Dalton, Tymber - Red Tide (Siren Publishing Classic)

by Tymber Dalton

  “Where?”

  “I guess they’re driving here. He wanted to warn us in case John should stop by.”

  “I doubt that’ll happen.”

  “So do I, but I’m not taking any chances.” She followed him back into the bedroom where he finished dressing. “You know,” he said, “get dressed. We won’t stay here today. We’ll run an errand.”

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “Car shopping.”

  She groaned. “I think I’d rather take my chances with John.”

  * * * *

  Ed called Dan to tell him he wouldn’t be in after all. Dan told him to go have fun, that he could handle everything by himself. Then they stopped by Mitch’s place to check on it and clear her answering machine.

  Ed was right. Her answering machine had reached its limit. She grabbed a notepad and pen and started weeding out customers from reporters. Toward the end of the messages, a woman’s voice spoke up. “Hello, Ms. Jackson? You don’t know me, but my name’s Jenna Stephens. This is really awkward, but I wanted to talk with you about John. John Tyne. He doesn’t know I’m calling, and I’d rather he didn’t know. My cell number is 407-555-6824.”

  Ed and Mitch exchanged glances while she stopped the machine and replayed the message. On an impulse, Mitch flipped the tape over after clearing the other messages, saving the message from Jenna and its date-time stamp.

  They were walking out the door when the phone rang again. Mitch wasn’t going to answer it until she heard Sami’s voice.

  “Hey, pick up the damn phone. It’s us. Will someone please—”

  She grabbed it, laughing. “What do you want?”

  “Glad we caught you. What are you doing for dinner tonight?”

  Mitch looked at Ed. “Any plans for dinner tonight?” she asked him. He shook his head.

  “Nothing planned. Why?”

  “Well, you’ve got plans now. The two of you and Ron and Jack, if they want to come, here, dinner, five-ish. Okay?”

  “Sounds good to me. Can we bring anything?”

  “Just yourselves.”

  After bidding good-bye, Mitch looked up at Ed. “Guess we’re going to Brooksville for dinner.”

  * * * *

  They called Ron, who could make it, and Jack, who couldn’t, before leaving Aripeka. They checked out five dealerships on the way south. Then they stopped and lunched in Tarpon Springs, at a small family cafe on the Sponge Docks. Two large Greek salads with potato salad filled them to near bursting. They worked off some of their meal strolling down to the far end of the Sponge Docks and back again, taking their time looking in shops and exploring the rejuvenated Sponge Exchange shopping complex. Halfway through their wanderings, Mitch finally spoke up about something that had been on Ed’s mind, too.

  “Dammit, I want to call that woman back.”

  “Jenna Stephens, was it?”

  “Yes. The one who left a message on my recorder.”

  Ed frowned. “She may not want to talk to you now that the police are involved. She left that message last night. Besides, you won’t be able to reach her until late today. She’s over here with John, remember?”

  “Yeah I know. But she said it was her cell number. I’m dying of curiosity to talk to her. She sounded pretty serious. She may know something that she doesn’t want to tell the police because it might not be enough for them to act on, or that she doesn’t want John to find out about.”

  “Well, you can call tomorrow. And you need to see if she’ll let you tape the conversation. I don’t want accusations flying later on. I don’t trust that bastard.”

  * * * *

  It was almost five when they arrived at the main gate to the Croom motorcycle park outside Brooksville. Sami and Matt had no close neighbors in the bike park, but they enjoyed the privacy.

  The ranger’s shack was deserted that late in the day, but Ed still slowed the truck to a crawl as they bumped over the old cattle guard at the gate. He downshifted and switched to four-wheel drive to make the steep climb up the first hill. The hot, dry sunny day, combined with hundreds of vehicles and bikes over the weekend, had turned the graded clay road into a deep, soft loam. The only way to climb it without getting stuck was with four-wheel drive or a high-speed, banzai attack that didn’t leave time to get stuck. Due to the number of kids and bikes still flying up and down the road, Ed selected the more prudent option.

