by Gina Cresse
Craig reached across the table for the bottle of Merlot. “More wine, anyone?”
I knew what Craig was thinking. Let’s get some more alcohol in them to settle them down before they get into a knock-down-drag-out brawl in the middle of the dining room.
Ronnie took in a short, quick breath and put her hand over her mouth. She was embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have started this argument with Jake in front of the two of you. I don’t know what I was thinking. You must think I’m some kind of kook,” she apologized.
Jake reached over the table and took her hand. “You’re not a kook. You’re just passionate. There’s nothing wrong with that. In fact, that’s the reason I’m so crazy about you.”
I cleared my throat and tried to think of a tactful way to bring up the subject of their relationship. “Speaking of how crazy you are about her—how much common knowledge is that?”
Jake eyed me curiously. “Why do you ask?”
“I’m not going to beat around the bush. Ronnie is in serious danger. Someone’s trying to kill her. We think it has something to do with her engine, and we think someone directly related to the oil industry is behind it. You’re in a position to bring her engine to fruition. People in high places know that.” I looked at Craig. “Some people believe love can be more persuasive than the promise of money, or even the threat of death.”
Jake let out a half-hearted laugh. “You’ve been watching too many conspiracy-theory movies. These people you’re talking about are not vampires hiding in the shadows of the night, waiting to suck the blood out of poor unsuspecting souls. They’re businessmen and women. They have families and homes, just like everyone else. They’re not a bunch of bloodthirsty criminals, like you’re making them out to be.”
“Right. They’re just like you and me. They live by the golden rule,” Ronnie said, her voice heavy with sarcasm.
“Do unto others?” I asked.
“No. The one with all the gold, rules,” Ronnie replied, looking directly at Jake.
Craig began gathering the empty dinner plates and stacking them. “We’re not saying every person in the oil business is behind the attempts on Ronnie’s life. But someone seems to be acting on behalf of the industry. It’s just too coincidental that so many inventors have been killed after filing patents that could be damaging to their business,” Craig said.
“I think it’s some misguided lunatic. Probably saw her at one of Lance’s races and decided to stalk her. You know, some red-neck who can’t stand the thought of a woman with her hands on an engine,” Jake speculated.
“That doesn’t explain all the others,” Ronnie argued.
Before Jake could continue, the doorbell rang. I was relieved for the interruption. All the arguing had begun to wear on my nerves. I got up from the table and went to answer the door.
Two uniformed officers stood in the glow of the porch light on the front step. I gaped for a moment, waiting for them to announce their business.
“We’re here for Veronica Oakhurst,” the taller one said.
“Ronnie? What for?” I asked.
“Ma’am, we have a warrant. Please step aside,” the officer continued, pushing his way past me into the foyer. I noted the names engraved on brass plates pinned to their uniforms. The tall one’s name was Pianalto and the other was Hollers.
“Wait a minute,” I demanded. “Let me see this warrant.”
Officer Hollers handed me an official-looking paper as he followed Pianalto into the house. I skimmed over it as quickly as I could.
“Who is it?” Craig called from the dining room.
I didn’t answer. I was busy trying to make sense of the warrant.
Craig strolled out of the dining room to find out for himself who’d come calling. His face showed surprise at the sight of the two officers. “What is it?” Craig asked.
“Where is Veronica Oakhurst? We have a warrant for her arrest,” Pianalto said.
“What?” Craig blurted.
The officers, impatient with our ignorance, made their way into the dining room. Craig and I followed.
“Veronica Oakhurst?” Hollers asked, looking directly at Ronnie seated at the table.
“Yes?” she meekly replied, confused.
“Please stand up,” Hollers demanded. “You’re under arrest for the production of methamphetamine at your residence in Ramona.”
Jake gaped at the scene. “Methamphetamine? That’s ridiculous,” he stated, emphatically.
I handed Craig the warrant and headed for the phone in the kitchen. I dialed Sam’s number and counted the rings. He picked up on the third one.
“Sam. It’s Devonie. What’s the big idea?” I blurted into the phone.
