“She said I didn’t know how to cut a pepper.”
Marco leaned back in the chair. He wasn’t sure he wanted to continue this talk, but he was so damn curious about what happened that night. “Is that a euphemism?”
“A what?”
“Cut a pepper.”
“A euphemism for what?”
Marco shook his head vehemently.
“Oh,” said Abe, placing a hand against his chest. Then he collapsed in another fit of laughter. “I like it. I’m going to use that from now on.”
“Great.”
“Serge and Misha will love it.”
“Glad to help. What were you saying about Maria?”
“She can be a bitch, you know?”
“Right. Abe?”
“They were having a pepper eating contest and Jake was out first. He couldn’t get past the guajillo.”
“Not surprising.”
“Then Cho dropped out, so it left Tag and Maria. Maria produced a red savina.”
Marco gave an understanding exhalation. That’s what Jake was talking about.
“And then, she proceeded…” Abe looked away, waving his hand. “It’s hard for me to say it. It was so insulting.”
Marco waited.
“She called me a wuss.”
Marco caught a burst of laughter, clamping his mouth shut.
“It wasn’t funny, Angel.”
“Of course not.” He picked up his fork and started eating again. “How was Peyton?” He tried to sound casual, but it was impossible where she was concerned.
Abe sighed. “The two of you make me so sad.”
Marco looked up at him. “Why?”
“Look, straight romance doesn’t really do it for me, but you two, you had something. There was real passion there and that doesn’t come around very often. So much of the time we just settle.”
“I destroyed her trust, Abe.”
“So build it back.”
“How?” He took a sip of his water and held it up. “I’ve been clean since last Thursday. Not a drop to drink, but every minute of that time, I’ve wanted to. I’ve thought of it obsessively.”
“Because you’re in constant pain. You need to see Grey, Angel.”
“So he can tell me this is all the better it gets.”
“What if he doesn’t? What if there’s something he can do?”
“Can you promise me that, Abe? Can you promise?”
“No, I can’t.”
“Right.” He set the glass down hard. “So right now, I have hope it’ll get better. I can trick myself into believing that someday there won’t be this pain. If I go to him and he says this is it…I think that will destroy me.”
Abe sighed.
Marco stared at him a moment more, then went back to eating.
“She’s not sleeping.”
Marco paused, but he didn’t look up.
“The nightmares are back. She said you were the only one who could keep them away.”
“What do you want me to do with that?”
“Think about it. Realize that if this is all the better it’s gonna get, is it really better without her?”
“It’s better for her. I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up, how much longer I can stay away from the booze, so yeah, it’s better.”
Abe didn’t answer for a moment, then he leaned forward on the table. “Here’s what I don’t get, Angel. You’re holding out hope that some miracle’s going to happen, that someday you’re going to wake up and your leg will magically be better.”
Marco met his gaze.
“But you won’t go to church, where you might get some real comfort.”
“I don’t believe in miracles anymore, Abe. Church won’t help.”
“And you won’t go to group where you can share your loss with others.”
“To wallow in it? To moan and complain about my sorry life?”
Abe leaned forward. “Then wouldn’t it be better to go see Grey and know there’s nothing more that can be done, instead of sit around hoping for something to fall on you. You’re a man of action, Angel, a man unafraid to face the darkest heart of mankind, but right now, right here, in this, you’re being a wuss. Man up, D’Angelo, and face what you fear most.”
CHAPTER 16
Monday
The library in Santa Cruz was housed in a two story building that stretched for nearly a block. As Peyton and her team entered, she felt the hush of the place descend on her.
Not that she’d been in a talkative mood on the way down here. Dinner at her mother’s had been filled with questions and snide comments from Cliff about her ability to hold a man. He remarked on more than one occasion that she might rethink her sexuality. Peyton had resisted the impulse to tell him he might rethink his face, but she knew it would only hurt her mother. She’d left early and returned home to Pickles and an empty house. She hated the empty house and if Pickles hadn’t been there, needing her, she wasn’t sure what she would have done.
