a Touch of TNT (An Everly Gray Adventure)

by Charles, L. j.

  “And Marcy is?” Was I getting good at this or what?

  “Justin’s secretary, Marcy Blaine.”

  I nodded. Sympathetic. Understanding.

  She shook her head and squinched her mouth. “She met a policeman. Can you believe that? Young, ordinary, brown hair, brown eyes, mole here.” She pointed to her cheek. “Really not an appealing young man.”

  The pen slid from my suddenly numb fingers and rolled to rest on the floor between us.

  I scrambled to reach for it and tried to pull myself together.

  Terri had described Jerry Applegate. No. Couldn’t be. There have to be a ton of policemen who have brown, brown, and a mole.

  I curled back into my chair, calm, poised, focused. Except for the waves of nausea churning through my stomach.

  Terri tipped her head to the side, looked at me. “You okay? You turned pale.”

  “Fine. I’m fine.” I waved a hand in her direction. “Please continue. Where did Marcy and the policeman meet?”

  “Coffee shop right by Justin’s office. Mundane. No imagination whatsoever. A coffee shop meeting.” She shuddered.

  “Mmm,” was all I could manage as I scribbled some notes.

  She took another sip of water, swirled the bottle around. “So I thought I might be wrong, maybe she was having a fling with the—”

  “Policeman?”

  “Um-hmm. But it doesn’t add up. Policemen don’t make any money. None at all.” She did a shoulder shimmy that displayed more cleavage than I wanted to see. Ever.

  I waited, pen poised.

  “So, I went back to following Justin because I figured Marcy was a dead end.” Her eyes dilated, bright and focused. “I followed him. In the Mercedes. Right to some house in the country. His car was parked in front.”

  She uncurled her legs, stood, and started to pace. “I banged on the door, yelled his name. When he unlocked it, I pushed past him calling for her, for Marcy.”

  “And you found her?” My voice hitched on the question. An actress I was not.

  “No. She wasn’t in the house, but the bed was trashed and it smelled like sex. And Justin hadn’t zipped his fly. I caught him. Not her. You see the problem here?”

  “It’s hard to threaten someone you have no proof against,” I said, calmly. I did not want this woman to go postal on me.

  She pointed that manicured finger at me again. “Exactly so.”

  “And that’s when you called me?”

  “Yes.” Her smile was the snooty, rich version of a pat on the head. Apparently I’d been a good student. She shook her head again, pinned me with a look. “Why would someone who has Justin North wrapped around her steno pad be meeting a lowly public servant?”

  My ears twitched in anticipation. “North? I thought your name was McGraw?”

  She waved me off. “I gave you my maiden name. Didn’t know if I could trust you when I made the appointment.”

  “Ah, of course. Maybe the policeman is a relative of…Marcy’s.”

  She shot me a look. “Of course he’s not a relative. Had that slimy look. Marcy is—” she flapped her hands— “too put together to have a relative like that. And they looked nothing alike. No, this was something else.”

  My spidey sense kicked in. “You like Marcy.”

  Terri’s head snapped up. “What—?” Grin. “Yes, I like Marcy. She’s smart, manipulative, maybe even ruthless. What’s not to like? But she can’t have Justin’s bank account. Or his dick. The man thinks with his dick.”

  I clamped my lips together, bit down to keep the smile in. “So, what’s your next step?”

  She drummed her fingers against her thigh. “I’m thinking—”

  Scary. This was one scary woman. “Yes?”

  “I need to focus on that policeman. Follow him around for a while. Damn, that means I need to rent the Taurus again. Maybe borrow some clothes from my housekeeper—”

  Not good. “And what—”

  She snapped her fingers. “Yes. That’s it. That man. That public servant type, he’s the key.” Her eyes narrowed. “He knows something, and I can use him to ruin Marcy’s reputation. Get her out of Justin’s life. Permanently.”

  I swallowed. “Terri, I don’t think—”

  “Of course you don’t,” she said as she slipped her shoes on. “You’re not ruthless enough to think. But you have done exactly what your ad said.” She pulled out a wad of cash, stripped off a few bills, and set them on the table. “You’ve solved my immediate problem.”

