“Don't even think it,” she spoke the words aloud for emphasis. “J.B. wouldn't do that to you.
After nine rings Helen settled the receiver back in its holder. She played the message again, this time listening specifically to sounds other than his voice. Near the end of the message she heard a woman's voice, distant yet plaintive: "We'd better hurry, J.B. We don't want to miss. . .. There the message ended.
Helen's hopes fell. What was going on? What didn't the woman want him to miss?
She listened to the tape again, now concentrating on J.B.'s words, his tone. "I was hoping to catch you before. . ." Helen stopped it.
"Before what? Leaving me?" Though she fought against it, her mind dug up old tapes of Ian talking about J.B.'s many relationships, about the women he kept in every port. But J.B. had sworn that, although he'd dated on occasion, there had never been a serious relationship.
"There were no women," J.B. assured her when he'd asked her to marry him. "At least no one who really mattered. I let people believe I was a womanizer so I'd never be expected to get serious about anyone. You were the only woman I ever wanted, Helen." His Irish blue eyes had fastened on hers, filled with love and desire. "I fell in love with you the day Ian introduced us. But Ian spoke first and I couldn't stand in the way. He was my best friend."
J.B. had been Helen's best friend as well. The trio had gone on one spy mission after another. Inseparable. Invincible. She and Ian had even named their son after him. Jason McGrady.
"There has never been anyone but you," he'd said. And like a fool, she'd believed him.
Jason Bradley. How often she'd teased him about his initials being the same as the roguish movie character James Bond. And oh, how well J.B. fit the part. He even had a similar accent. Handsome and sexy. In his younger days, J.B. could easily have doubled for her favorite Bond actor, Sean Connery. Was it possible he had lied to her about his philandering?
She didn't want to believe it. Helen directed her thoughts back to her original suspicions, that J.B.'s leaving had something to do with his health. She again played the tape. J.B. had apologized and said he'd phone later. He sounded as though he was truly sorry for not finding her home. “The call took me by surprise," he'd said. “I'll try to reach you later. I'll be away for another day or two."
He was planning to come back. She scolded herself for jumping to conclusions. It could easily have been a business lunch. Or perhaps the woman was an old acquaintance, someone he'd bumped into.
Before what? Surgery? She recalled the tests he'd undergone during his last checkup. Of course. She'd call J.B.'s doctor. Surely he'd let her know what was going on. When she couldn't find Dr. Lewis's card in the Rolodex, she called information and after what seemed an eternity finally got through to his office.
"I'm sorry," the receptionist said in a stern tone when Helen told her what she wanted. "We can't release any information without the patient's consent."
"But I'm his wife."
"Right. I wish I could help, but I can't. Those records are confidential."
"Look, I just want to know if J.B. is scheduled for any tests or surgery."
"Maybe you should just consider asking him."
"Oh, now why didn't I think of that?" Helen snarled. "I told you he's not here."
"Well, I'm sorry. I can leave a message for Dr. Lewis to call you. Would that be all right?"
"I suppose, yes, please." Helen thanked her and threw the phone at the couch. It bounced out and hit the floor. Surprised at her reaction, Helen retrieved it and settled it back where it belonged.
Running both hands through her hair, she sucked in shallow breaths until her rage subsided. She was angry, not at the receptionist who was only doing her job, but at J.B. for keeping secrets. And at herself for letting her emotions get so far out of line. She rarely lost her temper. After Ian's death she'd been as steady as a rock. Or maybe she'd just been numb. When J.B. had come back into her life three years later, he'd elicited emotions she thought she'd never feel again. He'd brought her passions back to the surface. He had the ability to melt her with one look. Or one phone call.
Maybe what she felt wasn't anger at all, but fear. She didn't want to lose him, not because of a health problem or because of another woman. "I am not going to let you get away with this, J.B."
She called the hospital where Dr. Lewis usually admitted his patients, but J.B. hadn't checked in. Maybe he'd been referred to another doctor. That meant he could be in any of the area hospitals. It was as good a place as any to start her search. She picked up the phone again and rang her daughter, Kate.
