by Maria Geraci
“But I didn’t. Look, the FBI and the cops are getting nowhere. First, there’s the agent in the park. Then there’s this Mark Rinaldi in the dumpster at The Bistro, and now there’s Eddie “The Hatchet” O’Leary at The Harbor House. Who knows who’ll end up dead tomorrow? Obviously, they need my help. Besides, I’m pretty sure I know who El Tigre is.”
“Oh yeah?” Will looks partly amused, partly exasperated. “Who?”
“Mike Armandi.”
“Your new boyfriend?”
I wave my hand dismissively. “He’s not my new boyfriend, and you know it. I only said that to get Mom out of my hair.”
I tell Will all the facts, including how Rocko had no clue that Mike was doing our deliveries. “Don’t you see? He must have found out that Joey was in Whispering Bay and he decided to use his uncle’s delivery business as a cover. Pretty brilliant if you ask me. I wouldn’t put it past this guy to have been the one who broke Rocko’s leg.”
“Let’s say I buy this. How did this Mike or El Tigre or whatever you want to call him know that Joey was here in Whispering Bay to begin with?”
“Probably from Ken Cameron. He must have sold Joey out to the mob.”
“The dead FBI agent? Why would El Tigre kill him if Ken Cameron was selling him information?”
“Maybe Ken wanted more money. Or maybe El Tigre just wanted him out of the way so that Ken couldn’t double cross him and relocate Joey. Who knows? It could be any of a dozen reasons. When your nickname is El Tigre you don’t need much of an excuse to kill someone.”
“Have you told this Agent Billings your theory yet?”
“No, and I don’t intend to.”
“Why not? Let them check it out. It’s their job.”
“Because right now it’s just a bunch of circumstantial evidence. What gives it more credibility is the fact that I’ve caught him in two big lies.”
“Ah,” says Will, finally getting it.
“Yeah. I’m not about to tell Agent Billings that I’m some kind of freakish human lie detector.”
Will gives me a thoughtful look. “Are you sure about those lies, Lucy?”
“Positive.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to set a trap for El Tigre and get him to confess.”
Will laughs. And not in a nice way. “How exactly are you going to do that?”
“I have no idea, but considering the FBI is batting zero, I can’t do much worse, can I? I figure between the two of us, we can—”
“No.”
“You don’t even know what I’m about to say.”
“Let me guess. Between the two of us, we’re going to trip up some ruthless professional hitman who’s determined to get a half-million-dollar bounty by killing an FBI informant. Oh, and anyone else who gets in his way too. Sure! Why not? I’m going to channel Travis here. Leave. This. To. The. Professionals.”
“Believe me, I’d be happy to, but if I don’t do something then the Cooking Channel is going to pick another town to host Battle of the Beach Eats. Which means I can’t win the show and I lose the chance for twenty-five grand.”
“So this is about money? Why didn’t you say so? I can give you more.”
“More? You’ve already lent me ten thousand dollars.”
“I’ve told you. No need to pay me back. Consider it a gift.”
“Absolutely not. I have to pay you back that money.”
“If you feel the need to pay me back then comp me a muffin every day for the next year and we’ll be even.”
I refuse to even acknowledge this ridiculous suggestion.
“Man, you’re stubborn.”
“So are you.”
We lock gazes for a few seconds before it becomes too awkward and we break away.
“How were you able to lend me so much money to begin with?” I ask. “You can’t be that great a saver.”
“We’ve been through this before. One of my aunts left me some money after she passed away.”
Before Will lent me the money for my share of the down payment on The Bistro I’d never even heard of this mysterious aunt.
I take a deep breath and focus on relaxing every inch of my body in hopes that I’ll get some sort of reaction. But there’s none. No tingling of the little hairs. No Spidey sense screaming at me. Nada. Is Will telling the truth? I truly can’t tell. This is one of the many times I wish my gift worked on him. Of all the people in the world to be immune to my inner lie detector, why him?
