“I’m going to ask you one more time. Who was the second man?” This time he was all cop, with no soft side showing.
“How could I know?” I cried. “I’m just a party planner!”
Philomena leaned over me and placed her open laptop in front of me. “Take a look.”
I did as she asked, moving my eyes to the screen. There was a headline. “United States Marshal Gunned Down!”
“What?” I gasped, trying to read more, even as my chest felt like it would explode. I tried to focus on the words, but my eyes wouldn’t cooperate.
“The United States Marshals Service acknowledged that one of their agents was gunned down at The Gilded Nest, a well-known Lake Placid banquet facility. Tovar Abajo is reportedly in critical condition after being transported to Adirondack Medical Center, where he underwent six hours of surgery for four bullet wounds, one of which punctured his lung.”
“No! But he has a wife and children!” Those involuntary words, borne of my kneejerk reaction to news of the tragedy, slipped out of my mouth.
“Marigold,” said the man sitting across from me, “Are you in the WitSec program? Would you like me to contact the Marshals Service, so we can get you some help?”
“I can’t tell you. It’s not allowed.”
“Surely you can. This is clearly an emergency,” Philomena came around and parked herself on the corner of her boss’s desk, crossing her arms. “We can’t help you if you don’t cooperate.”
“No, you don’t understand. You can’t call the switchboard and tell people who I am and where I am.”
“Do you have a handler?” asked the man across the desk, pen in hand. “I could insist on discussing the situation only with that person.”
“That’s just it,” I groaned. “Tovar was my guy, my only guy. His partner went out on emergency maternity leave last week and the boss just retired. They were in the process of switching gears, but because I’m supposed to be moved next month, they decided not to change anything.”
“What about the boss that retired? Can we reach out to him?” The female state trooper leaned forward. “Come on, Marigold. Help us to help you.”
“I don’t know where he went. All he told me at the last meeting six weeks ago was that he and his wife bought a place where the fishing is better than fine.”
A brusque knock interrupted the conversation. We all turned towards the door as Vidal responded with a bellow.
“Come in!”
A short man with a schoolboy face entered the room, holding a file folder in his left hand. Flipping it open, he presented it to Vidal.
“Boss, we got an ID on the victim in the car. She’s one Kelly Wainwright, alias Cassandra Klee, alias Lorissa Kraupt. She’s a hired hand out of Milwaukee.”
“Someone shot and killed an assassin?” That had Philomena’s attention immediately. “Then who was the guy who shot at our people?”
“Any ideas, Marigold?” Inspector Vidal wondered. To be honest, I was fresh out of them, still reeling from the confirmation that the woman who had tossed me into the trunk of her car was a professional killer.
“Why didn’t she murder me when she had the chance?” I asked the three state troopers. It seemed like a sensible question. “Why did she throw me into the trunk? Where was she taking me?”
“We don’t know yet. Maybe she had a rendezvous with the man who tried to snatch you at the park.”
“He didn’t want to kill me right away either,” I pointed out.
“Unusual,” Philomena decided, taking notes. “You must have had some value. Are you sure you didn’t recognize either of the people who tried to grab you?”
“Positive.”
“So, the next question is what do we do with you while we try and hook up with someone at the Marshals Service who can be trusted? Phil, any ideas?”
“Let’s get in touch with the retired boss and see what he says. Are you good with that, Marigold?”
“Sure,” I nodded. “Do you think you can find him?”
“It depends on where he settled when he retired,” Inspector Vidal decided. “I’ll have to run this at the highest levels, so we don’t slip up and put you in greater danger. Give us the details and we’ll get this figured out. In the meantime, I’m sending you off with one of my K-9 guys to an undisclosed location to sit it out.”
“Can’t I just stay here?” I asked, feeling unexpectedly anxious about my future. “I don’t mind.”
“We’ve got too many folks coming in and out, Marigold. Believe me when I tell you you’re safer with my K-9 guy. He’ll take great care of you, I promise.”
