Deep Harbor

by Fern Michaels

  “Wait. What? You haven’t slept together?” CJ was genuinely surprised.

  “I didn’t say we hadn’t slept together. We just cuddled. Oh jeez, I cannot believe I’m actually telling you all this.” Colin was ready and eager to get back to cybersleuthing.

  “Huh. That actually makes a lot of sense. People are in such a rush to jump into bed. And then, before they know it, they’re in a relationship with an asshole.”

  CJ was pondering the history of her love life, which had been nonexistent ever since Kick’s death.

  “Who are you calling an asshole?”

  “No one. Just thinking about my track record with relationships. And now that I am thinking about it, I have a laundry list of assholes, none of whose exit from my life caused any emotional waves.”

  They both broke out in laughter as they polished off the second bottle of wine.

  “So what’s next on our agenda, Drama Goddess?”

  “How many times do I have to tell you, it’s Crime Drama Goddess. I think that tomorrow, we need to, as in you need to, review the bank-transfer documents. Then we have to plan a trip to Sun Valley Institute. Sun Valley? Isn’t that somewhere in Utah?”

  “Yes, it is, but this place is in California.” Colin tossed the pad on the table.

  “What time is it? It’s still daylight. Why do I feel like it’s midnight?” CJ began to yawn.

  “Maybe because you haven’t slept in two days, have been on an emotional roller coaster, discovered disturbing and mysterious information, and washed it down with an entire bottle of wine.”

  “But it was fine wine.” CJ rested her head against the sofa as her heavy eyelids closed and she slipped into a long-overdue nap.

  Colin took the glass from her hand, propped a pillow behind her head, and returned to his search of the files downloaded from the thumb drive.

  Two hours later, CJ awoke with a start. “Whoa! Did you get the license plate from that truck that hit me?”

  Colin smiled over at her. “You finally hit the wall, sister. You feeling okay?”

  “Mmmm . . . just a little shaky. Like I need about fifteen more hours of sleep.”

  “No surprise. I’ll whip up a little dinner. Go put on your pj’s. After we eat something, I will show you what I found while you were napping.”

  “You found something?”

  “Yes. Relax. Nothing earth shattering. Just part of the money trail.”

  “Show me now!”

  “Okay. But first, go wash your face and put on your pajamas, please.”

  “What am I, twelve?” CJ thought back to when she was actually twelve and Kick said those same words to her.

  “For now, yes. Now scoot!”

  CJ dragged herself to her feet and marched into her room. A shower, she decided, would be better. “I’m going to clean up my act. Give me a few minutes,” she yelled down the hallway.

  Colin rummaged through the refrigerator, finding only cheese and grapes. He had forgotten how lax CJ was about grocery shopping. But then he remembered that Kick always had quiche in the freezer in the butler pantry. How bad could it be, if there was still some in there? Four years? Could be nasty. Still, it was worth a try. Sure enough, there were several. One of the KC’s Hatchery’s specialties was quiche. But they were not called quiche. They were called Kick’s Egg Pies in an attempt to make them more palatable to the masses. And they were. Kick’s Egg Pies came in several flavors and sizes. Kick had created his own version of quiche lorraine. It was made of the same basic ingredients: eggs, cream, and a buttery crust, but Kick put a “kick” to one, using pepperoni instead of ham. Turned out it was one of the biggest sellers. He also had healthier versions, with vegetables, egg substitutes, and light cream. He wanted the food to be delicious and hot but not so bad as to clog one’s arteries.

  Colin pulled out a roasted-vegetable pie, brushed off the worst of the frost, and gave it a sniff. Smelled okay. Worst case, he would throw it away, and they’d eat cheese for dinner. They could order in instead, but that would take a while. Lunch had been hours before, and a brie sandwich wouldn’t be enough. They both needed to resupply.

  “Yum . . . what’s that I smell?” CJ was returning in a fresh pair of pajamas and drying her hair with a towel. “You found something to cook?”

