Allison moans.
“We ate.” I swing my arm around indicating the mess on the coffee table. “Grab something to eat and join us. Tell us what’s happening.”
“I can’t believe how you eat, Pratt.” Jeremy starts clearing the coffee table.
“Hey, leave that. We’ll clean our mess.” I gather an armload of bottles and dishes and follow him into the kitchen. Allison trails behind with the rest. I start rinsing things in the sink and Allison grabs them and opens the dishwasher.
“Wrong one, Allison.” Jeremy points to the dishwasher on the other side of the sink.
“He rotates. Clean dishes in one, dirty in the other. Never has to put them in the cupboard,” I explain to Allison.
She explodes with that infectious har, har, har. I can’t help it, I join her.
“Okay, you two. It’s not that funny.”
“Don’t mind us,” I say between giggles. “We might be a little drunk.”
Jeremy makes himself a tuna sandwich, piled high on some delicious looking multigrain bread. “Either of you want a sandwich?”
Allison shakes her head but she’s drooling over his sandwich.
Jeremy conjures two more sandwiches and hands them to us. He opens the cupboard looking for chips.
“No chips, we ate them all.” Allison starts laughing again.
Jeremy rolls his eyes, goes to the fridge, finds the last two Coronas and offers them to us.
“For you, Jeremy.” I try not to smile. “Tomorrow I’ll replenish your groceries. Sorry.”
“Hey, Pratt. Don’t worry about it.” He grins at me and holds out an arm. The other hand is occupied, feeding his face with a sandwich. “I shouldn’t leave two women alone in my house with nothing to do.”
I move around the counter and let him give me a hug. “You must have had a tough day. What’s the story with the guy at the airport?”
“The worst part was that someone threw up next to the luggage return. It happened the last time, too, but at least this time they missed the body.”
Allison almost chokes on her sandwich. Her face turns pink and she ducks her head. “Me.” She points at her chest. “I’m not used to dead bodies, I guess.”
“Did you manage to escape with my car intact?”
“Yes, it’s safe in your garage without even a ding,” I answer.
“What’s the story with the body at the airport?” Allison asks. “Ernie tells me you found another one the same way, last week.”
“Both dead guys at the airport were drug dealers. We think we have the shooter this time. We caught him before the body turned up as baggage. He was working security at the airport and his gun had been fired.”
“Did he shoot the guy?” I ask. “I don’t remember seeing any blood.”
“Yes, but there wasn’t much blood, and it was under the body. The last one had his neck snapped, no gun shots to attract attention. He got sloppy this time. Claimed he shot at the Hummer, but according to his co-workers, he was inside when the SUV hit the guard.”
“Why were both bodies all skewed, like broken puppets?” I ask.
“The sorting and handling equipment doesn’t deal well with bodies.”
“I’m never going to check my bags again,” Allison says.
“So who is this guy killing dealers?” I ask.
“Not sure. Name’s Albert Conklin. He has no record. He mumbled something about Colombians.”
“Is he talking?”
“No way. He’s more afraid of his bosses than the cops. They’ll get to him in or out of jail if he talks.”
“Can’t the cops hide him? Give him a new identity?” Allison asks.
“You’ve been watching too much TV,” Jeremy says.
“You could put him on Ernie’s island. You’ve got it covered.”
“Oh my gawd! Can you picture Mom’s reaction if I added a killer to our houseguest list?”
We talk into the wee hours. By the time we’re ready to crash, none of us wants to take the trip to the island. Allison accepts Jeremy’s invitation to use his guestroom.
“Ernie, have you seen this?” Allison calls from the bedroom door. She’s lost in one of Jeremy’s shirts hanging almost to her knees. I trot down to see what she’s talking about. Exercise equipment fills the room: weights, a stationary bike, a boxing bag, and some equipment I can’t even name. I always wondered if Jeremy went to a gym—he has one right here. There’s a small bed tucked behind it all.
“Don’t jump out of bed in the middle of the night.” As I head to the other end of the house and Jeremy, I can hear Allison’s har, har behind me.