  The road smoothed out after the first hill, bordered on the east by I-75, and on the west by dense, trail-striped scrub pine woods. Only their familiarity with the park kept them from missing the turnoff masquerading as the Barrys’ driveway. It wound through dense woods where late-afternoon shadows created a startling contrast to the bright, open main road, throwing them into a virtual twilight. Mitch suppressed a shudder, thinking back to Sami’s ordeal.

  Sami’s first husband, Steven Corey, went insane. Totally, utterly, completely, homicidally. Weeks of deteriorating behavior culminated in Sami desperately fleeing from him one afternoon during a tropical storm after Steve attacked her, Matt, and another woman. Thinking Matt was dead, Sami ran north, trying to reach the ranger’s station. Steve caught up with her at the old mining pit lake. At the top of a hundred-foot drop she leapt, grabbing a sapling to stop her fall. Steve, not realizing the steepness of the drop, plummeted down the embankment, landing in the lake and drowning.

  Ed and Mitch were called in to head the dive team recovery efforts and retrieved his body the next afternoon.

  Ron, true to form, was already there when they emerged from the dense woods into the Barry’s yard. Sami had set up a table on their new screened porch, with citronella candles burning and ceiling fans turning to help chase away any stubborn mosquitoes or no-see-ums. They climbed the wooden steps to the porch.

  “Well, company’s finally here!” Sami laughed, throwing her arms around Mitch before she had barely made it through the door. They hugged for a moment before Sami released her and looked her over. “What, no more new bruises?” she joked.

  As close as sisters, the two had become fast friends. Mitch eased herself into a nearby chair. “No, thank goodness. I don’t think I can handle anything else right now.”

  Matt carried a platter of steaks out from the kitchen. “Someone want to get the porch door for me?” Ed and Ron, following the food, not only escorted him outside to the grill, but helped him put the steaks on. Sami handed Mitch a soda and sat down across from her.

  “Well, tell me what’s going on, girl.” Mitch knew from the twinkle in her eye that Ron had already filled in a few details.

  Mitch feigned innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh, cut the ‘who, moi?’ act and give me the dirt.” She grinned. “When’s the wedding?”

  “Good grief, we’ve only been a couple for a couple of days. Give us a chance to get properly engaged, first.”

  Sami laughed, shaking her head. “I suggest you have him down at the county clerk’s office first thing tomorrow.”

  “Can’t. Got a little matter of a divorce to settle first.”

  “Damn. Details, details. Maybe John’ll do you a favor and jump off a bridge or something.”

  “We’re not that lucky,” Ed called from the yard, his gaze clearly fixed on Mitch.

  Mitch felt her heart skip. She’d never felt the feelings for John that she felt for Ed. Mitch returned Ed’s smile, throwing in a wink for good measure.

  * * * *

  Ed always joked that Sami set a mean table. For appetizers, they had cold boiled shrimp, guacamole and chips, fried cheese, and salad.

  “Geez, Sami. It’s gonna be hard to save room for dinner,” Ron joked.

  “Haven’t you heard of leftovers?”

  “No, bachelors like me don’t do leftovers very often.”

  “Bachelors like you don’t cook very often, period,” Mitch quipped. “The Sahara desert has more stuff in it than your fridge.”

  “Hey, now wait a minute,” he defen
ded himself. “I’ve got that head of lettuce in there.”

  “That’s not lettuce.” Ed slapped him on the back. “I’ve seen it. That’s a leftover round of gouda from last New Year’s.”

  “Just doin’ my share for the scientific community.”

  Matt took up the game. “You mean for the zoological community, don’tcha, Ron? I swear I think that thing winked at me last time I was over at your house.”

  Ron was spared further teasing when Matt declared the steaks perfectly done. Not much more was said until everyone stuffed themselves and their plates and chairs were pushed back, and a few belts loosened a notch or two.

