“Delicious.” Bree speared some blueberries and sliced strawberries. If she rationed two or three mouthfuls of fresh fruit to each bite of French toast or sausage, she should be able to eat enough to claim fullness while not offending Martha.
Satisfied, Martha went back to hulling strawberries. Bearing the name Obermacher’s, large containers of the plump, ripe berries sat next to neatly stacked empty ones. Dozens of jelly and jam jars were lined up on the counter, ready to be filled. It looked like a lot of work. Bree couldn’t fathom going to all that trouble when it was so easy to pick up a jar of preserves at the store.
“I saw you having dinner with Lenny in the fire hall last night,” Martha said, interrupting her thoughts. “I thought you were coming back here to get work done.”
Having dinner with Lenny was work, as far as Bree was concerned.
“Slight change in plans,” Bree replied. “An opportunity arose to interview one of Sumneyville’s finest and I took it.”
Martha offered a knowing smile. The problem was, Martha was way off base. “He’s a good catch.”
To someone who planned on spending the rest of their life in Sumneyville, baking cookies and making babies, he probably was. Not Bree though. She wanted more. And even if she were inclined, Officer Lenny didn’t do it for her.
A vision of green eyes and auburn hair flashed in her mind’s eye. She pushed it away.
“I’m not fishing, Martha.”
Martha shot a skeptical look over her shoulder. “Are you spoken for?”
“No, nothing like that. My job and the amount of traveling I do don’t leave me a lot of time to date.”
Martha sighed. “Careers are important, but you must think about your future, too. Youth doesn’t last forever, you know.”
Bree sensed they weren’t talking about her anymore. “Did you have a career, Martha?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t call it that,” she said, her face turning red. “More like a silly dream really.”
“Tell me,” Bree coaxed softly.
“Well, at one time, I fancied myself something of an actress,” Martha said, keeping her eyes on the berries. “I got the lead in the high school play and caught the bug. My drama teacher said I had great talent, and for a while, I thought I did, too. So, I packed a suitcase and bought a bus ticket to the city the day after graduation. Everyone told me I was being foolish. I had a good job at the dress factory and a steady beau, but I wouldn’t listen. I was convinced I was destined for better things.” Her smile was sad. “Needless to say, it didn’t quite work out that way.”
“What happened?”
“Three months later, I was back home, worse off than when I’d left. My parents were so ashamed. I’d lost my job at the factory, and my boyfriend had taken up with someone else.”
“But you tried. You gave it a shot. That has to count for something.”
“I would have been better off appreciating what I had instead of dreaming of what I didn’t.” Martha shook her head. “Listen to me, prattling on like an old woman. Are you going to see him again?”
Bree’d been so caught up in Martha’s story that it took her a moment to remember what, or rather who, they’d been talking about.
“Sumneyville’s not that big. Our paths might cross again,” Bree said lightly, but she had the distinct impression the Sumneyville police officer would rather they didn’t, especially given his veiled warning.
He wasn’t the type to share, but Martha, on the other hand ...
“May I ask you something, Martha?”
“Of course, dear.”
“Why are some of the locals opposed to Sanctuary?”
The older woman paused briefly and then resumed hulling. “Whatever gave you that idea? Did someone say something?”
“No, but when I bring it up, people tend to tense up. Like you just did.”
Martha said nothing for several long minutes. Bree waited, alternating sips of coffee with small bites from her plate. Thankfully, Penny had snuck in and placed herself under the table at Bree’s feet, and Bree was able to surreptitiously slip bites to her as well.
Finally, Martha said suddenly, “Where do you live, Bree?”
“I have an apartment in the suburbs of San Diego.”
“How many people would you say live in your neighborhood?”
“I don’t know. Maybe around eighty thousand or so.”
“And how well do you know your neighbors?”
“Not well,” Bree admitted.
Martha nodded, as if that was what she’d expected. “At the last census, the population of Sumneyville and the surrounding area was about three thousand, and most of our families have been here for generations. We know each other, know what to expect. When someone new comes into the area, it’s only natural to be a bit ... circumspect.”
“The Winston family is one of the founding families.”
Martha’s lips turned downward. “Yes, but it’s not the Winstons who are there now, is it?”
Matt Winston is, Bree thought and then remembered Lenny’s warning about poking hives. Aloud, she said, “That makes sense. It takes time to adjust, especially when you don’t know the people you’re dealing with.”
“Yes, that’s it exactly,” Martha said, seeming slightly relieved. “What do you have planned for today?”
The abrupt change in topic clearly signaled the end of the conversation about Sanctuary. Bree briefly considered telling Martha that she was meeting Nick for dinner just to see what would happen but decided against it. She didn’t want to antagonize her hostess, not if she hoped to glean more insider information.
“Nothing specific. I’ll probably do some more exploring, talk to more people, and get some pictures. Sumneyville has a rich, fascinating history, and I’d like to capture some of that in my article.” She looked at her nails. “I should probably get my nails done at some point, too. I saw a salon in town. Do you know if they take walk-ins?”
Chapter Nineteen
Cage
“We’ve traced the weapons to a dealer with shady ties,” Ian told the men gathered in the war room.
