One Last Breath

by Laura Griffin

  “About a story I’m working on involving your ex.”

  “Uh-oh again.” She shoved her bowl away and took a deep breath. “Okay, hit me.”

  “A woman came into the paper last week. Wanted us to look into doing an article about the Mayfield Food Bank. I remember you saying you used to work there.”

  “That’s right. Who was the woman?”

  “Ana Rivas. You know her?”

  “Sure,” Feenie said. “We were in charge of organizing the lunch service back when the food bank had a soup kitchen. I didn’t realize she was still working there.”

  “She is.” McAllister sipped his shake. “She’s got all these complaints because the food bank’s been taking in a lot more donations lately, but they haven’t increased the number of families they’re serving in the valley. Actually, according to this lady, they’re cutting back. She thinks someone’s skimming off the top, but she doesn’t know who.”

  “Well, I know they’re cutting back,” Feenie said. “They don’t serve hot meals anymore. They just provide nonperishable groceries to needy people. Why’d Grimes give this to you? This isn’t really the police beat.”

  “You haven’t heard the interesting part yet. Grimes asked Rivas if she’d reported her concerns to the cops, and you know what she said?”

  “What?” Feenie was getting a fresh feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach.

  “She said she relayed her suspicions to her son-in-law, who just happened to be with the Mayfield PD. But that was months ago, and nothing got done about it. Take a wild guess what her son-in-law’s name was.”

  “Was? No way. Not Brian Doring?”

  “Ding, ding, ding.” He smiled. “You’re good, Malone. We should team up more often. I’ll have to tell Grimes.”

  “You think Doring was murdered because of the food bank?”

  “Right again,” he said. “Or at least, I think it’s possible. Originally, I thought he might be taking bribes to look the other way on this smuggling operation, and maybe someone offed him because he got greedy. But now I think he was just asking a few too many questions about the food bank.”

  “Whoa,” she said. “That’s pretty severe. How do you know Ana Rivas is even right about her suspicions? And what does all this have to do with Josh?”

  McAllister pulled out a file and slid it toward her. “I think Josh is using the organization as a front to launder money. I want you to take a look at these records and give me your opinion.”

  Feenie opened the file. It contained a printout from a computerized check ledger. She didn’t recognize the format.

  “Where’d you get this?” she asked.

  “Rivas printed it out from the PC in the food bank’s office.”

  “I don’t know if I’m going to be much help. When I worked there, I never dealt with the books.” She scanned the figures. The numbers practically leaped off the page. “Jeez! Do you know how much money they’re bringing in?”

  “A lot, I know. I thought it looked weird for a nonprofit with only one salaried employee.”

  “This is crazy,” she said. “There’s no way they’re getting this kind of cash. I used to be in charge of the annual fund-raising auction. Our goal was twenty thousand. This shows twice that coming into the account in only a month’s time.”

  “Lower your voice,” he muttered.

  Feenie glanced around, but luckily, most of Hal’s other patrons were high-school kids.

  “Sorry,” she said quietly. “It’s just…I can’t believe this. And the debits are crazy, too. Nine thousand four hundred to Alvarez Groceries? Eighty-nine hundred to Sun Valley Market? That’s insane. Especially if they haven’t expanded the number of families they’re serving. How far back do these big deposits go?”

  “They started almost three years ago. Mid-August, I believe.” He smiled. “You really think I’ve got something here, huh?”

  “I do. But I don’t see how all this ties to Josh. Unless—” She glanced up at him. “It’s the payee, isn’t it? One of these grocers is Josh’s uncle.”

  “Right again. I’m impressed.”

  Feenie closed the file. “Wow.”

  “That about sums it up. And now that you’ve corroborated my theory, I’m a few steps closer to running a story on everything. I need to nail down some more sources, but it’s coming together.”

  “You say this started three years ago in August?”

  “Yeah.”

  Feenie tried to recall anything unusual going on in August three summers ago.

  “Did you see anything weird in July?” she asked.

