Then he sighed and shifted into his wide-legged sheriff stance and crossed his arms over his midsection, holding the cup awkwardly to keep from spilling it. “There’s not a lot going on around here that I don’t know about, but when there is, you’re in the middle of it.” He gave me a pointed stare.
I opened my mouth, then closed it. “We’re not actually in the middle of anything right now,” I finally managed.
“Because the FBI is cleaning something up for you, aren’t they?” Des said.
“What makes you say that?” I asked.
“My deputies are all twitterpated on the radio. Something about a black helicopter hovering over a car stopped along I-5 just at the county border with a SWAT team surrounding the vehicle. Silver Mercedes with California plates. You know anything about that?”
Clarice pshawed. “We aren’t Californians anymore. We can’t account for what other Californians do.”
But Josh stepped forward with a rueful grin and his right hand extended to shake Des’s. “I’m Josh Freeney, and I used to be an FBI agent. I’d be happy to give you a full debriefing. You’re going to have a couple extra guys in your jail tonight.”
I jumped in and laid an apologetic hand on Des’s arm. “It’s a good story. You’ll like it. And when you two are finished, I need to talk to you about a family of Laotian refugees in May County. They qualify for asylum, and I’d like to reassure them so they’ll feel comfortable about coming out of hiding.”
Des’s pause was long and heavy, but then he said, “You gonna lock this place up when you leave? Because I just saw Donna Marie Leebold in the 7-Eleven with an armful of Doritos and bean dip, and she didn’t look like she was going to be ready to come back to work anytime soon.”
I chuckled and nodded. Outed by the clerk and her discretionary spending habits. Some people should never be allowed to win the lottery. Intimate knowledge of your neighbors was both the bane and glory of small towns. Or in this case, a large rural county so sparsely populated the whole thing functioned like a small town.
Josh tossed Lentil’s keys to me and accompanied Des back to his Jeep Grand Cherokee.
oOo
As soon as we got back to Mayfield, I called Walt. Then I dashed downstairs.
Tarq had forwarded the picture of Kamala and her uncle to one of my phones. I rushed into the infirmary, the phone outstretched in my hands. Chet and his family gathered around and immediately erupted into tears of joy.
Such wailing and screaming and dancing around. So I hadn’t been crazy for feeling a little giddy myself earlier. The old lady, Auntie, hung on my neck and kept patting me. I patted her back. I didn’t understand the vast majority of what they said, but I didn’t need to. Their shining eyes were enough for me.
“A few days,” I kept repeating to Chet. “A few days, and you can see her in person.”
Clarice escorted Walt and Emmie to the basement when they arrived. Apparently, Dwayne had hitched a ride too, because he brought up the rear.
Walt and Dwayne did me proud by not exhibiting any signs of surprise while I made the introductions all around. Of course, I’d told Walt about the family, but there’s a pretty wide gap between knowing and seeing. Dwayne, also, is completely unflappable. I love those guys.
When Auntie let go of me in order to cling to Dwayne instead — maybe their similarity in age made him seem approachable to her, although their heights couldn’t have been more different — I swung Emmie up into a tight hug.
“You’re getting too big for me to do this,” I groaned, but I smothered her cheek with kisses anyway.
“Next time I want to go with you,” she whispered, her face so close we were looking at each other cross-eyed.
“These things get decided on a case-by-case basis, sweetheart,” I whispered back. “We’ll see.”
Walt and Dwayne had responsibilities to attend to, but the rest of us stayed up late, far too exhausted and jubilant to actually go to sleep. Plus, Auntie joined Clarice in the kitchen, and they whipped up a magnificent feast.
CHAPTER 21
The next day, Tarq and Loretta arrived bearing gifts. Cash actually. A great deal of it. The proceeds from the exchange of the first gold bar.
And I was struck by how good Tarq looked. His skin was still a disturbing shade of yellow, but he appeared as though he’d filled out a bit. He even bustled, helping us carry in the burlap sacks stuffed with greenbacks. We dumped them in the dumbwaiter and lowered them on screeching pulleys and cables down into the icebox.
