by Diane Kelly
Dad stood and shook Nick’s hand. “How ya doin’, son?”
Nick inquired about the purpose of my parents’ visit.
I set my purse on the counter. “They’re helping me and Eddie today,” I said, explaining about the latest developments in the Beauregard case and my plans to deploy my parents as decoy clients.
“If you’d like some extra manpower,” Nick said, “I’d be happy to help you and Eddie out.”
Given that Beauregard had managed to escape two of the office’s best agents before, it couldn’t hurt to have another agent along to assist. “That would be great. Thanks.”
“No plans for the day, Nick?” Mom asked him, shooting me another look, one that said, So he’s still available, huh?
“I’m going shopping for a bass boat,” Nick said, “but I can do that later this afternoon.”
At the mention of a fishing vessel, Dad’s ears perked up. “A bass boat, you say?”
Nick nodded. “Lu talked to the higher-ups at the IRS and got me back pay for the three years I was stuck in Mexico. I just received the check. Figured I’d treat myself.”
Dad’s blue-gray eyes grew starry. He’d always dreamed of owning a bass boat himself. Sending three kids to college had taken precedence, though. He’d had to settle for a johnboat with what he called a “sissy” motor. The substandard boat hadn’t affected his fishing, though. He’d held the county record for the biggest bass until last year when an eight-year-old kid had landed one three ounces heavier, with some help from his uncle.
Nick must’ve noticed my father salivating. “If the women don’t mind, maybe you could come along with me, give me your opinion.”
Dad looked to Mom for permission. She rolled her eyes but waved her hand. “I’d love to get you out of my hair for a few hours.”
A half hour later we headed out, Nick and Dad in Nick’s truck and Mom and me in my BMW. We met up with Eddie at a junior high a mile from the Denny’s restaurant where my parents were to rendezvous with Beauregard.
Eddie didn’t seem all that surprised to see that Nick had come along. He just looked from me to Nick and back, his brow and lip quirking. “Something going on between you two?”
My “no” was drowned out by Nick’s “maybe.”
Eddie and Nick chuckled.
“Women,” Eddie said. “They’re nothing but trouble. Am I right?”
“Amen,” Dad said, earning him a “hush” and a glare from my mother.
Beau had arranged to meet another client at the restaurant, too. It was the last weekend before the extended October 15 tax return deadline and no doubt he was busy.
I supplied my parents with phony W-2s and brokerage statements, along with fictionalized sales records from a purported Mary Kay cosmetics business operated by my mother. We had to ensure their return would take sufficient time to prepare so that Eddie, Nick, and I could get into place for the takedown.
Ten minutes before their scheduled appointment time, Nick gave my parents the keys to his truck. We three agents loaded into Eddie’s fleet car. Eddie followed my parents at a safe distance. While my parents parked and went into the restaurant, Eddie took a few turns around the neighborhood, looking for Beauregard’s beat-up Suburban.
“There it is.” I pointed down a nearby side street where the SUV was parked. Beau’s camp trailer with the Puma logo was hooked up to it. Looked like he’d been on the move.
Eddie pulled to the curb a block down and the three of us donned our ballistic vests and raid jackets.
Eddie slid his gun into his hip holster. “One of us should keep an eye on his car in case he makes a break for it.”
Chances were Beauregard would never make it back to his car, and neither Nick nor I wanted to miss out on the action. We hadn’t become special agents to sit on the sidelines and play it safe. The only fair thing was to settle the dispute with rock-paper-scissors. I won, paper over rock. I took advantage of the situation to touch him, wrapping my hand around his fist as if to demonstrate how paper beats rock. It felt good to touch him, to connect with him physically, even if only in jest and for a brief moment.
“Neener-neener,” I told Nick. “Have fun babysitting the Puma.” With a final meow, I climbed out of the car and followed Eddie down the block and across a four-lane road to the Denny’s parking lot.
My partner and I crouched behind a utility box on the grass median surrounding the restaurant and used a hand-me-down pair of my father’s field glasses to look through the windows. We saw my parents seated side by side at a table in the back. Beauregard sat at the table, too, inputting data into a laptop. A portable printer sat next to the computer.