  “I don’t think so. Why?”

  “Nothing,” she said. She and Josh had traveled to Mexico in mid-July that year, although she couldn’t think what the significance might be. She slid the file back to him. “Are you going to share your information with the cops?”

  “Not the local ones. I don’t want to end up like Doring.”

  She unzipped her purse and rummaged around.

  “I think I still have a business card for one of the FBI guys I talked to after the shooting incident. Yeah, here it is. His name’s Rowe.” She passed him the card.

  “Thanks,” he said. “It may not matter anyway, because listen to what else I found out. I’ve got a source on the grand jury who says they just started hearing testimony about a prominent Mayfield citizen.”

  “Gee, I wonder who that could be.”

  “I wonder. It’s all just rumor, but this source has been pretty reliable in the past. Maybe Josh will get indicted soon.”

  He checked his watch. “Shit. I’ve got to go. I just need one more thing from you.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  He took a deep breath. “Tell me about Cecelia Strickland. She still volunteer at the food bank?”

  “Not anymore. She volunteers for the Red Cross now. It’s a pretty big commitment.”

  McAllister watched her intently.

  “You won’t find her fingerprints on any of this,” she told him. “Not a chance in hell.”

  But McAllister didn’t look convinced.

  “Look, I know you don’t know Cecelia, but I do. She’s been my best friend for almost twenty years. And this is the very last thing she’d ever get involved with. I promise.”

  “I’m glad to hear you say that,” he said. “Now, do me a favor and quit telling her things, will you? The more she knows about Josh’s situation, the more she’s at risk.”

  Feenie folded her arms. “I’m aware of that, but thanks for the advice.”

  He looked away.

  “She’s married, you know.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “Happily. To a really nice man.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded. “You don’t think he’s nice?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “So what’s with the attitude? You’ve been checking him out, haven’t you?”

  “You bet your ass. He was tight with Garland a few years ago. And he was his accountant at one point.”

  “That was before my divorce. When Josh and I split up, Robert quit working for him.”

  “Something about him just…I don’t know. Shit.” McAllister rubbed his hand over his face and scowled. “What’s a woman like Cecelia doing married to a loser like that, anyway?”

  Cecelia had plenty of reasons for marrying Robert, and they were private. “Are you checking up on Robert for your story or for personal reasons?” she asked.

  “Both.”

  Great. Terrific. The king of playboys had the hots for her best friend. But at least he was being honest about it.

  “What else did you find out?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “Nothing interesting. He’s never had so much as a parking ticket, he pays his taxes, he’s never been in trouble with anyone, from what I can tell. I couldn’t get crap on him.”

  “Me, neither.”

  He looked surprised.

/>   “What? Cecelia’s like family to me. Of course I checked him out. But there’s nothing there. So leave her alone, okay?”

  He stared at her, his expression carefully blank.

  “I mean it, McAllister.”

  “I know you do.”

  Feenie sighed, resigning herself to the fact that he was going to make a play. But Cecelia was a big girl. She could take care of herself and any unwanted advances that happened to come along.

  “Let’s go,” McAllister said. “I’ve got some stuff left to do at the newsroom.”

  When they exited the ice cream shop, Feenie spotted Marco’s Silverado parked just across the street.

  “You go ahead,” she told McAllister. “I’ll catch a ride with him.”

  He frowned at the truck. “You sure?”

  “Yeah, it’s fine.”

  Marco had the windows rolled down and was watching her, looking bored. She sashayed across the street and leaned her forearm on the door.

  “Hi,” she said casually. “Working late?”

  “Yeah. You?”

  “Yep.”

  He scowled in McAllister’s direction. She’d been right—he was jealous.

  “You mind giving me a lift back to Chico’s? Since you’re following me anyway?”

  “Hop in,” he said, starting the truck.

  They rode in silence through town, and he took a circuitous route, as usual. When they finally pulled into the parking lot, she turned to face him.