  Oh. Damn.

  She strode to the door and let herself out, turned and waved her fingers at me before she closed the door behind her.

  Bloody hell. I dropped my head into my hands and tugged on my hair. What was I supposed to do with this?

  Annie stormed in without knocking, skidded to a stop in front of me. “What’s going on? Who is that woman? Are you okay? It hasn’t even been twenty four hours since Pierce left you in my care, and you go skitzy.”

  I slowly raised my head and reached for my water. “Nope. Not okay.”

  She sat in Terri’s newly vacated chair. “Talk.”

  “Can’t.”

  Annie glared.

  “You know I can’t say anything about a client.”

  “This is about Adam’s case, isn’t it?”

  Silence.

  She stood up. Paced. “Surely you can talk about information that pertains to an active police investigation.”

  Silence.

  “El, this isn’t the time to go all—” Annie waved her hands, then continued pacing— “politically…proper.”

  I didn’t say a word. Who knew I could do silence?

  She stood over me. “I can have Adam subpoena you.”

  My eyebrows headed north. “Right.”

  She backed away and crossed her arms. “Are you in danger?”

  I shook my head. “Don’t think so. How about I make a suggestion? Someone needs to tail Marcy Blaine, diligently.”

  “That’s it?”

  I nodded.

  Annie slipped her cell from her pocket and left a message for Adam. “What now?”

  “Lunch?” One of my more tentative suggestions.

  She huffed. “Sure. Gypsy’s or Lucky?”

  Tension drained from my muscles. Good friends are the very best. “Lucky. I need…to be outside.” Who wouldn’t need some fresh air after an encounter with Terri North?

  “Whenever you can talk about this…” Annie watched me. Probably for signs of weakness.

  I didn’t give. Couldn’t. It was one of the few times I hated my job.

  She drove. We had the chef’s special (grilled Tilapia, spicy asparagus, and cheese grits) and avoided talking about anything serious. Well, except that I told her about Mitch—

  “So did you break up?”

  “Sort of. He said something about phone sex—”

  Annie grabbed her napkin and stuffed it against her mouth, trying not to choke on a bite of Tilapia. “Okay, then, so you’re just not seeing each other, but all other parts of your relationship remain in working order?”

  I played with my grits, making a hole in the middle like I used to do to mashed potatoes when I was a kid. “I don’t know what we are. In limbo, I guess.”

  “Doesn’t sound good,” she said around a bite of asparagus.

  “I don’t want him to leave his job. I’m not ready for that kind of commitment, you know? It’s almost more serious than marriage for someone to change their life’s work for you.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “Marriage is a promise you make to each other. It has a…time frame that begins when you agree to spend your life together, but it shouldn’t require you change everything you were prior to that moment.”

  Annie put down her fork, held my gaze. “The past is pretty much a done deal. Can’t change it.”

  I nodded. “Photography is a part of Mitch that’s probably been there since birth.”

  “Yeah, but he’s no
t planning to give up photography. Just working for the government, right?”

  I took a bite of the grits, giving myself time. “Those jobs, the ones he doesn’t talk about, they…are a part of him, too. Mitch is one of the good guys. Maybe he doesn’t need to be a hero like Pierce, but he needs to—”

  “Yeah, I get it. Been there, done that.”

  Grin. “Right. So you get what I’m saying. Mitch wouldn’t be Mitch if he wasn’t up to his neck in top secret stuff.”

  Annie pushed her plate away. “The choice is his, El. No one can or should try to influence that choice.”

  “When you left—”

  “My decision. Had to be.”

  “But no one else was in your life? No one influenced your decision?”

  Her face went sniper blank. No point following that line of conversation, so I moved on. “I need to tell Mitch about my touch coming back.”

  She nodded. “Yeah. And because of where he is and who he’s meeting with, now would be good.”

  “Yeah.” Tears burned behind my eyes, but I dialed the number and left the message. “Okay. Now what?” I asked as I laid some money on the table.