“I still need to pay you back. And nothing you can say will change my mind about that. But catching El Tigre isn’t just about getting on the Cooking Channel and winning the show. This is personal. It’s about taking back my town. This guy stuck a dead body in my dumpster. You think I’m going to let him get away with that?”
Will gets up and paces around the living room, then turns to look at me. “I’m going to regret this, but, okay. I don’t know what you think it is I can do, but I’ll help. On one condition.”
“Really? Yes, anything!”
“You have to tell Travis what you’re doing and how you’re doing it. Otherwise, I’m out.”
“You mean…you want me to tell Travis that I’m a human lie detector? He isn’t going to believe me.”
“Not at first. So you’ll have to prove it to him.”
“But—”
“That’s the only way I’m going to help you, Lucy. Because if something goes wrong with your plan, we’re going to need the cops to get us out of whatever mess it is you’ve got cooked up.”
15
Will thinks he’s so clever. He’s counting that I won’t tell Travis about my gift. And he would be right because I don’t share that part of myself with anyone. The only reason I told Jim Fontaine was because I sensed I could trust him and I needed his advice.
But anyone else? Nah. Not even Sarah, who I consider to be one of my best friends, knows that sniffing out lies is built into my DNA. The last thing I want is for anyone to constantly worry about what they say around me because let’s face it, lies are an everyday occurrence. Without them, life would be difficult.
Take the other day at the dentist. When Margie, my long-time hygienist, asked me if I was still flossing twice a day, of course, I said, “Yes!” Margie and I both know that’s a lie, but if I told her the truth, then she’d be obligated to give me the floss-twice-a-day speech and nobody has time for that.
Another reason I don’t tell anyone about my lie detecting skills is because the last thing I want to do is stand out in a not-so-good way. I’m already not your typical twenty-six-year-old. I get up at four-thirty every morning to make muffins which means that by eight p.m. I’m passed out drooling in my bed (except for Friday nights when I stay up late to watch America’s Most Vicious Criminals). My favorite shoes are converse sneakers. I’ve never had a serious boyfriend. And my dog sees ghosts.
None of which makes for a catchy Match.com profile.
Nope. I think I’ll just keep my little secret to myself, thank you very much.
Will might think he has the upper hand here, but he’s sadly mistaken if he assumes I’m just going to lay down and let El Tigre ruin my town. No sirree. For once, Brittany and I are on the same page. I need to prove to the Cooking Channel that Whispering Bay is the perfect location for their next season of Battle of the Beach Eats.
Will is right about something though. Running off to investigate this on my own could be dangerous. My lesson with the frying pan taught me that. But there’s also a sense of urgency here. I can’t just sit back and wait for El Tigre to show up at The Bistro again to leave his trademark piece of evidence. Who knows how many more hitmen he’ll kill before then? The streets of Whispering Bay could be lined with dead bodies.
I definitely need to be on the offensive here, and that begins with doing a reconnaissance of the safe house where they’ve stashed Joey. What I might discover, I don’t know, but I need to do something.
I park my car far enough
away from the neighborhood entrance that it can’t be seen from any of the streets. With my new binoculars around my neck, Paco and I creep around the back entrance to the cul-de-sac. Or rather, I creep, while he marks every tree and shrub he can find. Men.
Since it’s Sunday, children are riding their bikes along the sidewalk and adults are doing yard work. We’re just a couple of weeks away from Thanksgiving, so pumpkins are everywhere. Luckily, the cul-de-sac seems quieter than the rest of the neighborhood. There’s a man a few houses down from the safe house mowing his yard, but other than that there’s no activity.
I wonder if Agent Billings is keeping watch through a window. Knowing her, she’s probably got security cameras in place. I pull my baseball cap down over my forehead. As long as Paco and I keep behind the bushes, we should be okay. I offer him a liver treat from my pocket. He greedily gobbles it down.
“There’s more where that came from,” I whisper. “Be quiet and stay out of sight and you’ll get one every fifteen minutes.”
