by Maria Geraci
Add in the fact that I can no longer count on the chance I might have had for the twenty-five grand if we’d won Battle of the Beach Eats. Sure, Brittany thinks she can change Tara’s mind and still get us on the show, but c’mon, I have a more realistic view of life.
The Bistro on the Beach is doomed.
Or rather, my personal finances are. When Sarah and I bought this place six months ago, it was Whispering Bay’s most popular casual eatery. It still is, at least, I hope so, but the mortgage is humongous. I sunk everything I had into my share of the down payment and still had to borrow money from Will. Add in my credit card debt, and I pretty much live paycheck to paycheck.
Sarah and I are alone in the kitchen tidying up.
“Are you okay?” she asks cutting through the gloomy silence.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
She folds her arms across her chest. Sarah is only a few years older than me and her beautiful blonde self hardly looks the motherly type, but she’s one of the kindest people I know. “You just found a dead body less than a week after being attacked in this very kitchen. You have to be freaked out here.”
Two dead bodies, I want to say, but I’m not supposed to tell anyone about Ken Cameron.
“I’m a little freaked out,” I admit. “But I’m all right.”
“Everything is cleaned up and ready to go for Monday, but I guess we won’t be open, so…”
“What are we going to do?”
She pats me on the shoulder. “We’ll be fine, Lucy.”
Sarah will be fine. Her husband is rich. But me? I’m not so sure.
“I was going to head out, but… I hate to leave you here alone,” she says.
Paco barks as if to say he’s got it covered.
Sarah laughs. “Okay, you’re not exactly alone.” She picks up her bag and fishes out her car keys. “If you need anything or want to sleep somewhere else, you can always crash at my place. Luke’s away for a couple of days on a business trip so we could have some girl time. We could watch Hallmark movies and drink wine and eat chocolate for dinner.”
I smile. “It sounds fabulous and I’m definitely tempted, but I’m going to my parents for dinner tonight.”
She hugs me and makes me promise to call her if I need anything.
I’m about to head up the stairs to my apartment to shower when there’s a hard knock on the kitchen door. I freeze. Okay, maybe Sarah’s right. Maybe I am just a little more than freaked out here, but who wouldn’t be?
“Lucy, it’s me,” Travis says through the door.
Whew.
I open the door to find Travis and a woman I’ve never seen before.
8
The woman is dressed in black pants and a blazer. Late thirties, light brown hair pulled back in a tight bun, clear gray eyes that mean serious business. She shows me her FBI badge. “Agent Patricia Billings. You can call me Billings.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Lucy—”
“McGuffin,” she finishes as she walks into my kitchen. “I need to talk to you. Fontaine here says you might be able to assist us.”
Really? So now Travis wants my help?
His expression turns sheepish.
“What exactly can I do?”
“You’ve found two dead bodies of great interest to the Bureau. Is that a coincidence?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Paco scrunches his nose at her like he’s echoing my reaction. I call this his ‘and what my Momma just said’ look.
Agent Billings notices him for the first time. “Cute dog,” she says dismissively. “It means that somehow you’ve managed to be in the right place at the right time.”
“Or the wrong place at the wrong time. I don’t get my jollies discovering dead bodies.”
She cocks her head toward Travis. “Fontaine says that you solved a murder here last week. I’ve looked you up, McGuffin. You caught the Angel of Death serial killer, something the FBI has been trying to do for over a decade. How did you do it?” The suspicion in her voice makes me wary.
“I got lucky.”
“Lucky? I don’t think so.” She walks through the kitchen and out into the dining area like she owns the place. Travis and I automatically follow. She glances up the stairs. “You live here too?”
I reluctantly nod. This woman is giving off an unfriendly vibe. Paco feels it too. He’s not barking, but he hasn’t taken his eyes off her since she’s walked through the door like he’s suspicious of her every move. Right now he’s the canine equivalent of Robert DeNiro from Meet The Parents. If he could do the two fingers V sign for I’m watching you, he would.
