In turn, I told him about Uncle Joe leaving his property to my dad, who then passed away while it was still in probate, leaving the current legal tangle. The conversation was light and casual, easy and uncomplicated background to share.
The hard part would come soon enough.
We held hands as we walked, loosely and effortlessly, pausing when Osiris decided he needed to mark or sniff, walking on when he was done. We were holding hands as we approached the café entrance, the dog bounding along beside us. Just as Peter tightened the leash and reached for the handle, the door swung open and we stepped back to allow two people to exit. Both were wearing tan uniforms.
The first was a woman, the second was Deputy Tom Marquardt. In his hands were a to-go coffee cup and a white paper bag. He came to an abrupt stop when he saw us, the door swinging shut behind him, a shocked expression crossing his tanned face.
“Hi, Tom,” I said, trying not to feel sheepish.
He continued to stare, his eyes narrowing, mouth closing with a snap.
“Morning, Deputy,” Peter said, with the same detached politeness he’d used the previous night. Osiris wagged his tail, sniffing interestedly at Tom’s bag.
“Tom?” His companion had stopped a few paces beyond, looking back at him with some surprise. “Everything all right?”
“Morning,” Peter said to her, and she gave him a neutral nod before her eyes came to rest on me.
Tom still seemed incapable of speech, causing her to take a concerned step toward us.
“Tom?” she said again, and this time he responded. Turning abruptly, he strode away, quickly passing her, not looking back. Not far from the truck in the parking lot I could see the patrol car. The other deputy hurried to catch up with him, and as we stepped inside we heard her asking him what was going on. We didn’t hear his answer.
“I think your bridges are truly burned now,” Peter commented, giving me a shamelessly wide grin.
“That’s OK,” I said candidly, with an equally shameless shrug. “I wasn’t attached to them.”
Chapter 5
We put in our order and went to sit outside, the only occupants of the small enclosed patio. The sun hadn’t yet risen high enough to shine over the hills, and I was glad to have a warm coat on and, in a few minutes, a hot mug to wrap my hands around. Osiris lolled happily enough at our feet, keeping a wary eye on the gulls swooping overhead.
“I have a feeling you might be getting a second warning from local law enforcement,” Peter said after we’d sat down.
“Only if he catches me at home,” I pointed out. “Anyway, you can’t get in trouble for dating someone under investigation, can you? If that’s what you are.”
“No, but you can get noticed.”
“He’d already noticed me. Now he just thinks I have terrible taste in men.”
“He might not be wrong.”
Our coffees were brought out, the young woman giving me a long, measuring stare before offering a special smile and word to Peter. She said something like “you and Osiris are our best customers,” and he responded with friendly courtesy before turning back to me. I was amused, but also hoped she wouldn’t do anything nasty to my omelet.
As I drank my latte, I realized that in barely a week here, I’d managed to spark the interest of two of the eligible adult men in the area. I wondered why. I felt like I had a healthy perspective on my qualities as a potential partner, and “strong sex appeal” definitely wasn’t one of them.
The only reasonable explanation—for Tom’s attraction, anyway—was novelty, someone new and unknown and therefore appealing. The dating pool just couldn’t be that big in this population; singles must end up seeing people in the South Bay or the city, immediately adding an inconvenient commute into date planning. And, if my experiences in LA were any indication, that market, while larger, probably wasn’t any easier to navigate.
As a longtime singleton, I could empathize with the server’s interest in Peter and any possible resentment toward me. Maybe she’d had hopes that one day he would ask her out, or maybe they’d even gone out in the past. I could understand how she felt.
That being said, as far as I was concerned, one of the local bachelors was off the market. Indefinitely. The other was all hers.
“So tell me,” I said.
“Me first?”
“You first.”
He took a sip of coffee and set down his cup, his eyes on the harbor.
“Well, here goes nothing. My brother-in-law, Hal, is on the verge of being arrested for drug trafficking.” He glanced at me; seeing no revulsion or alarm, only the natural curiosity I was feeling, he went on. “I don’t think my sister knew about it—or maybe didn’t want to know. She definitely wasn’t in it with him, but I don’t know if she’d testify against him. The federal Drug Enforcement Administration’s been investigating him for a while—years, maybe. Before we came to California. He was a truck driver in Texas when Delia married him. It’s her second marriage, and not a very successful one. She’s loyal, though—to a fault. She also has a kid in college, my nephew. He has two more years at Texas A&M. She and her first husband were married and divorced young, and she raised PJ by herself. A few years ago she met Hal.”
He paused.
“How long have you known about it?” I prompted gently.
“The drugs? A while. I suspected he was dealing coke out of the bar not long after we opened—more than two years ago. I confronted him about it, but he denied everything and Delia stood up for him. As much as I liked working there, I was already regretting the partnership. By that time, though, I had everything sunk into the place and couldn’t get out. I also didn’t want to leave Delia alone with that... I think he’s probably hit her a few times. I’m sure of it, actually. She won’t admit it, but the signs are there. I’ve told her I’ll help her get away from him, but she won’t do anything about it.”
