Long Time Gone: Konigsburg, Book 4

by Meg Benjamin

  Pittman was a problem. If he didn’t keep Pittman happy, the mayor would complain to the council and it would be a mark against him. So he had to make an effort. He was making one now, but it wasn’t easy, given what a jerk Pittman was. He’d always managed to avoid crap like this as a working cop. Now he was an administrator, and apparently he was supposed to be fascinated by Pittman’s latest version of the World According to Hilton.

  Instead, he looked out the window of the restaurant and let his mind ramble back to Morgan.

  He had a feeling she’d been as shocked as he was by that kiss last night. As a rule, he didn’t go around making out with women he barely knew, no matter how appealing they were. It was also one of the more memorable kisses he’d had in his fairly routine romantic career. Most of the women he knew were practical about what they expected from him, and he pretty much gave them what they wanted. A lot of them had been cops like him—they understood each other. Of course, his last relationship in Konigsburg had been a disaster, given that the woman in question turned out to be a psycho bitch, but she wasn’t exactly par for the course.

  A picture of Morgan’s face popped into his mind—her stunned expression when his cell phone had brought them both up for air. That definitely hadn’t been par for the course. For either of them.

  He liked the way her chin came down in that rounded point. She had a slight widow’s peak too, that emphasized the heart shape of her face. A sprinkle of freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose, like cinnamon on sugar.

  Cinnamon on sugar. Lord have mercy. Toleffson, you really are losing your mind. And your focus.

  Morgan Barrett was obviously a very dangerous woman.

  At the lectern, Pittman was finally wrapping up. “We have some big weeks ahead of us here, leading up to the Wine and Food Festival at the end of August. Y’all got your tickets to sell now.” He gave them a wide, professional smile that probably should have had cameras clicking in front of it. “And don’t forget the annual motorcycle rally this weekend. Bigger and better than ever.”

  Erik stared at him. Motorcycle rally? This weekend? What motorcycle rally? He looked around the room. Most of the faces looked resigned. A couple looked downright mulish.

  Pittman’s smile became even broader as he tried to warm up the audience. “According to the latest figures I have, we can expect over three hundred bikes. How about that, folks! That’s a hundred more than last year!”

  Pittman’s assistant began to clap enthusiastically. After a moment, a few more people, like Tom Ames, the owner of the Faro tavern, joined him. Erik glanced at Allie Maldonado. Her arms were folded across her chest—she was very pointedly not applauding.

  After a moment, Arthur Craven raised his hand. “I thought we’d agreed to limit the registrations to two hundred this year, Mr. Mayor.”

  “Limit registration?” Hilton raised his eyebrows theatrically. “We’ve got people who want to come to Konigsburg, Arthur. Why would we want to limit their numbers?”

  Erik heard a few grumbles from behind him. Apparently, that question wasn’t as rhetorical as Hilton thought it was.

  “C’mon, folks!” he cried. “Let’s all work together and make this the best rally we’ve ever had. Go, Konigsburg!” Pittman pumped his hand in the air like a cheerleader. His assistant clapped even more enthusiastically. Some of the merchants joined in, but if they were excited, Erik thought they were doing a great job of hiding it. Even Ames looked like he’d rather be someplace else.

  After Craven gaveled the meeting to a close, Erik headed for the front. Pittman glowered at his assistant, maybe because he didn’t seem to be surrounded by nearly as many enthusiastic supporters as he might have expected. In fact, the unenthusiastic non-supporters were all heading in the opposite direction, toward the exit.

  “Motorcycle rally?” Erik managed to keep his voice mild. Yelling at Pittman was not currently part of his job description and would be an example of gross stupidity.

  “Annual event.” Pittman began tossing notes into his briefcase, watching the disappearing hordes at the exit without making eye contact.

  Erik gritted his teeth, feeling the slow burn deep in his gut. Cool it. “Three hundred bikers, you say? Shouldn’t you have passed this news on to the police department, Mr. Mayor?” He gave Pittman his best viper-getting-ready-to-eat-the-sparrow smile.

