Past Perfect: A Fun and Flirty Romantic Mystery (Amber Reed Mystery Book 4)

by Zanna Mackenzie

  “What’s his record for?” Charlie asks.

  “Smuggling,” Martha replies. “It was down in Florida. He was involved in some serious smuggling ring apparently. Really nasty guys. I don’t think he was the mastermind behind the whole set up. He bombed out of school and did anything to earn money. Guess he found out crime pays. Well, unless you get caught. Anyway, I ran his stuff through the agency system and he has a couple of aliases he uses. One of them is Frank Hamilton. A guy with that name entered Canada a month ago. Flew into Vancouver.”

  “He had to use an alias because he’d have had problems legitimately getting into Canada with a criminal record?” I check.

  Charlie nods and then speaks to Martha again. “Got an address for him in the city?”

  “He lives on a boat. Seems boats are Frank’s thing. His role in the smuggling operation in Florida was to drive the boat they used to move the goods around. I’ll send the name of the boat and where, according to Port Metro Vancouver, it’s moored. Officially, this boat runs day trips for tourists but, if all the bits come together, that could well just be the cover for another smuggling ring. Have you had the goods you mentioned earlier checked out yet?”

  “Yeah, by the guy Denver insisted we take them to, but that was a set-up. We’re on our way to get two other legitimate places to look them over. I’ll let you know the outcome.”

  “Thanks, in the meantime, Dan and I will continue following up some other stuff we found.”

  Charlie swings the car into a parking garage. “There’s more?”

  “Could be. Dan’s just running Cate’s name through the system but using different surnames related to the men her mum has had other kids with, just in case she’s got a dodgy past as well as her brother. She might be the link between the smuggling and the murders. Maybe she got involved in the smuggling because of a sense of family loyalty, helping her brother or maybe Frank knows something about her that Cate didn’t want the world to know about, so he bribed her to be the middle woman on this job. She was the contact, the link to the designer goods.”

  “What kind of goods was this smuggling ring running in Florida?” Charlie asks.

  “All sorts. Alcohol, drugs, designer gear, medication, you name it. They probably moved it at some point or other.”

  “Thanks, Martha. Keep me informed.”

  “But what about Ed and Maurice?” I ask as we head for the fancy designer emporium Charlie has called ahead to. “Where do they fit into all this? And is Denver involved?”

  “No idea,” Charlie says as he pushes the entry buzzer for the exclusive shop. “But we’ll fit the pieces together. We’re getting closer to solving this, I can feel it.”

  Two hours later we have visited both experts and the earrings, scarves and dresses have all been deemed fakes. Extremely good fakes, apparently. As one man put it, “Whoever made this, had the real deal designer dress with them to work from, and is highly skilled.”

  “So we know North Shores is the front for some kind of smuggling operation,” I say as we head down to the harbour next to look for the boat Frank Meades is staying on. “But who is behind it and where are the goods going? Presumably they use the show’s budget to buy the original expensive items, then, when they know the items aren’t required for filming for a few days, they whisk them off someplace, probably that building where we met with Ponytail Guy earlier, they get these fantastic copies made – then what?”

  Charlie sighs. “I don’t know, not yet.”

  I fidget in my seat. Charlie’s enthusiasm and excitement about finally latching on to something to help us solve this case is infectious. He’s like a kid in a sweetshop. He loves his job. “Wasn’t it risky of them to send us to that place earlier though? If that’s the base for the copy-making, they were sailing close to the wind taking us down there.”

  “Yeah, true. Maybe Denver was just desperate to set it up for us and that’s the best he could do at such short notice. Maybe he figured that with Lindy acting as courier and chaperone, it would be safe.”

  I unscrew a bottle of water and take a sip, running all we’ve learnt today through my mind. As I pop the bottle back in the drinks holder in the car, I say, “So, Lindy is involved in this too. I wonder if she is actually having a fling with Denver or if it’s just a cover for their forgery arrangement. She seemed keen enough on you, loved your attention and flirting, which makes me think maybe she hasn’t got a thing for Denver.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I bite my lip. Damn. I’m stirring things again with Charlie and his flirting. Why do I keep doing that?

