She sped, hoping that this one time she might attract the attention of a traffic cop. She'd gladly pay a ticket for some backup.
When she turned onto West Elm, she was struck by the old beauty of the neighborhood. The small houses were neatly maintained, several yards filled with the sounds of children playing. She was in a safe place, a place where bad things didn't happen. She tried to believe it, but her foot pressed too hard on the accelerator and she continued to speed down the tree-lined street.
At Cody's address, she parked on the street and got out. There was a red car in the driveway. Cody was home.
Walking up to the front door, she pressed the bell twice. When no one answered the door, she pressed it again, and then again.
"Cody!" She called his name through the curtained glass. "Cody, it's me, Sarah Covington."
There wasn't a sound inside the house.
Sarah twisted the knob and the door opened easily. She stepped inside, taking in the neatness of the modern furniture. There wasn't a magazine out of place. Everything was dusted; it looked as if the maid had just left.
"Cody?"
A faint moan drifted down the hallway.
"Oh, no." Sarah whispered the words as she slid along the wall toward the hallway. "Cody, is that you?" She kept her voice down. What if someone was with him, waiting for her to open a door?
She thought of the telephone, but the moan came again, this time as if the person was in great pain. She hesitated, then moved down the hall to one of the back bedrooms. What if she was making a terrible mistake? What if Cody was with a girlfriend?
"Cody?" She called a bit louder this time.
"Hemmmp!"
The answer came back muffled, but obviously distressed.
"Oh, hell." She threw open the door to an empty bedroom, her heart pounding. The sound came again, accompanied by a pounding noise. She rushed to the next door and threw it open. For a second the sight of Daniel tied hand and foot on the floor didn't register. There was a gag in his mouth, and he was just getting ready to pound the floor with his tied feet again.
"Daniel." She rushed to him and pulled the gag away.
After a few gulps of air, Daniel shifted so that she could loosen the knots on his hands.
"What happened?" Sarah asked. "Where's Cody?"
"Two good questions." As soon as the knots were loosened, Daniel wiggled free. He was up on his feet with a large flashlight in his hand for a weapon. "Wait here," he ordered Sarah.
Sarah decided instantly that staying with Daniel would be the best route. She moved behind him, ignoring the angry glance he sent her.
Together they made their way to the last bedroom. Daniel pushed open the door and then turned to block Sarah's view.
"Don't look," he ordered.
But it was too late. Sarah would never forget the sight of Cody Pruett lying in his bed, blood soaked through the white sheets and puddled on the floor.
Chapter Eight
Sarah sat in the passenger seat of her car and allowed the numbness to take over her body and her mind as Daniel drove her away from Cody's house. She wanted to look at Daniel, but she couldn't. She knew that she was afraid of what she would see. Pain, certainly. But also guilt. Daniel held himself responsible for his friend's death. And there was a good chance Cody Pruett would be alive if he'd never run those tests for Daniel. And for her.
"We should report this," she said for the third time. "We can't pretend this didn't happen and that we weren't there. They'll find evidence. You of all people should know that."
"Maybe. Maybe not." Daniel's eyes were red and nearly squinted shut with tension and fatigue.
"Why won't you report it?"
"Because I don't know who to trust anymore." He looked at her a long moment while they were stopped at a red light. "I don't trust you. I don't trust myself."
Sarah didn't say anything, but she understood exactly what he was saying. She didn't trust him completely, yet the odd chain of events had undoubtedly bound them together.
They were both accessories to a crime— an unreported crime. For all she knew, they could be held accountable after the fact. But Daniel was rocklike in his decision not to call the FBI, or any law agency.
"Cody was one of my best friends," he finally said. Beneath the anger, grief was beginning to seep through. "He's dead because he helped me."
"That's ridiculous, Daniel. He was doing his job."
"That's right. And as soon as I get some clothes, I'm going to check his files and make sure that the tests he ran for me are in there. You heard him say he had to make a formal report and the sheet he gave me was a copy."
