Hide & Find (Mayfield Cozy Mystery Book 3)

by Jerusha Jones

  Etherea gave me a meaningful nod. “Don’t get sick now,” she said, waving a gnarled finger toward the boxes of Oreos.

  “Never.” I grinned back at her. “With all those preservatives? My shelf life’s shot up to a hundred years.” I lugged the cookies out to the truck, returned for the bleach, then nosed Lentil out onto the county road once more.

  I wound deeper into a forest that was deep to start with and turned at the now familiar stump with the three blue reflectors. Loretta was teetering on a rickety stepladder, looping chains on hooks in the bit of roof that overhung the porch.

  “What happened to the swing?” I called.

  “Came crashing down in the middle of the night,” Loretta chirped. “Tarq and I about clobbered each other in the dark, thinking someone had broken in.” She pressed her hands against a window frame for balance and eased off the ladder. “He’s out back making repairs. Rotted through the handles, but he’ll have it ready for a pair of lovers soon enough.”

  “No one’s sparking in this weather,” I huffed, blowing steam clouds into my cupped hands. I squinted at her. Who, exactly, was going to be using the swing for romantic purposes out here in the backwoods boonies? Not the occupants of the cabin, surely?

  “Coffee’s on,” Loretta said. “Help yourself to pancakes, too. Give me a minute, and I’ll join you.”

  I don’t turn down offers like that. I pushed open the front door and stepped into a completely renewed, cozy little space. Sure, there were still holes in the ceiling, but the carpet was — well, it was actually green, a restful mossy green that replicated the forest floor in color but certainly not in cleanliness. The place fairly sparkled. And smelled good. A light sweetness like maple syrup and coffee and maybe a hint of wood smoke and — I couldn’t quite place it — cinnamon? Cloves?

  The cabin’s condition was light years away from what it had been just a couple days ago. I popped my head back through the doorway. “You’re a magician,” I hissed.

  Loretta gave me a beatific smile and nodded. “Keeping busy.”

  Tarq banged through the back door the moment after I’d stuffed a large, sticky, buttery bite of pancake into my mouth. He acknowledged me with a grunt and headed to the sink to wash his hands.

  He refilled his mug with coffee and sank onto the chair opposite me. He was dressed in clothing adequate for the temperature, and he had shaved.

  Wow. Just wow. Loretta had also made significant headway in the old man housebreaking process. I knew that he knew how to be sociable and socially acceptable, but he’d never really bothered before, except once, on Christmas day. It was almost like we were having a tea party.

  I grinned at him. “Seen a tall, dark-haired man yet this morning?”

  “Should I have?” Tarq slurped the steaming liquid. “Likely I would have put buckshot in him if I did.”

  I knew he was kidding. Well, maybe not. Especially not if Loretta and Tarq were on edge due to the swing mishap in the middle of the night. I shrugged. “He’ll be here soon then.”

  Tarq thunked his elbows on the table, obliterating my fanciful tea party image. “I expected to be bored in my old age. You have certainly eliminated that possibility. This fellow have a name? I’m not running a boarding house for all your hardship cases, you know. Except one, and there’s nothing hard about her. Just lonely.”

  I blinked. Opened my mouth. Closed it. Pursed my lips and nodded and considered it wise to leave the last part of his remark alone. I opted for the question I could safely answer. “Josh Freeney.”

  Tarq’s eyes narrowed. “I know that name.”

  “Skip’s friend who was also an FBI agent. The one who got canned for aiding and abetting.”

  “Is he still aiding and abetting?” Tarq leaned forward, giving me a steely glare.

  I was momentarily flustered by noticing that Tarq’s nose hair had also been trimmed. And the ear tufts — gone. Probably also a subject I shouldn’t comment on. “Uh, yes,” I stammered. “More than that. He’s taking the lead on this one. At least, I hope he is.”

  “Lead? This one?” Tarq’s palm landed on the table with a resounding thud. “Tarnation, girl, what are you up to? Have anything to do with those paintings stashed in your storage unit? Worst things I’ve ever seen. Don’t know why the artists bothered.”

