Azure Secrets

by Patricia Rice

  “Mean man, you are. Mariah lives to trace stuff like that.” But it was as illegal as hell, so Monty appreciated Keegan’s dilemma. “Let me put Walker onto this and let his men take the fall. Why didn’t you call him first?”

  “Because then he’d have to report where he got the information, and we don’t want Mariah’s name out there anywhere. You can just fall back on reliable sources, and the trail gets obfuscated along the line.” Keegan hung up.

  Hillvale was turning the usually genial Scot as unsocial as his police chief.

  Figuring Mariah and Keegan had the sense to keep their mouths shut, Monty took the stairs two at a time. He didn’t want Fee escaping before he at least had a chance of talking with her.

  She had showered, dressed, and was working on her hair by the time he got there. He glared at her. “You’re fast. Will you give me time to dress before you vanish into Dinah’s kitchen?”

  “The lodge isn’t burning? Then I need to go to work.”

  He ought to give up, really he should. But his pulse picked up and his lungs expanded just looking at Fee standing there defiantly, as if last night had meant nothing at all. She was a hard shell to crack, but he could do it.

  She picked up her stone-laden purse and her Lucy stick and pointedly reminded him, “Some of us have long hours.”

  “Yeah, I noticed, since the call was for me and not you. But there’s always time for a kiss.” Not touching her, he leaned over and plied her mouth the way he was learning she liked it.

  And she responded—before pushing him away. “I’ll be late. Lock up behind you.”

  She all but ran from the room. Monty grimaced, but as he showered, he considered her background, and sort of understood it. Fee was not used to permanence. The little girl inside her was waiting to be abandoned again. He probably ought to reconsider this whole relationship, because he had a tendency to abandon women when the fun wore off.

  For both their sakes, he ought to run now—she was Lucy, after all. Any relationship between them was destined for destruction.

  Thirty

  Monday, morning

  Trying not to think too hard about last night’s spectacular sex, Fee kept an eye on the muted TV news station for any word of Stacy while she served the early morning regulars. Apparently having nothing new or exciting to report, the talking heads didn’t even mention Peggy’s daughter. Soon, Stacy would disappear in a sea of statistics. Fee’s stomach churned, remembering those days—years—when she’d felt like a statistic, invisible to the real world. Peggy hadn’t arrived on the scene until Fee was a teenager, but she’d helped her as much as she could.

  Fee needed to be as good as Peggy and help that baby.

  Mariah arrived in company with Samantha. While Sam grabbed an apron, Mariah slapped the counter with her computer tablet.

  “We need to talk,” she whispered when Fee brought her coffee.

  Sam brought over water and added, “The men are working the Haas connection. There’s money involved, but we’re not seeing how Stacy fits in with bribery or whatever. We need to investigate the Lees first, then Gonzalez.”

  The Lees? The family offering the reward? Not the woman chasing the dog? Puzzled, Fee frowned as Sam moved off to take an order. Mariah opened the tablet and pushed it toward her. “I found this last night.”

  Fee studied the image of an impeccably dressed gentleman with the puffy eyes of Asian heritage standing in front of. . . She squinted but couldn’t quite decide what it was. She scrolled up to read the story.

  Mariah didn’t wait for her to finish. “Randall Lee owns what appears to be a perfectly legitimate company manufacturing solar panels.”

  “But what is this. . . thing. . . he’s standing beside?” Fee asked, studying what appeared to be an ugly bug statue.

  “An oriental hornet,” Mariah said in satisfaction. “It’s an insect that harvests solar power for its own energy. It’s some kind of biological phenomenon that has scientists all excited. Lee named his solar company after it—Hornet Solar.”

  “The angriest hornet is in the big city,” Fee repeated the spirit’s words in awe. Spirits might talk in code, but she was a real believer now. “Haas and Gonzalez aren’t in the city, Lee is. An oriental hornet?” Pulse accelerating, needing to think before she reacted, Fee hurried off to wait on a customer.

  Could they really have a clue to Stacy’s whereabouts? The Lees had offered a generous reward for Stacy’s return, but the child wasn’t any biological relation, just a step-granddaughter. They could simply be feeling guilty because their daughter had hired the bad nanny and neglected the toddler.