  “Frozen quiche—or ‘egg pie’ as our advertising and promotion department would have it. It was in the other freezer. Granted, it’s a little old, like at least four years old, but we can always toss it if it sucks.”

  “Wish I had known. I would have gladly traded all that moo shoo pork for one of those!”

  “It’s ironic.” Colin began to tick off a list with his fingers. “First of all, you consider yourself a ‘health nut’? Salad and Chinese food. Takeout no less! Second, your brother was a chef and half owner of a chain of restaurants, which you now own half of. You should be embarrassed. You have the absolute worst palate of anyone I know!” He was definitely teasing her. It wasn’t the first time he had commented on her lousy food choices.

  “Ah, but I do have a good palate for wine.” She winked and pulled two new bottles from the cooler. “White?”

  “Sancerre or Sauvignon Blanc?”

  “Take your pick.” She held up both.

  “Let’s start with the one on the left.”

  CJ opened the designated bottle, grabbed two white wine goblets from the Baccarat collection, and settled down on the floor. Colin joined her after serving the warm pie.

  “You go first.” CJ was pointing her fork at his slice. “If it tastes like crap, let me know.”

  “Oh thanks. I think you should go first since I was the one who found this bounty!”

  “My point exactly. You found it. You heated it. You try it!” But she was only kidding. Before he had a chance to respond, she was digging in. “Oh my God! This is as good as the day it was made! Jeez, I wish I had known they were in there! Wonder what else has been preserved on ice?”

  “Looked like there were a couple of pot pies, but I didn’t investigate further. I was skeptically optimistic.” Colin, too, was enjoying the dish.

  “Skeptically optimistic? Isn’t that an oxymoron?” CJ wiped her mouth and took another huge forkful.

  “Not any more than ‘cautiously optimistic.’ Which brings me to my initial findings. I think we’ll be able to discover the entire money trail, but it will still require some serious effort.” Colin pulled open a folder of papers he had printed from the flash drive. “It appears that there is a trust fund in the name of George Lewis, who resides at Sun Valley Institute in Southern California. Each month an automatic transfer of twenty-five thousand dollars is made from the trust fund to the facility. He’s been there for almost thirteen years.”

  “But what’s wrong with him?” CJ’s eyes had widened in half disbelief.

  “CJ, I’m not exactly sure, but it appears he needs a lot of medical equipment: breathing apparatus and several monitors. Tons of stuff.”

  “Wow.” CJ was trying to imagine such a horrible existence. “I wonder why Snapper never mentioned it.”

  “Who knows? Maybe he didn’t want the media all over it. But one thing is certain—the fund started with about one and a half million thirteen years ago.”

  “What? One and a half million?” CJ dropped her fork and almost choked on her wine.

  “Yeah. Apparently the Lewis family had a small horse farm in Colts Neck, New Jersey, and Snapper sold it and put all of the proceeds into the trust.”

  “Holy cow.” CJ could hardly believe the words coming out of Colin’s mouth.

  “Indeed. But get this. Over the past four years, there have been additional transfers into the trust from an unknown source. That’s where I need to dig some more.”

  “What do you mean?” CJ could barely stand this influx of information.

  “One and a half mil doesn’t last very long if you’re spending twenty-five thousand a month. The trust was down to less than five hundred thousand when the additional funds s
tarted to be deposited.”

  “Okay. I’m confused. Start again.” CJ was pouring another glass from the bottle that was chilling in the ice bucket.

  Colin began. “The trust started with one and a half million with transfers of twenty-five thousand every month. After a few months, there was a deposit to the trust of a little over one million from an insurance company. When the fund got below five hundred thousand, five years ago, more money started flowing into the account. Sometimes as much as two hundred fifty thousand, but usually fifty thousand every couple of months. Looks like Snapper was trying to maintain enough to pay for at least a year’s worth of care in the trust.”

  “But where was all that other money coming from?” CJ looked bewildered.

  “As I said, one million came from an insurance company, but that was almost thirteen years ago. I assume that it was some kind of settlement, but I’m not sure.”