"Oh, hi, Mom. It's about time you called."
"Kate, it's so good to hear your voice."
"Is everything okay?"
"Not exactly. J.B. got a phone call this morning. I think it may have been from his doctor." She focused on the health issue. It was the only option she allowed herself to deal with at the moment.
"You think? You mean he didn't tell you?"
"I'm afraid there might be a serious problem and he doesn't want to worry me. He went into Portland this morning. He's not at the condo and, I'm wondering if you'd call the hospitals and see if he's a patient at any. If he is, call me."
"I can't believe he'd do something like that."
"He probably thinks he's being noble. The men in our family seem to be good at that sort of thing." They were also loyal and faithful, she reminded herself.
"Could he have gotten an assignment? He's really looking good these days."
"I thought about that possibility, but no way is the government going to rehire a man who has recently had a heart attack. You know how they are. I can't imagine any of the agencies he's worked for involving him in another espionage situation."
"I see your point."
"I'm worried it might be something really serious, Kate. Maybe I'm being paranoid. I don't know. After seeing Richard. . .he'd been diagnosed with cancer for months before telling anyone. Went through all that chemotherapy and radiation alone." Her cousin hadn't wanted his family to know, and his silence had almost destroyed his marriage.
"I guess it's a guy thing. Try not to worry. Have you called Jason?"
"Not yet. I didn't want to bother him. He's so busy with his job and Susan. How is she, by the way?"
"Doing great," Kate said. "She and Jason are happier than ever."
"That's good. And the children?"
While Kate brought her up-to-date on her grandchildren, Helen paced. When she'd finished her report, Kate added, "Everyone misses you. You really need to come in and stay for a few days. Hmm. Maybe you should come now. You could track down J.B. yourself. In fact, I'm surprised you aren't here."
Helen went on to tell her about her day, the conversation with Eleanor, her walk on the beach, and her confrontation with Rosie.
"Oh, Mom, how awful. We'd love to see you, but it sounds as though you need to rest, for tonight at least. Think about coming tomorrow."
"I will. And if not then, soon." After Kate promised to call if she learned anything about J.B., they hung up.
Then on a whim, Helen called Tom Chambers, an old friend of hers and colleague of J.B.'s at the FBI office in Portland.
"Helen, what a surprise. Bet you're looking for J.B., right?"
"Yes. How did you know?"
"He was in here this morning."
"Then you know where he is?"
"Nope. I'm sorry, Helen. I don't have a clue. He didn't tell me anything."
"And you wouldn't tell me if he had, am I right?"
"Hey, that's not true. Well. It might be if he was involved in some sort of covert operation, but that's not the case. He's retired, and as far as I know he won't be coming back. He's not going to want a desk job for sure."
"Did he want back in?"
"No. He just came by to say hello and see how things were going. That's all, Helen, I swear. I'll admit he seemed preoccupied, like he was worried about something, but he didn't let on what it might be. I'm telling
you all I know, which is a big fat zero."
"All right, Tom. Thanks anyway. If you hear from him again, will you call?"
"Sure."
Helen had no sooner disconnected with Tom than the phone rang. She snatched it up.
"Hi, Helen. This is Rosie."
Chapter Nine
Thank goodness you're okay," Rosie said.
"No thanks to you," Helen snapped. "What you did was stupid and dangerous."
"I'm sorry. I was such a shock, and I didn't know what else to do."
"You could have talked to me. You didn't have to start waving around that gun!"
"I-I know. I still can't believe I did that. I never should have let Dave talk me into keeping it." Dave was her brother- in-law, a contractor in Lincoln City. Which was probably where she was staying.
"Where are you?"
"I can't tell you that," Rosie responded incredulously. "Not yet.
"You're just making things worse for yourself, you know. It's only a matter of time before the authorities find you."
"I know, but I need that time."
"For what? Talk to me, Rosie. I thought we were friends. If you're in trouble, maybe I can help."
"It's not me. Oh, Helen. I'm so sorry. I can't tell you. I can't let you get involved in this. I-I have to go."