  Pittman finally turned to look at him. He seemed far too pleased with himself all of a sudden. Erik felt a sense of approaching doom.

  “Well now, Chief, I told the police department. I even passed on the permit application from the rally organizers. Several days ago.” Pittman narrowed his eyes slightly. “Seems like you’ve got a failure in communication over there in your department. Better look into that. You wouldn’t want to miss anything important.”

  Erik’s smile didn’t waver. He’d spent a lot of time learning to hide how pissed he was about anything. “I’ll have to check that permit, then, won’t I? Make sure it’s all in order.”

  “You do that, Toleffson.” Pittman’s voice became arctic. “Those bikers bring in several thousand bucks’ worth of business with this rally. I wouldn’t want anything or anyone to screw it up. Bad for the town, you know.” He turned and stalked toward the exit, his assistant trailing behind him.

  “Right.” Erik watched Pittman’s retreating back as he unfisted his hands. “Nothing bad for the town.” At the moment, he felt like torturing Ham Linklatter in some particularly lengthy and excruciating way, which might be bad for the town but would be great for his own disposition.

  Morgan watched Nando Avrogado step carefully into the tasting room. He seemed to be doing his best to be inconspicuous. Given his size, that might be difficult, and given Carmen’s bloodhound abilities, avoiding her would probably be impossible.

  The three people at the tasting room bar glanced up as he came in, then ignored him. They looked like yuppies from Austin, people who assumed they knew a lot more about wine than any small-town cop. They were, in fact, dead wrong about that, as Morgan knew only too well. Like all of Ciro and Carmen’s kids, Nando had been drinking wine since he was in middle school, and he could probably tell the difference between sangiovese and syrah with a single sniff.

  Nando caught sight of her and smiled, looking faintly embarrassed. “My dad around?”

  “In the barrel room. I can call him.”

  He shook his head quickly. “Nah. I’ll just leave him a note.”

  Kit was doing another one of her sales jobs on the Austinites. “This next one is our primitivo. Genetically, it’s the same grape they use for Zinfandel, but we do it a little differently.”

  Nando’s eyes narrowed as he watched her pour. Morgan fought to keep from grinning. No doubt visions of TABC officers invading the place were dancing through his head.

  “I’ll be with you in a moment, sir.” Kit smiled at him, her teeth sparkling against her olive complexion. “Would you like to do a tasting today?”

  Nando folded his arms across his chest and gave her a definite Officer of the Law look, then turned back to Morgan.

  Morgan smiled. “This is Kit Maldonado—she’s Allie’s niece.”

  “So? You think that’ll cut any ice with the TABC?”

  “Now why exactly would the TABC be interested in Allie’s niece?” She gave him a wide-eyed look, her lips curving into a demure smile. “Why, officer, you don’t think I’d use an underage pourer, do you?”

  Nando frowned, his lips thinning.

  “Relax, Ace.” She put a hand on his arm. “She’s twenty-one. I saw her driver’s license. So did your boss, for that matter.”

  “Toleffson?” Nando gave her an incredulous look. “He was checking IDs?”

  Morgan beckoned toward the cash register, where Kit was ringing up the wine purchases. “Hey, Kit, this is Nando Avrogado, Ciro’s son. Got your ID handy?”

  Nando shook his head, backpedaling. “That’s okay. I’ll take your word for it.”

  But Kit pulled o
ut a black leather purse and retrieved her billfold without looking at him. “Here.” She handed her driver’s license across the bar. “Everybody seems to be checking it these days.”

  Nando cleared his throat, as he glanced at the license. “Doesn’t do you justice.”

  “Thanks.” Her voice was still slightly sharp. “Maybe I could have a T-shirt made up that says Twenty-one as of May 23.”

  “How long have you worked here?”

  He gave her his killer smile, what Morgan thought of as the Nando Special. She felt like shaking her head. You’ll need to do better than that, Ace.