“But...can’t you just stick me with Philomena?”
“No, I can’t,” Inspector Vidal replied. “She’s a great detective, but protection isn’t her specialty. Jack will be your security officer. He’s Phil’s husband.”
“Oh.” I looked up at her, surprised. Somehow, I hadn’t thought she was the marrying kind.
“Think you’re surprised now, wait till you meet him,” she smiled.
Twenty minutes later, I found out what she meant. I was still sitting in the same chair, going over details with Philomena. Vidal was in a meeting with his boss. There was a quick tap on the door and a moment later, it was swept open with a powerful burst of energy. In walked a muscular man and an equally muscular German shepherd.
“Did someone say party?” Dark brown hair tinged with gray, almond-shaped dark brown eyes, and a crooked smile that was hard to resist, I made note of all the details as the trooper extended his hand to me. “Jackson Cornwall. Call me Jack. Nice to meet you.”
“Hi,” I nodded, feeling the brute strength of his fingers on mine. That was one of the firmest handshakes I ever experienced. It told me this man was more than capable of handling trouble.
“And how is the love of my life?” Jack grabbed his wife, dipped her backwards and planted a big kiss on her lips before returning her to the upright position. “You’ve still got it, baby.”
“See what I mean?” Philomena turned to me and rolled her eyes. “We’ve been married for fourteen years now. Every day is an adventure.”
“Marigold, meet Brutus,” the K-9 handler introduced his dog. “When he’s got his harness on, he’s all business. When that comes off, he’s like any other canine -- he likes to play.”
The big dog sat on his haunches beside his boss, watching me with an alert gaze. I wondered if I should be concerned about making the wrong move. Would the dog attack me?
Chapter Four
Jack seemed to sense my concern.
“Not to worry. He works on command, Marigold. Brutus doesn’t get to do his own thing. He’s a working dog and he’s got a job to do.”
“Great to know.” I wasn’t totally convinced. Those dark brown eyes never stopped watching me.
“Not a dog person?” Jack inquired.
“It’s not that. I...I haven’t had one since I was a kid, and then it was a beagle. Brutus is a lot bigger.”
“Big, small; it’s the same kind of animal. You just have to get to know the dog’s personality, quirks, and even fears.”
“Oh,” I nodded, still not really sure I understood. Brutus seemed to be following the conversation.
There was another knock on the door. A young woman stuck her head into the room.
“You’re all set. Everything’s in the ladies room,” she announced.
“Great,” Philomena told her. “Come on, Marigold. We have to get you ready for your road trip.”
“Oh?”
She led me down the hall, through a swinging door, and into a small vestibule of the ladies room. A pile of clothes sat waiting on the sink vanity.
“Anyone asks, you’re an academy recruit on a training mission. You can change in the stall. Hand me your old clothes when you’re done.”
I changed into the long-sleeved tee shirt, sweatshirt, and sweatpants she handed me, shedding my battered silk blouse and skirt. There was one word emblazoned on the front of bot
h the cotton shirt and sweatshirt. Police.
I decided I certainly wouldn’t turn any heads in this outfit, but in a way, it was a relief to get rid of tattered stockings and heels in favor of the black rubber-soled shoes and black socks. I’d be able to run in these if there was an emergency. The nylon jacket had the same word written on it, front and back. I was officially impersonating a cop.
“Here’s an elastic band,” she told me. “Pull your hair back and tuck it under the cap. We need folks to believe you’re just a police recruit learning the ropes with your mentor.”
I did as she asked, plunking the hat on my head as the final touch. It carried the New York State Police logo on the front.
“That hat will give you cover, Marigold. The minute folks see a cop in uniform, they see the uniform, not the person wearing it. You’ll blend right in.”
“Sure I will, except for the bandage on my ear.”
“True, but you look fine from a distance. Let’s hope folks don’t get curious and want to take a closer peek.
“No gun?” I wondered. She threw her head back and laughed. It seemed to take five years off her appearance.