It was also wonderful to see Loretta happy and buzzing around. Since the presence of my favorite sharpshooter was no longer a secret from the FBI, she could make social calls whenever she wanted to.
I briefly considered offering her shelter under Mayfield’s roof again, but after a few minutes of watching her interactions with Tarq, I knew they were both much better off being together. Improved health all around. Even, possibly, affection. And I was absolutely not going to interfere with the solace two lonely, life-ravaged people found in each other even if neither one of them would admit it publicly.
Then Tarq and Loretta drove to the mechanics’ garage while Emmie and I followed on foot.
Tarq, acting on behalf of one of the holding companies he’d set up for me, paid our contractors. In cash — which, of course, they appreciated very much. Nothing like generating even more goodwill for the rapid progress of our project. He formed a sort of receiving line along with Dwayne behind a couple planks laid across sawhorses where they checked the contractors’ paperwork and signed off on partial completion stages before handing out payments.
But I’d have to back off for a while — this flashing-cash-about-the-community business. Rumors could get nasty. Speculation rampant. And the last thing I wanted was attention. Particularly attention from certain sectors — both the lowlife criminals and the black-and-white, right-and-wrong guys on the front lines of peacekeeping. I felt like sailing sedately down the middle of the road for a while, at least until I could recover from my most recent escapade.
Emmie had taken Loretta by the hand and led her into the garage to inspect the progress of the renovations. Walt found me standing on the edge of the clearing, watching from a distance.
Silent, he stood beside me, directed his gaze over the garage scene too. Breathed regular, deep steam clouds which rose and merged with mine.
And I felt a huge wash of calm spread over me. Is common sense sexy? I wasn’t sure about that, but it was definitely appealing. Reassuring. Comforting. And I realized I had two men in my life whom I could completely trust — Walt and Tarq.
Make it three. Josh deserved to be on the list too.
Well, actually, Des should also be included. And Gus.
And on the female side I had Clarice and Loretta.
I was running out of fingers on which to count my true friends. Wow. Just wow. An embarrassment of riches.
I turned and beamed up at Walt.
“You gonna tell me what that’s about?” His intense blue gaze, although gentle, was as disconcerting as ever.
I shook my head, but then I changed my mind. “I’m very happy here.” Details would just cloud the issue.
Walt laughed. A true, deep, chuckly rumble that I hadn’t heard before. It made my toes tingle. “I’m glad to hear that, Nora Ingram.”
Sheldon — he’d left off my married surname. Come to think of it, so had Lutsenko when he’d shouted for my benefit before peeling out in his Mercedes.
Had I shifted to acting of my own accord instead of on my husband’s behalf? Other people seemed to think so. It was a thought worth considering — later.
Later, because the phone in my pocket rang, completely ruining the sentimentality of the moment.
“I owe you coffee sometime,” Matt said.
I grinned. “If I remember correctly, we still have your French press in our kitchen, and it’s been getting daily use, so you don’t owe me anything.”
“I wondered where that went,” M
att said.
I quickly lost my grin. “It’s not bugged, is it?”
Matt laughed. “I need to work on my reputation with you. I am capable of doing other things beside planting bugs. I’m also happy to report that there were no unnecessary holes added to anything or anyone yesterday, including the paintings. Lutsenko, in particular, was conscientious about the condition of his precious hide.”
“Has Josh been reinstated?” I asked.
“Whoa,” Matt said. “That decision’s way above my pay grade. Even above his previous supervisor’s pay grade, probably. But he was asked to go to Las Vegas to help escort a couple of the victims, the relatives of your friends, back here.” There was a slight thump, as though he’d plunked his elbows on a desktop and leaned onto them. “So you decided to exchange four priceless paintings, with no guarantee of their preservation, for a handful of enslaved illegals?”
“It was far more than a handful, according to Josh. But just one would have been more than worth it. You would have done the same,” I countered.
Matt was silent for a long minute. “Yeah. But those paintings are going to be a major paperwork headache.”