“It’s probably best if we split up in case he makes a break for it,” Eddie said.
“Good idea.”
I headed down to one end of the parking lot while Eddie headed to the other.
A half hour later, my parents walked out of Denny’s and made their way to Nick’s truck. Though my mother kept her head aimed toward the truck, her eyes darted around, seeking me out. I peeked out from behind a Volkswagen and gave her the “okay” sign, letting her know things were going as anticipated.
A few minutes later, Beauregard exited the diner, a laptop bag in one hand, his printer tucked under his other arm. His clip-on tie had been crammed into the breast pocket of his white dress shirt now that his work was finished.
As he headed for his SUV, Eddie approached quietly from one direction and I approached from the other. A horn honked in the parking lot behind us and Beauregard glanced back. He did a double take when he noticed my eyes on him. He sped up, his long legs eating pavement quickly. There was no way I could keep up unless I ran. So I did.
Eddie began running, too. “Stop, Beauregard!” Eddie ordered. “You’re under arrest!”
By that time Beau had reached the curb of the four-lane road. Eddie and I were nearly on him, closing in from both sides. With heavy traffic in both directions, Beau had nowhere to go. Or at least I’d thought so. He dropped his laptop and his printer and ran into the street.
Beeeeep!
A MINI Cooper narrowly missed plowing Beau down in the street. He continued across the road, dodging cars, getting sideswiped by a city bus, but somehow continuing on. Cursing, Eddie and I ventured into the street, waving our arms, trying to make it across the street after him. Our efforts earned us three honks, two middle fingers, and one shout of, “Fucking morons!”
By the time we’d made it to the other side, Beauregard was already down the block, opening the door to his SUV. In a move that would have made his high-school football coach proud, Nick rushed Beau and tackled him, taking him down to the asphalt.
As the two wrangled on the road ahead of us, a black Dodge Charger came up the street from the other direction, making no effort to slow down as it approached Nick and Beau.
Holy shit! The driver didn’t see them!
A scream tore from my throat as I realized Nick was about to become roadkill.
At the last second, Nick and Beau apparently noticed the car and realized the driver had no intention of stopping. They split apart in the nick of time, Beau rolling toward his SUV and Nick rolling to the curb on the other side.
Thank God!
“Idiot!” I hurled my pepper spray at the car’s windshield as it approached me and Eddie.
Bam!
The teenage boy at the wheel looked up from the cell phone he’d been texting on, gave me the third middle finger I’d seen in the last two minutes, and continued on. Dumb little shit.
When I turned back to Beau, he’d climbed into his Suburban. The brake lights came on as Nick, Eddie, and I reached him.
Nick banged on the driver’s window and Eddie grabbed a door handle just as Beau floored the gas pedal. Eddie was forced to let go as the Suburban sped off. “Damn!”
Screeech. Beau braked to a stop a hundred feet down the road when he realized his camper hadn’t followed him. I glanced back at the trailer. Sure enough, Nick had disengage
d the trailer hitch.
Smart move.
When the three of us began running after the Suburban, Beau apparently decided it was best to leave his home behind. He floored the gas pedal again, sending up a spray of dust and pebbles.
As I waved the dust out of my face I debated shooting out Beau’s tires. Problem was, any unnecessary use of my weapons could lead to disciplinary action. Better not to risk it. My internal affairs file was thick enough already and Lu had a hissy fit every time I shot my gun.
Nick hurried over with the keys to the fleet car and we jumped in to follow Beau. We nearly caught him as he turned onto the four-lane road right in front of a plumbing truck. Unfortunately, we didn’t have a siren, so oncoming traffic didn’t yield to us. By the time we could safely merge into traffic, Beau’s car was no longer in sight.
Eddie banged an angry fist against the door. “I don’t believe it! He got away again!”
I called Dallas PD and requested assistance. The dispatcher sent out an APB, but I didn’t hold out much hope. The ratio of police cruisers to cars wasn’t in our favor.
We drove back to the Denny’s parking lot, rounded up my parents, and went to inspect the camper. Looked like it belonged to the IRS now. Beauregard would have to take up residence under a park bench.