  “Now we go home and you stay put. Read a romance, clean your closet. Just don’t do anything until we hear from Pierce.”

  I saluted. “Got it. I’ll be good.”

  My cell rang as I stepped into the house.

  It was Katelan, not Mitch.

  My heart did a funny squeeze. Guess I’d really needed to hear his voice.

  “Hi, Katelan. You back in town?” I sounded too enthusiastic, hiding how much I missed Mitch.

  “Just got in and have a pile of packages from friends waiting for my intuitive attention. I’ll work on them tonight, but I’d like to schedule another appointment.” She sounded good. Ready to work.

  I set my handbag and lunch leftovers down, then dropped into the nearest chair. “What time is good for you?”

  “I have a negotiation scheduled for tomorrow at…where did I put that email—?” Her voice trailed off. “Ah, here we go. North Construction at ten a.m.”

  EIGHTEEN

  There wasn’t anything I could do about Katelan working with North Construction. Probably wasn’t even relevant to the case…although, my spiritual teacher had taught me there were no coincidences.

  But what about Terri McGraw North showing up on my doorstep? There were other personal coaches in town. A couple, anyway. So, why me? Coincidence or not?

  I scrubbed at the tingles prickling along my nape. I needed to find a way to share the info from Terri with Adam and still maintain client confidentiality. Which meant I had to investigate the leads she’d shared.

  Marcy meeting with Jerry Applegate. Oh, yeah. A perfect place to start, and I had a sudden craving for a cinnamon latte. What better place to imbibe than the Coffee Time shop by North Construction? Coffee shops were public property. Safe. So, none of my keepers could object to an afternoon shot of caffeine. Well, not much.

  If I thought about it I’d back myself into a moral dilemma, so I grabbed my handbag and headed out. It took twenty minutes to get to North’s office building. I cranked up the radio and sang along to keep from thinking, but reached for my cell a half dozen times. It was strange not to check in with Adam or Annie.

  I eased into a parking place a few blocks from Coffee Time because I wanted to take my time approaching the building. A few of my favorite shops were located on this street, so I took my time, ambling along sidewalk, peering into windows, acting like my primary goal in life was to spend money. Stalling? If the knot between my shoulders was an indication—yup, scared witless and definitely stalling. I passed the building that housed North Construction, and my spidey sense zapped me with an image of Marcy Blaine.

  How could I have ignored the fact she worked in that building? Stupid. There was a decent chance Marcy would show up at the coffee shop for an afternoon hit of caffeine. The same Marcy who’d switched addresses, who was possibly behind the death of my VW Bug, and who might be trying to kill me.

  What was I thinking coming here?

  I pushed rational thought aside, slid my palm through the door handle, and pulled. Awkward, but I wanted to censor as much ESP input as possible. The scent of freshly brewed coffee drifted outside, and my taste buds sprang to life. I edged inside, using my foot to prop the door open. There were a few people standing in line, but everyone was focused on the menu or whatever, and didn’t turn to witness my clumsy entrance. Surely that was a positive sign from the Universe that I was on the “chosen path.”

  The inside of Coffee Time was cozy. The décor was a warm mix of rust, deep peach, and golden sienna. The tables and an assortment of cushy chairs and sofas were empty. Must be an off time for business, but that could work to my advantage. I cued up behind the last person in line, then turned to survey the street. I didn’t want to be surprised if Marcy happened to bop in.

  “What can I get you?” Bored. Monotone.

  I spun to face the barista—a short, sullen, young man with an unfortunate green cast to his complexion. Hopefully, it didn’t indicate anything contagious.

  “Sorry. I’d like a tall, skinny, decaf cinnamon latte please.” I inhaled deeply catching the odor of burned coffee grounds hidden under the scent of warm milk.

  The barista punched a series of keys on the register. “That’ll be three-sixty-nine.”

  I dug in my wallet and flashed him a grin. “Have you been working here long?” Maybe it wasn’t the smoothest conversation starter. But, hey, I’d never cozied up to a potential snitch before.

  He rolled his eyes. “Yes, ma’am, ’bout a twelve month stint.”

