a Touch of TNT (An Everly Gray Adventure)

by Charles, L. j.

  Long minutes passed, each one pushing me closer to edge of a curiosity breakdown. I’m so not good with the patience thing. Finally, I strolled to the front of the shop and picked up an Independent newspaper. A legitimate reason to hang out.

  The hands on the clock crawled. Five minutes. Ten. Twenty. Surely someone would come in, place a huge order for several complicated drinks, and distract Chip so I could ease over and check out the corner table.

  Preferably before Marcy got an afternoon craving for caffeine.

  I eyed him over the rim of my empty cup. He fidgeted with the piercing that decorated the edge of a thick, brown eyebrow. I smiled. Tried for reassuring. Failed.

  Chip scowled, grabbed a rag, and started dusting bottles of flavor additives. Not good. He’d remember me.

  Time to give up. I pushed back my chair and gathered the pages of the Independent into a tidy pile. Damn, I hated to lose this opportunity. A second visit would be chancy…unless Chip wasn’t working.

  The Coffee Time door banged open, a gaggle of teenagers (not to be confused with geese) filled the small shop. Relief shot through me. If that didn’t distract Chip, nothing would.

  I stood and made my way to the corner behind the “storage table,” trailed my fingertips along the surface of the wood. Nothing. Hazy background images, but nothing I could pull into focus. Bloody hell. I needed something to share with the team.

  I glanced at Chip. No eye contact, so I scooted behind the table, ran the tips of my fingers over the back of a rickety chair that had been wedged into the far corner of the alcove. A fuzzy, energetic image of Applegate flashed on my internal movie screen. Smarmy. Not someone I’d want to meet in a dark alley. I inhaled, was distracted by the heavy scent of fresh coffee and caramel. I rubbed my nose to clear the distraction, and then rested my fingers on the table.

  Yes! A clear picture of Marcy handing Applegate a photograph of…well, that part wasn’t clear. I shook my hands, made fists, and did another shake. I slipped my index finger under the hem of my t-shirt and rubbed the diamond. Tingles rushed up my arm. Two breaths later I placed all ten fingers against the surface of the table a few inches closer to the center of the table.

  The photograph appeared on my internal monitor. Applegate must have set it on the table…just where my fingers rested. I let the image of the woman in the photo settle into my brain. Pretty, looked a lot like Marcy, only younger. A relative? Cousin? Sister? And how was she related to Applegate? And how were they both involved with Applegate? The possible ick factor had me jerking my hands back and scrubbing them over my jeans.

  At least it was info I could share with the team. No confidentiality issues with what my fingers picked up in a public coffee shop.

  I touched a few other places on the table, the other chairs, then caught Chip staring at me with beetled brows. Not good. I flicked a wave in his direction, tossed my cup in the trash, and made my way outside without a backward glance.

  Within half a block, my neck prickled with awareness. Do not turn around, Everly. Deep breath. Pretend it was an ordinary visit to a coffee shop. It took all my will power not to turn around and check out the sidewalk behind me.

  I clicked the car unlocked and slid behind the wheel, shot a quick look in the rearview mirror.

  Nothing. A shudder squeezed my muscles. I was so not a super cool, covert, spy person.

  I fumbled for my cell and pressed speed dial for Annie. Time to fess up.

  “Where the hell are you?” Annie wasn’t one to waste time on pleasantries—especially when I’d slid out from under her protection for the better part of the afternoon.

  “In the car on my way home.”

  “ETA?”

  “Fifteen minutes.”

  “Meet you on the deck. This better be good.”

  I grinned. “It is. Not great, but definitely give it a good.”

  Dial tone. She wasn’t happy with me. Wonder if she…no, she wouldn’t have called Pierce…or Adam. Oh, damn.

  I pulled into my driveway slowly, giving myself time to check out the occupants of the deck. Damn, damn, and double damn. She’d called Pierce. Sigh. At least Adam wasn’t—make that was pulling in behind me. I eased out of the car and crossed my arms over my handbag, pulling it tightly to my chest. Body armor.

