Deep Harbor

by Fern Michaels

  Kick arrived at six o’clock sharp, arms loaded with baskets, bags, and a crock-pot.

  “You look like you robbed the gourmet market!” Colin laughed as he opened the door. “And what is it that smells so yummy?”

  “Our entrée. I decided to make something that would take a little more time than I had planned, so I started it at home.”

  Colin grabbed some of the packages and led Kick through the stark apartment to the promised state-of-the-art kitchen.

  “Great setup!” Kick was relieved that there was actually room to move around and prepare the meal. Too often “state of the art” meant high-end appliances but not necessarily a lot of work space. “Impressive! I could have a field day in here!”

  That had been the beginning of a wonderful romance that lasted over twenty years. Had it not been for that fifteen-year-old drunk teenager, Kick would still be alive today.

  Kick had gone to their vacation spot near Salisbury, Maryland, to get his boat ready for the annual regatta. That evening, when he was checking the GPS, the roar of a Jet Ski boomed through, the air followed by a horrific crash seconds later. Both vessels exploded in flames, leaving Kick burned over 80 percent of his body. By the time Colin made it to the hospital, Kick was almost dead. His final words were mumbled, but Colin clearly heard him say, “Keep an eye on CJ for me.”

  Colin remembered when Kick had introduced him to his sister. She was lanky, like her brother, and a bit of a spitfire. But what preteen girl wasn’t? She was very bright and had a keen sense of humor. Yes, you could tell they were brother and sister. As CJ went through all her pubescent stages, Colin and Kick managed to chart that unfamiliar territory together, and the three of them became a very close-knit family.

  Kick had wanted to start a restaurant chain that would serve wholesome food. Not just fried, dried, and thrown into a bag. After that first dinner he had prepared for Colin, Colin set out to make Kick’s dream reality by seeing to the financing. The company grew into a major chain and was worth millions by the time Kick had died. Colin continued to run the business, and CJ moved into Kick’s house. It was actually hers under the terms of Kick’s will, but she never really wanted the material things Kick had left her, including the house, so she lived modestly in only one area. Colin thought it was odd, but he thought he understood. They both missed him and wanted to be as close to him as they could. Even if it was just sitting in the kitchen.

  During the four years since Kick’s death, Colin and CJ had become even closer. They were each other’s confidants and shelter from the emotional storm. So when CJ called and left him a message, he could tell that something must be bothering her. Something other than still grieving over the loss of her brother. He was worried about her. Something about the way she sounded on the phone did not seem right.

  Chapter 6

  It was the crack of dawn when Colin finally got through to CJ. “What the hell happened?”

  “Snapper is dead.” CJ could barely get the words out. “They say it was a suicide.”

  “What? That’s impossible!” Colin knew the congressman well and echoed CJ’s sentiments.

  “Yeah. Something is seriously wrong. They said he killed himself in his car, using carbon monoxide. I don’t think he would even know how. I’m heading to the police station in a couple of hours to look at the footage of the surveillance tapes.”

  “Do you want me to go with you?” Colin was growing tense over this new tragedy facing CJ. She was just getting over the death of her brother, and now this.

  “Let me go see what the hell is going on, and I’ll let you know. Don’t go anywhere.”

  “Sweetie, I’ll be wherever you need me to be.”

  CJ gave her wreck of a car a mean look before she attempted to start the engine. Much to her surprise, the junkmobile once again cooperated. Still, she knew she needed to trade it in for something more reliable. She punched in the code to the garage door and headed to the station house, where Detective Harris had arranged for her to use a small media room in which to look through the security footage.

  CJ stared at the video for hours, her eyes growing weary. She spotted Snapper walking from the stairwell to his car. Harris was right. It was hard to see the driver’s seat given the angle of the camera. It was a full three minutes later she saw a man dressed in a Burberry trench coat with his head bent down, away from direct sight of the camera. That head tilt! The same slant, as if avoiding a camera. She remembered Mr. Crappy Cologne’s body language as he was walking down the hallway. Damn it! She tried to increase the image, but doing so only made it grainier. Damn it! Damn it! Her palms were starting to sweat, and once again her inner self was screaming inside her. It’s him! I just know it! But how can I prove it? It was going to be a big challenge. She knew instinctively that what had happened had something to do with the night of Snapper’s and Mr. Crappy Cologne’s confrontation, and that company, Robotron.