  “Amber, it was agency work,” he says quietly as we reach the edge of the impressive Stanley Park and approach the harbour.

  “I know,” I reply, equally as quietly. I guess Stanley Park is to Vancouver what Central Park is to New York. It’s the place where the city’s residents go to walk, jog, cycle, and take their kids to the zoo on the weekends.

  We manage to find a place to park up the SUV and head on foot down to the wooden docks where numerous boats are lined up. The smell of marine diesel hangs in the air and the slapping sounds of water against the sides of the boats is hypnotic. There are boards advertising all sorts of trips. Granville Island. Harbour tours. A boat and train combination to a place intriguingly called Squamish. Many of the berths are empty, suggesting boats are out ferrying around happy tourists. We check the details of where the appropriately named ‘Diamond’ should be moored. The dock is empty.

  “We’ll have to come back later,” I say, feeling disappointed. We were on a roll today, things finally coming together, but now we’ve reached a dead end.

  “Let’s have a walk in the park and see if the boat comes back.” Charlie checks his watch. “It’s getting on in the afternoon, it might return soon.”

  For the first time since we arrived in this city we get to behave like tourists ourselves, taking in the amazing vistas. We walk along the edge, between park and harbour, surrounded by joggers, couples hand in hand. I’m overwhelmed by a desire to be walking along with Charlie like the young couple who have just passed us were. Arms wrapped around each other, pausing for a passionate kiss. I miss being with Charlie as much more than a work colleague. I wonder if we can manage to work things out. One thing I do know, we can’t carry on in this no-man’s-land of uncertainty about our relationship. Would I rather know if it’s over for good? Would that be better than this continual rollercoaster of one minute thinking we stand a chance, and the next, that we don’t? If we end it here and now, it will be like ripping off a Band Aid. Quick, sharp, painful, but maybe that would be the more humane way to do things. Deep breath. OK. Do this. “Charlie,” I begin.

  At the precise same moment Charlie says, “Want a coffee?”

  I look to where he’s pointing. A café in the park. Yes. “Coffee sounds good.”

  Once we have our drinks and are settled, I try to pluck up the courage to start The Conversation again. “We can’t carry on like this,” I say, staring into my coffee mug as I stir its contents round and round. “I think we need to decide if we’re together or not.” Finally, I look up and Charlie is rubbing at his jaw, a confused expression on his face.

  “I don’t think I can,” he says, then lets out a sigh.

  My stomach could get a role in the Cirque Du Soleil, it’s performing that many somersaults. “Why not?”

  He looks around at our fellow tea and coffee drinkers. I get the distinct impression he’ll look anywhere but at me. “Charlie?”

  He leans forward, reaching his hands over the table so the finger tips just – only just – touch my own. “Have you made a decision about us?”

  Have I? “Yes and no,” I admit, easing my fingers forward a fraction so they are properly touching Charlie’s hands. “Sometimes we were amazing together but…”

  “Other times we were a nightmare,” he finishes my sentence.

  Sadness sweeps over me. What can I say? He’s right.

  He lifts one of his fingers and gent
ly strokes it down the side of my thumb. “And I know my stubbornness regarding my job is part of the reason for that. I get so caught up in the cases I work that I forget about the outside world sometimes. I forget that the things I’m doing and saying can be misconstrued by those in my life.”

  “You mean like with you and Diva Delilah.”

  He lifts his gaze and looks at me. He has the most beautiful eyes. Eyes you could lose yourself in. “Yep, exactly.”

  Silence hangs between us. A baby with its parents at another table starts screaming the place down. A few people who have finished their refreshments get up and leave. We stay where we are, neither of us moving or speaking.

  “And I know, there’s other stuff too,” Charlie says after a few moments. “I’m not blaming you for this situation between us. I know I was the one who lost it on the phone and said we should take a break but I was as mad at myself as I was with you at the time.”