The door of the trailer was locked, but one of the windows was open. Nick gestured to the window with his chin, intertwined his fingers to create a stirrup, and gave me a boost up. I tried not to think how firm his shoulder muscles felt under my fingers as I used him for leverage. I reached up, pulled off the flimsy window screen, and wriggled through the small opening. Hey, if Beau could do it, so could I.
I found myself in the RV’s sleeping quarters. I dropped to the bed and rolled off, heading for the door. I let Nick, Eddie, and my parents inside.
The trailer was tiny and spare but clean. More oil and gas pamphlets were stacked on the small dinette table next to a plastic bin full of tax returns. A new copy of a tax primer, this one a current version, lay on a cushioned seat.
Dad glanced around the small room. “An RV like this sure would come in handy for my fishing trips.”
“Or mine,” Nick said, raising a brow in challenge.
The two had engaged in a bidding war over a rifle at an earlier government auction. Looked like they might go head-to-head again when Beau’s camper went up on the auction block.
Mom poked a finger in Dad’s chest. “You are not buying a camper. If you had something comfortable like this to sleep in you’d be hunting or fishing every weekend and I’d never see you again.”
Dad looked sheepish. Busted.
“Don’t worry, Harlan,” Nick said. “You can hang with me.”
“Booyah!” Dad raised his hand and he and Nick exchanged a high five.
Mom narrowed her eyes at Nick.
“Uh-oh,” I said. “You’re in trouble now.” He’d made it onto Mom’s shit list. I’d been on it dozens of times myself. Getting off the list was no easy feat, though I’d learned that asking my mother if she’d lost weight tended to speed up the process.
Nick’s truck was outfitted with a trailer hitch, so we hooked it up to Beau’s trailer. While Dad and Nick hauled the camper to the government’s impound lot, Eddie headed back home to his family and Mom and I headed to the salon for manicures. Afterward, we ran by the grocery store to pick up the ingredients for Dad’s Killer Chili and Nick’s mother’s peach sangria. Heck, I’d need a full pitcher of the stuff to dull the shame of being outsmarted—again!—by Richard “the Unibrow” Beauregard.
chapter twenty-six
Something Fishy Is Going On
Mom and I spent the late afternoon in the kitchen, doing our best to duplicate Dad’s Killer Chili recipe. Nick had tried it recently and, once he’d sampled a taste of the caustic stuff, begged for more. The guy must be a masochist. But even though my mother and I used all the right ingredients on the list Dad had given us, our attempts fell short. With six kinds of peppers, onions, and chili powder, the stuff was hot, sure. Still, our batch lacked Dad’s usual kick.
“You think he sneaks in another secret ingredient?” I asked Mom.
“It wouldn’t surprise me.”
If there was anything southerners prized above all else, it was secret recipes. Both Mom and Nick’s mother had chicken-fried steak recipes they refused to share, even with their own children. I supposed I should consider myself lucky that Nick’s mom had offered me her sangria recipe.
“I bet Dad puts a cup of gasoline in the chili when we aren’t looking,” I said. “Or maybe some gunpowder.” I made a mental note to take a match to the stuff next time he made it to see if it caught fire.
While Mom tended to the simmering chili, I looked over the return Richard Beauregard had prepared for my parents. Sure enough, it reflected his usual MO. He’d claimed a bogus fuel tax credit in the amount of four grand. He’d be in for a big surprise when he attempted to cash my parents’ check, however. I’d already notified his bank that the check they’d written for the alleged gas well was bogus. Just like Beau’s imaginary fuel and insurance companies, the Bank of Hard Knox didn’t exist. The idiot really should have taken a closer look at the check.
Alicia returned from her apartment and brought in the clothes, jewelry, and toiletries she’d rounded up. Once she finished unpacking, she joined us in the kitchen.
I poured another glass of sangria and handed it to her. “Have you checked your responses on the Big D site?”
She nodded. “All twelve responded with interest.”
I raised my hand for a high five, but unlike the resounding smack my father had given Nick a few minutes earlier, Alicia’s slap was less than enthusiastic.