#
Can’t sleep. My mind circles around all the information I’ve gathered in the last few days, making no sense of it.
“Are you sleeping, Jeremy?” At least he’s not snoring.
“I’m not now.” He rolls over and wraps his arms around me, nuzzling my neck. His warm male aroma invades my senses and turns on all my switches.
“I wanted to ask you a question.”
“The answer is yes.” His hands wander and his nuzzling moves lower.
“About Alex, Allison’s brother.”
Jeremy pulls back a little.
“Someone might have taken him for his money. They’re both loaded, you know. Allison and Alex.”
“No, I didn’t know.”
I tell him some of what Allison told me while we stuffed our faces all afternoon.
“Wait,” Jeremy interrupts. “If someone kidnapped Alex for money, why hasn’t anyone heard? They should have asked for ransom.”
“Yeah, I wondered about that, too.”
“Any more wild theories?”
“Nope. Maybe he just wanted to get away. He was unhappy about Allison’s marriage. He doesn’t like her husband.”
“Now that sounds more likely.” His hands are busy again and I lose my train of thought. No more conversation.
Monday
Chapter 38
I fumble for my cell phone, which is playing “Wake up Little Suzie.” Someone is playing a joke on me with the ringtones. Jeremy is no longer in bed.
“Ummph.”
“Ernie? Is that you? This is Susan.”
“Yeah, Susan.”
“I need to go to work, Ernie.”
“Call in sick.”
“I already did, but my boss wasn’t happy about it. He wants me to come in this afternoon.”
“What time is it?”
“Eleven.” Jeez, Pratt, you gonna sleep all day?
“Ask Mom or Jim to take you.”
“Jim’s in Fort Myers. But that’s not the only reason I called.”
I wait for an explanation. Nothing.
“Why did you call?”
“George wants to meet me.”
“When? Where?” Now I’m awake. I sit on the edge of the bed. “You didn’t tell anyone where you’re staying, did you?”
“No. I didn’t tell anyone I’m on your island. George wants to meet tonight at my apartment.”
“No way. You told him where you live? I thought you were keeping that secret.”
“It’s not a secret if someone already broke in. Besides, I’m not living there.”
“You can’t go back there. In fact, I don’t think you should go to work this afternoon.” What were you thinking, Pratt? You hide her away and then tell her it’s okay to go to work?
“I might lose my job.”
“Your boss can’t fire you if you’re sick, can he?”
“Don’t know.”
“We’ll find you another job if he does.”
Silence again.
“Do you have a way to reach George? Can you call him and tell him to meet you someplace else?”
“No. I don’t know how to reach him.”
“Okay. We’ll figure something out. Don’t go to work.”
I call Mom and tell her to keep Susan on the island, then follow the sound of Allison’s “har, har” to Jeremy’s office where they
’re working on his computer. Is her constant laughter normal or is it nervous energy, covering up?
“Hey, I got a call—Susan wanting to go to work. Mom is holding her captive on the island.”
“Not a bad prison,” Allison says.
“George Stark called her. He wants to meet at her apartment tonight. She has no way to get back to him to change it. Can we protect her?”
“We’ll do something,” Jeremy says.
“What’s up?” I point at the computer.
“I’ve been checking with port authorities in the Caymans and Jamaica.” Jeremy turns to the computer. “Talked to someone on Little Cayman who says Alex arrived there in August last year and they have no record of his leaving.” A wave of irritation hits me. Why are they doing my job? Give it up, Pratt. Use all the help you can get.
“Did he have records of the others? George and Bruce and Jack?” I ask.
“Yes, coming and going. Twice.”
“What are you checking now?”
“Hotels and dive shops. So you can call around and see if anyone knows him.”
“Thanks, you make my job easy.”
“Even if you don’t find him by calling, I want to go there and look,” Allison says. “I’ll cover your expenses if you’ll come with me.” She gives me a big smile. She looks more relaxed this morning. Maybe it’s the lead on Alex. I hope Jeremy hasn’t been giving her his relaxation treatment. Damn it, Pratt. Don’t be jealous.