“Mind if I check out your place?” Without waiting for an answer, she starts climbing the stairs to my apartment.
I dash ahead and block her from my door. “Yes, I mind. What are you looking for exactly?”
For a second she looks startled, like she’s not used to anyone telling her no, but she regroups fast enough. “What are you? Some sort of hacker? How were you able to solve a case that highly trained professional FBI agents weren’t able to crack?”
“Hacker?” I snort. “Lady, I can barely keep my online checking account straight.”
“Lucy hasn’t done anything illegal,” Travis says in my defense. “She’s really smart. And able to read people better than anyone I’ve ever met.”
Aw. Hearing Travis stick up for me makes my insides go warm and fuzzy. But I’m still not going out with him.
Agent Billings looks me over like I’m a bug under her microscope. “Are you going to help us or not?” she demands.
“I’ve already answered all your questions. Other than that, I’m not sure what I can do.” I open the door to my apartment and usher them inside. Normally, when I invite someone to my place I offer them something to drink, but I’m exhausted, and Agent Billings can get her own friggin coffee. Preferably somewhere else.
She sits on my couch. “It goes against every instinct to bring a civilian in on this, but I have no choice. Fontaine told me that you’ve already been filled in on the Joey Frizzone situation. The man you found in the park? Ken Cameron? He was my partner.” Her voice hitches for a second. “I don’t intend to lose any more agents. Or Joey either. It’s imperative that we keep The Weasel safe. His testimony will be the result of over five years of work for the Bureau.”
“Sure, I understand. So…what does all this mean? Who’s the guy in the dumpster?”
“The man you found today was no FBI agent. His name is Mark Rinaldi. He’s a professional hitman. Or rather, he was.”
“Do you think he’s the one who killed Ken Cameron?”
She hesitates. “No.”
“But you do think this Mark Rinaldi was here to kill Joey?”
“Definitely.”
“But…that makes no sense. I mean, I get why this Rinaldi character wants to kill Joey. Money, right?”
“Word on the street is that Vito Scarlotti has put a half-million-dollar contract on Joey’s life. No questions asked.”
“Holy Wow. For half a mil I’ll kill him myself.”
Agent Billings raises a brow at me.
I clear my throat. “Just kidding.” Sort of. Boy, this woman really can’t take a joke.
“So what was the motive to kill Mark Rinaldi? And Ken Cameron?”
“Very few people know where Joey is, but obviously the word leaked out.”
“You think Agent Cameron ratted Joey out? For money?”
Her gray eyes blaze with fury. “Absolutely not. Ken was an upstanding guy. The best. But…he could be sloppy sometimes.”
Oh. I get it now. “The two of you were more than partners?”
“We were friends,” she says simply.
A lot more than friends if my Spidey sense is on track here. For the first time, I feel sorry for her.
“Ken—I mean, Agent Cameron must have let Joey’s location slip. He probably realized it, but before he could warn any of us, he was killed to keep him quiet.”
An interesting theory. But I have another one too. One that isn’t so nice. One that involves Ken Cameron selling Joey out for money and then being double-crossed.
“But what was the motive to kill Mark Rinaldi?” I ask, confused.
“Rinaldi was killed by another hitman.”
“Another hitman?” I squeak. This is getting worse by the second.
“Every thug with a five-cent brain is probably on their way here now to Whispering Bay to take out The Weasel. Five hundred thousand dollars is a huge incentive.” She glances at Travis, then her gaze goes back to me. “Both Agent Cameron and Mark Rinaldi were killed by the same person. A bullet hole clean between the eyes is the trademark work of a deadly assassin who goes by the name El Tigre. He’s based out of New York and works primarily for the Russian mob, but Vito’s half-million must have been too big a temptation.”
“The Tiger, huh? What does he look like?” Because this is someone I probably want to avoid.
“No one has ever seen El Tigre. At least no one who’s lived to tell about it.”
