nick. But not before.

  With Nick focused on his driving, Helen let out a tiny sigh. Never before had she stood up like that to anyone and certainly never before had she blackmailed anyone. Even now, as the fact settled on her, she found herself tingling all over.

  They found Mark waiting outside her mother's house. The look on his face said he wasn't pleased with the delay. Helen caught a glimpse of the two men staring each other down as Nick climbed out of the truck.

  Mark spoke first. "While you were touring the city, I got a call." He turned to Helen and his voice immediately dropped its sarcasm. "They found your mother's car at a parking garage near the waterfront. I have to leave now if I want to check it out with the Saint John Police. I'd also like to go over the security tapes. I still want to have a look in your mother's house, but I can't now."

  Helen nodded. Horror was spreading slowly through her, numbing her far more than the autumn sun could warm. Where could her mother be? In the trunk?

  She glanced at Nick, finding his image swimming in her unshed tears. He said, "It's okay. Mark will check it all out. He has a description of your mother and will let us know what he finds out." His tone softened. "Do you have a spare set of her car keys?"

  Helen swallowed the burning bile that had begun to rise. "Yes, I have a spare set somewhere." Her hands shaking, she dug through her purse to the bottom and pulled out the set.

  Mark took them. When he reached the police cruiser, he pivoted and walked back to Nick. "I forgot something. Saint John ran the list of Cooms's real estate over to the land registry office. Some of his properties were recent purchases."

  "How recent?" Nick asked.

  There was a pause as Mark stared pointedly at her. Was he reluctant to say anything in front of her? Why start to say that little bit in the first place, if he wasn't going to finish it?

  "Only a few months ago, he bought a small building and lot just outside the city from Chester Ellis. It had been used for storage. Is Chester Ellis your landlord, Ms. Eastman?"

  Helen nodded.

  "What does he do for a li
ving?"

  "Nothing. He's retired—" She cut off her own words.

  Nick took a step closer to her. "What?"

  The numbness seeped from her belly, allowing the sun to warm her. "He was a clerk at the Customs office downtown. I think he did a lot of his work down at the docks, too." Oh, dear. Why did she have to tell them that? Chester was innocent.

  Nick looked at Mark, but Helen stopped any chance of them talking. "He never goes anywhere," she burst out loudly, hoping it would somehow erase the doubt her words of a moment ago had caused. "He'll be at home whenever you get around to talking to him. Meanwhile, my mother is still missing."

  Both men lifted their eyebrows at her forcefulness. "I'll go then," Mark said, pocketing her keys and returning to his cruiser. A minute later, he was gone.

  Nick surveyed the street and Helen followed his gaze. Several neighbors were taking advantage of the clear weather and like Chester, were doing yard work. But their automatic actions were a poor mask for their curiosity. "Let's go inside. You can leave your mother a note. Mark will call and we can ask him then when he can check this place out."

  Helen unlocked the front door. The cool, quiet air inside caught in her throat. Momma loved the heat. She was always baking something, too.

  Where could she be?

  Trudging into the kitchen and sitting down, she said a silent prayer for her mother's safety, pleading with God to keep her alive.

  Nick went straight into the living room.

  She sighed and pulled her aching body out of the kitchen chair. She found him squatting on one knee over by the television. "What are you doing?"

  "Do you know how many VCR tapes your mother uses?"

  "Hardly any." Helen dropped to her knees and peered in at the few tapes that were stacked below the VCR. Two Billy Graham tapes and a senior's exercise tape she must have borrowed from someone. "My mother can play a tape, but she doesn't have a clue how to tape something. She says it's too complicated—"

  A sharp noise behind them stalled her words. Nick was on his feet in a flash, stepping in front of Helen as she tried to pivot around.

  "Stay here," he ordered.

  "It came from the bedroom!" she cried softly. "Someone's here!"

  Chapter 9

  Nick silenced her with a quick wave of his arm. Helen watched him creep toward the hall, his hand feeling for the gun that wasn't there.

  He didn't have a gun. He had no way to defend himself. Helen tore her gaze from him to the archway that led to the kitchen.

  There were several knives on the counter, any one of them suitable weapons. Helen leaped up and hurried into the kitchen, snatching the largest knife she could find. Gripping it tightly, she stepped into the hallway.

  Silence greeted her. Silence and no sign of Nick. Panic surged in her chest and she swallowed. Which bedroom did he duck into?

  Then the scrape of her mother's closet doors.

  And a soft, plaintive cry.

  Helen blinked, her grip on the knife so tight, it ached.

  "Helen!" Nick's voice was sharp, demanding.

  "Thank God in Heaven!"

  Her mother? Abruptly, Nick came out of her bedroom, his arm around her mother.

  "Momma!" Helen rushed forward.

  "Whoa!" Nick caught her before she reached her mother, twisting her arm up and out of harm's way. "You seem to have an affinity for knives, don't you?"

  Helen relinquished the knife she'd forgotten she wielded. "Sorry, I knew you didn't have a gun, so I thought it might help protect us." She turned and threw her arms around her mother. "Momma! Are you all right?"

  Her mother gripped her back and Helen could smell dust and mold in her clothing. "Yes, sweetie. I'm fine, now. I hid in the closet when I heard a car pull up."

  "Where have you been?" Helen led her into the living room.

  Connie Eastman sank into the faded couch and sighed. She looked worn and tired and very near tears. Helen's heart went out to her. She knew how her mother felt.

  Had her mother felt this way when Helen had told her she'd planned to fake her own suicide and leave?