  “I had just accused you of cheating on me with Delilah,” I reason. “No wonder you were angry.”

  “Yeah, but I should have made more of an effort to explain what was going on and that it was all just a ruse to draw out a stalker, but I didn’t. We were hours apart on time zones and I just left you a message which fate conspired to mean you didn’t get before you saw the photos of me and Delilah in the newspapers. I’m sorry. I screwed up.”

  “I guess we’re both as bad as each other,” I say, attempting to lighten the mood.

  Charlie’s phone goes and without a split second of hesitation he grabs it and answers it. Then he shoots me an apologetic look, no doubt realising what he just did. We were in the middle of sorting out what happens next for us, and he just grabbed his phone and answered it. Work comes first. It always will.

  “Martha? Have you got an update for us?”

  I get to my feet, gather up our only half-drunk coffees and take them back to the café’s counter as Charlie gabbles away on his phone. My feet and my heart are heavy. We have to sort this before I go completely crazy.

  “Amber? You ready? We should go and check for the boat again.”

  I follow Charlie out of the park. “What did Martha have to say?”

  “She had a match on a Cate Meades when she was running Cate’s info through the agency’s software. A woman who looked a lot like Cate Villiers checked into a hospital in Florida seven years ago. The hospital is near to the town where Cate’s mother lived and still does live.”

  “Cate used her stepfather’s surname to go to hospital. Why would she do that?”

  “Dan’s accessing medical records to try and find out but it seems there’s a bit of a smoke screen on this. They’ll let us know the outcome as soon as they do. The police have just come back to Martha about the woman who lives at number seven as well. You know, Cate’s neighbour, Becca Winters?”

  I nod eagerly. “What did they find out? Who was carrying the body? Was it Cate?”

  Charlie shakes his head. “No, crazy woman got it all messed up. The guy she saw lives at number eleven with his girlfriend. She’d had a bit too much to drink and he ended up carrying her from where they’d parked at the side of the building to his place so she could sleep it off. It’s been confirmed by a couple of other neighbours. We’ve also had the CCTV footage analysed from the business opposite the building where Ronnie dropped off the package. There was plenty of coming and going, but nobody that we’re looking into in connection with this case. More dead ends.”

  Oh no. We seem to be getting far too many of those lately.

  As we approach the wooden docks I can see that the Diamond has now returned from her voyage to who knows where. The last few tourists are just alighting as we reach the little white boat. “Sorry, no more trips today,” a young lad I’d guess to be in his early twenties says to us, busy with some ropes.

  “We’re not interested in a boat trip,” Charlie replies.

  The man’s face clouds over. “Oh? What d’you want then?”

  “Are you Frank Meades?” Charlie asks, planting his feet firmly on the swaying dock and crossing his arms.

  “Who wants to know?”

  “A friend of Cate’s,” Charlie replies.

  Frank looks at Charlie and then at me. “You knew Cate?”

  “She was a friend,” I fib. “She talked about you a lot.” Did the two of them get along or was there’s an acrimonious relationship?

  “Yeah, I bet she did,” he replies. “So, what do you want? To pass on your condolences? Thanks. Now you can get out of here.”

  “That’s no way to speak to a lady,” Charlie chastises.

  “Maybe she ain’t no lady,” Frank leers as he ties up more ropes. I know nothing about boats and haven’t a clue what he’s doing.

  Frank’s ill-advised jibe at me means, in a matter of seconds, he finds his face pressed against the side of the boat’s wheelhouse, his hands yanked behind his back. “I was prepared to come down here and ask the questions nicely that we needed to and let you get on with your day, but it looks like you want to do things the hard way,” Charlie growls.

