The Caspian Wine Mystery/Suspense/Thriller Series

by Maggie Thom

  Lifting the suitcase onto the bed, Guy carefully looked through the items. Nice underwear. Shoving the black lace bra and panties aside, he continued to sift through her clothes. He unzipped the inside pocket. Airline ticket—old one. Double Bubble supply—which made him smile. A business card—Creative Interiors. Another one—Mr. Robert Lund, Attorney at Law—jackpot. Lund, the lawyer’s office Bailey had gone to a few days before.

  Holding both cards in one hand, Guy walked back to the living room. He made his way to the window by stepping past the overturned items. He didn’t see anything outside that was cause for concern. It looked like the uninvited guest was long gone. He went with his gut instinct and pulled out his cell, hitting the redial button. “Graham, I need you to do a bit of digging on a Mr. Robert Lund. Lawyer. Also see if you can find a home address. I’ll do some searching on my end but it might not be that easy to find. At least not if he’s smart.” He rattled off the information on the business card. “Also do a bit of digging, what do we know about him and his business?”

  “Right. Give me ten.”

  His hand clenched into a fist as a tightly coiled unsettled feeling sat heavy in his gut. He absently rubbed his stomach. How come I didn’t see this one coming? Nice and easy my ass, Gramma.

  He placed his hands over his face and rubbed hard as though it could clear his mind. This was not going to be simple. Blowing out an exasperated breath, he spun around abruptly with the intention of leaving but tripped. With nothing to grab onto, he found himself sprawled across the floor. Since that was a dangerous place to be, he quickly twisted around and jumped to his feet. He booted one of the offending large bags aside.

  “Ouch.” He reached down and pulled back the plastic. Newspaper spilled out. Grabbing the top one, he glanced at the topics and then the date.

  1985. Who the hell keeps the news that long?

  1995. 1999. Who gets that many?

  There were only some from each year but they were papers from across the country, certainly not something one could pick up casually at the local store. He flipped through the stacks of them, getting caught up in the stories.

  Da-da-dum. Da-da-dum. Da-da-dum. Charge.

  He jerked violently, ripping a paper in half. Sighing in disbelief when he realized it was his phone, he pulled it out. Why he’d let Graham’s sister program that ring, he’d never know. It caught him off guard every time.

  “Yeah?”

  “I got his address, I’ll text you.”

  After reading Lund’s address he straightened. “What else?”

  “You do realize it’s after midnight?

  “Yes and I also know you’ll be up till the wee hours, getting all you can about the players we know exist so far. So give.”

  Graham’s fingers clicked over the keys. “Man, you annoy the hell out of me. Mr. Charles Emerson Lund. Upstanding citizen. Lawyer since 1970. Clean as a whistle.”

  “So far.”

  “Yeah. So far. He’s too clean. I get the feeling there are some deep dark secrets hidden in this guy’s history. I have a few feelers out with my buddies on the police force. There’s some speculation that he may be flying on the light side.”

  A gay lawyer?

  “We’ll see what comes back. He’s married to Betty Filmore; the Filmores are a hair’s width from billionaire status. That has to be the crown for a guy who came from a family that marginally made the millionaire mark. The Filmores have their hands in many pies. Besides buying up declining companies, turning them around and reselling them, they own sports teams, have their hand in the shipping business and are partners in a number of multinational conglomerates. Meeting and marrying Betty Filmore, did wonders for Lund’s career. He’s had some high profile cases. Don’t know why he didn’t join a major law firm and make partner. If he’s got closeted sexual preferences it’s not something he’s really going to want the in-laws to know about. My thought is that if he’s got that slant, then someone at some time has probably might have used it against him. It’s too classic. Who wouldn’t take advantage of it?”

  After securing the house, Guy walked across the street to his SUV. “Do you ever miss it?” They’d met when the two of them were fresh out of university and both had decided to join the police force. Two years was all Guy had lasted. Fourteen months for Graham.