“What’s wrong?”
She lifted a shoulder. “Being back in the apartment today was … hard. I’m not sure I’m ready to date yet. I don’t think I’m over Daniel.”
Mom gave the chili another stir. “Want a bowl of chili? This stuff will take your mind off your man troubles.”
It would also take the paint off walls.
“Thanks, but no,” Alicia said. “Last time I tried Mr. Holloway’s chili I was tempted to check myself into the burn unit.”
Brett hadn’t tolerated the stuff well, either. The chili had brought tears to his eyes. Nick, on the other hand, had spooned up the stuff like it was chocolate pudding. He must have a cast-iron stomach and a high pain tolerance.
Dad and Nick returned at eight o’clock, honking twice from the driveway to roust us from the house. Alicia, Mom, and I ventured outside. The two men stood in the yard, grinning from ear to ear.
Though the night was dark, Dad had turned on his truck’s headlights to provide illumination. Attached to Nick’s hail-dented pickup was a brand-new, gleaming twenty-one-foot bronze bass boat, complete with padded seats, a large casting deck, and a built-in ice chest. The pointed nose was designed for speed, allowing avid anglers to quickly move from one part of a lake to another where the fish were biting better.
“Check this out,” Nick said, opening a compartment in the back. “It’s got a forty-four-gallon livewell capacity.”
“Sweet,” I said, though frankly I was more excited by the ice chest. It would be the perfect place to store pitchers of peach sangria while I sunbathed on the boat’s flat deck or water-skied behind it. Fishing wasn’t really my thing. I’d worked at a bait shop during high school and gotten more than my fill of slimy worms.
Mom waved the men inside. “Come have some chili.”
“Your recipe?” Nick asked my father as we headed in.
“More or less,” he said.
I’d bet on less. I eyed him, but he quickly looked away, probably to hide the guilty look in his eyes. Yep, he’d definitely left out an ingredient. What was it? Propane? Kerosene? Lighter fluid?
The five of us gathered around my kitchen table. Alicia opted for a frozen waffle instead of my father’s chili. Dad might have been insulted if he hadn’t considered his hot chili mo
re a test of character than an actual food source.
My cell phone rang in the middle of dinner. Nick watched me while he scooped up another spoonful of chili. I ignored the phone and let it go to voice mail, knowing the caller was most likely Brett. Besides, Mom would have chastised me for taking a call during supper. It wouldn’t be proper. She hadn’t spent all that hard-earned money to send me to Miss Cecily’s Charm School only to have me ignore everything I’d been taught. Besides, if I violated any of Miss Cecily’s Ten Tenets of Decorum, my mother would likely sign me up for a refresher course.
When dinner was over, Dad plopped himself down on the couch to watch the news and Alicia and my mother set about washing the dishes. I walked Nick to the door. He grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me onto my porch, closing the door behind us.
He said nothing, just stared down at me for a moment before swatting away a pesky moth attracted by the porch light. I swatted away another pesky moth, stared at Nick, and said nothing right back. But what was there to say, really? We were at an impasse. Until I could talk with Brett in person, things with Nick would remain stalled.
We stood there, totally still, simply gazing at each other for several moments. I could feel his body heat in the cool night and yearned to press myself up against him. But until I talked to Brett, until we worked out a deal, I knew I’d feel like a low-down, cheating skank if I acted on my desires.
Finally, Nick blew out a long breath, took a step backward, and cracked a smile. “Well, it was good for me. Was it good for you, too?”
I returned the smile. “Best I ever had.”
He reached out and put a hand on my cheek. “Good night, Tara.”
I put my hand over his and leaned into his touch. “Good night, Nick.”
* * *
I returned Brett’s call later that evening. He told me his crew had been making quick progress. They’d removed the infected trees and other plants, had the entire club treated by an exterminator, and were waiting for replacement foliage from a different nursery supplier. The good news was that the nursery that supplied the infested trees had owned up to its mistake and agreed to pay Brett and Wakefield Designs all costs that resulted from the blunder. Looked like Brett would be able to restore his reputation.