  After staring at the footage for several hours, she decided to call it quits and sent a text to Colin: CU at house? 6:00? A quick ping back: K.

  Before Colin arrived, CJ pulled out a bottle of Joseph Phelps, removed the cork, and poured the contents into a decanter to open the body and nuances of the wine. How she missed those wine tastings with Kick. This was one of his favorite California Cabernets.

  Pacing back and forth, CJ was trying to be patient with the wine and waiting for Colin. Finally, the doorbell rang, and the wine was ready to drink.

  “Hey! Are you okay?” Colin asked, warmth mixed with worry. “What’s going on? That’s just crazy news about Snapper. Why do you think he did it?”

  Tears started rolling down CJ’s face. “Suicide? I don’t believe it for one second.” Her voice started to increase in volume and her tone turned acid.

  “I know this is a big shock, CJ, but people do it. And sometimes without any warning. It’s baffling, but maybe if you think back over the past few weeks, you’ll see some kind of pattern. A change in his behavior?”

  “He had been crankier than usual. And distracted. But nothing, and I mean nothing I hadn’t seen when he’d been under a lot of pressure. It makes no sense.” CJ was settling down as best she could and sat down at the edge of the sofa.

  “Sorry, kiddo, I know this has got to be rough.” Words were not coming easily to Colin.

  “Well, he’s definitely dead. But the ‘how’ is what I’m not buying.” CJ tried to maintain her composure. It was going to take a lot to get through another loss in her life, and the idea that she hadn’t seen it coming was very disturbing to her.

  “Okay. Let’s start at the beginning. Is this what you wanted to see me about on Saturday? But wait. Snapper was still okay when you called.”

  “Exactly!” CJ jumped from her perch. “I know you’re going to think I’m totally bonkers, but something big, and I mean big, is going down in the House of Representatives.”

  Colin, trying to keep the conversation light, replied, “If only something were going on . . . but nothing seems to be getting done in Congress! Even if the House passes legislation, it ends up dying in the Senate.”

  “Stop. I’m serious. I hate to use the word ‘nefarious,’ but that is as close as I can come right now.”

  “Okay. Okay. No more joking around. Like I said, let’s start at the beginning. When you called, what did you want to talk about?”

  CJ recounted the events of the evening when she was leaving early to go for a run. Snapper had a black-tie event and said he was waiting for a phone call. She took the stairs to the garage, but as she entered the stairwell, the elevator doors opened and the smell of a horrible cologne wafted out. When she got to her car, she remembered she had forgotten to leave a folder on her desk, so she returned to the office. As she was entering the hallway to her office, she was hit with the same stench she had encountered earlier.

  “Cheap cologne? What does that have to do with anything?” Colin was trying to be patient.

  “More like crap cologne. The odor was barreling
through the hall like a jet stream. I heard voices in Snapper’s office, and since I did not want him to know about my goof, I used the side door to enter my own office. When I opened the door, the smell got stronger, and I could hear Snapper arguing with this guy. Something about Robotron. And then Mr. Crappy Cologne kicked Snapper in the groin!”

  “Where were you all this time?” Colin looked horrified.

  “I ducked under my desk after I had clumsily knocked into the trash can.” Her eyes were rolling, and she was shaking her head.

  “Who do you think you are, Nancy Drew?”

  “It was such a heated argument that I wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible and without being seen. It was strange. Weird. I never, ever saw Snapper allow himself to be bullied. So I got out of Dodge as soon as I could.”

  “Okay. But what does that have to do with Snapper’s suicide?”

  “You mean ‘apparent suicide.’ That’s just it. I could hear a few words, something about Robotron and a vote. Do you remember a couple of weeks ago, when there was an announcement about a recall of defective robotic surgical equipment from hundreds of hospitals?”