  Kit narrowed her eyes again. “I started after May 23. Believe me, I’ve always been legal.”

  His jaw tensed. Morgan would bet he was always the “good cop” in any interrogation. He probably wasn’t used to hostility. Particularly not from good-looking women.

  “Glad to hear it. ‘Legal’ is something I’m always in favor of.”

  “Oh knock it off, both of you.” Morgan took the driver’s license out of his hand and gave it back to Kit. “You’re as bad as Arthur and the pups.”

  He seized on the change of subject. “So where is the mountain lion, anyway? Out doing a little hunting?”

  “Probably. I haven’t seen him all day.” She frowned. “Come to think of it, he didn’t come in for lunch.”

  “Probably found himself something tasty on the hoof, so to speak.”

  She shook her head. “He doesn’t usually eat what he catches. He’s a picky eater anyway.”

  Kit raised her eyebrows. “Arthur is picky?”

  “Believe it or not. He chews on things, but he usually just leaves the carcass lying around with some strategic puncture wounds.”

  Kit grimaced. “Way more information than I wanted, boss.”

  Nando grinned again, charm oozing from every pore.

  Kit glanced at him and then grinned back. Morgan suddenly felt like she should find something urgent to do in her office.

  “About time you got here,” Ciro’s voice boomed from the doorway.

  Nando managed not to roll his eyes, but Morgan guessed it was a near thing.

  Ciro strode into the room. “Didn’t you get my message?”

  Nando nodded. “I got it, Dad. Didn’t think I’d see you. I was gonna leave a note with Morgan.”

  Ciro shrugged. “No need now. Let me take you over to get a look at that property of Powell’s.”

  “I’m on duty right now, Dad, I just stopped by to ask Morgan a couple more questions.”

  “On duty?” Ciro snorted. “Driving around in that sorry excuse for a police car?”

  Morgan watched Nando’s shoulders stiffen. As a veteran of more than a few family battles herself, she could sympathize. But judging from Ciro’s face, she didn’t think Nando would win this one.

  “I don’t have time now. Maybe later.” Nando sounded like he was talking through gritted teeth.

  “Later?” Ciro’s face darkened.

  “Ciro?” Morgan’s voice was soft, but both men turned toward her. “We need to talk some more about that land before we do anything else about it. Erik Toleffson said there’s a possible water problem up there.”

  “Toleffson? How does Toleffson know anything about that land?”

  “Mr. Powell said some of his goats got sick. That’s why Erik and Cal were up there the day I fell. We need to have him test the water before we go any further with leasing the land.”

  Ciro’s eyes narrowed. “Powell won’t like that.”

  “Probably not. But I don’t think we’d want to lease someplace where the ground water is tainted.”

  Nando shook his head. “That’s not likely. From what I understand, it’s just the stock tank.”

  “And if it is, we can go ahead. But we need to see the results first.”

  Ciro shook his head slowly. “We might lose the chance to lease the place if we push Powell too hard. You sure about this, Morgan?”

  She kept her voice level, but her fingernails cut into her palms as she clenched her fists. “I can call Dad if you want me to. I’m not asking you to give up the lease completely. Just get the water tested.” And stop acting like everything I suggest is suspect.

  “There is a problem up there, Dad. It may not be serious, but Powell does have some dead goats.”

  Ciro glanced at his son, then back at Morgan, his expression still dubious. “I’ll think about it.” He turned and stalked toward the work area in back.

  “Thanks,” Morgan murmured.

  Nando gave her a dry smile. “No problem. It got me out of driving up to Powell’s goat pasture, at least for the time being.”

  Ham Linklatter wasn’t at the station when Erik got back from the Merchants Association meeting because it was his turn on night duty. Helen Kretschmer dug through Ham’s desk without a qualm and unearthed the permit application for the motorcycle rally from the back of a drawer, along with the log Linklatter was supposed to be keeping to record any night calls.

  The log was blank. The application wasn’t.

  Helen recommended some creative uses for Ham’s entrails, which Erik promised to consider. She watched him as he scanned the permit application, her arms folded across her chest.