At the sound of the dial tone, Helen returned the phone to its cradle. The Caller ID read unavailable. “You won't be for long. Not if I have anything to say about it."
Helen immediately called Joe to let him know about Rosie's phone call. "She may be staying with her sister."
"She wasn't earlier," Joe said, "but then neither was anyone else. Rosie has family in Portland, but they claim she hasn't been in touch with them. Of course they could be protecting her. I was planning to head up to her sister's place in Lincoln City to have a look around myself, but there just hasn't been time. I could use a couple more deputies, but that's not going to happen. These budget cuts are killing us. I'm about ready to resign myself."
"You don't mean that, Joe. If it will help, I could do some snooping around. I may be able to find Rosie where your people can't."
"Go for it. Just be careful. She pulled a gun on you once."
"She caught me by surprise. I don't intend to let her do it again." Helen paced back and forth across the living room.
"So, our usual arrangement."
"That works for me." Helen had the credentials and could have easily become a deputy, but she preferred acting as a consultant, where she had more versatility.
"What's your plan?" Joe asked.
"I thought I'd check out Rosie's place tonight. See if I can turn up anything that might give us a clue as to what's going on. Then I'll drive up to Adele and Dave's."
"We don't have a warrant to search Rosie's place yet."
"I don't need a warrant."
"Helen,” she noted the warning in his voice. "You're not thinking of breaking and entering?"
"Of course not. I have a key. And someone needs to check on the cats."
He chuckled. "Be careful," he cautioned again. "We don't know what we're dealing with here."
Helen watched as the sun descended and the clouds on the horizon broke up enough to let the pink and gold colors shine through. While she loved sunsets, she hated the shorter days of fall and winter. She took another bite of her tuna sandwich. Helen had no appetite, but knowing she was going to need more energy than the snack of V8 and cheese offered, she'd fixed a sandwich and carrot sticks and washed them down with a cup of strong coffee.
After setting her dishes in the dishwasher and brushing the crumbs from her black turtleneck shirt, Helen walked into the entryway. She then donned a black jacket and tucked her salt- and-pepper hair into a black knit hat.
She felt a little like a spy again. Her mother had always taught her the importance of including a basic black dress in her wardrobe. She did have a dress, but she also kept black pants, a turtleneck, jacket, and cap. One never knew when they'd come in handy.
Helen's mouth turned up in a half smile. "Somehow I don't think this is what you had in mind, Mother." She'd recently replaced the black turtleneck she was wearing when she was shot. A shudder went through her and she rubbed her still sore shoulder. She thought about taking her service revolver but decided against it.
This was different, she told herself. She wouldn't be running along the waterfront in Portland. She wouldn't be meeting anyone at midnight. She was just going to Rosie's to feed the cats and see if she could find some clue as to what had upset Rosie to the point of desperation.
Rethinking her plan, Helen spun around and headed back to her room. Minutes later she was in the hallway with her holster and gun in place and feeling slightly more secure. Going outside, Helen checked her pockets for her penlight and clicked it on. The beam was small but efficient. She fingered the key Rosie had given her several years ago. Helen occasionally watered the plants and fed the cats while Rosie was away. Now she had another mission.
Joe's caution had spurred her into entering Rosie's under cover of darkness. He was right, They didn’t know what they were dealing with. Ethan had been murdered. His killer could be anywhere, and Rosie was somehow involved. Someone could be watching the house, and she preferred not to advertise her presence by turning on lights.
Instead of taking her car, Helen walked into town. She avoided the road by cutting through some woods and climbing along a ledge of rocks until she emerged onto the side street that bordered Rosie's place. It was a long way around, but Helen didn't want to take the chance of being seen. Besides, the cold, moist air invigorated her. Gave her a chance to think. She felt certain her friend was innocent, and after the phone call, Helen felt even more certain Rosie was protecting someone. A search through Rosie's apartment and desk just might provide the answer.
By the time she got to Rosie's, she’d broken into a sweat and the wool cap was itching her head. She avoided the lighted parking area, went around to the back door, and reached in her pocket for the key.