“Hello to you, too,” he replied. “How nice to hear your friendly voice.”
“Never mind the nice-nice act. What the heck do you think you’re doing, arresting Ronnie?” I demanded.
“What?”
I glanced around the corner to see what was going on in the dining room. Ronnie was being searched for weapons.
“You know what I mean. There are two policemen in my house at this very moment, frisking Ronnie and getting ready to haul her away,” I hissed.
“Who? I didn’t order it,” he insisted.
“Pianalto and Hollers,” I said.
“Pian…who? I never heard of them. What precinct?”
“You don’t know them?”
“No. You check their IDs?”
I stepped around the corner into the dining room. Pianalto had Ronnie by the arm and was leading her toward the front door. Hollers removed a pair of handcuffs from his back pocket and was ready to place them on Ronnie’s wrists. “Stop,” I said. “Check their IDs,” I told Craig.
Hollers gave his partner an irritated look. The muscles in his neck tensed. I noticed a lightning-bolt shaped scar under his right ear—probably a work-related injury. I could tell Pianalto didn’t want to turn loose his prisoner to remove the identification from his pocket, but he complied. He motioned for Hollers to show his. Hollers pulled a leather wallet from his pocket and flipped it open for Craig to inspect. Jake peered over his shoulder to get a look at the badges.
“What precinct?” I asked.
Craig studied the ID, then looked up at me. “Ninety-eighth?” he said, his voice unsure.
“Ninety-eighth precinct,” I repeated into the phone.
Pianalto pushed Ronnie toward the door, in a hurry to get her outside.
“Ninety-eighth? Stop them. It’s bogus,” Sam blurted into my ear.
I ran toward the front door. “Stop! They’re not for real! Don’t let them take her!” I yelled as Pianalto and Hollers began dragging Ronnie at a full run toward their car. Craig and Jake sprinted after them.
I watched in horror as Hollers let go of Ronnie’s arm and pulled out the gun holstered under his arm. He aimed it directly at Craig’s head.
“No!” I screamed.
Craig stood, motionless. Jake didn’t make a move. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion from that moment on.
Ronnie, still in Pianalto’s grip, let out a high-pitched scream and kicked her foot up well above her waist, hitting Hollers in the wrist and knocking the gun from his hand. Before he could recover, she kicked him again, square in the middle of his chest, the blow throwing him backwards a good ten feet before he landed hard on the ground. She’d managed to free one hand and reached back toward Pianalto’s right ear. The next thing I knew, Pianalto was flying over her shoulder and landed flat on his back. She placed her foot across his throat and grabbed for the gun in his holster. The gun was strapped into the holster so she couldn’t get it out. She jerked on it, but her awkward position wouldn’t let it come free. By this time, Hollers was up and heading for his gun. Jake saw his intentions and dove for the gun, reaching it seconds before Hollers could get his hands on it. Jake aimed the gun at Hollers. Hollers put his hands up in a gesture of surrender, then backed toward the car. He opened the driver-side door an
d slid in. Pianalto knew his partner was abandoning him when he heard the engine start. He shoved Ronnie off balance so her foot came free of his throat. He jumped to his feet and lunged for the back door of the car as it sped away. He managed to get the door open and let it drag him a few feet before he was able to jump into the back seat and escape with his partner.
Jake rushed to Ronnie’s side and put his arms around her. “Are you okay?”
She buried her face in his chest and started sobbing.
I leaped over a row of young azaleas and put a hand on Craig’s arm. “How about you? Are you all right?”
Craig just gawked and pointed at Ronnie. Finally, he found his voice. “She’s my hero. Did you see that? She took those guys out like they were a couple of Raggedy Andy dolls,” he marveled.
I smiled. “I know. I think she may have saved your life.”
“I think you’re right.”
Jake walked Ronnie back into the house. Craig and I followed.
Ronnie stopped and took hold of Jake’s arm, turning him to face her. “Are you still sure it’s some misguided lunatic?”
Jake’s face was troubled.