  I jogged up the steps ahead of Adam so I could claim a seat with my back to the wall, but failed. Pierce tapped my shoulder when I reached the top step and pointed to a chair at the side of the group.

  I sat.

  Annie wiggled her fingers at me in a “talk” gesture.

  Adam growled as he pulled out the chair next to me and sat down.

  Okay, then, not a happy group.

  “I, umm, learned things today during a client session.” My gaze darted between them, and I threw up my hands. “You know. You all know I can’t break client confidentiality.”

  Annie glared. “But you could have let us know where you were going.”

  “Yes. I could have done that, but you would have insisted on tagging along, and it…wouldn’t have…helped.” I reached for half empty bottle of beer sitting in front of Annie and took a swallow. “I went to a coffee shop to check out the information that…came across my desk this morning.”

  “Where?” Adam barked as he pulled out a spiral notebook and pen.

  “The Coffee Time shop, but that isn’t important. What matters is that… Do any of you know if Marcy Blaine has a sister? Or cousin, some relative that looks like a younger version of her?”

  Adam nodded. “Info came in this morning. Don’t know about physical resemblance. We didn’t catch it earlier because Blaine didn’t trip our radar until—” he flicked his index finger in my direction— “Little Miss Trouble here tried to get herself blown up.”

  I slapped at his hand. “So what did you find out?”

  “Marcy Blaine had a younger sister, Shauna. Died in a camping accident twelve years ago.”

  Tingles zipped over my skin. “An accident? For sure?”

  “Working on getting the coroner’s report.” Adam checked his watch. “Should be in my email soon.”

  Pierce angled his chin at me. “What else?”

  “Marcy and Jerry Applegate—”

  “The cop you found in the dumpster?” Pierce clarified.

  I nodded. “They often met at Coffee Time. Hold that thought,” I said as I hustled to fetch my MacBook Pro. I balanced it on my lap while I Googled Shauna Blaine, Calverton College, and death.

  Three pair of eyes focused on me. “At the coffee shop. I touched stuff. Saw Marcy hand Applegate a picture of—” I turned the computer to face them— “her.”

  NINETEEN

  I cradled a mug of fragrant hazelnut coffee between my hands—black. I’d put all things cinnamon on hold—just for today. Memories from Coffee Time had plagued my dreamtime with disjointed, crazy nightmares of Marcy, Applegate, and Shauna. Unfortunately, I’d been drinking a cinnamon latte at the time I discovered their connection, so now I associated the ick factor in their relationships with the taste of my favorite brew.

  I’d scribbled a list of questions during a middle-of-the-night brainstorm, and now read through them while I savored my coffee and a bowl of Cheerios with fresh blueberries.

  Where, when, and how had Shauna Blaine died?

  How did Shauna and Applegate meet? Details of relationship?

  What was Applegate’s relationship with Marcy?

  What did Terri McGraw North know about the murders?

  What was up with Applegate and explosives?

  Who was the dude in black?

  Lots of questions. No answers. And I had a free morning. Katelan was scheduled for two p.m., which gave me plenty of time to research a few answers.

  Or I could call Mitch. No, I had to give him time. My heart fluttered against the ache in my chest. Maybe if I just left another message on his cell. I punched in his number before I out-thought myself, and left a litany of newsy information about what was going on—with j
ust enough detail so he wouldn’t worry. I missed him. A lot.

  That done, I needed to occupy my curiosity, and keep the pain of missing him from tearing a chasm in my heart. Adam promised to chase down info on Shauna Blaine, but the wheels of bureaucracy turned slowly, and law enforcement wasn’t good about sharing information with me, even though I was part of the team. Probably had something to do with confidentiality issues.

  I swallowed the last of my coffee, then washed my mug and cereal bowl. They sat in the drying rack dripping, innocent and forlorn. A pang of loneliness squeezed my heart. Maybe I’d been living alone too long…or was it something else?

  Calverton College was a two-hour drive each way. Six a.m. Back by noon. Katelan at two. Plenty of time. I showered and dressed in my usual jeans and t-shirt, then punched in Annie’s number as I pulled out of the driveway. It flipped to voice mail immediately. Bet that had something to do with Sean Martin’s F-150 sitting in the driveway. My timing couldn’t have been better.