  Loretta bustled into the room. “What am I missing? Anything exciting?”

  And then a soft rap sounded on the front door.

  Loretta jumped. “I was just out there,” she murmured, her face dropping all hint of color. “There was no one — no one in the clearing out front.”

  “It’s okay,” I replied, rising. “Trick of the trade. You’re safe.”

  Tarq’s front door didn’t have a peephole, so I moved an eye to the crack as I eased it open an inch.

  “It’s freezing.” Josh pushed inside, turned and scanned the meadow — empty except for where I’d parked Lentil up close to the carport — and gently clicked the door closed. He smelled of eucalyptus — probably his aftershave — and a piney scent mixed with a little sweat.

  “How far away did you hide your car?” I whispered.

  He grinned down at me. “Far enough, nosy. I wasn’t followed on the drive from Salem. They’re not wasting manpower on me — yet.”

  “Get your butts in here,” Tarq growled from the kitchen. “And speak up. You’ve got some nerve using my place as command central.”

  I made the introductions. Josh was especially polite to Loretta, the mother of his good friend — the good friend who’d gotten him into so much trouble. She offered him a heaping plate of pancakes, which somehow seemed to dissipate much of Tarq’s wariness. It also meant we all hunched around the table together, elbows and knees practically bumping as Josh and I finished eating and the others sipped coffee.

  I had a vague sense of déjà vu since the first time I’d met Josh we’d also eaten breakfast together. It seemed ages ago but had only been a few weeks.

  Josh should have gone to work for the state department. A job negotiating foreign policy would have been a better use of his talents. By the time he finished presenting a detailed analysis of our current situation, he’d not only completely placated Tarq, he’d engrossed us all. Loretta’s eyes glistened, and I think she realized just what kind of sacrifice and risk Josh was engaging in to be here.

  He made my problems sound elaborate and intriguing and complicated in a textbook sort of way. But it was also my life. I’d just been logged like a progress report. He also made me realize that I hadn’t actually been losing my mind.

  “Go back to that part about Ziggy Beltran,” I said. “He’s my Numero Seis. What makes you think he’s involved too?”

  “I called a couple of my old informants. They confirmed Ziggy’s been promoted. He basically has a monopoly on loan sharking collections in Vegas now. And if he’s in Vegas, then he’s associated with Lutsenko.” Josh took a moment to swirl his last forkful of pancake in the remaining puddle of syrup on his plate. “One of my informants heard a rumor that Ziggy had been to one of the parties at Lutsenko’s Tahoe place. I’d like to speak with Chet, get his description of the other men he saw there with Lutsenko.”

  “That’ll take some planning,” I replied.

  “This will all take planning,” Tarq muttered. “Las Vegas? Just trying to nail down the geography here.”

  Josh nodded. “The higher you get in the hierarchy of organized crime, the more territory you control. You could almost think of it like franchises or satellite offices. Lutsenko runs the Bay Area, Reno and Las Vegas. Frankly, Vegas is where the bulk of the money is because it draws from the surrounding states — the whole country plus a load of international business, really. He’s also made inroads into the southern California syndicates. Rumor has it he’s greedy and poaching people from the other organizations. He’s making enemies left and right in his hunger for expansion.”

  “So he poached this guy, Ziggy?” Loretta asked the question, but I was glad she had be
cause my head was spinning too.

  “Looks like it. And if Ziggy just happened to be at the house when the paintings were stolen, then we might be able to involve him in the sting as well. Since Lutsenko hasn’t contacted Nora yet, I’m guessing that he still doesn’t know exactly who stole the objects of his affection. He has enough enemies that the suspicion must be a mile thick over all of them.” Josh finally unzipped his coat and draped it over the back of his chair as though he’d just reached a comfortable temperature after his long trek from wherever he’d hidden his car.

  Loretta piled up our plates. Her hands were shaking. I suddenly realized how shocking all this matter-of-fact discussion of her son’s associations must be. There’s a big difference between knowing something generally and knowing it in all its sordid details. But her steps to the sink were steady, and she returned with the coffee pot.

