Bug Man Suspense 3-in-1 Bundle

by Tim Downs

  “Well, you deserve it—this time.”

  “If you really want to express your true feelings for me, Donovan, why don’t you write it in the memo line of a check?”

  “Money is so cold.”

  “Take a look at Ben Franklin’s face—he’s smiling.”

  “Hey—did you ever see that woman again? You know—the dog trainer from Endor. I got the feeling there might be something between you two.”

  “There’s nothing scarier than a large man who ‘gets feelings.’”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  Nick paused. “If you must know, I have a date with her tomorrow night.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Is that so unbelievable?”

  “It sure is. How’d you get her down to North Carolina?”

  “I abducted her. It took an hour to get all the duct tape off.”

  “Seriously.”

  “I’m working on a murder case, okay? I needed a narcotics dog team and I requested her.”

  “Well, what woman could refuse an invitation like that?”

  “Is Macy there or not? You’re using up my ‘Friends & Family’ minutes.”

  Nick heard Donovan turn away from the phone and shout, “Hey, Macy, you’re never gonna believe this! Nick Polchak has a date!”

  Nick shut his eyes and waited.

  A softer voice came over the phone: “Nick—is that true?”

  “Yes, Macy, I actually have a date. Another sign of the apocalypse.”

  “With a woman?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “What I mean is, what woman? Who is she?”

  “Macy, this is a professional call. That big bed warmer you’re married to can fill you in later.”

  “Is it that witch?”

  “How do you know about that?”

  “Nathan told me about her.”

  “He tells you about my personal life?”

  “It doesn’t take long.”

  “She’s not a witch, okay? She just lets people think she is.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she doesn’t like most people and she wants them to stay away.”

  “Wow—you two should do a commercial for eHarmony. Where are you taking her?”

  “To a cocktail party.”

  “Really? With other people?”

  “No, just the two of us and a roomful of cocktails. Of course with other people.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yes, you said that. Can we talk business now? I have a question for you.”

  “Wow.”

  “Would you try to focus, please? I need help, and you’re the only one at this number with an IQ over a hundred.”

  “Sorry. What is it you want to know?”

  “You’re the big terrorism expert—you work for the State Department now, don’t you?”

  “That’s right—the Office of the Coordinator for Counterterrorism.”

  “Tell me something: Has there ever been a major terrorist attack against a food source? Not a building, not an airliner—a country’s food supply. You know the kind of thing I’m talking about?”

  “Sure. We even have a name for it: agroterrorism.”

  “I know it’s been tried. People in my own field have even attempted it, but not with much success. During World War II the Germans came up with the clever idea to breed Colorado potato beetles and drop them from airplanes on British potato farms. They actually tested the idea, but too many of the beetles died during testing so they decided to call off the project. Some people believe that actual attacks took place—one on the Isle of Wight as I recall—but if it did happen, the results weren’t very impressive. Has anybody else ever tried it?”

  “Almost. The Russians during the Cold War—they developed an enormous biological warfare program. They had research facilities all over the country. We didn’t have a clue about the extent of their program until one of their top bioweapons people defected to us back in ’91. Nathan and I interviewed him once—back when we were working on that plague thing, remember?”

  “Sure—in New York.”

  “It was a real eye-opener for our intelligence community. It turned out the Soviets were into everything: anthrax, tularemia, smallpox, plague . . . They managed to successfully weaponize hundreds of biological agents, including agricultural agents. Their Ministry of Agriculture formed a special division for developing anti-crop and anti-livestock weapons. The program was code-named ‘Ecology.’ Sort of ironic, don’t you think?”

  “What sort of ‘anti-crop’ weapons?”

  “Naturally occurring plant diseases they collected and massproduced to use against us if the need ever arose. Thank God it didn’t.”

  “What happened to those weapons after the Soviet Union collapsed?”

  “That was twenty years ago, Nick. The toxins themselves are fairly fragile and they have a short shelf life. Our concern is the scientists who still know how to make the stuff. There are certain parties who would love to know what they know—that’s what keeps people like me awake at night.”

  “Then you think it’s still a threat?”

  “Nick—why are you asking me about this?”

  “I’m not sure. I’m working on something, and I just have a hunch.”

  “About a possible agroterrorist attack?”

  “I don’t know yet. Maybe.”

  “An attack on what?”

  Nick paused. “Tomatoes.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I know—it sounds far-fetched.”

  “A terrorist attack against our tomato crop? Why in the world would anyone want to do that?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “It seems a little . . . unlikely.”

  “I know, I know. Look, will you do me a favor? I’d like to send you some notes on this case I’m working on. I want to run a theory by you. It might sound a little out there at first, but think it over and give me your opinion, okay?”

  “Want me to pass it around? I know some people at the Department of Agriculture who can give us a threat assessment; I could run it by the National Counterterrorism Center too.”

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  “Do you want me to have Nathan look it over too?”

  “Can he read yet?”

  “I’ll sound out the big words for him.”