  I programmed the address for Calverton into my new GPS and followed sexy dude’s voice commands. Loved the GPS. Didn’t get lost once, and pulled into the visitor’s parking lot a little after eight a.m. When I got out of the car, I did a few yoga stretches, nabbed a likely student for directions to the library, and then tailgated a couple of other students through the turnstile.

  The cycle of change hadn’t hit Carlton. A fluke, or maybe it was a miracle, but they had a topnotch journalism program, and the freshman students were responsible for creating a yearbook that highlighted newsy events. A sleepy-eyed student directed me to a seldom-used area of the stacks. Perfect. Not that the library was over-populated at eight o’clock in the morning, but I wanted to keep a low profile.

  First on my agenda was Shauna Blaine. Twelve years ago would have been…I pulled out the books corresponding to the most likely years of her attendance at Calverton, and cozied up at a corner table with my iPad. Vague shadowy images seeped through my fingertips as I stacked the books in chronological order, but nothing discernible popped out. Not surprising since there wasn’t much emotion attached to old yearbooks that no one had bothered with in forever.

  I slipped the earliest book from the top of the pile. When I cracked the cover, dust drifted through the air, and I broke into a sneezing fit. Several tissues later, I eased my finger along the edge of the first page. Still no images.

  My cell beeped. Too loud in the musty silence.

  Adrenaline surged, and my heart pounded sharp against my ribs. I’d been so focused on my task and definitely didn’t want to try and explain why I went missing. Especially not to Annie. Panic zapped my nerves. How could I explain it? My best friend, and I’d slipped out on her knowing she’d been tasked with protection detail.

  I lurched backward, tumbling to the floor as the chair skidded out from under me. Damn, but that was a loud crash. I frantically scanned the area. No one was around. Okay, then. Moving on.

  I sucked in a breath, and reached for my handbag to retrieve the phone. Too late. Missed the call. I righted the chair, brushed off my jeans, and picked up the yearbook. A couple pages had ripped when it landed on the floor, but were repairable. I’d turn it in to the librarian before I left.

  My cell vibrated, and a text message from Annie flashed across the screen. Yikes. Did people really use language like that over the phone system? Didn’t the carriers keep a database of messages for some unknown period of time? Unless Annie’s cell wasn’t like the kind regular customers used.

  I shrugged it off and zipped her a brief, placating message: my location, that I was safe, and that I was sorry for scaring the crap out of her. Then I went back to perusing the yearbooks.

  It took a while, but I got a ton of useful information that I wanted to take back with me. Stealing the yearbooks wasn’t an option, so I searched for a copier. I pulled out some change only to find a credit card sized slot winking at me from the console. Looked like you needed some kind of student ID to make copies. Well, then. Time to locate a sleepy, could-care-less student—preferably male.

  I unclipped my hair, turned my head upside down and ran my fingers through it, put on a fresh coat of lip-gloss, took off my sweater and tied the sleeves around my waist to accentuate my breasts.

  A perfect example of Sleepy College Guy nodded off at a table by the copier, his head propped in his hand.

  “The copy machine,” I whispered in his ear.

  “Huh?” he grunted reaching for his phone. Shook his head when he didn’t see a message on the screen, then turned and squinted bloodshot brown eyes at me.

  I flashed him a grin, and a bit of cleavage. “The copy machine.”

  His gaze followed my finger as I pointed, came back to rest at the vee of my t-shirt.

  “Yeah,” he muttered with a touch of wistfulness.

  “Could I borrow your card? To make some copies?”

  “My card?”

  “The one that fits in the little slot,” I explained, making a sliding pantomime with my right hand.

  He licked his lips, reached for his pocket, and then shook his head. “Can’t. Only have a few bucks left on it and I need to finish this—” he pointed at the stack of books in front of him— “friggin’ project for Banks.”

  I nodded, knowingly. “He’s tough,” I said, slipping a twenty out of my wallet and setting it on top of his pile of papers. “I just don’t want to go all the way back home…” I added a touch of whine to my voice. There’s nothing as effective as the power of a good whine in a silent room.