“All jobs have tedious aspects,” I pointed out. I glanced over at Walt’s profile as a tiny smile lifted the corners of his mouth. A few locks of red-gold hair curled out from under his knit cap. How well he knew about tediousness. But this standing in the cold, seeing new accommodations for his boys being built had to be one of the very best parts of his job.
“Next time you embark on a stunt like this, I’d like to be more than an afterthought to you,” Matt said.
I tipped my head back and studied the treetops, glistening and bent under the weight of a thin coating of ice. So Matt was learning. He knew there’d be another time. I still had four Numeros on my list. While those men were free, I wouldn’t be, not really. So I told Matt the same thing I’d told Emmie. “We’ll see.”
“Does your dad owe anyone money?” Matt asked.
I almost got whiplash from the change in subject. “What? Why? No. Not that I know of,” I blurted in rapid succession.
Walt laid a gloved hand on my shoulder. I covered it with my own, but I stared at the snow crusting the toes of my boots, straining for Matt’s explanation.
“The receptionist at his nursing home positively identified the man who threatened her after trying to force his way into the memory care unit. A guy named Sam Tibbetts. The thing is, Tibbetts has never been known to work for either Lutsenko or Ziggy Beltran, but he has been known to break legs for Martin — also known as Mart the Shark — Zimmermann.” As if he could read my racing mind, Matt added, “He’s on that list of Skip’s clients you gave me. You labeled him Numero Cuatro.”
“My dad’s still in danger then.” I was trying to wrap my head around the idea. “The protection detail is still on site, right?”
“Yeah, don’t worry.” But Matt sounded far too relaxed for my comfort. “I was thinking you might have met Zimmermann in your social circles, when you’d go out with Skip — to the San Francisco Opera, charity fundraisers, that kind of thing. It’s generally known that his business dealings are sleazy, but he donates a lot to local politics, plus to a few big national campaigns in the past, so he’s tolerated by the upper crust. Ring a bell?”
I slowly shook my head. “What kind of business?”
“Illegal betting franchises. You know, like the way Skip franchised car washes? Well, this guy franchises illegal betting parlors. And, believe me, parlor is way too fancy of a word for what goes on in them, but the gist of it is that Zimmermann rakes in a ton of dough every week by demanding and, through the influence of men like Tibbetts, receiving his cut of the proceeds. He has a couple front businesses, men’s clothing retail shops.”
“I’ll have to think,” I murmured. I was drawing a blank, but I’d met so many people at the type of events Matt had mentioned. I had some work to do, replaying my memories, but in black tie, all men pretty much looked the same. It was always the women who stole the show in their sparkly dresses.
“Don’t worry about your dad,” Matt added cheerfully. “I hear he’s really perked up. Pretty lively. His nurse, Arleta, said he’s enjoying having men in shoulder holsters hanging on his every word.”
I couldn’t help chuckling. That was likely true. My poor dad. He probably had them analyzing the quality of the chocolate pudding he was served at snack times too.
The worry dent for which I was solely responsible had become re-embedded between Walt’s eyebrows by the time I hung up. But he slid his hand down my back, strong and sure, then took hold of my hand. “Do you want some good news?”
I nodded.
“The garage will be habitable in less than three weeks. Two, if everything goes perfectly. I was wondering if Clarice would be willing to offer her expertise regarding major appliances since they can be installed soon.”
I laughed. “Just turn her loose, and she’ll haggle the very best deal on the very best equipment before the salespeople even know what hit them.”
Walt’s face didn’t change, but his eyes softened. Something about the way his lashes slanted. And I noticed for the first time that he was getting little crinkle type wrinkles — the good kind. He was smiling at me from the inside. “Come see.” He tugged on my hand and led me across the clearing.
oOo
That afternoon, Gus, sporting his new ear muffs, stopped by to pick up Clarice for a birding tour. He had a complete itinerary planned, pinpointed with the species they were likely to see at each spot. No matter the serious, scientific support for such an outing, it still sounded suspiciously like a date to me. However, I kept that observation to myself.