“Get your head in the game, Sparky.”
She glanced over at Radar, pulling herself out of her distraction. He removed his sunglasses and glared at her, then lifted his eyes to Tank. “You stay with us, but Bambi, you go see what you can find out about Horizon. Ask around. See if anyone knows anything.”
“Can Peyton come with me?” she asked, rubbing a hand along Peyton’s arm. Peyton actually would have preferred that. She was tired of Radar’s disapproval.
“Nope, Sparky’s with me. She’s gotta charm this Elder broad.”
Peyton gave him an arch look. “Someone has to since that’s clearly not in your skill set.”
“You wanna dance, little girl, I’ll dance.”
She held up her hands in a motion of surrender, but she never released his gaze. “I’m just stating the obvious.”
Tank and Bambi exchanged anxious looks. Radar marked it and pulled in a deep breath, holding it. Gradually he exhaled, then forced a tight smile. “Let’s just get what we came to get, okay?”
Peyton gave him a nod.
Bambi squeezed her arm, then wandered off, looking back at Peyton. Peyton turned and surveyed the room. Directly before them was a long, curving counter, circa 1970, dotted in regular intervals with a computer. One woman manned the counter, her long brown hair falling to her shoulders in a blanket of loose curls. She appeared to be about 30 or so with a pretty face and stylish clothes. Definitely not what Peyton thought of as a librarian.
Striding up to the desk, she plastered a bright smile on her lips. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” the woman said, eyeing the two men behind Peyton. “How can I help you?”
Peyton reached for her badge and laid it on the counter. She didn’t have the patience this morning to do small talk. “I’m Special Agent Peyton Brooks with the FBI.”
“And you’re investigating the mermaid.”
Wow! Everyone in this town kept themselves well informed. Except to be fair, the media had been hounding this case nearly 24 hours a day.
“Right. We’re looking for Mrs. Elder.”
The woman nodded and went to a phone, picking up the receiver. She pressed a few buttons and listened. “Lois? The FBI would like to talk to you.” She listened some more, then she nodded. “Okay, bye.”
Replacing the phone on the cradle, she motioned to a set of stairs tucked away behind her, leading to the second floor. “Go up the stairs, turn left and walk through the Young Reader’s lounge area. Lois Elders is in her office next to the bathrooms.”
“Thank you. And you are?”
“Cheryl Watts.”
Peyton passed her a card. “Cheryl, if you have any information on the case we’re working, I’d appreciate a call.”
She picked up the card. “Special Agent Brooks, I spend most of my time here, or with my kids. I have four of them. Between soccer and ballet, I don’t really have time to watch TV or keep up with the local news.”
“But you work in a library. Peo
ple must talk to you.”
“Only to find something they want. It’s a library. Silence is sort of the norm.”
Peyton sighed. This case didn’t have to be this slippery. If only Radar would follow her instincts and get a warrant for the Horizon farm. “Thank you, anyway.”
They walked to the stairs. Tank’s longer stride took him to the top quicker than she and Radar, but Peyton suspected Radar hung back just so he could hiss instructions at her. “Keep focused on why we’re here. We’re investigating a mermaid disposal, nothing else. We aren’t here about a cult or trying to get involved where we don’t belong.”
“I’ve got it, Radar,” she said through clenched teeth. “But you do understand that investigating the mermaid disposal might at some point take us to Horizon.”
“I don’t understand that and neither do you. You have no proof the two are connected. Leave it at that. Work with what’s in front of you. You’ve got to stop making speculations and inferences. Use only what evidence you have and don’t go searching for unrelated links.”
Peyton rolled her eyes as they topped the stairs. The Young Reader’s Lounge was a set of brightly colored mats with the letters of the alphabet on them, hooked together like puzzle pieces. Scattered over the mats were overstuffed pillows and beanbag chairs. Children lounged around the room, reading silently or whispering to their parents. Peyton smiled at a dark haired boy who glanced up at her. He returned the smile, then went back to his book.