  Or they could know they wouldn’t have to pay the reward and simply wanted to seem concerned.

  An angry hornet—damn, but spirits needed to talk English.

  “Could Stacy be in the hornet’s nest?” Fee asked as she returned to take Mariah’s order.

  “We have no way of knowing. We need to lure Lee up here and slap him with truth juice.” With her fierce scowl, hawk nose, and beaded braids, Mariah looked like an Aztec warrior this morning.

  “Do we have photos of Sukey and her collar yet? Aaron said he’d get them.” Fee sipped her tea, mind whirling uselessly. How did they find out if a billionaire smuggler hid a small child?

  “Walker has the photos and sent copies to the feds,” Mariah said, flipping through her tablet to show the images. “I need to edit one to show the key half out of the collar so it looks as if we have it and know it’s importance.”

  Fee continued waiting on customers while puzzling out how they could lure a powerful businessman to a place like Hillvale. The spirit had said the biggest hornet had bodyguards. Slapping him with anything seemed unlikely.

  “What do we know about Randall Lee?” Fee asked the next time she passed by Mariah, who was typing away on her tiny keyboard.

  “He frequents five-star sushi restaurants and attends opera,” Mariah said. “And I got that from a legit magazine article. He’s nowhere on social media.”

  “Raw fish is dangerous,” Fee said before moving on, mind whirling. “I need to smell Stacy on him before I can act,” she said in her next pass.

  “How can you know what Stacy smells like?” Mariah asked, reasonably enough.

  “She lived with Peggy most of the time. We need some of Stacy’s toys, preferably stuffed ones. Or dirty laundry. Or what if—”

  Monty arrived at that point, cutting off discussion. He’d gone home to shave and change. As usual, he looked like a more muscular version of a Calvin Klein ad. Fee tried hard not to drool, but memories of last night had her wishing they’d turned on the lights. An overhead mirror would have been lovely too. He was so large, he’d hide most of her, so she would only see his spectacular backside.

  Thinking about sex was not conducive to finding Stacy. Or to sanity. He’d steal the café and she’d have to leave and she needed to hate him. Fee poured his fresh-squeezed juice, unable to ignore his need for citrus.

  He sipped, unaware she meant to hate him. “I had Xavier call Haas with a cock-and-bull story about a college reunion. He’s persuaded our suspect county attorney to come up here for a steering committee meeting this afternoon. Nothing a politician likes more than looking important without doing anything.”

  Haas up here. . . ? She was a cook, not a magician. Fee tried not to panic as she tried to decide what was needed to spell Haas. She’d never thought of herself as a witch casting spells until she arrived in Hillvale, but she could see where what she did would sound like that.

  “Why? I already know Haas smells fishy rotten, but the anise overloads my senses, and I have no truth serum.”

  “Keegan doesn’t want Mariah involved,” Monty murmured, so Mariah couldn’t hear him. “They have no way of knowing how much her weird exertion can harm the child. I think we’ll just sound Haas out for now—no ghost juice involved.”

  Mariah wouldn’t like that. Fee hurried off to take cash at the register, then returned to ask, “Where?”r />
  “Haas seems like the sort to flaunt his self-importance. Since we’re following the money and can’t see any way he’s involved with Stacy, I’m thinking of using the lodge bar. Xavier can fancify himself, introduce me, that kind of thing. Pity we can’t persuade Cass to join us,” he said with a chuckle. “They used to date.”

  “If you’re asking my help, I need to get past the anise. It can’t be as a bartender. I can’t mix drinks. Maybe I can just clean the bar and provide appetizers. What time?” Mind spinning, she tried to imagine what she might cook to persuade Haas to talk.

  “Happy hour, around four. Can Dinah spare you? I don’t want him to notice you, so you need to disappear quickly and come back here.”

  “I’ll take my bike. I make no promises though. I’ve never tried to make someone talk before. Shut up, yes, talk, no.” She hurried away.

  Appetizers for the county attorney at four—maybe sushi for the angry city hornet at Delphines for dinner then? A special invitation—opera and sushi. Would Val sing? Could they persuade a busy man up here on short notice?