“I’d be happy to help you. That’s my job. Of course, a vacation in the Caymans doesn’t sound bad, either.”
“I don’t think you two gals should go alone.” Jeremy frowns.
“Ah, the protector is talking. Or are you looking for a vacation? Maybe we want to see if we can snag some guys. Should be loaded with students, soon.” Don’t discourage him, Pratt. You know you’d rather go with Jeremy than Allison.
He grins. “Now I know you need protection. Guess I’ll have to tag along.”
“Jeremy, I’ll pay for you, too. I know you’d be a big help looking for Alex.”
“Not necessary.”
“Consider it a side job.”
Jeremy grunts. I can see he’s not comfortable with a woman paying his way. Is he too macho for you, Pratt? Why do you keep questioning if Jeremy is good for you? Enjoy the moment.
“Let me get busy making some calls.” I change the subject.
“How about tonight? When is Susan planning to meet George?” Jeremy asks.
“I’ll check. Are you working tonight?”
“Noon ’til eight.”
“If it’s early, can you make it?”
“I’ll bring the whole force.”
I call Susan. “What time did you tell George to meet you?”
“He said between eight and ten. He wasn’t sure.”
It’s going to be an interesting night.
#
Big Jim comes to get us so that Jeremy can get to work on time. As soon as we hit the house, I head for my computer, check my email, do some work on some outstanding data mining for an insurance company, and search the Internet for info.
There’s an ad in my email for an online phone service. Why didn’t I think of that when mine were dead? I have Skype, but I never use it. Everyone wants to do the video thing, and I hate putting my mug on the screen. Wow! This ad says free calls to the Caribbean. Perfect! I don’t want to rack up those steep long-distance charges on my cell. Sometimes it takes very little to excite you, Pratt.
I try it by calling my own number. This time it plays “You’re Always a Woman to Me.” Jeremy has definitely been messing with my ringtones.
I call the list of hotels, asking for Alex Rodgers. No one knows him. He could be using a different name. Maybe Allison has ideas about that.
It’s warm today, and I find Mom, Susan, and Allison sitting on beach chairs with the water lapping their feet. The boys are playing in the sand. Manuel and Jim build things up and Lucky knocks them down. He’s like a giant puppy, rolling, bouncing around, barking, giving Manuel slurpy kisses. The music of Manuel’s glee fills the air.
“Allison, hate to bother you, but does Alex ever use a different name.”
She gives me a weird look.
“You know. Alias, nickname, a pet name, a teasing name. Anything he might call himself or someone else might call him besides Alex.”
“He used to call himself Alexander the Great when he was about five or six.”
“Big help. I haven’t found anyone who knows him. Thought maybe he was using another name. Any ideas?”
“There was a short time in middle school when we called each other Batman and Robin.” Now she’s grinning. “Sonny and Cher when we were singing in the school chorus. I know. Not much help. How about Alice and White Rabbit?”
I shake my head and start to leave.
“Wait. I talked to Sally,” Allison says.
“What about?”
“Someone’s been dribbling money out of Alex’s bank account, and she doesn’t think it’s legitimate.”
“Why not legitimate?”
“Because it’s weird transactions, not ATM or withdrawals or checks. It looks to her like someone might be hacking the account.”
“I might be able to decipher it. Will she give me access to it? Do you trust me not to steal?” This is right up my alley.
“I already have the login information for you. I know you’re good at computers.” She digs into her pocket, pulls out a piece of paper, and hands it to me.
I bolt for the house. This is great. I love this stuff. I hope my hacking skills are intact. Come on computer, do your magic. I get into the bank account through the front door and find some numbers, but there’s no way I can track those transactions from here. Wow! Alex had almost 250K in here when he disappeared. Looks like he financed the trip in July—a couple of large checks to Jack Farrell. Then nothing except these strange dribs and drabs. Transfers. Sally thinks they’re weird, but they could be Alex transferring money. I need to hack into the back door to track them. Hope I don’t get caught.