“Bastard,” I said angrily.
“And then some. If I’d known what he was like… Anyway. I did my best to put a stop to the dealing, at least, and it seemed to work. I didn’t see any more of it after that. I probably should’ve turned him in, but… well, I didn’t. Not long after that, Hal started disappearing for weeks at a time. It made Delia unhappy but was easier on all of us. We ran the business, he ran around on her.”
Our food came out. Hungry as I was after days of the barest snacking, I almost forgot to eat, I was so engrossed in the story.
“About a month ago, Delia and I got a visit from DEA agents who were looking for Hal. She told them she didn’t know where he was, but I’m not sure they believed her. They wanted to interview him for an ongoing investigation. They wouldn’t say what it was about. The thing is, if it was just small-time dealing the Feds wouldn’t have gotten involved. I finally got it out of Delia that she suspected he had ties to some extremely shady people around the border or even across it. My guess would be cartels.”
“They haven’t found him?”
“Not yet. His phone has no service, which makes me think he’s out of the country. We don’t know where he went or if he’s coming back. I know the DEA’s been checking into my sister and me, and I have a feeling we’ll be guilty by association, even if we’re not charged with anything.”
“You think Delia will stand by him?”
“As long as possible. I think he’s a double-dealing asshole, but he’s got a hold on her. Even if the business wasn’t involved, I couldn’t leave her alone to deal with all of this. But my name is on the license, which means Delia and I could both be liable if they find that the property was being used to break any federal laws.”
“Would it help if you testified about what you saw?”
“I don’t know. It might. The problem is that I’ll have to admit I knew about the dealing and didn’t turn him in. Assuming they have proof of that, I guess. I just hope they’re not interested in minor accessory charges at this point, if Hal is in as deep as I suspect he is.” He rubbed his face tiredly and looke
d at me. “Well, that’s the situation. I’d understand if it’s… not something you want to be involved in.”
“It isn’t your fault. Or your sister’s. I’m really sorry that it’s happening, but it doesn’t change anything for me.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that, even if it is kind of misguided. Is your omelet OK?”
“What? Oh—it’s delicious.” I forced my mind back to my breakfast, though was still pondering Peter’s story.
“When’s the last time you had a solid meal?”
I thought back.
“A week ago Tuesday, or maybe Wednesday. The days have kind of run together.”
“A perfect segue. Your turn.”
■ ■ ■
I took a minute to collect my thoughts, while Peter patiently ate his eggs and toast.
“OK… My cousin… I was almost done with work for the day—just over a week ago—and my cousin—Marianne—called. She’s two years older than me. She’s like my sister. Neither of us has any siblings, and we were raised together—her parents lived overseas most of the time, so she lived with us. I hadn’t heard from her in a while so I was excited to take the call—but I could tell she sounded strange. Upset. She told me she needed to see me right now, to leave work and meet her at my apartment. She wouldn’t say anything else—she hung up before I could ask any questions, and her phone went to voicemail when I called back. It was almost five, so I told my supervisor I had a family emergency and got home as quickly as I could—panicking the whole way.
“When I got to my apartment, Marianne was waiting outside. She didn’t even stop to hug me, she just pulled me upstairs and shut the door and told me that we were in danger. Something had happened—she’d done something, she said, and there was no stopping it now. I’d have to get out of town until everything had been cleared up.”
“She didn’t tell you what had happened, or what it was about?”
“She wouldn’t—she just started packing my clothes and saying that she was doing this to protect me. I kept trying to stop her and make her explain, but she only repeated the same things. By that time I was frantic—I didn’t know what to do. I tried to call nine-one-one but she took my phone and told me that we couldn’t go to the police. They couldn’t help and they’d arrest us—arrest me—on the spot. It didn’t make sense, but I could tell she was really scared—and that terrified me. She told me not to use credit cards or to register at hotels, she said to drive here, to Uncle Joe’s place, and hide out until she could contact me. I was supposed to take a long route here, through Sacramento and Napa and down through the city, taking a couple of days. She handed me almost four thousand dollars in cash and a burner phone, which she said only to use in an emergency. If someone found me or if I felt threatened in any way, to call the number she programmed in—but never to pick up if it rang.”
“That’s a lot of cash to carry around. She kept your phone?”
“She turned it off and put it in her pocket. And then she put a gun in my bag. It’s all—it was kind of a blur. We finished packing and she helped me lock up and walked me to my car. And left.”
“What kind of gun?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know anything about guns. I haven’t touched it.”
We finished our last bites, not hurrying. Another couple came out onto the patio and sat at a far table.
“What happened after that?” Peter prompted in a lowered voice, and I quietly told him about my panicked nighttime drive north, about spending a few hours resting in random parking lots, exhausted and afraid. Considering and rejecting going to the nearest police station about fifty times. Getting to Uncle Joe’s and laying as low as I possibly could.
“I did everything she said, except I kept the burner phone turned on,” I admitted. “It rang yesterday—a restricted number—but I didn’t answer and turned it off.”