  “Thanks, Macy. I could use some other eyes on this.”

  “Nick.”

  “What?”

  “I want you to listen to me carefully, because what I’m about to tell you is very, very important.”

  “Okay.”

  “Open the door for her. It may sound old-fashioned, but it tells a woman you respect her. And don’t walk ahead of her—you have a tendency to do that. Are you listening to me? Nick?”

  There was a dial tone.

  24

  Alena’s dogs jumped to their feet and stared at the cottage door. A moment later there was a soft knock. Alena signaled for the dogs to stand down and return to their resting positions before she turned the lock.

  Kathryn was standing on the doorstep with a pan of apple crisp cradled in two checkered oven mitts. “I thought you might be hungry,” she said.

  “Why?”

  “Because I always am this time of night.”

  Alena looked at the golden-brown concoction and shook her head. “I can’t eat that,” she said.

  “Why not? Diet?”

  “No fork.”

  Kathryn smiled and held up a pair of utensils. “Nothing can stop us now.”

  Alena stepped aside and allowed Kathryn to enter. Kathryn set the pan on the kitchen table, pulled out two chairs, and sat down. She held out one of the forks to Alena.

  “Do we eat right out of the pan?” Alena asked.

  “Always—that way you can’t tell how much you’ve eaten.”

  They dug in on opposite sides of the pan and worked toward the center.

  “This is really good,” Alena said. “Did you make
it yourself?”

  “I make all kinds of things that are sure to kill you: pies, cakes, cobblers, cinnamon rolls. This is a Southern recipe: You start with a stick of butter, then you add a cup of sugar—after that it doesn’t much matter.”

  “Who taught you how to cook?”

  “My mom. How about you?”

  “I don’t remember my mom. My folks divorced when I was little.”

  “Your dad raised you?”

  “Until I was ten.”

  “What happened then?”

  “He disappeared one night and never came back.”

  “I’m sorry. Who took you in?”

  “Nobody.”

  “You lived alone?”

  “I had thirteen dogs—thirty-seven now.”

  “They seem to be good company for you.”

  “The best.”

  Kathryn paused. “My father died when I was four.”

  “What happened?”

  “Car crash. I was in the backseat.”

  “You saw it happen?”

  “Yes.”

  “I wish I had.”

  Kathryn blinked. “What do you mean?”

  “My dad just disappeared. I used to wander the woods at night looking for him. At first I kept hoping I’d find him alive and hurt. After that I just hoped I’d find him so I’d know what happened to him.”

  “Well, I know what happened to mine, and it wasn’t pretty.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “I know what you meant. It’s all right.” She paused. “You never stop missing them, do you?”

  “Not me. It leaves a hole.”

  They ate in silence until the pan was half empty. Kathryn looked down at the three dogs snoozing around the table. She pointed her fork at the gray mottled dog with only three legs. “You know, I think I like her best.”

  “You do? Why?”

  “I don’t know. She has this air about her—like she knows she’s smarter than the others, but she doesn’t rub it in.”

  “She’s a lot smarter,” Alena whispered. “She’s my favorite too.”

  “How did she lose her leg?”

  “It was chewed off—most of it, anyway. I had to remove the rest myself so she wouldn’t favor the stump.”

  Kathryn stopped and looked at her. “Are you really that tough, Alena?”

  Alena shrugged. “Tough as I need to be.”

  Five minutes later they finally leaned back in their chairs.

  “You know, I really want to thank you,” Kathryn said.

  “For what?”

  “For what you did for me this afternoon.”

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  “Yes, you did. Tully has been trying to buy this place for two years now. I don’t think it would bother me so much if he wasn’t so coldblooded about it.”

  “Snakes are cold-blooded. What did you expect?”

  “He’d do anything to get this farm. I keep thinking about those hornworms—wondering if he would really go that far.”

  Alena shook her head. “He didn’t—and he doesn’t know who did.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I asked him, after you left.”

  “He could have been lying.”

  “He wasn’t.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “He told me with his eyes.”

  “With his eyes?”

  “The same as my dogs do. ‘The eye is the lamp of the soul’—didn’t you ever hear that in church? You can see everything in a dog’s eyes if you know what to look for. Men aren’t much different—why do you think I keep Phlegethon around?”

  “I need to get one of those.”

  “He comes in handy,” Alena said. “I never can remember my pepper spray.”

  “That thing he did today—grabbing Tully by the throat that way—that was amazing. Did you train him to do that?”

  “Yep. I had him do it to Nick once.”

  “Really? I wish I’d seen that—I can remember a couple of times I felt like grabbing Nick by the throat myself.”

  Alena didn’t reply. Neither woman said anything for a few moments.

  Kathryn finally broke the silence in a quiet voice: “You’re right,” she said. “I’m interested in Nick.”

  Alena picked at the side of the pan with her fork. “There’s a surprise.”