  I stand on the dock unsure what to do or say. Off to my left, I spot another trip boat coming in with what must be thirty or so people on board. They’re all going to be traipsing past us before we know it, with Charlie and Frank providing the floor show. Charlie follows my gaze and quickly deduces the same thing. “Let’s continue this conversation somewhere more private,” he says, wrestling Frank inside the boat’s cabin. Frank’s physique backs up the fact he’s obviously an outdoor kind of guy, working on boats, chucking cargo around, but Charlie easily manhandles him inside the boat. I follow the two of them into the cabin, but leave the door ajar behind me in case I need to make a quick escape or need to yell for help. Frank collapses onto a seat bench and glares at both of us.

  “So, what are you moving this time, huh, Frank?” Charlie demands.

  Frank shrugs.

  “Not feeling like chatting?” Charlie’s voice is dripping with sarcasm. I place a warning hand on his arm. I don’t want this to escalate into a fight. I know Charlie is armed, the gun concealed in a holster beneath his jacket, but Frank might have a knife or anything. My throat dries up and my stomach wheels round. I need to diffuse this situation before someone gets hurt.

  “What if we offer you a deal? You tell us what you know about Cate’s designer arrangements and we’ll ensure you don’t get hauled in front of the local police.” I cross my fingers behind my back again. It’s another little white lie, but it’s a valid tactic.

  For a moment Frank looks as though he’s considering my suggestion. He takes too long thinking though and Charlie grabs him by the arm, twisting it back until Frank yells out in pain. I flinch. This side of Charlie worries me. I know he’s a trained and experienced special agent, his task is to get the case solved, the bad guys put behind bars, but I’m nervous about violence and always terrified Charlie is going to end up getting seriously injured one of these days.

  “Amber, why don’t you wait outside?” Charlie says, nodding meaningfully towards the door.

  I stand firm. “No.”

  His look makes me go hot and cold, but I stay where I am.

  “Looks like your not-a-lady friend wants to stay and watch,” Frank somewhat-misguidedly taunts.

  Oh crap. Before he can do or say anything else Frank is out cold on the bench, his right cheek already coming out in a fierce bruise and getting more swollen by the second. “Charlie,” I gasp. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

  “He deserved it,” he replies, rubbing at his fist where it connected with Frank’s face.

  “Are you all right? Shall I look for some ice?” I gesture towards his hand.

  “No, I’m fine. Help me tie him up before he comes round, then we can shove him in the wheelhouse and search the rest of the boat.”

  The trapdoor down to the Diamond’s hold is locked. Charlie grabs some tools from a cupboard and soon has it open as I check any cupboards I can find. So far everything s
eems to be just normal boat-type-stuff. Charlie climbs into the hold and I lean down to take a look too, shining a flashlight I’ve just found into the corners. “See anything?”

  “Nope,” comes back Charlie’s reply.

  A thorough search of the hold by both of us reveals nothing. Now what? Was this all a waste of time? What are we going to do with Frank? We can’t just leave him bound up in the wheelhouse.

  Charlie opens the wheelhouse and loosens the gag across Frank’s mouth. “Feel chattier now?”

  Frank shakes his head defiantly.

  “Expect a visit from the police,” he says as he tightens the gag again. “I’ll ring them and let them know to come find you and take you on a little trip to the police station. I’m sure they’ll be able to find something to charge you with.”

  When we arrive back at the apartment building, Martha’s still bent over her computer and Dan’s on his phone. “Found out anything else?” I ask just as Dan finishes his phone call.

  “Yeah, I found out why Cate Meades went into that hospital in Florida. She had a baby. It was a boy,” Dan says, dropping his phone onto the table. “She had the baby adopted. Cate was only seventeen at the time.”

  “Poor kid,” Martha says, shaking her head. “Have you found out who adopted the child?”

  Dan rolls his eyes. “Give me a chance.”

  “And here was I thinking you were super special agent, the best the CCIA has,” she retorts.

  I notice the quick exchange of looks between Dan and Charlie. The two of them are so competitive. As Charlie brings Dan and Martha up to speed on Frank and the boat, I make us all hot drinks. Maybe it’s a British thing, but in times of a crisis I feel drawn to make people hot beverages. And this is becoming a crisis situation. We have to solve this case and desperately need to be making progress.