  He looked at the twenty with dilated pupils. “How many copies you gonna make?”

  “Ten. Maybe a few more.” I shrugged. “Depends on how it goes.”

  He crumpled the twenty in his fist, and handed me his copy card. “I’ll be watchin’. Gotta get my card back.”

  “Shouldn’t take more than a few minutes,” I said, sending him a wink over my shoulder as I sashayed back to my seat.

  I’d placed markers on the pages I wanted to copy, so the actual process would be fast. A low-level adrenaline buzz had taken over my body the instant I found the first photograph of Shauna and Jerry Applegate. A couple. An item. I watched the pictures spill from the machine, and the low buzz ratcheted up to a full-blown excitement. I had copies of their class portraits and lists of their activities, but best of all were the telltale photos of them together.

  I replaced the yearbooks, tucked the packet of copies in my handbag, and placed the copy card on the table next to the gently snoring young man. I barely resisted patting his head—so much cuteness in such a gangly body.

  When I was ten minutes from home I punched speed dial for Annie. “Any chance I can bum some lunch? I’m starving.”

  There was a long silence. “No place to eat on campus, hmm?” Her words were carefully spaced.

  “Stuff woke me, and my curiosity got carried away. In my defense, I found some great information. We can chat while we eat.” No point in pretending I didn’t push the boundaries they’d all set for me last night. I was tired of boundaries. And loneliness.

  “Uh-huh. Leftover pasta okay?”

  “Great. My Cheerios were a long time ago, so anything would be fine with me.”

  “Where are you? Exactly?”

  “Pulling in my driveway. I’ll be up in a sec,” I said, tapping End on my cell. It’d be best to give her a couple minutes to calm down.

  She met me on the deck, hands on hips, steely green glare focused on me. “You didn’t tell anyone, didn’t check in until you were way the hell gone.”

  “You know I tried. Your response would have put a rapper to shame.” I pulled my phone out of my pocket, flipped through the menu selections until I found my call log, and handed her the phone. “See, it took you two hours to get back to me. I was going to ask you to come with me, but was kicked into voice mail.”

  When I’m embarrassed my cheeks turn bright red. Not Annie. A soft, rose color warmed her peaches and cream complexion. “Ah, Sean spent the night
. I guess he turned the phone off. Can’t blame you for that one.”

  The tension eased from my shoulders. This was going much better than I thought. “I found out some interesting stuff. Want to see?”

  She nodded, motioned for me to sit at the new farm table she’d purchased from Pottery Barn. It was a cozy, welcoming shade of red that looked great on her deck. I plopped my handbag on the table, my backside on a matching bench, and pulled out the copies I’d made.

  I’d covered most of the table with pictures of Shauna, Jerry, and them as a couple by the time Annie brought out bowls of pasta and cans of soda.

  She handed me a fork and napkin. “Nice work. Looks like they were an item.” She pointed to a picture of them dancing. “How’d you find this?”

  I took a deep breath inhaling the delicious scent of the Buca di Beppo Penne Cardinale—a fancy name for penne pasta with artichokes, cream, butter, white wine, red pepper flakes, and chicken. It was one of Annie’s specialties. My mouth watered. I stabbed a forkful and stuffed it in my mouth. A moan escaped.

  Annie nudged me. “Hey, pull your nose out of the pasta and focus here.”

  “That’s how I did it. Diligent focus. And maybe some enthusiastic prayers. After the adult language that peppered your text, I could practically feel you hovering. Knew I had to get back here in record time.”

  She took a bite of pasta and pulled a photograph of Shauna toward her. “Did you see this? Under Shauna’s picture they list TNT as one of her interests.”

  “Yep. Noticed that,” I said, popping another bite of pasta in my mouth.

  Annie reached over, slid the bowl out of my reach.

  “Gimme,” I demanded, grabbing for my lunch only to find that she’d slapped one of the copied pages in front of me.

  “What do you make of that?”

  I read over the page. It was a list of members who’d been inducted into the TNT Society that year. Shauna’s name wasn’t on the list. “I think something happened between the beginning of her junior year and summer break. Something that made them decide not to let her join.”