Gus had brought a bundle of leathers for Clarice. She beckoned me, and I scooted back to her bedroom with her, to act as lady’s maid. Neither of us had ever tried on such clothing before, and it proved to be an adventure in and of itself. Even with all the padded layers Clarice put on before donning the leather chaps and jacket, she swam in them. Clearly, they were Gus-sized.
But he’d said she’d want the protection from the elements and possible road rash that the leathers offered.
“I didn’t know you could get a disease from riding on a motorcycle,” Clarice hissed as I zipped her up. “I’m rethinking this.”
I clicked the snap under her chin. “Too late. Besides I think road rash is like rug burn, except from pavement. Not a disease.” I glanced up to realize my words had not had the pacifying effect I had meant them to. “I’m sure Gus is a safe driver,” I rushed. “He’s just being considerate. Make sure you hang on to him really tightly so you don’t fall off.” I stutter-winked a few times so she’d get my drift.
I ducked before she smacked me. Fortunately, the leathers stiffened her movements, inhibiting the free fling of her arm.
Knowing that Clarice and wildlife are generally not on the best of terms, I was a little worried about the outcome of this expedition. But who’s to say an old bulldog can’t learn new courtesies? She certainly deserved to have a good time.
Emmie and I provided chaperon service to the gate and lingered to see them off. I would have killed to get a picture of Clarice perched on the back of a massive Harley, but she would have killed me if I’d taken it, so I restrained myself. Besides, it would have been difficult to prove her identity if I’d wanted to use the photo for blackmail, since she was encased neck to toes in black leather plus a full-face helmet — another concession Gus must have made for her safety.
“Another package came for you, punkin.” Gus buried his meaty hand in a saddlebag and produced a padded mailing pouch. He winked at me. “You’re getting popular.”
They took off in a swirl of exhaust, Gus’s beard blowing over his shoulder, accompanied by an ear-splitting roar. The road was pretty clear, and it looked like Gus was getting plenty of traction. It sure took a lot of fortitude to be an all-weather biker.
Emmie and I snickered from delight and silliness about Clarice’s situation
all the way back to the mansion. And then we speculated on the kinds of junk food we could snarf in her absence.
We started with peanut butter and sharp cheddar on apple slices — not exactly junk food, but I was counting it as our salad entrée even though it wasn’t green.
Emmie pointed at the package I’d tossed on the kitchen table in my haste to peruse the cupboards and lay out our spread. “Are you going to open it?”
I flipped the package over, and my breath caught in my throat. I knew that handwriting.
But Emmie was watching eagerly, so I had to pretend like this was normal. I attacked the flap with a table knife and created an opening wide enough to get my hand through.
It was hard, glittery and gorgeous — an emerald and diamond bracelet. I had no doubt the stones were genuine. In fact, I felt as though I’d seen it before even though I hadn’t.
I tore the pouch open the rest of the way and double checked. No note. No explanation. But I recognized the bracelet from Matt’s description of what Skip had purchased when he was videotaped at a pawnshop in San Antonio.
Emmie slid off her chair and came to stand by me, leaning against my side the way a dog does when it senses its person is in distress. “It’s pretty.”
I hugged her close and tried to smile down at her, but I doubt I convinced her.
The return address was only a city and state. Silt, Colorado.
There was a town called Silt? Because that’s how I felt. Like I was tethered to shifting sands.
SNEAK PEEK
at the next installment in the Mayfield mystery series
CASH & CARRY
A Mayfield Mystery — book #4
Jerusha Jones
Nora Ingram-Sheldon’s family history is coming back to haunt her — in the form of threatening mob enforcers and extortion, putting all she holds dear in peril. Turns out her connections with organized crime aren’t just complements of her marriage to Skip Sheldon. Her father may also have a dark past. But since Alzheimer’s prevents him from helping his only daughter, Nora has to scan her own memories.
Hide & Find (Mayfield Cozy Mystery Book 3) Page 17