  “You can stop doing this, you know. The FBI has me under surveillance.”

  He didn’t speak.

  “Fine, suit yourself,” she said. “But you’re wasting your time.”

  “Am I?”

  She looked at him closely, but his face was emotionless. Damn him and his mind games. “Are you trying to scare me? What, you think I’ll come running back to you just so I can have a free bodyguard and some cheap sex? Hate to break it to you, Marco, but it wasn’t that great.”

  He laughed at that. “Yes, it was, and you know it.”

  “Speak for yourself.”

  He leaned across the console and cupped a hand around her neck. His eyes dropped to her mouth, and she froze. He was going to kiss her. And she wanted him to.

  “Feenie?”

  “Huh?”

  He brushed a thumb over her lower lip, and her heart felt as if it would pound out of her chest. “You’ve got chocolate on your mouth, guera.”

  His seductive smile widened into a grin. He was laughing at her. She felt tears stinging her eyes, and she reached for the door handle, but he grabbed her arm.

  “Hey.” His face was somber now. “I know you’re pissed at me, but I want you to listen. You can’t trust the FBI, Feenie. Do you hear me? They’re way more concerned with bagging their man than protecting you.”

  She looked at him, incredulous. “Are you even hearing yourself? You’re such a hypocrite! All you’re really concerned with is your vendetta.”

  Anger flared in his eyes. It was one of the few emotions he didn’t hide well.

  “Do you deny it?”

  He didn’t respond, and she jerked her arm away. “Good night, Marco.” She opened the door. “Have fun sleeping in your truck.”

  Two hours later, Feenie sat at her kitchen table feeling slightly amazed.

  She’d been right.

  The big deposits into the food bank’s account had started shortly after one of her trips down to Mexico with Josh. And not just any trip—an unusual trip. During their marriage, they’d frequently gone across the border for mini vacations. They’d shopped, snorkeled, gone diving. But this trip had been different.

  For starters, it was the only time she could remember going on vacation with Josh and not staying at a fancy resort. They’d flown into a rinky-dink airport and stayed at a less-than-remarkable hotel. It was nowhere near up to Josh’s typical standards. No room service. No fitness center. No golf course within miles.

  And then there had been the diving. Marginal, at best. Josh and Feenie were both certified scuba divers. They’d gone diving all the time, at all the best vacation spots, and they were accustomed to being impressed. But not that time. The whole weekend had been a dud, really. Yet Josh hadn’t complained. Looking back, Feenie realized recreation may not have been high on his list of priorities.

  She recalled the stop they’d made on the way to meet the diving boat. She’d spent half an hour sweating in the rental car while Josh had checked out an investment opportunity, or at least that’s what he’d called it.

  The memory was vague—an unremarkable weekend three years ago—but it was coming back now. She recalled the winding gravel road they’d taken, the dilapidated warehouse where he’d parked the car. She didn’t remember much else, but for some reason, she thought it was on the water.

  A barge. She’d seen a barge. The place was definitely on the water. Some kind of loading dock, most likely.

  She hadn’t asked many questions at the time—Josh was always investing in some real estate deal or another, and the details bored her to tears. She simply remembered being hot and irritated and impatient to get to the dive shop.

  Now Feenie studied her passport. It had been stamped numerous times during her visits to Mexico and the Caribbean, but only one stamp was from July three years ago: Punto Dorado. She jotted the name on a sticky note. It had to be the place. Feenie combed through her bookshelf until she came across an outdated world atlas. She located the page for Mexico and hunched over it. Punto Dorado was near the coast, as she’d suspected. And it wasn’t too far from Texas. They could have taken a car, but instead they’d flown. Why, she had no idea.

  She glanced at the clock. Just after midnight. And she’d bet money Marco’s truck was still stationed outside her house. She was still angry with him, but she couldn’t help admiring his tenacity. It was nice knowing he was there, if only for Mrs. Hanak’s benefit.