Tank waited on the other side of the room with a small woman whose grey hair and cat-eye spectacles screamed librarian. She wore a cardigan sweater, a long plaid skirt, and sensible shoes. She exuded a grandmotherly aura that Peyton found immediately disarming.
She held out her hand when they stopped before her.
“Special Agent Brooks, ma’am, and you must be Mrs. Elder.”
“I am. Thomas has been filling me in on your case.” She motioned behind her to her office. “Won’t you come in?”
The office was pleasant – the walls pine paneling, the floor carpeted in quiet-enhancing brown Berber. She had a small wooden desk, but a circle of armchairs took up most of the space. The desk and the chairs overlooked the wall of windows that allowed Mrs. Elder to survey her charges in the Young Readers’ lounge.
“Please have a seat.”
Peyton and Tank sat down in the nearest chair, but Radar stood, waiting for Mrs. Elder to work her way into the circle. Then he produced his badge and offered it to her. “I’m Carlos Moreno, ma’am. I run point on this team.”
Her eyes shifted from the badge to his face and back again, then she took her seat. “I’m aware of that, Agent Moreno. Thomas filled me in on all of your names while we waited for you.”
Radar shot a look at Peyton and Tank, then sank into the chair, leaving a gap between him and everyone else. Peyton frowned at him. What the hell was up his ass today?
“Mrs. Elder, thank you for seeing us.”
“It’s my pleasure. The media have been here, searching through our archives, asking my staff ridiculous questions. I know you’re doing everything you can, but the faster you get this case solved, the quicker our lives return to normal.”
Peyton nodded. “Understood. I’m sure the media have asked you this, but do you have any idea who might have given birth to the baby we found?”
“I’m afraid not. It’s a big city and there are a lot of tourists who come through.”
“Right.” Peyton glanced at Radar, but he was watching out the windows at the kids. “Mrs. Elder, a few days ago a man came to see me. His name was Jeff King. He had some letters that were written to his mother by a young man named Finn Getter.”
Recognition lit in Mrs. Elder’s eyes. Radar shifted around and studied her.
“In the letters, Finn mentioned you. He said you helped him use the computers, look things up, gave him advice.”
“Yes, I did.” She clasped her hands in her lap. “I knew Finn very well.”
“I need to find Finn, Mrs. Elder.”
“That’s going to be hard, Agent Brooks. Finn lived on a very secluded farm.”
“Horizon?”
“Yes.”
“When you say farm, do you mean commune?”
“I do.” She glanced at the two men, then shifted weight. “I know how that sounds to law enforcement, but there are a number of communes in the Santa Cruz mountains. Mostly they’re people who for various reasons want to live off the grid. I can understand that desire when I see my city overrun with news crews, let me tell you.”
Peyton gave her an understanding smile. “Are you familiar with Horizon?”
“Only from what Finn told me. He struggled a bit with the rules there, but for the most part, he felt it was a very positive way to live.”
“You said it would be hard to find Finn now. What did you mean?”
“Finn turned twenty-one. In his family, for want of a better word, young men are encouraged to leave at twenty-one to make their own lives.”
“And where did Finn leave to?”
“San Francisco.”
“He told you this?”
“He came to see me the day before his birthday. He told me that was his plan. I asked him to write, but well...you know how it is with young people. They get so involved in their lives they forget.”
Peyton looked at her own clasped hands. “I read all of the letters Finn wrote to Aster King, Jeff’s mother. In the last letter, he was pretty bitter. Did he mention that to you?”
Mrs. Elder sighed. “Yes. He thought he’d fallen in love with a young lady, Molly as I remember it. He asked her to leave with him and at the time, she agreed, but she changed her mind. Finn was devastated, especially since his own sister, Janice changed her mind too. He’d planned to take Janice, Janice’s daughter, and Molly with him. When the women backed out, he felt lost and alone.”