“How shady?” Church asked.
“Shady enough to be on several federal and international watch lists,” Ian’s brother, Jake, answered.
“I didn’t think Freed had the brains to deal with the big boys,” Smoke rumbled.
“He doesn’t,” Church agreed. “But he thinks he does. I doubt he has any idea who and what he’s dealing with. He’s not known for looking beyond his own nose.” The undercurrent of bitterness suggested Church was basing his opinion on personal experience.
“If he doesn’t know, then who does?”, Doc asked.
The Callaghan brothers exchanged glances.
It was Ian who said, “We were able to trace the money trail through a local guy, Luther Renninger. From what we found, he’s using legitimate local businesses to funnel funds through those and into offshore accounts, where they’re pushed through another series of networks to be laundered and siphoned into international cartels.”
Heff whistled softly.
Cage said, “The IRS is already investigating Luther.”
“We know,” Ian told them. “But this stuff? It’s not going to show up on their radar.”
“Why not? It showed up on yours,” Doc commented.
Jake Callaghan’s grin was feral. “We have higher security clearance than the standard IRS criminal investigator. And since we’re not officially involved, we don’t have to color inside the lines.”
“Besides,” Ian piped in, “even if they do find evidence and call in the Department of Justice, their hands will be tied. The powers that be are not going to jeopardize years’ worth of investigative work to bag a small-time accountant. If anything, they’ll put eyes on him and see what happens. They might have already.”
Church shook his head. “That would require getting into Freed’s inner circle. They’re wary of outsiders.”
“Which is what would make havi
ng someone on the inside invaluable,” Ian said, his blue eyes practically dancing with mischief.
“What do you know that we don’t know?” Mad Dog asked, his eyes narrowing.
“Officially, nothing. Just a theory I’m working on. If and when something pans out, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Fair enough.”
“The most important thing is to not tip Freed off. We need him to think he’s on top of everything.”
“Do you think that’s why he moved some of his inventory?” Cage mused aloud. “Because he suspects a traitor in his midst?”
Jake lifted his big shoulders in a shrug. “Anything’s possible. Who knows? Maybe he’s rattled because there’s a reporter snooping around. How’d the interview go, by the way?”
“Less painful than we’d expected,” Church said wryly. “We gave her the public tour, answered some questions.”
“Hmm,” Ian hummed.
Whether it was that hum or the pensive expression on his face, it got their attention.
“What are you thinking?” Doc asked.
Jake, clearly on the same page as his brother, answered, “That she flew cross-country for more than a public tour and answers she could have gotten over a call. That seems suspect, doesn’t it?”
“We thought the same thing, but Cage checked her out.”
Cage nodded, pointedly ignoring Heff’s chuckle. “It’s consistent with other assignments she’s done.”
“Don’t make the mistake of underestimating her,” Ian said. “She’s a journalist and a woman, which means she’s doubly curious. Plus, women are at their most dangerous when they’re being agreeable. It usually means they’ve got an ulterior motive.”
“Sounds like you’re talking from experience,” Church said, grinning.
“Oh, that I am. But seriously, what you’re doing here is great and all, but it just seems like we’re missing something. Like maybe she got wind of something and interviewing you is just a cover story.”
“She doesn’t know about Tori, does she?” Jake asked suddenly.
Tori McCain and her husband, Brian, ran the hippotherapy ranch up the road and had a business partnership with Sanctuary. A few years earlier, Tori had been front-page news as the only surviving victim of the Lonely Hearts serial killer. The Callaghans had used their significant influence to keep her and her adopted son out of the public eye as much as possible, but every now and then, another media buzzard would show up and try to get a scoop.
“Not from us,” Church said, looking to Cage for confirmation.
“I mentioned that hippotherapy was an option for guests, but didn’t provide any names.”
“What did you decide? Are you going to see her again?” Church asked.
“Yes. Tonight, as a matter of fact.”
Clearly, Church didn’t know about the bet. Smoke, Heff, and Mad Dog did though, and they looked neither surprised nor disappointed by Cage’s answer. Knowing them, they’d baited the women into the wager, expecting—possibly hoping—to lose. As Heff had once told him, “losing” to your better half once in a while was a critically important strategy in the long-range plan.
Church nodded. “Keep us posted.”
“Will do.”
Business concluded, Ian and Jake left, and the rest of the guys dispersed.
As he was walking out the door, Heff put a hand on Cage’s shoulder and said quietly, “All kidding aside, it’s probably in everyone’s best interests if you keep the lovely Miss De Rossi occupied for the next couple of days, purely for her safety. If she starts flipping over rocks, she might find a snake or two.”
Chapter Twenty
Bree
It was a universal truth: in small towns, the best places to discover information were bars and salons. Sumneyville had one of each, which made her task easier.
The local bar, O’Malley’s, wasn’t likely to net much. Bree had seen it during her explorations. It was a typical guys-only establishment and not the kind of place where the patrons would openly share anything with outsiders, especially a woman.
The salon, Bella Tu, was far more likely to yield results. Hence her sudden desire for a manicure. Having freshly polished, properly shaped nails and soft hands for her dinner date with Nick was a bonus. If things went well, she might get her toes done, too.