  “Yeah, that was some kind of debacle. Fake news. Stocks dropped before the company realized no recall was necessary, that they had been hacked. How does that garbage happen anyway?”

  “That’s my point, Colin. How does that garbage happen? Obviously, someone manipulated the phony recall and the leak about it. It was manipulated, just like pretty much everything else is.”

  “So what are you going to do about this? Who can you talk to?”

  “That’s the problem. Who would believe me? But get this—the alleged suicide occurred the same day I had gotten another whiff of the guy with the awful cologne in the lobby.”

  “Again, Nancy Drew, where was Mr. Crappy Cologne at the time you sniffed him out?”

  “I had left Snapper in his office. I was running out to grab a salad. When I got to the lobby, I asked Marcus, the security guard, if he had noticed anyone reeking like a French whorehouse, but he said no. So I went to the café and picked up a salad and headed back to the office. When I got back to my desk, Snapper was gone. He had no outside appointments and hadn’t left me a note. When I stepped into his office to check for his briefcase, I smelled that disgusting stench again, so I made a beeline back to the lobby to see if Marcus had an update on Mr. Crappy Cologne. That’s when I got a whiff and followed it down the hallway.”

  “Okay, missy. Now you’re making me nervous with your sleuthing.” Colin was on the border of “Is she delusional because of grief?” and “This doesn’t sound right to me, either.”

  “Colin. I’m not nuts. I followed the scent to Congressman Dillard’s office, and I could hear him arguing with someone. One of them said, ‘It’s being taken care of, but you need to take care of me, as in now.’ The other guy, who I assumed was Dillard, said for the guy to calm down and come back later. I flattened myself against the wall as Pepé Le Pew came out. I tried to get a look at his face, but he had tilted his head in a way that indicated he knew exactly where the security cameras were and intended to avoid them. I’m telling you, Colin, something big is going on and Snapper’s suicide, murder, whatever, has something to do with this.”

  “Are you saying that you think Snapper was murdered by Mr. Crappy Cologne? And that there was some kind of conspiracy that involved Snapper, this other congressman, and the guy with the smelly cologne?” Colin was beginning to think CJ’s imagination was running a bit wild.

  “Well, let’s look at the facts.” CJ pulled out a yellow pad and pen. “Snapper has an argument with Mr. Crappy Cologne over a company, Robotron. Then came the recall, dropping the stock. Whoops. Bad info. ‘Never mind,’” she added, mimicking Gilda Radner’s Emily Litella.

  “Meanwhile, Congress passes a bill pouring research money into medical-supply initiatives, and guess who was one of the big beneficiaries of that influx of cash? You got it—Robotron. And guess whose stock skyrocketed? Again, Robotron. A couple of weeks later, Snapper is dead. Coincidence? I don’t think so.” CJ tossed the pad on the floor, crossed her arms, and glared at Colin, daring him to contradict her.

  “Okay, I understand why you think all of this is suspicious, but they did find him in his car after a hose was connected to the exhaust pipe.”

  “Well, they couldn’t just murder him outright, could they? That would have been suspicious.”

  “So you think they faked his suicide? To cover something up?” Colin was trying to put the pieces together himself.

  “Yeah. And yeah. It has something to do with Robotron stock. I can feel it in my gut.” CJ was finally coming to grips with the events and appeared to have a renewed strength.

  “So what do you propose, Miss Drew?”

  “Please stop calling me that. I am serious. This is something that needs to be investigated further.”

  “Okay, but how are you going to convince the police to open an investigation into a possible murder when they are convinced that no crime occurred?”

  “I think a toxicology report has to be run on Snapper. They may have drugged him before arranging that his death appear to be a suicide. When I was taken to the car and leaned in, guess what I smelled? Horrible cologne.”

  “Yes, but how did they get his body into the car without being seen by the security cameras?”

  “Maybe he was already in his car. Maybe he was supposed to meet Mr. Crappy Cologne in his car and he injected Snapper with something to knock him out. It’s possible, don’t you think?”