"That's right." Sarah hadn't thought about such a possibility. "You think they're gone, that someone tampered with the files?"
"I'd be willing to bet my life on it." Daniel's jaw hardened. "And that means someone inside the Bureau is responsible. That's why I can't call. They'll be looking for a way to pin this on me. If that's what's going on, I'm the target." He looked over at her, his eyes narrowed. "And you."
"Me?" Sarah's fingers clutched her seat belt as he swung wide on a curve. "Why me? I don't know anything about the FBI."
"That's what I keep asking myself. All of this started with you, Sarah. Why do you suppose that is?"
Color rose to her cheeks. "I resent the implications of what you're saying. What can I tell you? The first time I saw you, you were pounding on my door. I didn't call you up and start this."
"But you did call. And then I asked Cody to check those peppers for you."
"Right. Like I knew this would happen." She tried to front her pain with bravado, but her voice trembled.
Daniel blinked, then pulled the car into a side street. He found a place to stop and pulled over. "I'm sorry, Sarah." He reached over and picked up her hand. The fingers were cold and lifeless, and he wrapped his own around them. "I don't know…"
Sarah saw the shimmer in his eyes. She squeezed his fingers. "It's okay. Cody was a friend. I'm sorry, too."
Daniel leaned his head back, his breathing slow and deep. "I can't believe this has happened. I don't know what to do."
"I do." Sarah pressed his hand, feeling the callused palm and the long fingers, the potential for strength. "I have a good friend. He knows what to do in the most unusual circumstances."
"We can't tell anyone about this." Daniel's head was up and his eyes alert.
"Uncle Vince would help us. He has contacts all over the city. All over the world."
Daniel shook his head. "Sarah, this is my career. I left my friend dead and didn't report the crime. I have to think this through. Both of our lives could be at stake."
Sarah recalled the telephone call she'd received earlier. As Daniel drove back to the shop, she told him what had happened.
"You didn't recognize the voice?"
"No."
"You have that party, right?"
"Good grief." Sarah slapped her forehead lightly. She'd completely forgotten.
"I want to go with you." He sighed as he put the car back in the flow of traffic. "I never thought I'd volunteer to be a pony wrangler at a seven-year-old's party, but I guess there's always a first."
"What about the Bureau?"
"I'll take care of that," Daniel assured her. "Can I use the car? I'll be back in time to help you load up for the party."
"Sure." Sarah saw the furrow pull his brow down. He was up to something. Probably something dangerous. She felt a shiver of fear. "Just be careful, okay?"
"You bet."
"Where are you going?"
"To a department store to get some clothes. Then to Cody's lab. I have to check his records before I do anything else. I'll call in to the office, so don't worry."
"I can't make that promise." Sarah opened the car door as he pulled up to the front curb. She glanced over to the shady side of the street. The dark sedan wasn't there. Caution made her check farther down the street. There was no sign of it. She waved Daniel off and was pulling her keys out o
f her pocket when she heard rapid footsteps approaching.
"Does that black cat belong to you?"
Sarah turned around to face the angry scowl of Sandra Fowler, owner of the Proud Peacock Salon. "What?"
"That scroungy black cat that's been lurking around here. Is he yours?"
"Yes." Sarah didn't know what prompted her to lie.
"Well, keep him inside or I'll have him picked up by the animal people. He's terrifying my customers and he attacked the telephone man." Sandra shook her fist in the air. "Cats are awful creatures. Nasty. Just keep him away from my shop, or he'll find himself at the pound."
Sarah stepped inside her front door and slammed it in Sandra's face. The old witch! She opened the door again. "Listen, Mrs. Fowler, if you want to start trouble, you can. Just remember, your clients block my alley. I've never made a fuss, but I will. I can have their cars towed away." She slammed the door again.
The truth of the matter was that the street was dangerous for the cat, but he seemed to have a mind of his own. As if she'd conjured him up out of thin air, Familiar turned the corner from the alley and stepped up to the door. He put both front paws on the glass, asking to be let in.