Something let out an unearthly cry. A streak of gray flashed around the corner and headed straight for her. Helen flattened against the door. Her heart hammered like an automatic rifle. "Buttermilk," she gasped. "You scared me to death."
The cat whined in a mournful tone. "Poor baby." Helen reached down to pet the cat. "Are you hungry? Rosie must really be in a dither to forget about you. Come on. Let's go inside." She dug into her pocket again. Her hand closed around the tiny flashlight but not the key. She tried the other side. Nothing. She'd had the key in her hand when Buttermilk showed up. Maybe it had fallen in the commotion. Helen dropped to her hands and knees on the welcome mat and felt around it and the wooden slats beyond. Nothing but granules of sand and grit.
The two-by-six planks of the wraparound porch were separated by half an inch. Wide enough for a key to slip through. With her hands pressed against her thighs, she straightened.
Maybe she should give up her mission and go home. Helen brushed her cowardly thoughts aside. She was not about to be deterred by something so insignificant as losing a key. Anyway, the cats needed attention. Who knew when Rosie would be coming back?
The back of Rosie's place faced a stand of trees that separated the house from the ocean. The only light came from the yard lights at the far corner of the parking lot near the street and the porch light by the front door. No one was likely to see her. Helen made a quick assessment. It wouldn't be difficult to get in; all she needed to do was break one of the six panes of glass in the door.
Staying in the shadows, Helen skulked down the stairs and picked up one of the average-sized rocks that lined the gravel path. She crept back to the door, pulled her hand inside her sleeve and gripped the rock, and hit the lower left windowpane nearest the doorknob. It shattered. Helen glanced around. Satisfied that the noise hadn't been loud enough to attract attention, she quickly brushed the glass out of the frame and reached inside to unlock the door.
Once inside, Helen took a few se
conds to catch her breath, then hurried up the enclosed stairs to Rosie's apartment. In her hurry to leave, Rosie had left the blinds and curtains open. Light from the street and side yard spilled into the living room, kitchen, and bedroom, making it unnecessary to use her pen- light. She closed the door and stood for a moment, admiring the warm, subtle glow of the place.
As with the rest of the Victorian, Rosie had taken great care to maintain the integrity of her rooms. She had an eclectic taste that blended old with new. Rosie's unique talent for creating beauty out of the most simple and outdated things was especially evident here. On a round cherrywood table, she'd placed an old hat, wire-rimmed eyeglasses and antique case, and a pair of white gloves among a spray of dried rosebuds. On top of the wardrobe, she'd set an obviously used violin, with a music stand and yellowed sheet music. In one corner Rosie had arranged a trio of old lightning rods with long, pointed metal tips sticking out of white globes, all braced on a metal tripod. The arrangements clamored for an artist to paint them. She could imagine Kate standing in front of her easel working to capture the nostalgia emanating from the place.
The entire apartment was like that: tidy, with discarded treasures set around in artistic eye-catching arrangements. Rosie created magic out of things others had thrown away or sold cheaply at garage sales. She said it was because she'd grown up poor. Her mother had taught her the importance of finding beauty in whatever she had at hand. It was the perfect place to take tea and reminisce about her home in Ireland and her own dear mother. At least it used to be.
Buttermilk meowed and brushed against her legs. The kitten sat about three feet away, head tipped to one side. Helen reluctantly pulled her mind away from the sweet memories and back to the task at hand. She wasn’t there to admire Rosie's handiwork.
"Right," she whispered. "Okay, guys, let's get you fed. I have work to do."
After removing her coat and the itchy hat and setting them on the back of a chair, Helen found cat food in the utility room. Once she'd poured the dried morsels into their dishes and given them fresh water, she went to the address book lying beside Rosie's phone. Her sister Adele was listed under the Fs— Feldman. Since she'd forgotten to get it from Joe, Helen jotted the address and phone number on a note pad and stuffed it into her pocket.
When Shadows Fall: A Helen Bradley Mystery (Helen Bradley Mysteries Book 5) Page 7