  “Okay, wait. Leaving the insurance money aside, when did the additional deposits start?”

  “Looks like they began about five years ago.”

  “But where were they coming from?” CJ was trying not to sound demanding, but her frustration and confusion were rising.

  “That’s what I cannot figure out.” Colin tossed the folder on the floor and poured himself another glass. “I would need access to the Web again.”

  “You mean the dark Web?” CJ asked, emphasizing “dark.”

  “Yes, ma’am. And I can’t do it from here. Snapper had his system rigged so it could only be accessed from his computer.”

  “Cripes. Now we have two mysteries to solve.” CJ was staring blankly at the fireplace.

  “Uh, I think we need to focus on one issue at a time. First, we need to notify the family. Whatever is left of it. Which brings me to my next item. Pack your bags because we are going to LA tomorrow morning to visit George.”

  “What? I can’t leave now! I have too much to do at the office! Until they can find a replacement for Snapper, there is a pile of garbage I have to deal with.” CJ was not about to get on a plane.

  “Tomorrow is Friday. Take one day off. We’ll be back on Sunday. We’ve gotta do this, CJ. We have to go to that facility. Maybe there are other family members you don’t know about. But we have to start there.”

  CJ gave a big sigh. “I know you’re right, but this is just way too much for me to absorb.”

  “There’s a Virgin Atlantic flight that leaves National airport at nine in the morning. We’ll be there before one with the time change, and, if we’re lucky, we’ll be at Sun Valley by two.”

  “Don’t you think we need to call them ahead of time and let them know we’re coming?”

  “Actually, no. With all this drama going on, I think a surprise visit is called for. If there is anything hinky going on, we don’t want to give them the opportunity to cover it up.” Colin was resolute about the need to do it his way.

  “I suppose you’re right. All this financial obscurity, Snapper’s ‘apparent’ suicide, the mysterious condo below his. I am stupefied. So where do we begin?”

  “LA. George. Sun Valley Institute. We’ll just have to work backward. Once we can confirm there is a George, we can try to figure out where that additional money came from and what the hell really happened to Snapper.”

  CJ let out a huge “UGH!” and poured another glass for both of them.

  “Just when I thought my only problem was a crappy car . . .”

  Chapter 10

  Colin and CJ were up at dawn and drove out to Reagan National Airport in silence. Both were trying to make sense of the past few days of confusion. Snapper, suicide? Never. A secret condo? Why? A very secret and very private financial connection to a health-care facility. George. But why the mystery? And the latest deposits into a trust fund. Where was that money coming from? It all had to be connected. But why? And how? And who else was involved ? Mr. Crappy Cologne for sure. CJ knew that much deep in her gut. Maybe once they were at Sun Valley Institute, some of this would become clear.

  Colin parked in the short-term lot, and they grabbed their carry-on bags. “Gate twenty-three. Flight boards in an hour. Let’s get through security and find a bar. I think a couple of Bloody Marys are in order. It’s five o’clock somewhere,” Colin said, repeating one of CJ’s favorite lines when it came to consuming alcohol beverages.

  “And a Xanax,” CJ joked.

  “Funny girl. Since when did you get involved with antianxiety meds?” Colin asked, evidently surprised at what she had said.

  “Interesting you should say that. About a year ago, there was some chatter on the Hill about loosening the regulations on prescribing antidepressants, anti-anxiety meds, and analgesics. Snapper was involved in the talks.”

  Suddenly a frown appeared on her face. “Colin, you don’t suppose Snapper was involved in some sort of backroom dealings?”

  “Well, something was going on. He didn’t make enough money to be depositing the amounts he did into the trust fund, so the money had to be coming from somewhere. And it’s hard to see how that money could have been legally obtained.”

  “I just cannot imagine Snapper doing anything illegal, or immoral for that matter.”

  “People do very strange things when they’re desperate.” Colin was matter-of-fact. “If he was running out of funds for George, maybe doing something illegal and immoral was his only course of action.”

  “I hate to think Snapper would resort to unseemly measures. It’s just not like him.”