Opening the door, Sarah checked down the street. There was no sign of Sandra Fowler or the black car. "Get in here, you little troublemaker. Between you and Daniel…" She stopped. It was true. Ever since she'd met the black cat and the FBI agent, her life had been topsy-turvy.
* * *
HANG ON TO YOUR SOCKS, Dolly. You aren't the only one who's been hit by the flat hand of fate. Eleanor is ticked at me for staying out all night, and I've been put on a diet! What cruel and inhuman punishment. She thinks I'm eating out on the street. Little does she know that I've spent a major part of the day performing feats no mere human could accomplish. And I have some brilliant deductions.
Chef André at the White House is one busy, busy man. The black car with the muddy license plate has been hanging around the White House kitchen, and I've seen Chef André step outside for a few words with the driver. I wasn't close enough to hear, but it was not a friendly exchange. Could it be that the master chef is in trouble and Sarah has been set up to pay the price? This is what Socks was so concerned about— that someone was trying to use Sarah. And the First Cat may be on the right track.
I've also been watching the clients who come in and out of the Peacock henhouse. Not a single one of them shows any interest in the spy car that's been parked down the street. That's what it is, too. That man behind the unobtrusive newspaper has been spying on Sarah. But who does he work for? I might have found out if that old harridan hadn't come at me again. She's been after me for several days now. First it was water, and then earlier today she got after me with a broom. Can you imagine? I was thinking she might hop on it and ride around.
There's been some strange activity in the alley. I may not be able to win the College Bowl in trigonometry, but I can count. There have been two meter readers back in the alley in the last two days. Not to mention the phony phone man, working after five o'clock. Give me a break! Those guys work late— after a storm or during an emergency. They're great then, but this guy was just hanging around on the pole, doodling with the hookups. I'll have to figure it out. I can't expect too much help from the humanoids. Not even the FBI agent. E.A. Poe would be quite put out by the lack of reasoning abilities in the modern branch of law enforcement.
Ah, that's why Socks hired me. Agent 009, the feline with a strange and brilliant mind.
* * *
"YOU LOOK MIGHTY self-satisfied." Sarah picked up the cat and hurried into the kitchen. "I have to finish this cake, the cupcakes, and about a million other things. Now you can have a little snack and help me."
Familiar gave her a purr and put his paw on her chest. "Meow."
"Good. I like a cooperative cat."
Sarah set to work, keeping one eye on the clock. She had to stop by the party store for a few extras, but she'd make it in plenty of time. Along with the cake and homemade peach ice cream, made, of course, from only the finest of Georgia's peach crop, she'd decided to serve peach fizz punch and a series of crunchy snacks. The little urchins would be on a sugar high so intense by the time they got home—
She heard the bell to her shop ring, and she was ready to pick up the broom, just in case Sarah Fowler had decided to strut back over and fan her tail, when she recognized her uncle's special knock.
"Sarah!" Vincent Minton's voice held surprise. "Do you always arm yourself with a broom when a customer comes inside?"
Sarah couldn't prevent the chuckle that rose to her lips. Just seeing Uncle Vince made her feel much, much better. "No. I thought that old witch from the beauty salon next door was coming to complain about my cat." The events of the morning seemed to rise up in her throat, and more than anything she wanted to tell him about them. But she couldn't. "How about some coffee?"
"No, thanks." Vincent's eyes finally settled on the sleek black tom. "An elegant creature, to be sure. Should he be in the kitchen where you're preparing food?"
"He doesn't eat cake and icing, Uncle Vince." Relieved to have her thoughts focused on something other than the horror of the morning, Sarah almost laughed at the expression on his face. He was clearly not a cat lover. In fact, she'd never known him to have a pet of any kind. And just as well with Jean-Claude in the house. He would probably have tormented an animal to distraction.
"Cats are happier out of doors." He looked at the back door.
"Not in Washington, D.C., where the chances of surviving the traffic are about one in a hundred."