  “Police work?” There was a pause. “No. I miss the guys though. If that druggie hadn’t shot me, I’d still be there, but I’m better at behind the scenes snooping. How about you?”

  “Nope. I was the worst rookie ever.”

  “That’s only ‘cause you didn’t like all the rules.”

  Guy laughed along with Graham, recalling how he had trouble with shift work and couldn’t handle the daily stress. Getting enough sleep had become an issue, and he’d started nodding off at any given time, which hadn’t gone over well with the others.

  “Thanks for the info. Keep me informed.”

  “Don’t park your ass out there.”

  Guy took in a deep breath. He didn’t plan on getting shot and although he never would have guessed it from the start, he was now questioning what really lay in store for him. The situation was not at all what it seemed.

  ****

  John was about to stand when someone exited the side door. His knees were starting to cramp, his tall, muscled frame not lending itself to be folded into a pretzel for long periods. Though he remained fit, age showed itself in the graying of his hair, the etched lines in his face and the aches and pains his body invented. He stayed crouched until he was alone. The woman had almost run him down in the alley when she’d driven out of there like a maniac. A quick dive over the fence had kept her from seeing him, barely saving his hide. He hadn’t been expecting her to run out. He could have killed her then but it would have been messy and he didn’t want any witnesses. He would decide when and where. It would be done right. No more mistakes. This time he’d make sure she was gone.

  What a freaking zoo. No one had said anything about having to deal with two men fighting over the broad. John had been scouting the house when one guy had barreled out the front door and the other had tried to stop him. The shoving match hadn’t been much. The little guy had won hands down yet still got the hell out of there in a hurry.

  He had been ordered to get rid of the girl. His intel inferred she was pretty much a loner with no real friends, but that seemed to have changed. He’d have to be more cautious, but he was confident he would succeed. He wasn’t in any hurry to follow her. The tracking device he’d attached to her car would disclose her location at all times. Besides, he was curious about the identity of her 'friends’ and whether they’d be a problem.

  He’d get to her soon enough. She was the last person who had the answers some were undoubtedly seeking; only she didn’t know that and she may never know. He smiled, loving the quirkiness of it; she’d die and never know why. The thought of sharing her history with her was tempting, just to see the anguish, the tears, the fear. He let that image wash through him and shuddered as goosebumps covered his body. Killing wasn’t his first love and not one he’d done often but when someone crossed him, they paid. And she had done him wrong by taking away his only family: the sister he’d tried to protect from his alcoholic father and overzealous, hypocritical, pious mother.

  He had to do this quickly, get his money and get out of the country before the police finally tracked him down. They had a warrant out for his arrest. His latest roofing scam had given him hundreds of thousands of dollars and a line on the need-to-question list of the local RCMP. He chuckled wryly as he considered all he was involved in that the police had no clue about. He’d been caught once but never convicted. He wouldn’t go there again. Once he was done with the girl, he would leave the country for good. He’d find fresh victims to bilk.

  He waited another ten minutes before he stood. Hugging the darkness of the fence, he walked to the side of the house. His hand shook slightly as he took out his pick. Thirty seconds and he was in. He was a b
it disgusted that at one time he’d have been in within five seconds, but he shook that off. He moved stealthily through the house, not making even a whisper of a sound. Though he hadn’t been gainfully employed in this way in a long time, he prided himself on the fact he still had what it took despite his age.

  The place was a mess and had obviously been well searched. Regardless, he still did a careful check of all vents and ceiling tiles that might have been moved, but found nothing. He needed to make sure there was no link from the past to Donna or her child, certainly nothing the cops could use to extradite him. Even countries without extradition agreements could be bribed. As his flashlight flipped over newspapers covering over half the living room floor, he noted two crumpled cards. Bending, he picked them up—one was the girl’s business card and the other was a lawyer’s. Acid burned in his gut as he thought about the lawyer he’d disposed of. The man had slipped evidence to the prosecution; he’d wanted John to go down for defrauding an old woman of her life savings. He smiled as he remembered how easy it had been to eliminate him.