“The question is, how did they find you here?” I said.
Jake’s shoulders slumped. He slowly walked toward a chair in the living room and collapsed into it. We followed him, curious about his sudden depression.
“What is it, Jake?” Ronnie asked.
“I’m afraid they found you because they followed me here,” he said.
“Followed you?” Craig said.
Jake nodded. “It didn’t hit me until Devonie told us they were imposters. The one called Hollers looked familiar to me, but I figured he was just someone who looked like someone. You know? But it’s not that. I’ve seen him before. I can’t remember where, but I know it’s him.”
Ronnie kneeled on the floor next to Jake. He put a hand on her shoulder.
“I’m so sorry, Ronnie. I led them right to you. It’s all my fault.”
Chapter Nine
Sam took a description of the two men who posed as police officers, and also the car they used.
Jake sat close to Ronnie on the sofa and held her hand while we all told Sam our own versions of what took place with the imposters.
“Any word about her brother?” Sam asked.
“Not yet. Rick and Gary said they’d call us once they got there, but we haven’t heard anything yet,” I told him.
Sam scratched his head. “Hmmm. Should’ve been there by now. Maybe they had phone trouble.”
“Maybe,” I replied, unconvinced.
“She’s probably not safe here, you know,” Sam reminded me.
“I know.”
He closed his notebook and stuffed it into his pocket. “Want me to see if we can put her up somewhere? A motel maybe?”
I stared out the window toward the dock and shook my head. “No. I think we’ve got things covered.”
Sam followed my line of sight and gazed at the Plan C, tied to the private dock we share with my Uncle Doug, who lives next door. He nodded with understanding. ”You be careful. These guys are serious.”
Craig stood up to walk Sam to the door. “Don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to them.”
Sam gave him a doubtful glance and then let himself out.
Craig closed the door and turned to face us. “Okay people. Let’s get busy,” he said, rubbing his hands together like a magician preparing to pull a rabbit out of a hat.
My first assigned task was to secure a suitable sitter for the puppy. I loaded his dog crate and a forty-pound bag of Puppy Chow in a wagon. Then, I heaved the puppy over my shoulder, grabbed the handle of the wagon, and headed for Uncle Doug’s house. I rang the bell and put on my biggest smile.
“Hi, Uncle Doug,” I said, shifting the puppy to my other shoulder.
“Well, hello there. Who’s this?” he asked, reaching out to pat the puppy’s head.
“This is—puppy. He hasn’t got a name yet. Craig gave him to me for our six-month anniversary.”
Uncle Doug gave him one more pat, then peered around me at the wagonload of Puppy Chow I’d tried, unsuccessfully, to hide behind a shrub. “Are you taking him on a trip?” he asked, eyeing me suspiciously.
“No,” I said, lifting the heavy puppy a little higher on my shoulder.
“Can I ask why you—”
“I need a favor, Uncle Doug. It’s sort of an emergency.”
Uncle Doug reluctantly agreed to puppy-sit for me only after Aunt Arlene came to my rescue and insisted. She has a soft spot for animals and there was no way she would allow that sweet little creature to be locked up in a boarding kennel.
Craig, Jake, and Ronnie loaded the Plan C with food and supplies while I took care of puppy business. The sixty-foot sailing yacht has four double cabins, each with their own private heads. She also has a fully equipped galley, and every piece of navigation equipment imaginable. Craig and I have become a pretty good team at sailing her.
I double-checked the supplies and made sure we had plenty of fuel. I also checked the dinghy’s fuel level. Our dinghy for this trip would be Craig’s nineteen-foot Sea Ray. I checked that the towline was secure. Everything seemed in good working order—the generator, the navigation equipment, and the radios.