  Connie rummaged in her dusty cardigan pocket for a crumpled tissue. "I came back here to get some things I needed plus that roast in the refrigerator."

  "How did you get here?" Nick asked.

  "I had my car. After you put me in a taxi, I asked the driver to bring me here instead. I picked up my car and drove to my sister's place, like you thought I should. But when I came back here to get some things, I realized that someone was following me."

  "Why didn't you get your things when the taxi dropped you off?"

  Connie paused. "I guess I wasn't thinking straight and when June said I should stay a few days, I realized I needed some clothes and that the roast would go bad if it wasn't used."

  "What did you do for the whole day and night?" Helen asked, perching on the couch beside her mother and still holding her hand.

  "I didn't stop. I just drove around all night. I didn't go back to June's apartment because I didn't want her in danger."

  Nick sat on her other side, his attention riveted on her. "What happened next?"

  "When I was sure no one was following me, I left my car in the parking garage and took a taxi here. But as soon as I got here, I heard someone pull into my driveway." She shuddered.

  Immediately, Helen stood. "I'll make some tea."

  "Thank you, sweetie."

  As she filled the kettle, Helen listened to her mother continue. "I hid in the plumbing access hole and waited. But my hearing isn't as good as it used to be…." Her mother trailed off.

  Nick asked, "What did the car that was following you look like?"

  "It was an older car, one of those big ones with four doors."

  Her voice sounded doubtful, even to Helen, out in the kitchen. She hurriedly carried a tray in and set in on the coffee table. Handing her mother a steaming mug, she asked, "What color was it?"

  "Dark green, I think. It had tinted side windows, too."

  Helen exchanged looks with Nick. His expression was clear, telling her to keep quiet. Fortunately, her mother took the opportunity to sip her tea and she missed the silent warning.

  "Mrs. Eastman?" Nick leaned forward. "How many videotapes do you have here?"

  Stunned by the odd question, Connie looked up. She looked to Helen, who tried to keep her face passive. No need to upset her mother further, but at the same time, she knew she had to trust Nick to do his job.

  Connie put her tea down on the tray. "Tapes? I don't know. Three or four, if you count the one Helen left here."

  She looked across her mother's lap to find Nick staring at her. "I didn't leave any tapes here."

  "It's the one when you were thirteen. I meant to ask you why you brought it here, but it slipped my mind."

  An icy chill traveled down Helen's back. "I didn't bring that tape here."

  Nick sat back, looking deep in thought. She knew his unspoken question. If she hadn't brought it here, who had? "When did you first notice it?"

  "A few weeks ago. Maybe less. I meant to ask you about it, but, well, you got busy. Things happened after."

  Busy trying to fake a suicide. Busy running for her life, trying to escape Jamie. Busy trying to purge the memory of watching Jamie kill his best friend.

  Helen leaned forward and grabbed her mother's tea, taking a hard swallow of the scalding liquid and hoping it would wash away the chill and fear.

  "Where's the tape now, Mrs. Eastman?"

  Connie looked at Nick. "In my car. I meant to give it to Helen. What's all this about?"

  "I'm not sure." Nick patted Connie's hand. "But I am going to find out. Have you got your car keys?"

  "Yes, but Helen has a spare set."

  "I gave them to the police when they found your car," Helen said, replacing the empty cup. "Why don't we take you to Aunt June's place? You'll be safer there."

  She tried to coax her mother to stand, but Connie sat back instead. "Someone broke into my hom
e and left a tape that they had taken from your apartment? I don't understand what's going on."

  Helen took her mother's hand and pulled her up. "I don't either, but Nick and I will find out. It's better if you go to Aunt June's."

  "And you? Who will protect you from whoever is behind this?" Connie turned to Nick. "Can I trust you to look after her?"

  Nick's expression hardened. Helen waited, her breath stuck in her throat. Was he going to send her with her mother, feeling now she didn't need to help him with his investigation? If he didn't trust a well-trained officer like Mark, he certainly wouldn't trust her.

  "She'll be fine," Nick said. "Let's get you to your sister's so you can rest. You must be exhausted."

  Connie nodded, allowing herself to be led to the front door, only after retrieving her purse from her closet.

  * * *

  After Connie Eastman was safely ensconced at her sister's well-protected apartment building and they'd retrieved the missing videotape, Nick finally relaxed. As much as he could with Helen so close. He'd pushed aside the mix of churning emotions while they talked to her mother, but now those emotions threatened the dam he'd built.

  "Thank you."

  Nick straightened and looked over the interior of his truck to Helen as she buckled her seat belt. "For what?"

  "For everything." She indicated her aunt's apartment building. "Bringing my mother here, taking care to see she's safe."

  "It's nothing." He rammed the car key into the ignition and twisted it savagely.

  Focus, Thorndike, focus.

  Next stop was her workplace, where they could "borrow" the warehouse keys. Then he'd have to figure out where to leave Helen. Anyplace safe and far away from him.

  Unaware of his thoughts, Helen toyed with the videotape. "I wonder who took this. And why."

  "The first chance we get, we'll play it. What's on it might tell us. In the meantime, I want to have a look at that warehouse."

  "It's a normal workday. The shipping staff may be there."

  Nick drove toward the uptown area, past the circular Harbour Station and the enclosed pedway that connected the stadium to the downtown mall. Even though the tower of a fancy hotel blocked their view of the warehouses across the narrow harbor, the sun streamed into the truck. Nick turned left and headed to Globatech. "Do you know any of the shipping staff?"