  Maybe with pictures of the key and Sukey?

  Or could they pretend they had whatever Lee really wanted and have him bring Stacy to trade? She loved that idea.

  Monday, afternoon

  “The women are plotting,” Walker warned, taking a stool at the lodge bar at the appointed time. “Sam copied my images of the dog’s collar and the key. They’re whispering to each other over the counter.”

  “Fee is here, right in sight.” Monty nodded toward the far end of the bar where she wiggled her fingers at them while polishing glasses. “You keep your own woman in hand.”

  Walker snorted and took a seat on a stool. “Samantha is covering for Fee in Delphines.”

  “Dinah is Lucy Central. If Sam’s there, she’s plotting,” Monty said with certainty. “We need to finish with Haas fast or they’ll have the whole town hallucinating.” The realization that the Lucys were capable of doing just that increased his unease. “What did you do with that information we gave you about Mrs. Gonzalez?”

  “She’s even squeakier clean than Haas,” Walker said in disgust. “Church every Sunday, babysits the grandkids, volunteers at homeless shelters. The feds talked to her and wrote her off. I’d like to question her when I have a chance. I imagine she has a few opinions on her son moving to the city and marrying someone who hires nannies.”

  “If her ghostly sister is any example, she doesn’t approve,” Monty said, uncomfortable with believing Cass actually called up a dead woman. “Peggy’s parents are dead, aren’t they? Maybe I should have Cass look for them, get their opinion.”

  “It’s not funny when it works.” Walker sighed and sipped the sparkling water and lime he’d ordered. “Xavier has set me up as the son of one of his classmates so I can pretend to be a stand-in for my old man. Apparently the real classmate is a wealthy financial adviser. Maybe Haas will be interested in investing his questionable on-line accounts.”

  “You’ve got your people looking into those deposits?” Monty sipped his beer.

  “My company doesn’t do illegal or we’d lose our license. Let’s see if we have a whiff of anything tonight that might give them enough for a court order.”

  “I hope you know what to ask because I sure the hell don’t. Do you like anise doesn’t cover it. Hey, did you know you have mysterious on-line accounts probably doesn’t either.” Monty watched Fee cleaning his already spotless bar.

  He was expecting that vulnerable woman to tell him if a respected politician knew killers. When had he decided normal had too many limitations and that Lucys were an acceptable means to what could be a very dangerous end? Had his brain finally cracked?

  His lodge manager entered leading a burly, well-dressed man in his sixties with sculpted gray-blond hair. The stranger’s appearance screamed politician. Monty sighed, turned back to his beer, and wondered if he’d have to work that hard at his appearance thirty years from now. He couldn’t run for mayor forever.

  Roper made introductions. Monty didn’t encourage the gun-toting lout to linger. Once upon a time, he used to like people. The Lucys and their warnings of evil had warped his good nature. He shook hands with Haas, gestured for the bartender, and let his creepy manager go back to his duties.

  Fee arrived, probably to smell the attorney’s wants. Unsmiling, silent, head down, she took their drink orders and returned to the back of the bar, probably handing the orders to the real barkeep. Cultivated invisibility was her specialty. Monty now knew that was a disguise—she was as dangerous as any other Lucy.

  As Walker spun his tale about his pretend father’s financial firm, Xavier arrived. The old lawyer had spiffed up nicely. He’d even fluffed his thinning gray hair with product. He still had a bit of a hound dog appearance with his sagging jowls, but he shook hands with a firm grip and a clear eye that the old man hadn’t sported in a long time.

  Like the skilled lawyer he’d once been, Xavier launched right into a prepared spiel about the steering committee. Monty hid his raised eyebrows behind his beer and scowled at Fee’s approach with a tray of appetizers. Instead of letting them choose their own, she set pre-arranged plates in front of each of them, then faded away.

  Fee wasn’t much at calling attention to herself, but hell, he noticed her. His pulse accelerated just watching the sway of her backside as she departed to the kitchen. Damn, he was in trouble.