"That's a point." He took a seat on the opposite side of the table. As if to prove a point, Familiar jumped up into the chair across from him. The cat began to thoroughly clean himself, extending one back leg in a long line.
"He is cute," Vincent said with some hesitation. "I think it's a good thing you have a companion."
"Well, he's sort of a come-and-go type of buddy. He shows up when he's hungry, and he takes off when he's ready to go. I'm not sure he doesn't belong to someone else."
"Take a picture and post it," Vincent suggested. "If he lives around here, the owner will claim him. He looks well cared for."
"I might." Sarah was reluctant to pursue the topic. If she did find his rightful owner, she'd have to give him up.
"So, where have you been this morning?" He eased his elbows on the table and relaxed as she picked up the icing tube and proceeded to finish the cake.
"I ran an errand with Daniel." She found that her voice was higher when she lied— or didn't tell the complete truth. But she'd promised Daniel she wouldn't say anything about the day's events. When she looked up, Vincent was watching her closely.
"Is something wrong, Sarah? I thought that agent was going to leave you alone." She saw the set of his jaw and knew he was angry.
"It's okay. He left something here, and when he came to get it…well, it's a long story. But he didn't bother me."
"He should not speak with you." His hands clenched on the table. "No one can understand what you and Mora went through. No one except me, because I was there to watch it. A loving family was destroyed by the FBI. This young man is not good for you, Sarah. Stay away from him."
Sarah slowly put the icing tube down. "I've never seen you so adamant about who I see or don't see. Is there something you haven't told me?" She could feel her heartbeat increase with anticipation.
"Did he tell you he was visiting Joshua Jenkins earlier this morning?" He nodded. "No, I can tell by your expression that he did not. He is not a truthful man, and someone is going to be hurt by his lies and deceptions. I don't want it to be you."
"Someone already has." Sarah sank into the chair beside Familiar.
"What are you saying?"
She looked across at the tall man who had always shown her such kindness. More than anything, she wanted to tell him what had happened, to ask his advice on what she should do. She could. Daniel would never know. And if what Uncle Vince said
was true, she didn't owe Daniel any allegiance whatsoever.
"Sarah, who has been hurt?" Vincent leaned across the table and took her hand.
"It's, uh, no one." No matter how much she wanted to, she could not break her word. As soon as she saw Daniel again she would confront him with what she'd learned and then let him know that she was calling the police. Better late than never.
"Sarah, what in the world is wrong with you, chérie? You're very pale. Your hands are trembling."
"I, uh, need some breakfast, I think." She hurried to the refrigerator and got out a slice of homemade raisin bread. "Would you like some raisin toast?"
"No, I must be going. I just wanted to stop and make sure you were okay." He got up and walked over to her. "You are not. I'm going to insist that you take a vacation."
"I can't. I have too much work— "
"The party this afternoon. When it's over, I'll send one of the men to get you. Since you won't come to New York with me at noon, then you can stay at the Idlewild house for a couple of days. It'll give you a chance to rest." He looked over at the cat. "And bring your friend, if you must. I know that's going to be your next excuse."
Sarah put her arms around Vincent's neck. "Thank you," she whispered. "I think getting away for a few days will be the very best thing in the world for me. But don't send any of your employees. I'll drive myself. I prefer to have my car."
"Excellent. You work too hard, chérie," he said, kissing the top of her head. "I have never regretted helping you because you work so hard to make things happen." A frown touched his face, "Jean-Claude takes so much for granted. But you take nothing. You push and work and struggle. You will succeed. You could be a good influence on my son."
Sarah hugged him. "I don't think so. Jean-Claude will mature. He's just slower than I was. He had the luxury of taking it slowly."
Vincent gave her another squeeze. "And you're such a little diplomat, too. You will have the biggest catering business in D.C. Now, I'm off. If you speak with Mora, give her my love."
"I will," Sarah promised as she waved him through the front door. When she returned to the kitchen, she buttered her toast and finished the cake and cupcakes. Thirty minutes later, just as Daniel pulled up to the alley, she had everything ready.
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