  “Why is it important to pair these two — Lutsenko and Ziggy?” Tarq asked. He was rubbing his forefingers and thumbs together as though he was itching to take notes. Probably a deep-seated lawyerly instinct.

  “Because that’s what I think Skip was trying to do.” Josh nodded thanks to Loretta for refilling his mug. “I keep wondering why he set Chet up for the theft. I think it was more than just an opportunistic endeavor. Skip wasn’t haphazard; he was a planner.” Josh tipped his head toward me. “You know that.”

  I nodded. If I hadn’t know it before — which I had — then the files and audio recording I found in the safe deposit box had absolutely confirmed Skip’s meticulousness.

  “Lutsenko has the connections to drive the human trafficking business,” Josh continued, “but it would take someone like Ziggy to put the illegal immigrants to work and therefore provide profit for the mob. There’s demand in all the larger cities, but Vegas is definitely the biggest market on this side of the country for that kind of thing. Lutsenko will be getting a bigger slice of the commission, or finder’s fee, if Ziggy’s working directly for him now.”

  “Chet said his uncle is working to pay off the broker fees for his whole family,” I said.

  Josh frowned. “That’s what they’re told, but it never works that way. A nice term for this is indentured servitude, but in reality it’s flat-out slavery. They won’t be released until they’re too sick to keep working or they die on the job. They’re terrified because they’re illegal. They have no one to ask for help for fear they’ll be deported. They’re isolated. They don’t have the resources to run away. They’re beaten, deprived of food.”

  Little beads of perspiration dotted his hairline and sideburns. He had to clear his throat before he could continue. “I was on a raid once, at a compound where about twenty smuggled illegals were being held. We took a few of them out in body bags. The rest could hardly walk.”

  I traced the wood grain in the tabletop with the handle of my spoon. My brain was balking at the monstrosity of what Chet’s family had been seduced into.

  Loretta’s voice wobbled. “This Laotian girl, she’s not washing dishes in some back-alley restaurant, is she?”

  “Probably not,” Josh admitted. “Especially not if she’s young and pretty.”

  “Then I know why he did it,” Loretta whispered. “Why Skip would do this—” she spread her hands wide, “all of this tracking and planning and involvement with these evil men.”

  My head popped up, and I joined Josh and Tarq in staring at her.

  Loretta wavered at the intensity of our interest, but she continued. “For a couple years, we lived in a gated apartment complex in San Leandro. It was the nicest place we ever lived, and Skip — he was eleven, twelve, thirteen — was finally able to relax, be a kid, go to the same school, develop friendships. There was a girl a few years younger than Skip who lived with her mom kitty-corner from us, one floor down. They became fast friends, swam in the pool on the weekends, hung out together. She was like his little sister. Smart but timid. But she always seemed to have bruises. I wondered, but I didn’t say anything.”

  Loretta pressed her knuckles to her trembling lips, and a tear leaked down her cheek. Tarq laid a heavy hand on her shoulder.

  “Her name was Alison — Allie. One day she went missing. Skip was the one who pressed the issue because her mother didn’t seem too concerned. Said Allie had gone to visit her grandparents. But Skip knew Allie would have told him if that was the case.”

  Loretta was crying hard now, her words choked out from between her fingers. “They found her body two weeks later in an empty lot about a block away. She’d been raped and strangled. The police came and arrested the mother. She’d been selling Allie to men by the hour, and one time it went too far. She’d helped the guy hide the body.” Loretta gulped and shuddered. “That’s when I really started drinking. I could have — should have done something for Allie. And I hated that the only places I could afford to raise my child exposed him to that. A child should never have to know about that — that degree of evil.”

  I ran to the bathroom for a box of tissues because I needed them as badly as Loretta did. When I returned, Tarq had scooted closer to Loretta and had both arms wrapped around her shoulders.

  “Skip would never speak about it later. He just bottled up.” Loretta shook her head and wadded up another tissue. “That’s when my boy changed, and I felt like I didn’t know him anymore. I never really saw him happy again until he met you.” She directed a wobbly smile at me.