“So… this El Tigre killed Mark Rinaldi as a warning?”
“El Tigre killed Rinaldi to get him out of the way. The warning, as you put it, was dumping the body in a public place. He wants to make sure everyone in town knows he’s here. It’s his way of telling any other contenders that Joey is his hit and anyone who gets in his way is going to end up in a dumpster just like Rinaldi.”
I shudder. Correction: El Tigre is definitely someone I want to avoid.
“If you don’t know what he looks like, how can you catch him?”
Agent Billings narrows her eyes at me. “Because you’ve seen him.”
“Me? What are you talking about?”
“Part of El Tigre’s M.O. is that he always dumps a body in a place he knows. Leaving Mark Rinaldi in your dumpster wasn’t a coincidence. El Tigre was here to scope the place out beforehand. Most likely as a customer.”
“You mean I served him coffee? I wish I could help you, but I can’t think of anyone who’s come in here who looks like a dangerous killer.”
“But then, you didn’t suspect the Angel of Death until you caught her, did you?”
True.
“El Tigre is smart. He could be disguised as almost anyone. Some meek mannered tourist, perhaps.”
“It sounds like it’s going to be almost impossible to fish this guy out. Why not just whisk Joey to another location? Wouldn’t that solve your problem?”
“The judge has moved up the trial date, so we only need to keep Joey here a few more days. There’s no time to relocate him.”
“I don’t understand. How can I help?”
“El Tigre likes to return to the scene of his body dumps. It’s a vanity thing. His way of telling us that he can be anywhere or do anything he wants. In the past, he’s come back to leave some tiny scrap of evidence that links back to the murder. It’s nothing we can ever use to find him, he’s much too clever for that. Just enough for us to know that he was here.”
“Like what?” I ask.
“In the past, he’s taken the victim’s ID, then returned it to the scene of the crime. Another time he returned a ring. Completely clean of prints. Things like that.”
“Sounds creepy.”
“It’s rather brilliant, actually,” says Billings with a hint of admiration in her voice. “What we want is for you to keep an eye out for anyone suspicious. Can you do that for us?”
“I’d love to, except Agent Parks, or was it Rollins—anyhoo, one of them told me we had to keep The Bistro closed until further notice. If the place is closed, then how is this El Tigre going to come back here without raising suspicion?”
“I can override that closing. If you agree to help us, The Bistro can open up Monday morning right on schedule. We’ll install invisible cameras that will be manned twenty-four seven. You’ll be completely safe.”
If we can open up Monday as usual, we won’t lose revenue. Which takes a bit of the sting out of losing the Battle of the Beach Eats gig.
“What if I don’t agree?”
She shrugs. “Then we might have to keep The Bistro closed indefinitely. Until we tie up all the loose ends, which might take weeks. Who knows?”
“That’s blackmail.”
“It’s called cooperating with a federal agency and helping your country.”
She’s got me there. “Okay, sure. I’ll help. What if I see someone acting funny, what do I do then?”
“You immediately call Fontaine here. He’ll be our liaison. And if you remember anything, anything at all that stands out, then report that too. Anything, no matter how small or trivial could be important.”
“I guess I could do that. What about my partner Sarah? Shouldn’t we tell her what’s going on?”
“Absolutely not. The only reason I’m bringing you in on this is because you’re already aware of the situation we have going on in town. The fewer people who know, the better.” She gets up to leave. “Another thing.” She makes a disgusted face. “Apparently, Joey has a thing for your double chocolate chip muffins. He’s requested I bring some back with me.”
“Sure, I can do that.” I try not to sound as ridiculously pleased as I feel. Double chocolate chip is my favorite too.
She shoots Travis a parting look. “You get Joey’s muffins. I’ll meet you in the car.”
I barely wait until she’s out of earshot. “Boy, she’s intense. So what happened to ‘I know nothing, I’ll say nothing, and I’ll do nothing.”