  John pulled out his cell phone and called an old acquaintance, though he knew he’d be charged heavily for the information. Five minutes later he had the home address he needed. He left the house, moving stealthily along the alley for two more blocks to where he’d parked his black car. The fine tremor in his hand was almost unnoticeable but was enough that the key didn’t slide in smoothly the way it should have.

  A drink would have been a nice but he’d never allowed himself to indulge—at least not while he was in the middle of something big. And this was big. He was facing the end to a thirty-five-year career, which, he conceded, had really ended when his sister Mary had been killed. Thinking of her still saddened him, but it also made him mad. He still blamed that infant for his sister’s death and for preventing him from collecting thousands of dollars from the people who were to be her new parents. Mary had looked after that baby for months and finding out that toddler had survived into adulthood was too much. Truth be told, he would have killed the girl for nothing but he was a businessman. He planned to get paid and get paid well. That kid had robbed him of a lucrative career—snatching infants from wealthy parents who had an enemy they often didn’t even realize. He’d been hired by family members, relatives, business partners. It hadn’t been easy to kidnap silver-spooned babies but that’s why those hiring him had to have very deep pockets and ingenious resources. He’d had to abandon that prolific career when Mary died.

  He wasn’t going to spend his retirement behind bars, and he had no plans nor desire to go to jail; certainly not because of one dumb bitch who could ruin it all.

  He’d do what needed to be done. Then he’d leave for a long vacation, perhaps somewhere south where extradition was unlikely.

  The two men who’d stumbled out of the house came to mind. He might have to charge more money for complications. Killing three was really no different than killing one.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  There was a loud pounding sound.

  The phone rang.

  The banging happened again.

  The phone rang.

  Fumbling in the dark, he reached out to slap at his touch-sensitive lamp. It flickered on. Squinting, he glanced at the clock—12:45.

  The phone rang.

  The incessant thumping continued.

  He swung his legs out of bed, ignored the phone, pressed his hand to his face and stood.

  “Mr. Lund, open this door. It’s me, Bailey Saunders. I need to talk to you. I think she knew stuff. Stuff that could get one killed.” Her voice drifted in through his open, second story window.

  He jerked upright, frozen for a moment, before sinking weakly to the bed. Realizing his wife wasn’t complaining about the noise, he rose once more and walked across the hall to her bedroom. He briefly knocked before opening her door. In that moment, it dawned on him that she was at her sister’s for the weekend. Overcome with relief, he returned to his room and slumped against the door frame.

  “Open up. Please! This is important.”

  He went into his bathroom, donned his robe and tied the sash around his ample middle. Annoyed at not having the opportunity to at least get dressed, he took his time going down the stairs. He schooled his face into one of concern before pulling open the door.

  “Miss Saunders, call my office in the morning for an appointment, and I’ll be happy to discuss whatever is causing you so much distress.” His white knuckles clung to the back of the door while he smiled at her reassuringly.

  She tilted her head and stared at him before addressing him. “You’ve known my mom a long time.”

  His mind quickly reviewed the odds of answering that backfiring on him. “Y-yes.”

  She moved a little closer. “A very long time.”

  The way she said it sent shivers up his spine, nearly causing his bowels to empty. He stepped back and started to close the door. “Really. Call me in the morning. We can go down memory—”

  She shoved him inside and slammed the door behind her. Leaning against it, she glared at him. “Let me tell you something about myself, Mr. Lund. I’m a very good judge of character. I know that when a man is sugary sweet to you, he wants something, usually to steal you blind. I know that when a man puts his hand on the thigh of an eight-year-old...” She stared pointedly at him.

  He gulped. How could she know? She had the picture. He should have told Payme to remove the problem, not follow it.