Strange to think that was only yesterday. I hadn’t met Peter yet. It seemed like years ago, like a dim and far-off memory.
“Do you want another cup of coffee?” he asked out of a short, thoughtful silence.
“Sure, if you’re having one.”
“Let’s get it to go. We can talk more freely on the beach.”
I waited with Osiris while Peter ordered our coffees inside, exiting through the patio gate and meeting him on the sidewalk. We drove down to his favorite beach, the one where we’d met, and had no trouble finding parking. It was still early for the majority of beachgoers, even for a gorgeous Saturday. The sun had already burned off most of the mist and shone bright and warm in a cloud-dotted sky. A light breeze from the Pacific pulled at my hair and cooled our skin.
“What do you think Marianne could have gotten into?” he asked as we walked along, taking turns throwing the stick out into the waves.
“I honestly have no idea. Before she showed up in LA, the last time I saw her was at my dad’s funeral last year. We’ve emailed since then, a couple of times, but she didn’t say anything about being in trouble.”
“She’s never been involved in anything… well, shady?”
“No… not exactly. A few years ago she was part of this sort of commune in Newark. She lived with eleven other people in this horrible loft, and they all dated each other and talked about taking down the system—the ninety-nine percent rising to power, that kind of thing. Marianne didn’t ever talk that way, or seem to buy into it, but she stayed there for almost a year. I went there once and hated it—it was… it was gross. And the people were awful. I hated the way they treated Marianne, especially this one guy. He was a dick.” I made a face at the memory. “I think he was sort of in charge, ordering everyone around. She moved away eventually, she never said why. It seemed like she was done with all of that.”
“Did she stay in touch with them?”
“I don’t know. Why? Do you think that’s something to do with this?”
Peter didn’t answer right away. He picked up the stick and threw it as far as he could. We watched as Osiris went bounding into the water to get it.
“I’m not sure,” he said. “It just seems like something isn’t hanging together.”
“Do you think I was wrong to run?” I asked, open to his honest answer.
“No,” he said firmly, reaching for my hand. “What else could you do? I think you were right to follow her instructions. But something’s off, all the same. The police, for instance. Why would they arrest you? What are you supposed to have done—and why wouldn’t you be able to prove you didn’t do it?”
“Identity theft? Someone pretending to be me?” I suggested, one of the only ideas I’d had over the past week.
“Maybe, but you’d still be able to prove that you were innocent of most crimes, unless they really wanted to frame you. No, I think it’s something else. I think Marianne told you to leave to protect you from someone, just like she said. But I think she told you not to go to the cops to protect herself.” I took that in, and he continued, “Not to mention you don’t have much to tell them that they can act on. They can’t put you into protective custody because you’re not a witness to or victim of a crime. All you have is this story—which I believe, and they might too, but it doesn’t really get you anywhere. You’re still left where you are now… waiting for Marianne to give you the all clear.”
“If that ever happens. If she’s even still OK.”
“I’d say there’s a good chance of that. She sounds tough and resourceful.”
“She is—both,” I agreed, appreciating that he wanted to give me hope.
“There’s also the little matter of an unregistered firearm—which would probably get you arrested on federal weapons charges, if the authorities caught you with it.”
“I didn’t even think of that.”
“It seems like the first step’s getting rid of the gun. It’s way more of a liability than a help. I can’t help thinking your cousin knows that.”
That made sense, in a sort of sick way.
“What about using my credit ca
rds, and all that?”
“Either the people chasing her—or both of you—have the resources to track card numbers, or she didn’t want you to spend your own money. Or something we haven’t thought of yet. We don’t know where the cash came from, but I doubt she’d have given it to you if it was traceable.”
“So she doesn’t want me to be in danger, which implies that she’s in danger and it somehow involved me—but she doesn’t want me to report any of this to anybody official,” I clarified out loud to myself. “That would fit. It doesn’t explain who called the burner phone, or give me any idea what to do next—besides dumping the gun.”
“It looks to me like you have three options. Stay here, maybe indefinitely. Go home and pretend like nothing happened. Or—try to figure out what’s going on.”
I did not see that third choice coming.
“How would I do that?” I asked, surprised.
“Look for links to Marianne. This could be connected to those people she was involved with, that commune. They sound like trouble. It could be a dead end, but it’s the only lead we have right now. If they were really anarchists, maybe they took it to a dangerous place, and maybe Marianne was caught up in something extreme. I say we start in Newark and see what we can find.”
I stopped, pulling him to a stop alongside me.
“What are you saying?” I asked, confused. “You want to go—track these people down?”
“Not if you don’t want to.” He put both arms around me and pulled me in close. “It’s a reckless idea, I know that. I might be indicted tomorrow—today—if Hal shows up or the DEA makes a move. They might not even let me leave the state. It might be a wild goose chase, or it might get us into a lot of trouble. We could just stay here instead, wait and see and spend time together. We could go back to LA, if that’s what you want—I couldn’t stay long, but I could go with you. Or we can try to find some answers.”
Spiders in a Dark Web Page 6