  He sighed and dropped the application back onto the desk. “Looks okay to me. This thing goes on every year?”

  “No sir. Not every year. Sometimes they go to Big Bend or somewhere like that. But we get them every couple years or so.” She raised her chin, regarding him through narrowed, gunmetal gray eyes.

  “They give you any problems?”

  Her expression suddenly became as blank as Ham’s log. “Brody didn’t have any. But Brody was Brody.”

  Erik studied her. Helen was the only person besides Linklatter who’d been with the department when Brody had been chief, but no one had ever implied that she’d known anything about his schemes. He’d never thought she was one of Brody’s fans, but maybe he’d been wrong. “What’s that mean, Helen?”

  She shrugged and turned back toward her desk. “Brody had ways of taking care of problems before they got to be problems.”

  He took a breath, ready to grill her for details.

  She gave him a narrow look over her shoulder. “I figure you’ll have to find your own way of doing that, Chief.”

  Great. A ringing vote of confidence there. Maybe Nando would know something about the way Brody had handled the bikers. He’d see if he could find him later tonight. After he’d eviscerated Ham Linklatter.

  Ham came in at five, ready for the evening shift.

  Erik was waiting, the permit application in his hand. He held it below Ham’s nose. “You forget to pass this on to me, Linklatter? Lucky we found it in your desk.”

  Ham’s face, already one of the whitest Erik had ever seen, turned the color of a snowdrift. His mouth opened and closed several times without a sound. His pale blue eyes seemed to sink even deeper into his skull.

  “Yes sir,” he muttered. “I guess I did forget.”

  Erik folded the paper and put it into his jacket pocket. “Like I said, lucky Helen was able to find it for me. Otherwise, we might’ve had some problems this weekend. Seeing as how I wouldn’t have known we were due to have three hundred bikers camping in the city park.”

  “No sir.” Ham cleared his throat, dropping his gaze to the floor. “I mean, they won’t all be in the park. Only twenty spaces there.”

  Erik raised an eyebrow. “So where will the rest camp?”

  Behind him, Helen snorted. “Camp? They don’t camp. Not them boys. You check the B and Bs. My guess is you won’t find a vacancy in town for the weekend.”

  Erik frowned. What the hell kind of biker stayed in a bed and breakfast? “That right, Linklatter?”

  Ham swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down his skinny throat. “Some of ’em will be there, sure. Some of ’em will stay at the motels too. But some of ’em have their own hunting property up here. Lots of ’em stay out in the hills.”
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  “Hunting property?” Erik had known a few Bandidos in his time. He tried to picture them hunting anything legal. It did not compute.

  Helen grinned from her desk. “Not like the old days, huh, Chief?”

  Erik frowned. He had a sudden mental image of Helen on a Harley wielding a tire iron. Not outside the realm of possibility. “Guess not.”

  Ham nodded, smiling now. “Yeah, those old boys come up here to have themselves a good time. No trouble. Just a lot of bikes up and down Main for a couple of days. Sounds like thunder sometimes.”

  “No drunks?” Erik skewered Linklatter with a glance, just to let him know he wasn’t exactly home free yet.

  “Oh, well, yeah, I mean I think they drink some, sure.” Linklatter swallowed hard.

  “You ‘think’?” Erik had that same approaching doom feeling he’d had with Pittman at the luncheon. “Weren’t you here when they came through the last time?”

  Linklatter slid a finger between his collar and his neck, as if it were too tight for comfort. “Well, I was here, yes sir, but the chief had me directing traffic on Main most of the weekend.”

  “All of the weekend.” Helen’s voice was sharp. “Linklatter was out on the street. Brody and Morris handled everything else.”

  “You weren’t here either?” Erik frowned.

  “Chief said he didn’t need me. Gave me the weekend off. Just as well—I had people coming in.”

  Oh, yeah, Helen on a hog with a tire iron, riding at the head of a pack of Bandidos. Made perfect sense. “Anybody else here then?”