His eyes go bright with anticipation.
I hesitated to bring him along on this mission, but he’s so smart. Besides, we’re a team. If it weren’t for Paco, I’d be swimming with the fishes already.
I hunker down low and take a look through the binoculars. Just like the other day, there are no cars in front of the safe house and the garage door is closed.
A movement near the street catches my attention. A minivan drives through slowly like they’re checking out each house. I adjust the binoculars to see if I can get a better look at the driver.
It’s a man. And…
Rats. There’s a woman next to him and two kids in the back. Probably a family scoping out the neighborhood for potential homes.
Nothing else happens for the next thirty minutes. I reach into my sweatshirt pocket and pull out another treat. I have eight left, so we should be good for a couple more hours, but by then it will be full on dark. Note to Lucy: Bring a flashlight the next time you do recon.
I twist around to offer Paco the treat, but instead of taking it, he leaps out from our hiding place like he’s possessed. He takes off running down the street, his leash trailing behind him.
What?
I have no choice. I run after him. I try my best to snatch the end of the leash, but he’s too fast. The only time Paco acts like this is when…
Oh please no. Not again.
I just don’t think I can deal with two dead bodies on the same day.
I follow the sound of his crazy barking to the edge of a lot where a big water oak stands on the corner. Paco barks and jumps in the air like he’s trying to climb after something and that’s when I see what’s caused all the commotion.
A squirrel.
Ugh. I almost wish it had been a dead body because squirrels are the vilest animals alive. They’re Satan’s minions doing his evil bidding here on earth.
“Paco!” I grab the end of his leash and try to pull him away, but it’s no use. He’s determined to get that squirrel, although what he’d do with it is beyond me. Probably lick it to death.
Paco’s barking becomes more violent. That’s when I see that there’s not just one squirrel, there’s three. All snarling with their big rodent teeth plotting how they’ll attack.
On an intellectual level, I know my fear of squirrels is irrational, but knowing that doesn’t do me any good when my heart is beating out of my chest and my palms are going all sweaty.
I have to get out of here.
“Lucy!” A familiar voice makes me spin around.
It’s Sally. She’s wearing jogging clothes. Her hair is green today. She still looks cute, but I liked her pink hair better.
“Are you okay?” She asks, reading the panic on my face.
I nod woodenly.
She quickly takes control of the situation. Gripping hold of Paco’s leash, she uses a firm, but slightly scolding voice. “That’s enough.”
Miraculously, he obeys her. He continues to growl at the squirrels while Sally pulls him from his spot at the bottom of the tree, but at least he’s allowing himself to be led. When we get far enough away that the squirrels aren’t an issue, she hands me back the leash.
“Thanks, I suffer from—”
“Sciurophobia?” she asks.
“You know about that? Most people laugh when I tell them. They think I’m making it up.”
“My brother had it too.”
“Had? He’s not…”
“Dead? Oh, no! He went to a therapist who helped him get over it.”
“Whew! I thought you were going to tell me he was killed by a squirrel, in which case I would have never left the house again.”
Sally laughs. “You’re funny, Lucy.”
“I don’t know about that, but thank goodness you came by when you did. I’m not sure what I would have done.”
She nods like she understands.
I’ve met other people with sciurophobia (there’s more of us than you think), but I’ve never met anyone with a family member who suffered from it. Most people think squirrels are cute. But then, most people haven’t been on the other end of a squirrel mob.
“I was seven when it happened,” I blurt.
She doesn’t say anything, so I take that as a sign to continue.
“It was my birthday party and my mom made this great cake. My whole class was there, and I was about to blow out the candles when a pack of squirrels flew out of the trees and went after my cake. So I grabbed the cake and took off running, but they chased me down. They were about to attack when Will scared them off. I know it sounds ridiculous. I know they wouldn’t have really hurt me, but…”
She places her hand on my arm. “It’s okay, Lucy,” she says gently. “We all have our personal demons, don’t we?”