  “Oh boy. You’ve been watching too much Dateline or Forensic Files. That’s quite a stretch.”

  “You have any other ideas, Mr. Logical Thinker?”

  CJ’s sarcasm was not lost on Colin. “We could go to Snapper’s apartment and check it out.”

  “Isn’t that trespassing?” Colin looked leery.

  “Not if one has a key.”

  “Okay, Miss Marple, but let’s wait until tomorrow morning. You need to get some rest, and maybe this will look a little different in the light of day. Do you want me to stay here tonight?”

  “Yeah, that would be great. Thanks, Colin. You’ve always been such a good pal. I’m going to get into my pj’s and try to sleep.”

  “I’m just a shout away if you need anything.”

  Chapter 7

  After a night of tossing and turning, CJ started her morning ritual making coffee in the French press.

  “Good morning, sunshine. You feeling any better today?” Colin asked.

  “As if. I don’t think I slept a wink. Here, have a cup and let’s get moving.”

  CJ handed Colin a mug and went to her room to get dressed. “I’ll be ready in a half hour.”

  When CJ returned, Colin had been thinking about the Italian sports cars sitting in the garage and the vast difference between them and CJ’s junk heap. It was with a pang of nostalgia that he remembered the long drives he and Kick would take. “Are you ever going to do something with the sports cars in the garage? Or at least your piece of junk?”

  “Funny you should say that. I was thinking it was time to trade in the two-hundred-fifty-thousand-mile tin can for something more reliable. In fact, I was going to ask you to go with me. You know cars have never been my thing.”

  “Of course I will. You just say when.”

  “Well, let’s get this Snapper thing unraveled first, and then we can talk cars.”

  “Absolutely. And let’s take my car if you don’t mind,” Colin replied.

  CJ grabbed her jacket and purse as they headed out the front door instead of the garage door since Colin’s car was in the driveway.

  Colin ushered CJ toward his Alpha Romeo. “The Watergate, correct?”

  “Correct.”

  CJ buckled herself into the lush passenger seat. The smell of the Italian leather was almost heady. They say the sense of smell is the fastest line to your memory. Maybe that’s why she didn’t want to get rid of the cars. She gave Colin
’s arm a squeeze as he clicked to open the security gate, drove the car out onto the streets of Washington, DC, heading to the famous, infamous building.

  CJ stopped at the checkpoint in the lobby and showed her ID to the security guard, who nodded in acknowledgment. She and Colin stood silently as the elevator in Snapper’s building reached his floor.

  “It’s just down the hall.” CJ pointed with a nod of her head.

  “Huh. Watergate. Ironic, don’t you think?” Colin was still not convinced anything untoward had taken place, thinking the suicide was just the sad story of a lonely, overworked man who could no longer take the strain. “The hallmark of political espionage.”

  “Will you please stop the sarcasm? This is tough enough to deal with.” CJ gave him her sideways look of “stop messing with me.”

  “Okay. Sorry. But it does seem . . .”

  “Will you please shut the hell up until we have more to go on?” CJ keyed the door open and they entered the eerily quiet condo.

  “What are we looking for?” Colin asked in a hushed voice.

  “I have no idea, but I don’t think we need to whisper. Snapper was a very meticulous man. Everything was always in order. You take the bedroom, and I’ll start in his den.”

  “But, I repeat, what are we looking for?” Colin was trying to humor CJ. He was very uncomfortable going through a dead man’s personal belongings.

  “Check his closet for anything that doesn’t look organized or is in a state of disarray. You know, just in case someone else was here snooping around. Or if he might have left some kind of clue.”

  “I dunno. This is creeping me out a little.”

  “You’re a big boy, Colin. A captain of industry. My hero. Don’t be such a wuss. Go. Look.” She turned him around and gave him a shove.

  “All right! All right! Stop being so bossy.” Colin was heading toward the bedroom when he passed a door with hardware somewhat similar to Kick’s house: a Sargent and Greenleaf biometric fingerprint lock. “CJ! Check this out! A fingerprint lock. Do you know the pin for this, or does it have your print?”