  Feenie went into her closet and looked for her backpack. It was getting late, and she had a lot left to do tonight. She had to shower, gather supplies, and make preparations. Most important, she had to figure out a way to lose Marco.

  As she pulled the bag out of the closet, she dialed McAllister on her cell phone.

  “Hey, it’s Feenie,” she said when he answered. “How badly do you want this story?”

  He laughed softly on the other end. “Sweetheart, do you even have to ask?”

  Chapter

  18

  J uarez slid into a space at Rosie’s and watched Feenie cross the parking lot. In jeans and a bouncy ponytail, she looked ready for a typical day at work.

  But he knew better. She looked nervous. And he bet whatever was making her anxious had something to do with the meeting she and McAllister had had last night.

  She was up to something. He just didn’t know what.

  He followed her into Rosie’s and watched her slide into a booth toward the back. With Cecelia, dammit. There went his hopes of joining Feenie for breakfast. Their conversation the previous evening had ended the no-talking phase, and he was ready to smooth things over. Preferably naked, but he’d talk to her across a table if he had to. Then he’d take her home and get her naked.

  He watched her talk to Cecelia. At least she wasn’t with that reporter. McAllister had a reputation, and Juarez didn’t like him around Feenie. In fact, if he saw him around her again, he was pretty sure he’d have to rip the guy’s head off.

  He took a seat at the bar. He was testy. And jealous. And frustrated. All because of her.

  Hell, he missed her. He could acknowledge that. The sex had been amazing, whether she wanted to admit it or not. He wasn’t ashamed to want her back in his bed.

  But it was more than that, he realized, and she probably did, too. That’s why she was torturing him like this. She was proving a point. When she finally decided she’d proven it, he’d get her back.

  “Hola, Marquito. Migas otra vez?”

  Rosie smiled across the counter at him. He asked her fo
r a plate of huevos rancheros and engaged in the typical banter about his mother and Kaitlin. Rosie poured a steaming mug of coffee and gave her usual instructions to send his mother her regards.

  “Claro,” he answered, taking a sip. He glanced toward the back of the restaurant.

  She was gone.

  “Fuck!”

  He rushed past the empty booth, past the bathrooms, and shoved open the back door. Several busboys stood near a Dumpster, taking a smoke break.

  “Vieron a dos mujeres?”

  The guys looked up. One of them cupped his palms in front of his chest, and the others snickered.

  “Sí!” Juarez said. “Adónde fueron?”

  The boy pointed toward the parking lot. He scanned the row of cars. The white Kia was still parked at the back, but Feenie was gone.

  McAllister’s Jeep hit another pothole as they traveled through downtown Punto Dorado for the third time.

  “Are you sure we’ve got the right town?” he asked.

  “Positive.” Feenie unfolded the cumbersome map and studied the area another time. It had to be near here. Had to. The sleepy seaside community had only one highway that paralleled the coast. They’d driven up and down it three times now, but Feenie had failed to spot the familiar dive shop.

  McAllister passed an abandoned dwelling that, judging by the weathered wooden sign out front, might once have been a seafood restaurant. He pulled into the gravel parking lot of a motel with a vacancy sign permanently affixed to the roof. The tourism industry in Punto Dorado seemed to be on life support.

  “Lemme see the map,” McAllister said.

  Feenie gladly handed it over and waited for him to admit that he couldn’t make any more sense of it than she had.

  Someone tapped on the Jeep’s plastic window, and she jerked her head around. Two brown-faced boys stood alongside the Jeep, holding their hands out.

  “Don’t open your door,” McAllister told her, tossing the map in back. And then to the kids, “Vengan acá!”

  He held up a ten-dollar bill, and the children rushed to the driver’s side. McAllister opened his door and exchanged some words with them in Spanish.

  She studied the kids’ faces as they talked to him. They couldn’t have been more than eight years old, ten at the most. Their clothes were grubby and torn, and their cheeks looked hollow. McAllister must have said something funny, because both kids laughed. Then he passed them the ten and closed the door.