  Mitch immediately pitched in to help clear the table. The women shooed the men out of the kitchen so they could do dishes. Alone together, Sami’s expression turned serious. “Are you okay? Really?”

  Mitch nodded. “Have to take the good with the bad, right?”

  “Yeah, but nearly getting blown up is way beyond bad. Do you want to talk?”

  Actually, she didn’t want to talk about it at all. “I’m okay. I’m pissed off more than anything. I loved my Bronco. It was old, but it ran great, it was in great shape, it was paid for, and Daddy helped me pick it out.” That last thought nearly started her crying again.

  “Well, don’t keep it bottled up,” she advised. “I tried that. It worked for a while, but not real long. I’m here if you need me.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate it.” She glanced out the window to where the men were gathered on the porch and talking. “I’m just going to try to focus on more positive things for now.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  John made a journal update before taking a shower and lying down for a short nap. His alarm went off an hour later. He quickly dressed and met Jenna. Despite the bright, sunny, Sunday morning, the radio promised more late-afternoon thunderstorms. His body still tingled from the night before, power surging through his veins as he confidently negotiated Orlando’s streets. They stopped for breakfast at a Denny’s near the Florida Turnpike junction on State Road 50. Jenna seemed unusually quiet.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Nothing. Just not looking forward to wasting our day together like this.”

  A good night’s sleep had rejuvenated her, turning her almost certain convictions of John’s guilt into fading thoughts. Surely he couldn’t be involved in something that outlandish. Not John. It didn’t make sense. Even he admitted Mitch was being more than fair in the divorce. He seemed happy it was going to happen.

  And she took that as a good omen for where their relationship might be heading.

  He smiled, taking her hands in his and kissing them. “I’m sorry you’re wrapped up in this. I’m sure we’ll straighten it all out.” Their order arrived and they quickly ate. A few minutes later, they stopped at a filling station, and John patted Jenna on the thigh before getting out to pump gas.

  While waiting for him, she checked her makeup. She opened her purse and fished out her lipstick, but fumbled the tube and dropped it on the floor where it rolled under the seat.

  “Damn,” she swore, reaching under the seat.

  Her hand encountered a hard, small, flat plastic card. She withdrew it to find a student ID card from the University of Central Florida. It was a couple of years old and expired. Melody Matthews. She was a pretty girl with auburn hair. She would be twenty-one now, from the date of birth listed.

  Jenna was shocked. He couldn’t claim it was from a past driver. She had helped him check the loaner car before driving it off the lot. Part of his neatness habit. She didn’t know whether to confront John or hide it for later. John emerged from the store. Jenna tucked the ID card inside her purse and quickly retrieved her lipstick.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  Jenna prayed her voice sounded normal. “I dropped my lipstick and it rolled under the seat. Had a heck of a time finding it.” She held the tube up.

  He leaned over and kissed her on the lips. “You don’t need it. You’re pretty enough without it.” He winked.

  The scenery raced past the loaner Porsche’s windows, mostly unnoticed by Jenna. Her mind still raced, turning back time and time again to the ID card hidden in her purse.

  * * * *

  John barely glanced at the motel when they drove past. No unusual activity, no police cars, no TV trucks. Melody was still dead asleep. He imagined they wouldn’t find her until later in the afternoon, when the front office sent a maid out to check if she was still there.

  They made it to New Port Richey with plenty of time to spare. Sam Caster sent them into an interview room while he gathered his notes and found his partner. When Caster was ready to question them, he sent Jenna out first, then started the tape recorder.

  “Okay, Mr. Tyne. This is my partner, Detective Jim McGuiness. First of all, let me advise you of your rights.”

  He frowned. “Am I under arrest?”

  “No, not at all, sir. This is standard procedure.” Caster Mirandized John and started questioning him.

  John played the game. He answered all the detective’s questions truthfully about his whereabouts the previous Friday. The only lies came when Caster questioned him about the bombing.