“What happened is that the Bureau needs your help,” he says tightly.
“Looks like you need it too.” Gloating isn’t a good look, but I can’t help myself.
Travis glances between Paco and me. “I admit, at first I thought the bit about the dog finding the dead body was crazy, but this makes three dead bodies now.”
“I told you. Paco has skills.”
“You expect me to believe that he’s a ghost whisperer?”
“I think you already do.”
“Let’s say I buy it. What else am I missing here?” He spears me with an intense gaze. It’s almost like he can see right through me. For one horrible second, I wonder if Jim told Travis about my gift. But no, Jim wouldn’t do that. He promised me he wouldn’t tell anyone, and I believe him.
“You’re not missing anything,” I say. We go down to the kitchen where I put a half dozen muffins, five of the double chocolate chip and one orange cranberry (in case Joey needs a bit of variety), into a bag and hand it to Travis.
“You’re not staying here tonight, are you?” he asks.
“Why not?”
“Someone literally dumped a dead body in your back yard. I’d feel a lot better if you stayed with your brother or your parents.”
“Well, I wouldn’t. I like my own bed just fine, thanks. Now if you don’t mind, I’m having dinner with my family tonight and I’m already late.” I make a shooing motion with my hand.
“You’re the most stubborn… Okay. But don’t forget to—”
“I know, I know. Lock the door behind you.”
9
I can’t get the look on Travis’s face out of my head. I know that Jim would never reveal my secret to him, but something tells me that Travis is on to me. Or at the very least, on some level, he knows something about me is off.
I also can’t stop obsessing about El Tigre. To think, a world-famous hitman has been in my café and I didn’t even know it. He probably walked right into The Bistro, ordered coffee and a muffin, and I’m sure I smiled at him because I smile at all my customers.
I wonder what kind of muffin he ordered. And if he liked it. Oh no. I hope he didn’t come in the day that I put too much flour in the lemon poppy seed muffins. They came out a bit too doughy and…
Not important, Lucy!
After a quick shower, I head over to my parents. The house smells of my mom’s chicken cacciatore causing my stomach to rumble in anticipation. Paco does a happy dance. “R
emember,” I warn him as we go through the front door, “we’re on our best behavior which means no begging.”
He barks in response.
I’m no sooner in the door than my entire family, Will included, descend on me like a flock of wild egrets. News of the dead guy has gotten around town, which was to be expected eventually, but I thought I’d have time to tell them in person.
“We just heard what happened at The Bistro,” says Will. “Why didn’t you call and tell us?”
“Sorry, my bad. It just happened this afternoon. I didn’t think it would get around this fast.”
“What is going on here?” Mom demands. “How did a dead body get into your parking lot?”
Why does everyone think I had any control over this?
“Technically, it was in the dumpster.”
Dad makes a pained face. “Does this have anything to do with…you know, your gift?”
“You mean her ability to sniff out a lie?” Sebastian clarifies.
Mom tsks. “I have no idea where she got that.” She glares at Dad. “It must come from your side of the family.”
I guess this isn’t a good time to tell them that Paco sees ghosts.
“I think you should stay here at your parents’ house tonight,” says Will.
“You and Travis both, but I don’t see why.”
“Why?” Will mimics. “Because some psycho has used your place to dump a dead body! Who knows where this killer is now?”
I’d forgotten that no one except me and a handful of cops are privy to the whole Joey “The Weasel” situation. If they knew this was all mob related, then they’d know that I’m safe. Sort of. I mean, no one’s getting a half million dollars to whack me, so what would be the point?
As if things couldn’t get worse, the front doorbell rings, and it’s Brittany. I’m pretty sure Brittany has only been to my parents’ home twice. Once back when I was seven and Mom made me invite the whole class to my birthday party, and some other random time back in fifth grade when we were in the same Girl Scout troop. She greets everyone with her dazzling Brittany smile. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I need to speak to Lucy.”