We made one last trip from the house to the boat. Craig stopped to set the alarm and lock the door behind us. He’d changed into a pair of green shorts, a Hawaiian shirt, and a straw hat he bought when we were in the Caribbean last year. The colorful hat had a woven basket on each side, designed to hold two drinks. The face of a rat decorated the front of the hat, complete with a cone-shaped nose jutting out over the brim. A rat-tail hung off the back. It’s so hideous, I laugh every time I look at it. He turned around and caught me standing there, admiring his Sunday-sailor outfit. He grinned and winked at me. “Bet you wish you could achieve this same suave, sophisticated look,” he boasted.
I smiled and patted him on the behind as he walked past me. “Honey, there’s no way I could ever look as good as you in that hat.”
We set sail for San Diego and dropped anchor a mile off shore, not far from the marina where I used to live on the Plan C before Craig and I were married.
Craig pulled chef duty the first night, which meant he cooked dinner with the help of Jake. Ronnie and I cleaned up afterwards.
The next morning, while Craig got ready for work, I instructed Ronnie and Jake on the use of the radio equipment, in case they needed help. Craig left his cell phone with them, and I kept mine with me. I gave them all the necessary phone numbers to call in case of any emergency.
I grabbed my laptop computer and followed Craig onto the Sea Ray. “We’ll be back this afternoon,” I called to Ronnie and Jake as Craig started the motor and we sped away. Ronnie stood on the deck of the Plan C and waved goodbye, like a child watching her balloon fly away, never to return.
Mr. Cartwright, my neighbor when I lived at the marina, let us tie the Sea Ray up in his slip. He even offered to drive Craig to the hospital, but Craig had made arrangements to have one of the other doctors pick him up.
I took him up on his offer for a ride, though. I had planned to call a taxi, but Mr. Cartwright insisted. He dropped me off at the Lace Marina, where Uncle Doug owns a yacht brokerage.
Uncle Doug glanced at me over his reading glasses as I walked into his office.
“Good morning,” I said.
“If you say so,” he replied.
I gave him a closer inspection. He had heavy bags under both eyes, which were a little bloodshot. “What’s wrong? You look like you just pulled an all-nighter.”
“What’s wrong? Let me tell you what’s wrong. Arlene woke me up every hour on the hour last night to take your puppy outside. He had one accident in the house, and let me tell you, I’ve seen smaller mistakes made by elephants.”
I cringed as he described his evening to me. I felt terrible. “I’m sorry, Uncle Doug. Why didn’t you put him in his crate at bed
time like I told you?” I asked.
“Arlene wouldn’t let me. I’m lucky she didn’t have him in bed with us.”
“Well, tonight put him in his crate. He’s used to that. He won’t give you any problem.”
“No, but Arlene will.”
“Tell her he likes his crate. It’s like his crib. He has toys in there. And I’ll pay to have your carpets cleaned. I’m really sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. How’d you do last night? Any trouble?”
“No. Smooth sailing.” I set my laptop case on the corner of his desk.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“My laptop. Can I borrow your DSL line?”
“You need to get on the Internet?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“Why don’t you use my PC? It’s all setup,” he offered.
“I have some special software loaded on mine.”
He frowned. “Special software?”
I nodded, hoping he wouldn’t ask any more questions. My conscience wouldn’t let me keep silent. “I need to get some information from…well, you probably don’t want to know. I’m not going to hurt anyone. I just want to take a look at some records,” I explained.
“You’re going to be hacking on my DSL line?”
“Only if you say yes. If you prefer, I can go back home and use our old-fashioned phone line. It’ll only take me about a week to download what I need.”
He shook his head. “No. No. Go ahead. If someone asks, I’ll just claim ignorance.”
“Thanks, Uncle Doug. You’re a lifesaver.”
I’d called Spencer, my computer-hacker friend, last night to see if he had any advice on how I could get the information I was after. I’m convinced Spencer can hack into any computer on earth, given enough time. He e-mailed me a Trojan horse program he’d written. He was so proud, you’d think he’d just written an Oscar-winning screenplay. I scrolled through the code and shook my head. Spencer is a genius, but he’s a sloppy programmer. He strings lines of code out for miles and doesn’t line anything up for easy reading. Once, I made a passing comment about his sloppiness, and you’d have thought I called his baby ugly.