“No gun. You’re doing what we call a ‘ride-along’. That’s all you have to say if anyone starts the conversation.” Still chuckling, she handed me a bag. “Your prescriptions and toiletries are in there, along with a few other items we thought you might need. Don’t forget to take your pills. And check your ear at least once a day, to make sure it’s not infected.”
“Yes, Mom,” I answered, giving her a mischievous grin.
“I need your phone. We don’t want anyone to use it to locate you while we’re trying to hide you,” she explained, softening her delivery as she saw my reaction.
“I don’t have it.”
“But you called to report the accident,” she reminded me.
“I did,” I admitted sheepishly. I handed the hit woman’s iPhone, the one I took from the plastic holder attached to the dashboard of the Corolla, to Philomena. “I used her phone.”
“Wow. This will come in very handy,” said the New York state trooper, her eyes alert and interested as she began to scroll through the icons. “It’s not every day we get our hands on a contract killer’s phone. But what happened to yours? Did you have one?”
“Mine is in the bushes, back at the Gilded Nest. That horrible woman forced me to surrender it.” All my business clients, suppliers, vendors, and caterers were listed in my contacts. I had spent months building up my party planning company; the minute I became a target for professional killers, that all became a chapter in a past life.
“That’s too bad. Maybe we can send someone there to retrieve it. I probably won’t see you again, so let me say goodbye. I don’t know what you’ve been through, Marigold, but my sense is you’re a good woman who got caught up in something bad. You take care of yourself.”
“You, too,” I told her, extending my hand for a farewell shake.
Jack and Brutus were outside the ladies’ room door, waiting for us. “Okay, I think we’re ready to hit the road, Phil. I’ll log on at eight for an update. Let me know if Mrs. Twarkins should return her library book on time.”
“I will. I want you three to be careful. Come home in one piece,” she instructed her husband. I looked away as Philomena leaned in for a kiss. She had one final order when she came up for air. “Don’t take chances.”
“Meaning?” Jack didn’t let go of his wife.
“This case is already shaping up to be a doozy. There are multiple shootings, lover, and they look like professional hits.”
“Can’t be,” he replied, letting go of his wife’s hands as we started the journey down the hall. “If they were professional, Marigold would be dead.”
“That’s just it, Jack. They all seem to want her alive and they’re willing to do whatever they have to do to get her.”
“Boy, you must have some valuable information,” said the K-9 cop as we hit the stairwell for the flight down on foot. Brutus was a very nimble dog.
“If I do, I don’t remember it,” I shrugged.
“Or don’t want to,” he suggested. “Maybe whatever got you into the program in the first place was just too horrible to remember.”
Was he right? Something in that thought struck a nerve. Maybe it wasn’t just that Tovar was shot at the Gilded Nest. As terrifying as that was, it seemed to bring back something even more frightening. I suddenly shivered, jogged by a faint memory.
“Did I get you all jittery, Marigold?”
“I was all jittery to begin with, trust me.”
“I imagine living as a protected witness is stressful.”
“It is,” I admitted, shrugging. “I just wish I knew why people are after me.”
“Let’s get you someplace safe and then maybe you’ll relax enough to figure it out.” Jack held up a hand and peered out of the small window in the exterior door. Slowly opening it, he scanned the horizon for signs of trouble, and then directed me to wait with the dog. “I’ll go grab the car. Brutus, it’s Scheherazade time, buddy. If anything happens, that’s the command to protect. He’ll help you.”
“Okay,” I turned towards him, nodding.
“Just remember that word, Marigold.” Jack kept his gaze fastened on me. “Imprint it on your brain.”
“I will,” I promised earnestly.
The large German shepherd sat at my side while I watched the state trooper cross the parking lot and climb into an marked K-9 sedan. A moment later, Jack pulled a u-turn and pulled the vehicle along side the building. He bounced out of the front seat and came to the door of the state police barracks.
“Hop in. You get to ride upfront, just like a real cop,” he told me, as he directed Brutus into the back seat.