  “He’s not looking for a Boy Scout badge. No, he wants to be the one to initiate that young virgin into the real world. And I know when someone is being honest with me.”

  Walking past him, she turned into the first room on the left. Not sure what to do, he followed her. She was already helping herself to his Port. The way she was gulping his $49,000, 1943 bottle instantly enraged him. His blood pounded through his arteries and exploded into his face with a radiant heat. He reminded himself that she was just a street hustler but none were better than he was. You may drink my special brew but you will never be my equal.

  Swallowing his anger, he used it to straighten his spine and with several deep breaths, he was able to bring his blood pressure back under control. He walked to where she was standing by his dark maple liquor cabinet and poured himself two fingers of his best Scotch. Her eyes never left his face as he swirled the drink before taking a lengthy sip. Instantly, he felt himself relax. He was back in control.

  Maybe she’ll learn a few refined skills.

  He moved to his fireplace and with the flip of a switch, it burst into flames. Warmth permeated the room. He settled into his high-back leather chair, facing the fire.

  “Come join me, my dear. I’ve learned that life is too short to get stressed over the little stuff.” He smiled winningly at her.

  She moved to a chair placed opposite to his. Slowly he sank back into the comfort of it. He looked at her. She was staring at the flames, lost in thought.

  “So what can I do for you, dear? I know this is a tough time for you. If you want, I can have someone come and pack the house for you. During these situations I know how difficult it can be.”

  “No.”

  She didn’t even turn her head to address him. With a hand trembling with anger at her social faux pas, he took another sip of his drink. The rich, smooth taste slid down his throat, first with a tingle and then exploding into an array of flavor. He closed his eyes as he let himself get lost in the sensation, allowing only a tiny shudder.

  He set his glass on his custom designed maple table, the engraved vines climbing up the pedestal to end at an orchid shaped glass top. He rubbed his fingers back and forth over the smooth surface. Of all his collections, this was his prize. It was gaudy, it was impractical, and it spoke of having an excess of money. The Filmores, his in-laws, were filthy rich, partly because of him. The fact that they’d started with millions and had thrived without him was of no importance. He’d been the reason they were so successful at taking over small companies, rev
amping them and selling them for an ungodly amount of money.

  As a token they’d given him a commission, not part of the business that he felt was his due. So he’d had to find his own wealth, his own sideline. He tapped the antique beside him. His thoughts returned to it. The rare piece would be worth millions one day and might be already. It was an insurance policy in the event he had to leave in a hurry and needed money quickly. He’d had four guys bidding for it for years; one day soon, one might be the winner.

  “You said the cops would be interested in my past. I think you have...”

  She waved her hand at him. “I just needed to get your attention so you’d let me in.”

  Allowing a tiny inner sigh of relief, he smoothed his hand over his silk robe, not unlike one worn by Hugh Heffner, a man he felt he emulated in many ways—quiet, suave, sophisticated. The part he hadn’t quite mastered was Heffner’s disregard for public opinion. Slowly Lund sat forward and faced his now quiet, uninvited guest. He wasn’t quite ready to believe she knew nothing about the relationship he’d had with her mother. She turned to look at him. The side of her face was swollen and red. Blood was caked around the edge of her nostril.

  He frowned, wondering if his guy had gotten into a tussle with her. “My dear, what happened? Let me get some ice for that.”

  She waved him off and stood. “I’m fine. Here’s what I need to know.” She smiled in a way that made his stomach flop as though plummeting down a twenty-story amusement park drop tower.

  “You’re the man who used to meet us each summer. I was about five the last time I saw you. It was at a cabin. I need to know what was going on with my mother at that time. What relationship did you have with her?”

  He gazed into the flames. “We were old acquaintances. I’ve known her a long time. Yes, you and she used to come to a cabin I owned in northern Alberta.” He looked at her and smiled. “Those were great times. You were such a daredevil child. Always on the go. You used to love lazy days on my fishing boat. You’d scream with joy.”