  “Stint?” My gaze traveled over his piercings, and I wondered about his life before Coffee Time. Juvie, maybe.

  He wiggled his fingers, palm open waiting for the cash.

  I handed him the money, and then dropped a huge tip in the jar on the counter.

  His eyes dilated.

  “You’re familiar with all the regular customers?” I asked while he stared at the jar and licked his lips. Mercenary young man. Worked in my favor.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He handed me my drink, not taking his eyes off the two twenties snuggled against the side of the clear glass jar.

  I didn’t want to make him nervous by hanging around the counter, so I wandered to a table and settled in to plan my strategy.

  Should I just randomly touch things? It shouldn’t be too bad in a coffee shop. Probably a lot of background sensation like in the grocery store, but that would make it difficult to pick up any specific information about people—like Marcy and Applegate.

  The barista dude headed my way with an empty tray, a bottle of cleaning solution, and a wadded up cloth. He cleared the table next to mine, sprayed the top, then put some muscle into scrubbing at the sticky coffee rings.

  Empty shop and a task that required no thought—the perfect opportunity for me to ply him with questions.

  I cleared my throat. “Umm, one of my friends, she comes in here a lot. Says you have the best coffee in the city.”

  “Heard that,” he said, focusing on a puddle of spilled cream.

  “Maybe you know her? Dark hair, big brown eyes, and a distinctive, soft, raspy voice.”

  He glanced at me, shifted his feet. “Yeah, comes in every morning, sometimes afternoon too.”

  He bent to finish cleaning the table. A lock of stringy blond hair escaped his ponytail, and when he pushed it behind his ear I noticed the deep red that colored his cheeks and crept down his neck.

  He was crushing on Marcy.

  “Well, I’m sure you take good care of her. I’m…Jenny,” I said as I stretched to see his nametag. “Chip. Oh, my gosh. Marcy tells me you’re the best barista at Coffee Time, so I’m honored that you made my latte. Delicious.”

  I swallowed hard, the lies leaving my throat raw. How do people do this covert stuff?

  Chip moved to the next table and scrubbed vigorously at a stubborn coffee stain
. “I umm, really like her too. Always leaves me a tip. Some people don’t ya know.”

  “Have you seen her today?”

  He nodded, a bit of drool catching on his bottom lip. “’Bout an hour ago. Ordered her usual caramel macchiato with soy.”

  “Yes, she likes those. She sometimes meets…friends here, I think.”

  He nodded again. “Yeah, she—” he dragged the toe of his sneaker along the floor— “used to meet a guy here.”

  “A guy?” My stomach did a flip-flop.

  “Uh-huh. But not for a while now. A cop,” he snarled, curling his lip.

  “They’re not together anymore.” It was probably wrong to get his hopes up, but I needed more information.

  He perked up, caught my eye. “Really? That’s gr…too bad.”

  I put on my best innocent expression. “So, did they have a favorite table?”

  His face blanked. “A favorite table?”

  “You know, sometimes people feel…attached to certain places…memories and all.”

  He scratched his head, toyed with the ring in his eyebrow. Clearly he wasn’t getting it. “I dunno ’bout that. They, umm, always sat back there,” he said, gesturing with his wet cleaning rag toward a table tucked into a corner. A cascade of soapy water plopped on the floor.

  I turned in the direction of his hand. Stuck back in the corner, and stacked with boxes of napkins, cups and lids, sat a scratched up table. “Back there? Where all the supplies are stored?”

  “Yeah. It’s really not for customers…but—” he shrugged— “no reason to make them move. Not my job.”

  Chip finished his cleanup and scurried behind the counter.

  So, Marcy and Applegate met here more than once and sat at a table now covered with boxes of supplies. My fingertips tingled with the possibility of exploring, finding images to share with Adam. Anything to get me off the hot seat of protecting Terri McGraw’s confidentiality.

  I figured if I sat here sipping my latte long enough customers would come in, and I could check out the table without catching Chip’s attention. Sure as all hell, he’d mention me to Marcy if I didn’t dissolve in the abyss of his teenage attention span.