  “Do you have any knowledge about the attempt on your wife’s life?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Were you involved in it in any way?”

  He shook his head. “No, I was not.” Throughout the entire interview, John made sure he kept his answers simple and precise. He paid specific attention to how he answered, making sure he didn’t change that formula when the lies started. He was fairly confident he could beat a lie detector, but he felt if he convinced the detectives, it might not get that far.

  “Do you have any knowledge about anyone who might have cause to kill her?”

  “No, sir.”

  John watched Caster glance at McGuiness and wondered what they were thinking. John knew he was the prime suspect, and quickly thought back to everything he knew about police interrogation techniques.

  “Detective Caster, I’m a suspect, aren’t I?”

  “Yes, Mr. Tyne. To be quite frank, you are.”

  John let the silence lie between them for a moment. Then, “Well, can we get this over with?”

  “Get what over with?”

  “These questions.” He knew he’d distracted the detectives by not asking for a lawyer.

  “Tell us about the divorce agreement.”

  “Well, it’s still in my briefcase. I really haven’t had time to go over it with my attorney, but it seemed fair and straightforward.”

  “Did it upset you when she told you she wanted to file?”

  “No. Why should it? It’s not like I wasn’t expecting it. Would you like to see it? I have it with me.”

  Once again, the detectives exchanged glances. “If you don’t mind, Mr. Tyne,” Caster said.

  John opened his briefcase and thumbed through his papers. The manila envelope was under his towing receipts. He briefly considered handing the receipts over, but decided to wait until they asked for them. If he seemed too eager, that might also be a warning sign.

  “Here you go, Detective.” John handed Caster the envelope.

  “Thank you.” Caster and McGuiness glanced over the papers and returned them. “Looks like your wife is being very generous.”

  “I thought so.” John put the papers in his briefcase. “She has her own life and her own career. We didn’t have any kids. It should be an easy divorce.”

  The detectives spent another ten minutes questioning him before asking for the towing receipts. John produced them.

  “And do you have paperwork from the dealership?” Caster looked at him.

  “Yes, I do,” John replied while rummaging through his briefcase. He handed them to Caster.

  The detectives looked them over. After a few minutes, Caster said, “We need to make copies of these.”

  John nodded his head. “Absolutely.”
/>   The detectives left the room.

  * * * *

  Jenna forced herself not to chew her nails. Except for her, the waiting area was empty. She slipped the ID card from her purse and studied it again. It had not been there when John picked the car up at the dealership. Of that she was sure. How could she alibi him when she didn’t even know, with great certainty, where he’d been the night before?

  Friday night he called her, but Jenna had no way of knowing from where. As crazy as she was about him, did she really want to risk perjuring herself for him?

  But if she didn’t stand up for him and he was innocent, he might never forgive her and she’d have blown a chance with an otherwise great guy.

  * * * *

  “What do you think, Jim?” Sam respected his partner’s gut instinct. Jim McGuiness had been in law enforcement for over twenty years, with a distinguished career record.

  “I don’t know. Something’s not right. I can’t put my finger on it, but something’s just not right.”

  Sam nodded. “Me, too.” He shook his head. “The story’s too neat.”

  “Do you think he had someone do it?”

  Sam nodded again. “I’d almost swear to it. I think we’re going to have to get ahold of his phone records for the past couple of weeks and start tracking them down. I think we’ve got enough to get a court order for that, at least.”

  “You said Mitch thinks he’s tied in with that wreck?”

  “She says she’s positive. But on that, I don’t have anything to go on. Yet. I’m afraid to ask him in case he ditches the evidence. I want to see what a warrant will dig up. If we find the evidence she talked about, we can amend the warrant.”

  They copied the receipts and returned to the interrogation room.

  “Okay, Mr. Tyne,” McGuiness said. “I think that’s all we need for right now.”

  John returned the papers to his briefcase. “Thanks. Is there anything else?”

  Jim sat back down. “No. But we need to talk to Ms. Stephens.”