Poking and prodding finally gets me in. Tracking these numbers is tricky. Either someone is ripping him off or he doesn’t want anyone to know where he is. Chicago, San Francisco, London, Bahamas. That’s only one transaction. Here’s New York, Paris, Beirut, Bahamas. Is it the same bank in the Bahamas? Yes, Royal Bank of Canada. More, more, all end in the same place. Maybe Allison and I will be vacationing in the Bahamas.
I look up when I hear voices in the house and realize it’s dark. I’ve been at this a long time and I’m not finished. Gotta get going. We need to be at Susan’s apartment before eight.
#
Jeremy is none too happy when he pops in at Susan’s and sees three of us. Allison insisted on tagging along. Too many damsels in distress to protect. He goes outside to join other deputies watching the apartment. The cops must be hoping some of the drug guys will show their faces, but I definitely hope otherwise. Just George. Come on, George.
The three of us sit sandwiched on a small couch, staring at a miniature television in Susan’s tiny living room. I’m not really watching; there’s nothing on but a dumb game show. Allison and Susan probably aren’t watching, either. Susan’s face is white and she’s chewing her lower lip. Allison keeps looking toward the door.
“Susan, did you talk to your boss this afternoon?” I ask. “I hope he wasn’t too pissed.”
“When I told him I might not be in all week, he almost had a stroke. I could lose my job.”
“Want to move to Boston?” Allison asks. “I’ll give you a job.”
I roll my eyes. She’s not even working. She makes a face at me behind Susan’s back.
I haven’t told her about tracking Alex’s money. I guess I shouldn’t withhold information, but I don’t want to get her hopes up until I have more answers. Besides, I want to find Manuel’s mother before I run off to hunt Alex. Priorities. What’s more important, Pratt? Earning Allison’s money or taking care
of the kid? Finding a wayward brother or a six-year-old’s mother? Manuel’s side wins, hands down.
A knock on the door and Susan nearly jumps out of her skin. “Who is it?”
“Susan, there’s a peephole in the door. Why don’t you look?” I ask.
She creeps toward the door.
“Susan, let me in. It’s George.”
She unfastens about fifty locks and chains and opens the door. A young man with long hair, bleached almost white by the sun, stands in the doorway. Even his eyebrows are bleached. His face is a mass of freckles and he has a few days growth of beard, which is darker blonde than his hair. He’s about five-ten, and wiry. I don’t remember seeing those hard muscles in his arms in the photos. He looked younger and softer, then.
“Oh, you have company. I’ll come back.”
“No, George, don’t leave.” Allison springs off the couch.
“Allison? Allison Rodgers?”
“Yes, please come in. I need to talk to you.”
George reluctantly enters the crowded living room and stares at me. “Who are you?”
“I’m Ernie Pratt, a friend of Susan’s and Allison’s.”
George squints his eyes. “Are you a cop or something?”
“I’m no cop. Sit and relax. If I make you nervous, I’ll sit in the kitchen.” A lot of good that will do. The kitchen is part of the living room. “Or the bedroom.”
“No, sorry, I’m a little jumpy.” He plops onto the couch, taking my spot. Susan sits next to him.
“Why did you want to see me?” she asks.
“Looking for a place to hide...a place to stay for a while.”
“This place isn’t safe, George. Someone broke in and trashed it a couple of days ago.”
“Damn! Sorry, Susan. They might have been looking for me.”
Oh, no! I can see it coming. Another visitor to our island. Don’t open your mouth and invite him, Pratt. “George, your mom and dad are looking for you. Why don’t you return to Boston and stay with them?” Good, Pratt. Tell him to go home—don’t bring him home with you.
“No money. And I don’t want them to know what’s going on.”
“They’re really worried about you.”
“Where is Alex, George?” Allison stands in front of him with hands on hips.
Mangrove Madness: An Ernestine Ernie Pratt Mystery (Ernestine Ernie Pratt Adventures Book 1) Page 21