  “I wasn’t lying to you, Alena. I really wasn’t interested—not at first. That’s not why I called him. I just wanted his help, that’s all. And I do feel bad about it—I mean, I’m supposed to be a grieving widow and all. But you’re right—I’ve been grieving the loss of my husband for a year now, and I just can’t find any more tears. I did have feelings for Nick once, a long time ago—when we worked together.”

  “Working with Nick can be kind of . . . intense.”

  Kathryn nodded. “Then Nick went home and Michael came along. Sometimes I wonder if I fell in love with Michael so quickly because I was on the rebound from Nick. All I know is, when I saw Nick again it woke something up inside me. I think it happened the night you arrived—when I saw him with Callie in the barn. They were looking at her bug collection together. It made me think about what a real father could mean to her—what a real family might be like.” She looked at Alena. “I’m sorry. I didn’t do it on purpose.”

  Alena just shrugged.

  “I wish it didn’t have to be like this.”

  “It’s not fair,” Alena said.

  “What’s not?”

  “I never had a husband. You want another one.”

  “I’m sorry—I really am. I married a man who deceived me—there was a whole side to him he never showed me. I thought he would provide for me, protect me, but I spent most of our marriage protecting myself against him. He left me without a penny, and he left me with a little girl to raise all by myself.”

  “She’s beautiful,” Alena said.

  Kathryn looked at her with pleading eyes. “Do you really think so?”

  “Who wouldn’t?”

  “Then you don’t think she’s . . . twisted?”

  “I’ll tell you what’s twisted—a man who won’t listen when you tell him no. I have that problem with a dog from time to time.”

  “What do you do?”

  Alena winked. “I have him neutered.”

  Kathryn grinned. “Do you think that’s an option?”

  “I’ll bet his wife would thank us.”

  They both let out a belly laugh. All three dogs lifted their heads and looked.

  After a few moments Alena said, “What’s it like?”

  “What?”

  “Being married.”

  “When it’s good, it’s the best. I’ll tell you one thing: You’d better get the right guy.”

  “I’m trying to.”

  “So am I. I’ve had so many bad men in my life—weak men, selfish men, absent men. All I’m really looking for is one good man. I think that’s what I like about Nick: Underneath all that weirdness he’s basically a good man.”

  Alena nodded.

  Kathryn looked at her sympathetically. “There has to be more than one good man out there.”

  “You want to wait for the next one?”

  Kathryn shook her head. “How about you?”

  “I’m not sure there’ll be a next one.”

  Kathryn looked at her. “I want you to have fun at that cocktail party.”

  “I’m not going.”

  “What? Why not?”

  “It’s a little awkward now.”

  “Don’t be silly. He asked and you were smart enough to say yes—I was too proud. All’s fair in love and war; you snooze, you lose. You go and have a good time.”

  “Who am I kidding? I’m just not a cocktail party type of person.”

  “Don’t give me that ‘I’m not the type’ business—that’s a crock and you know it. You’re as tough as you need to be, Alena—you said so yourself. If you managed to raise yourself from the age of ten, then you can handle one littl
e cocktail party.”

  Alena lifted the front of her plain white gown. “Look at me—I can’t go like this.”

  “Of course not—those are your work clothes. Did you bring anything else?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t have anything else.”

  “Well, I do. I’ve got a dress that’ll go perfectly with those beautiful green eyes of yours. First I’m going to trim your hair, then I’ll do your makeup. When I’m through with you, the men at that cocktail party will be slobbering like one of your dogs.”

  “Even Nick?”

  “I’m not sure what it takes to get through to Nick. Let’s not worry about him right now—let’s just shoot up into the tree and see what falls out. There’s more than one eligible man out there, Alena. Maybe Nick needs to be reminded of that.”

  “What if nobody likes me?” Alena mumbled.

  Kathryn looked at her defiantly. “Then what the heck—I say we have them all neutered.”

  25

  Alena parked her truck along the street and looked at the house. It was a beautiful old two-story with a slate roof and copper gutters and stonework that formed an arch around the front door. Amber light glowed from an enormous bay window and she could see the figures of well-dressed men and women mingling inside the house. She checked the address one more time: Yep—that’s the place.

  Kathryn had scolded her for agreeing to meet Nick here, but Sampson County was more than an hour away. What was she supposed to do, make Nick drive a two-hour round-trip just to make her feel special? That’s what Kathryn would do, she thought, and maybe Kathryn was right. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea. Maybe she was making it too easy for him.

  She rolled down both windows and turned to the backseat. Phlegethon was stretched out like a hibernating grizzly; the dog sat up and looked at her with imploring eyes. “Not this time,” she said. She snapped her fingers and made a motion as if she were smoothing a bedspread. The dog reluctantly lay down again and let out a long, pathetic whine.

  Alena got out of the truck and immediately stumbled; she looked around to see if any other latecomers had spotted her. She reached down and straightened the strap on her left shoe. I’m gonna break my fool neck in these things, she thought. She wasn’t used to heels, but Kathryn said they made the lines of her legs look better. Whatever, she thought. I’ll probably trip and do a swan dive into the punch bowl.