All eyes turned to her when she entered, the looks more curious than hostile. Bree could deal with that.
She paused just inside the door, near the register, taking it all in. The place was roomier on the inside than it had appeared on the outside. A cozy waiting was area off to the left, near the large plate glass window. End tables were strewn with style magazines, some of which looked as if they’d been there since the ’80s. Straight ahead were two styling stations, two sinks, and two overhead dryer seats. Against the right wall, a manicurist station.
Of the half-dozen women in there, several faces were familiar. Bree recognized the hostess from Franco’s sitting in one of the cutting chairs; she thought her name was Carmella. Mona and the spinsterly twins from the Ladies Auxiliary were there, too.
Bree offered them a smile and a wave. “Nice to see you again, ladies.”
“Can I help you?” asked a woman with big hair and big earrings. She reminded Bree a lot of her aunt Lucia.
“I was hoping to get a manicure.” Bree smiled and wiggled her fingers. “Do you do walk-ins?”
“Of course,” the woman said. “Marietta!”
The server she’d had the other night at Franco’s looked up from her phone, annoyed. When she saw Bree, some of that annoyance faded.
“Don’t you work at Franco’s?” Bree said as she took a seat at the glass table.
“Yeah, but I help out here, too. My aunt owns the place,” Marietta said, sounding as if she wasn’t thrilled about it.
Bree could see the resemblance. “You look a lot like her.”
“Yeah, everyone says that. Do you want tips or gel?”
Bree spun the acrylic carousel of nail polish, selecting a vibrant purple. “Gel.”
“I love this color,” Marietta said. “We have it in a hair rinse, too. It would look amazing with your dark hair.”
“Me? Purple hair? I don’t think so.”
“It’s not as bad as you think. It’s very subtle.”
Mona snorted from the other side of the small space. “Subtle? I looked like an Easter egg.”
“It’s subtle on dark hair,” Marietta clarified. “You can only see it when light hits it a certain way.”
The big-haired woman gave Bree a critical once-over and nodded. “She’s right. With your coloring, it’d look fabulous. I’m Viola, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you, Viola. I’m Bree.”
Viola smirked. “I know.”
They were looking at her expectantly. She did like the color, almost as much as she liked the idea of doing something unexpected. And if it put her in their good graces, all the better. But ...
She looked around at the nearly full waiting area. “Do you have time?”
The woman laughed. “They’re not waiting. They’re just here for the gossip.”
“All right then, let’s do it.”
Viola pointed to one of the styling stations, wrapped a cape over her clothes, and ran her fingers through her hair. “You’ve got beautiful hair. When’s the last time you had a trim?”
“It’s been a while,” Bree admitted.
“After we do the color, let’s take an inch off and revive some of that gorgeous natural curl. Marietta can do your nails while the color’s cooking.” When Bree agreed, Viola got to work. “So, you’re doing a piece on Sanctuary, huh?”
“Yes.”
“Good. It’s about time those boys got some recognition.”
In the mirror, Bree saw Mona scowl. The older woman rose and gathered her purse, saying she had somewhere else to be. Edith and Lydia followed shortly after, leaving the Franco’s hostess, Viola, Marietta, and Winona Mitchell in the shop.
“No, something I said,” Viola corrected.
“Don’t take it personally,” Carmella said. “They’ve got bees in their bonnets when it comes to Matt Winston.”
It was exactly the opening Bree had been hoping for. “Why? They’re doing a good thing.”
“Yes, they are,” Carmella agreed firmly. “There should be help for those who put their lives on the line for us every day. That kind of thing far outweighs personal grudges and petty vendettas. Some people need to get over it already.”
“Ancient history,” Viola said dismissively, meeting Bree’s questioning eyes in the mirror. “Mona was sweet on Matt’s granddaddy, and he ended up marrying another.”
Carmella sniffed. “I bet she gave it up in the back of Matt’s granddaddy’s Edsel. She’s never forgiven him—or his descendants for that matter. To this day, she casts the evil eye whenever she looks up toward the mountain.”
“Malocchio,” Bree murmured.
The word came to mind, heard as an echoed whisper from her childhood. Bree knew that the evil eye was a kind of curse, cast simply by a malevolent glare. She didn’t personally give credence to that kind of thing, but her mother had.
“My mother was a big believer. She used to wear a charm in the shape of a horn as protection.”
Viola nodded. “A cornicello. You don’t see them too much anymore.”
That explained why Mona Delvecchio had an issue—ridiculous as it was—but not the others.
“What about the others? What do they have against Sanctuary?”
“She’s sharp, this one, eh?” Viola grinned, exchanging a look with Carmella. To Bree, she said, “Most of the people here support Sanctuary, but there are a few who aren’t happy about having them around. They see them as a threat.”
“Because of their military training or because of their readjustment issues?” Bree asked.
“No. Because they’re not the type to look the other way if something’s not right,” Carmella replied.
“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. Daryl Freed would never have become chief of police if Samuel Winston were still around,” Winona said firmly. “Daryl is a bully, just like his daddy, and he raised his son to be the same way.”
Nick UnCaged: Sanctuary, Book Four Page 9