“I can’t imagine you have any. You seem so put together.”
“Looks can be deceiving. We all have our Achilles heel.”
It occurs to me I don’t know much about Sally. “Do you live around here?”
“No, my place is just a few blocks from the library, but it’s such a beautiful day I thought I’d go for a jog around town.”
Sally, I notice, looks like she must jog a lot. She always looks put together in her work clothes, but in her black leggings and slim fitting nylon top, she looks ultra-fit. In comparison, I’m a little embarrassed by my baggy sweat pants and my child-bearing hips.
She eyes my binoculars. “So what are you doing here?”
“Oh, um, the same thing you are, except instead of jogging, I’m bird watching.”
“Bird watching, huh? You probably want to leave the dog home next time.”
I flush. I’m not the only one who can spot a whopper. I hope she doesn’t think I’m some sort of creepy stalker.
We walk along the sidewalk, chatting, with Paco trotting between us. I wish I could go back toward the cul-de-sac, but I’m not sure how to do that without making Sally suspicious.
“How are things going with the Cooking Channel show?” she asks. “Any news yet on whether or not Whispering Bay will be selected?”
“It’s looking pretty grim, especially now with this new murder at The Harbor House.”
She nods sympathetically. “I heard you found the body.”
I shouldn’t be surprised that Sally already knows about the dead body at The Harbor House. After all, this is Whispering Bay.
“I was there eating brunch.”
“With Will?”
“No, with…someone else.”
“Really? Please don’t tell me you were on a date with that hunky Travis. I called dibs on him, remember?” she teases.
“Not Travis. It was someone else.”
“You’ve surprised me, Lucy. I could have sworn…never mind.”
“What?”
She stops and looks at me. “I know I haven’t been in town long, and we don’t know each other all that well, but I thought you and Will had something going.”
“Me and Will?” I do the laugh-sno
rt thing. “No, no, no. We’re just friends.”
Sally shakes her head sadly. “Life is too short, Lucy. You should tell Will how you feel. You might just be surprised to find that he feels the same way too.” Her smart watch beeps. “Oops. This thing is telling me I need to start running again.” She begins jogging in place. “Let’s grab a cup of coffee soon, okay?”
16
That’s two people in the last twenty-four hours who have told me I need to tell Will how I feel. I admit I was startled by how easily Sally figured it out. But I can’t think about that right now. I have more important matters at hand. Like how I’m going to save my town’s rep and get us back in the Cooking Channel’s good graces.
I stayed up half the night formulating my plot to catch El Tigre, and I’ve come up with the perfect solution. My plan is beautiful in its simplicity. All I have to do is get Mike to come to The Bistro (not difficult since he’s doing our deliveries). We aren’t due for another three days, but I’ll make something up. An emergency or whatever. He will of course, jump at the chance to come here because it gives him the perfect opportunity to leave his signature clue. The feds will get it on tape and bada-bing bada-boom, he’s toast.
It’s brilliant. Even if I say so myself.
At exactly five a.m. I email Rocko.
Disaster! Our flour batch is filled with bugs. Is there any way you can get Mike to deliver some STAT this morning? Thanks!
There. That ought to do it.
Of course, our flour is perfectly fine, but I toss it anyway because if Mike comes and sees it, he’ll immediately become suspicious and who knows what someone named El Tigre might do if he feels cornered? I certainly don’t want to find out.
Since Sarah can’t know what’s going on, I keep up the pretense with her as well. “Bugs? In our flour?” She makes a disgusted face. “Do you think it’s a problem with the vendor or do we have an infestation in our pantry?”
Rats. I hadn’t thought that far. It would be unfair to blame the vendor. And I’m not about to let poor Sarah clean out our pantry. Not when it’s already meticulously clean.
“I think it was just a freak one-time thing,” I say. “It’s not all bad. We had enough untainted flour that I was able to make a few dozen muffins, so we’re not totally out. Just mostly out.” After all, I don’t want everyone in town to suffer.