  “Poetic justice on a grand scale.” Josh’s voice was barely audible, but the words dropped like lead weights into my heart. “Sounds like the Skip I know.”

  He held my gaze for a long minute, his brown eyes solemn, then nodded. “Let’s do this.”

  I nodded back.

  CHAPTER 15

  I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath until I parked and turned off the ignition outside the mansion’s kitchen door. Which was wide open. As were the windows. But there were no signs of pot-bellied pigs or a furious Clarice.

  I gulped another deep breath and held that one low in my lungs while I slid out of the truck and stepped cautiously toward the cracked concrete patio and the opening beyond, steeling myself for entering a potential maelstrom. It was so quiet that my footfalls seemed to echo between my ears. Which was a relief? Or ominous. I couldn’t decide which.

  Clarice flashed into the doorway, bracing one hand on the frame while holding a small black object aloft. “You could have told me,” she barked. “Let me rephrase that. You absolutely should have woken me up and told me. Girl, what you must have been going through!” Then she cinched me with both arms in a vice grip that was guaranteed to give me an hourglass figure.

  I exhaled before I popped. “Uh,” I wheezed into her spiky hair, “I brought bleach.” Although I now doubted its effectiveness as a peace offering.

  She pushed me away and scowled. “You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?”

  At my blank look, she waggled the black thing under my nose. “Big, nasty mobsters threatening your dad?”

  “Oh, that.” I squinted at the still moving blob in her hand. “Is that my phone?”

  “Found it stuffed in a closet. Ringing. So I answered it. For Pete’s sake, girl, what’s gotten into you? Are you trying to drive me batty? Some weird scavenger hunt mental competency test?”

  “Not exactly.” I grabbed her arm and pulled, hand over hand, until I had the phone in my grasp.

  I dashed into the kitchen, looked around desperately, then yanked open the freezer door and tossed the phone inside. The door sealed closed with a gentle whoosh. I spun around to find Clarice staring at me, her face now indicating she thought I should be the one committed to a loony bin.

  “We need to talk,” I said.

  “No duh.”

  “Did you know the FBI can turn a cell phone into a listening device even when it’s off?” I said.

  The wrinkles around Clarice’s mouth smoothed then realigned themselves in the opposite direction. She hooked an arm through mine and dragged me outside.
“You and I are going to take in an entire atmosphere of fresh air while you spill your guts. All of them.”

  It was a good idea. We crunched through the icy layer of mud along the track where our only eavesdroppers were towering fir trees with raggedy ferns at their bases. The breeze crinkled through their frozen limbs, making them sound like ancient giants with arthritic joints.

  “You first — please,” I finally said. “I’m super sorry for leaving you with such a mess.”

  Clarice snorted, but filled me in. Emmie had orchestrated a pig exodus with a bunch of the boys before Clarice had had a chance to head to the kitchen for her first cup of coffee. Clarice reported this with immense satisfaction, as though the girl had inherited her organizational skills by osmosis. Then Emmie had returned to help Clarice scrub the linoleum tile floor.

  I apologized profusely all over again.

  “I’ve seen worse,” Clarice grunted.

  So had I. I’d visited orphanages in places where most of the populace lived in pigsty conditions and were grateful for the few amenities they did have. Which reminded me of Josh’s recounting of rescuing the illegal slave laborers — here, in the United States. And then I thought about Chet and his family hiding in our basement.

  “Where’s Emmie now?” I asked.

  “Working with Eli and Dill and the Clayborne boys to build a sheltered pen for the pigs near the bunkhouse. Walt seemed to know about the need for this before I did.” She scowled at me again.

  “And you found my phone,” I prompted.

  “On which Arleta was calling to let you know the FBI swooped in early this morning. Of course, I had to ask her why such a thing would be necessary.” Clarice shot another withering glance my direction. “She’s amazed by the clout you carry in federal circles.” Clarice snorted. “And she happened to mention that one of the agents is cute in a burly, handsome, chocolaty-skinned sort of way.”

  I chuckled. “Arleta needs a good man. Did she say if any of the hubbub bothered my dad?”