  “You mean it wasn’t like him,” Colin said, correcting her use of the present tense to past tense.

  “I still can’t believe he’s gone.”

  “My point exactly. You would never have thought he would commit suicide, either. So maybe whatever he was involved in got the better of him, and he couldn’t look himself in the mirror anymore.” Colin was beginning to suggest what seemed to be a very logical conclusion as to the cause of Snapper’s death.

  “I suppose that could be true, but I’m still not willing to believe he killed himself.” CJ was not going to give up her own theory, regardless of how logical alternate theories of the case were. “And his involvement in something illegal with Mr. Crappy Cologne could be the reason why he might have been murdered instead. Nope. I’m not buying the suicide thing. At least not right now.”

  Colin took a deep breath. He knew he was in for a wild ride with CJ and her strong will.

  The flight was uneventful, and they landed on time. Colin had arranged for a rental and they punched the address into the GPS. “Should take us about forty-five minutes to get there.”

  CJ settled into the passenger seat and started fiddling with the radio stations. “Jeez, is hip-hop the only thing they play on the radio these days?” She was frantically pushing buttons.

  “You need to find a classic rock station . . . if any still exist.”

  Grumbling to herself, CJ went through every number on the dial until she found “Life in the Fast Lane” by the Eagles. “I was hoping California wouldn’t forget its native sons!”

  “Don Henley is from Texas, love.”

  “Yeah, but they were the ones who came up with that California style of rock.”

  “Oh, but let’s not forget the Beach Boys. They put California on the music map,” Colin reminded her.

  “Beach Boys? Are they like Boyz II Men?” CJ asked mockingly.

  “Cute. You’re just too young to know good music. The stuff they’re cranking out now kinda sucks. Okay, maybe a few good artists, but with all the electronics that are available, anyone can be made to sound good. Even you!” Colin got in a jab, knowing CJ had no musical sense whatsoever.

  “Ha. Ha. So I’m no Adele, but I’m no Tiny Tim either. See . . . I do have some knowledge of music history.”

  “Tiny Tim wasn’t music. History, yes, but his appearance on the scene was the demise of popular music as we knew it. In fact, I blame him for ruining our culture!”

  “Tiny Tim? How did he do that?” CJ was truly
puzzled.

  “Okay, maybe not him per se. But someone put an extremely ugly dude with unwashed hair carrying a ukulele on television. And let’s throw in that he had no talent. It was all downhill after that. The main event in entertainment was a circus sideshow of extremes.”

  “Huh. You have quite an opinion, Mr. Virtuoso.” CJ laughed for the first time in eight hours.

  “No, seriously. Everything has turned to garbage. Music. Film, TV? They create networks just to have a place to throw crap and hike up cable bills. Then there’s politics. I don’t need to tell you how crappy that business is.”

  CJ sighed. “On that, you’re not kidding. I’ve been so naive. I really thought that by taking a job in Washington, I could do something worthwhile. So much for all my classes in political science.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You had good intentions, and I am sure Snapper did, too, when he first started out in politics. But I think that’s part of the whole problem. Politicians create the rules to suit their own agendas. Maybe it was always like that, but it sure seems a lot more corrupt now than ever before. And nothing gets done for the people.”

  “Colin! I’ve never heard you on this particular soapbox before. Where is all this coming from? I know Washington is in a state of turmoil, but you always were pretty closemouthed about your politics.” CJ was seeing a side of Colin she had not known existed.

  “Yeah, I know. And that’s part of the problem. People like me. People who are sufficiently affluent and could have a little influence have been keeping their noses to the grindstone, making money, paying taxes, and moving forward every day. When we finally looked up to see what was happening to the country, it was shocking. Shame on me. I should have been more involved. It’s our fault.”

  “Well, it’s not too late. Snapper always answered the questions his constituents raised and tried to deal with their issues in a timely fashion.” CJ knew this for a fact because was she in charge of seeing that such matters were dealt with. She was the one who prioritized them for her boss.