  Haas, being a lesser mortal, didn’t notice Fee at all. He simply scarfed the nibble food, drank his whiskey, and sounded Walker out more on investments. Good thing Walker had family money and actually knew a few choice phrases to throw into the conversation.

  Since the county attorney was ignoring Xavier, Monty figured that’s where he’d jump in. Steering conversations was an art form he’d practiced all his life. Steering them for the sake of finding a kidnapper. . . that was a new one.

  “Xavier, didn’t you say Gonzalez was funding the dinners for the steering committee meetings?” Monty asked, bumping his glass against Xavier’s to wake him up.

  “Gonzalez?” Xavier wasn’t exactly quick, but he wasn’t dumb. Finishing off his bacon-wrapped cheese straw—Fee apparently thought the old lawyer needed greasy protein—Xavier nodded. “Deep pockets there. Maybe we can have him fund the chair we’re hoping to establish in the law school.”

  Haas stopped with a bite-size puff pastry in mid-air. “Gonzalez?” he asked warily. “I don’t remember a Gonzalez in the class.”

  Monty waved his garlic-pesto straw. “Eduardo Gonzalez, from down your way. His daughter-in-law died in a terrible accident up here. He wanted to do something for the community. We decided that showing a lot of successful men the amenities available in Hillvale was a good contribution, so Gonzalez is funding a few dinners.” Damn, he was good at lying. Did that make him a good politician?

  Fee arrived to replace empty plates with newly-refilled ones. Haas had fewer bites on his plate, and they all smelled like licorice. She wiggled her fingers in what Monty assumed meant her job was done. He wished he could see her safely back to Dinah’s.

  He forced his attention away from the faded jeans clinging to Fee’s backside and back to the ugly SOB scarfing licorice bits and calling for more whisky. So, how did he draw out a man who might be involved in theft or blackmail, kidnapping, and murder?

  “I remember hearing about the accident,” Haas said. “That was a sorry thing. Peggy was known in the courts for fighting for her clients, although there are some who thought she spent too much time protecting delinquents. That’s how she got mixed up with Gonzalez.”

  Delinquents like Fee, products of a failing social system, right. “Social workers are expected to look after the children,” Monty said noncommittally, fishing to see if he could drag out more of the real Haas. “Peggy was well liked up here. I suppose it’s a good thing that she never knew her daughter was stolen. She would have torn the state apart to find her child.”

  “She should never have
been involved with the Gonzalez gang,” Haas said with a dismissive wave, reaching for another pastry. “That’s why I’m surprised to hear Eduardo is involved in funding business dinners. He should be taking his punks after the in-laws in the city. Peggy was fooling herself to think she could persuade drug dealers out of the business.”

  Monty’s phone binged with a text message. He glanced down. He’d never put Fee’s number in his contact list because phones didn’t work. . . except with wi-fi. Even though her name didn’t come up, he recognized her terseness.

  Haas is diabetic. He uses insulin.

  Snake-bite guy had been killed by an overdose of insulin in his IV.

  Thirty-one

  Monday, evening

  “Did Lee take the bait?” Fiona asked Sam anxiously as she ran from her bicycle to the restaurant’s sink to wash her hands.

  Poisoning Haas hadn’t been her intent until she’d smelled the insulin underneath the anise and fish. She recognized the attorney’s underlying odor as one she associated with people she knew who had diabetes. She had no medical knowledge about the condition except alcohol exacerbated it, especially without adequate carbs. So she’d stinted on the sugar in his seedcake, fed him flavored air, and told the bartender to double his whiskeys. If Haas didn’t eat a real meal, he’d be in difficulty soon. That might not persuade truth out of him, but if he’d murdered the Snakebite Guy who could have told the court who’d sent him to kill Peggy, Haas deserved a glimpse of hell.

  “Lee accepted the invitation. He’s out there now. He must believe the photos we sent,” Samantha said excitedly, peeling a cucumber. “Can you really make sushi?”

  “I’m good with knives, but it will in no way compare to that of a professional,” Fee warned, tying on her apron. “He won’t care if he thinks we have the key. Did the ingredients I ordered arrive? Do you think he brought Stacy?”

  Dinah pointed at the refrigerator with a frown but didn’t answer the more important question.