Ten minutes later, we were on the highway, cruising at the speed limit as cars blasted past us. We amused ourselves by watching the tail lights come on as drivers caught themselves passing the state police patrol car. Jack chuckled when one driver braked so hard on the highway in his effort to convince the New York state trooper he was a careful driver, he dropped below fifty miles an hour.
“Oh, yeah. That really fools me, buddy!” he hollered after him. “Give the guy five minutes, he’ll be back to doing eighty. I hope these people appreciate the fact that it’s their lucky day. I’m not pulling anyone over for a ticket. I can’t. My assignment is to protect you.”
“Normally, you would pull them over?” I asked, curious.
“No, most of the time I just cruise the highway, Marigold, as a deterrent. The average citizen doesn’t go around breaking the law. They see me and they automatically slow down.”
“Ah, I see. If you just keep driving up and down the interstate, you don’t really have to pull folks over unless their behavior is blatant?”
“By Jove, you’ve got it!” he laughed.
We spent an hour traveling along the interstate, the highways, and even some of the country roads, crisscrossing our routes over and over again, until we finally stopped for coffee and blueberry muffins a little after three. Brutus stayed in the car.
“I think we’re okay, Marigold. I haven’t noticed a tail. Let’s sit back and enjoy the java. We’ll know better when we’re done with break time.”
I took a seat in the back of the shop, at a narrow table for two, while Jack went up to the counter and placed our order. I could smell the aroma of freshly baked muffins and it aroused my appetite. Carrying coffee cups and small paper sack in hand, the uniformed trooper made his way over to where I was sitting and straddled the chair opposite me.
“Have a muffin,” he offered, withdrawing a wax paper-wrapped, sugar-crusted delight from the bag and placing it in front of me.
“I don’t normally indulge,” I confided, “but this looks really good and I am hungry.”
“What do you normally indulge in?”
“Hmm...” It was a good question. I wasn’t really sure. Why was it so hard to remember?
“Let’s try
something else. What do you like to do for fun, Marigold?”
“I run. I hike. I swim. I dance....”
“Dance? That sounds interesting. What kind of dance?”
“Um, what kind of dance do I do?” I closed my eyes for a few seconds, trying to remember. I twirled around in my mind, spinning and whirling. There were hands on my back as I dipped.
“Tango...salsa....ballroom.” Suddenly there was a flash, one that filled my frontal cortex with an image stored in my memory bank. Jared’s smiling face, with his twinkling brown eyes. Jared, my beloved Jared. Just as quickly, it was gone, even as a great sadness came over me. My lungs seemed to fill up with swallowed tears, the pressure hard against my breastbone. I felt as if I were drowning in a sea of yesterdays. “But I don’t dance any more.”
“Can’t or won’t?” Jack asked me, a touch of concern in his voice. “Did something happen? You broke a leg?”
“I’m not sure.” It was true. My thoughts were all jumbled; it was hard to keep them all straight. Who was I? If I was in the Witness Protection Program, what had gotten me there? And why had someone shot Tovar, the new father who couldn’t wait for his baby to take her first steps?
“Maybe we should talk about something else,” he suggested, noting my distress. “Are you a snow bunny?”
“Hardly,” I smiled. “I skate a little, but as far as skiing goes, I’ll be lucky if I ever get off the bunny slope.”
We spent the rest of the time chatting about winter sports in the Catskills. He had grown up on the ice and snow, as had Philomena, and was passionate about it. During his off-time, he served on one of the local ski patrols, and he shared some of the hairy tales of rescuing stranded skiers on Windham Mountain.
“You name it and we’ve had it -- heart attacks, broken limbs, collisions with everything from trees to two-legged and four-legged creatures, including a dog. Don’t get me started on the novices who take the wrong trails and wind up buried up to their necks in packed powder because they thought they’d try the more dangerous trails. Phil says people just don’t have the good sense to know their own limits. Lord knows she’s right. I’ve certainly seen my share of idiots on the job.”
Reluctant Witness Page 3