“He blamed a man named Thatcher.”
“Yes, well, we all blame our father figures, don’t we? I’m not saying Thatcher doesn’t run a tight ship, but for everything I’ve heard of him, he’s fair and accepting of his people’s decisions. If the girls had decided to leave, Thatcher wouldn’t have prevented it.”
“He denied Finn’s mother medical attention.”
Mrs. Elder held out her hands. “You have to look at it from their perspective, Agent Brooks. Those people chose to live off the grid, they chose to give up the trapping of modern society for ill or good. Who am I to judge their choices? Who are you?”
Peyton sat back in her chair. “If young women are being held against their will, if they’re being forced into inbreeding…”
“Who said anything about inbreeding, Agent Brooks?”
“A mermaid was found floating at Natural Bridges.”
“But you have no proof it came from Horizon, now, do you?”
Peyton glanced over at Tank. He shrugged.
“I was raised as a Jehovah Witness, Agent Brooks. Are you familiar with that religion?”
“I am.”
“It wasn’t so long ago that we had to contend with people calling us a cult because of our belief system. I think it’s a dangerous practice when outsiders choose to label others based on their mores, don’t you, Agent Moreno?”
Radar sat up straight. “Yes, ma’am,” he said.
Peyton ground her teeth, slowly rising to her feet. “And I think it’s dangerous when people turn a blind eye to abuses just because someone slips the mantle of religion around himself. I guess we’ll just have to disagree on this point, Mrs. Elder. So, San Francisco, huh?”
“What, Agent Brooks?”
“Finn Getter went to San Francisco?”
“That’s right.”
“Excellent. Then I’ll just track him down and see how he feels about Thatcher and Horizon. It’ll be better to get it from the horse’s mouth anyway.”
With that she turned and walked to the door, yanking it open. Without looking back, she headed for the stairs, and a moment later, Tank c
aught up with her. They met Bambi at the bottom.
“Anything?” Bambi asked.
“Finn Getter went to the City. We need to locate him. Did you get anything?”
“I talked with some teenagers who knew of Horizon. Some of the Horizon people came to their school, distributing fliers and asking them if they were tired of being infected by modern society.”
“What does that mean? What were they trying to do?”
“The fliers apparently invited them to a prayer meeting in a field near the Horizon farm. None of them went to it. Their parents forbade them.”
“Huh?” said Tank, glancing back as Radar came down the stairs.
“Well, that’s the very image we want to project, Sparky. Rudeness and intolerance.”
“Are you serious? Did you hear her defend a cult?”
“I heard her give a very reasoned response to your concerns.”
Peyton gaped at him.
“Radar, something’s not right with this Horizon place,” said Tank.
Radar’s eyes whipped to his face. “You too? You heard her say those women chose to stay. Why would they do that if they were being abused?”
“Stockholm syndrome?” said Tank.
Peyton held up a hand.
“Bull shit. Show me the proof.”
“I don’t have proof, Radar. I just have a bad feeling about this.”
“A feeling? You have a feeling? Since when do you have feelings, Tank?”
“Hold on a minute,” said Peyton, stepping between the two of them.
Bambi moved to her side. “That was uncalled for, Radar. Besides, they’re right. This just isn’t adding up.”
Radar’s angry gaze passed over the three of them, then he threw up his hands. “I don’t need this shit right now, Goddamn it!” And he turned, storming across the library.
Tank started after him, but Peyton pressed a hand to his chest, stopping him. “Let me. I think this is about me anyway. We’ll meet you at the Suburban.”
Tank and Bambi started to protest, but Peyton walked away from them, hurrying after Radar. She found him on the street, pacing up and down. He had his sunglasses on and his hands shoved into the pockets on his trousers.
“What’s going on, Radar?” she said.
Mermaids in the Pacific (Peyton Brooks, FBI Book 2) Page 23
