by E B Corbin
Chester ignored her outstretched hand pulling her close for a quick hug. “You look so much like your aunt. It’s amazing.” As he held her at arm’s length, his grin broadened. “It’s so good to meet you. Sorry my grandson hasn’t been able to keep you safe.”
“Actually he’s done quite a decent job,” Roxanne said. “It isn’t his fault I seem to find trouble wherever I go lately.”
Callahan cleared his throat, trying to lead the old man out of the room without being disrespectful. Clearly he felt ill at ease with the tone of the conversation. “Gramps, we’d better get going.”
“Not yet,” his grandfather replied. “I’d like Roxanne to come back to the house with us. She needs to be kept up to speed.”
“I don’t think Gabe and Ron will be comfortable with a civilian around.”
“Well, now, I don’t much care whether those two young chaps are comfortable or not. We’ve kept too much from Roxanne as it is. I think we should keep her updated with all new developments.”
“I don’t—”
“Not to worry, I’ll take the blame. They won’t give me any guff. I may be an old man, but I’ve still got connections.”
“But Gramps—”
Chester tutted at him. “Don’t argue, boy. You can’t win. You should know that by now.”
Roxanne seized the opportunity. “I’d love to go. I’ll be right back. Have to get my coat.” Avoiding Callahan’s disapproving frown, she ran to the closet in the hall to grab her parka before he could come up with any more objections. “I should follow you in Roxy’s truck. Then you won’t have to bring me home.”
“Excellent idea.” Chester nodded. As he held the door for Roxanne to precede him, he turned to wink at his grandson when he thought she couldn’t see.
Callahan shook his head at the old man. “Dammit, Gramps…”
“Why don’t you ride with Roxanne,” Chester told Callahan. “That way we don’t have to worry about her getting lost.”
“I’ll be fine,” Roxanne assured them.
“I’m coming with you,” Callahan insisted. “And I’m driving. You look like you’re ready to fall over any minute.” He held out his hand for the keys.
Roxanne wanted to argue on principle, although she still had the shakes and the pounding in her head could return any time. She relented with hesitation.
All the way down the narrow lanes, the old man drove a few miles under the speed limit. While Callahan kept the truck a respectable distance behind his grandfather, Roxanne leaned against the headrest, her eyelids at half-mast.
“You’re not feeling well.” Callahan’s voice grated with disapproval. “I knew it. We shouldn’t be dragging you out.”
“I feel fine… Just resting my eyes. It’s been a helluva week.” Her eyes remained shut.
“It’s not over yet,” Callahan cautioned.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
They arrived at the farm to find two men sitting in a nondescript gray Buick. The men left the warmth of their car as soon as Chester pulled in. They greeted him with handshakes and watched with displeasure while Callahan parked the truck and helped Roxanne out.
She studied the newcomers from behind her sunglasses. Probably mid-thirties, dressed in cold-weather gear, they didn’t look like government employees. The pale-eyed one sported light brown hair in a conservative cut. The other had a buzz cut with harder looks than his baby-faced companion. She decided both held an air of competence that left her feeling confident in their abilities.
“Gabe, Ron, meet Roxanne Boudreaux.” Callahan made the introductions briskly.
“What the hell, John?” Gabe snarled. He ran his hand through his buzz-cut hair, looking perplexed. “This is business.”
“Tell him about it,” Callahan nodded in his grandfather’s direction.
“Oh, sorry, sir.” Gabe apologized in haste. “Was it your idea to have Ms. Boudreaux here?”
“It was. I believe she deserves to hear what you’ve found out.”
Gabe looked to his partner for support. Ron stared hard at the frosty field, gazing at the bright blue sky, his breath making streamers of translucent vapor which disappeared in a nano-second. He avoided jumping into the conversation. Gabe sighed accepting the situation with no further words of complaint.
The ordinary white farm house blended into the surrounding alabaster snow. A large red barn stood in stark contrast while several smaller outbuildings dotted the area behind the dwelling. The layout was much bigger than Roxanne expected even though she knew zilch about the size of farms and the trappings necessary to run one.
She followed Callahan onto the wrap-around porch, and they all waited while Chester fiddled with his keys. The door opened with a wave of welcoming heat. Roxanne left her concerns behind as she stepped into a by-gone era. A vase of fresh white calla lilies sat on a circular stand in the center of the entryway. To the right, she glimpsed a living room or drawing room as they once called it. An overstuffed green settee faced two matching chairs with a low, oval console between them. The cherry wood of the table gleamed in the filtered sunlight. The furniture invited friends and family to sit, relax, and enjoy brandy around the warmth of the large fireplace—cold and dark now, though filled with logs and ready to spring to life with the drop of a match.
Chester led them through the dining room on the left, a space dominated by an eight-foot table covered in lace. Ten carved wooden chairs surrounded the immense table. A gigantic hutch held delicate, gold-trimmed plates, bowls, cups, saucers, and large serving platters.
None of the furnishings in the first two rooms looked like they belonged in a farmhouse. They would be more appropriate in a grand city dwelling—about a hundred years ago. However, when ushered into the kitchen, Roxanne saw the true heart of the home. An oak-plank slab with six black ladder-backed chairs stood off to the side, while a large white-enamel, six-burner stove lined the far wall. Not Roxanne’s taste but it felt comfortable as they each pulled out a chair around the table.
“So would you gentlemen care for some coffee? Perhaps a beer?” Chester asked the two agents.
Gabe replied, “No, thank you, sir. We drove here overnight from Philadelphia and inhaled enough coffee to last a week.”
“Then let’s get down to business.”
Gabe nodded and started talking, his gaze moving between Chester and Callahan, never once landing on Roxanne. “Here’s what we’ve discovered so far: The phony passport is being used by Liam Taggart. We found his true identify by using our facial recognition software, with the cooperation of Interpol Dublin.”
“So he’s not from Northern Ireland?” Roxanne broke in, even though she had promised Callahan she would stay quiet.
“As a matter of fact, he is,” Gabe answered without breaking stride. “According to what we’ve found so far, a nasty bastard from Belfast. Please excuse my language.”
With a grin, Roxanne lifted her shoulders. “Call him what you want. I’ve heard it before.”
Gabe explained, “Well, he’s a psycho, no family ties, only friends are a bunch of troublemakers. He’s been fired from every one of his jobs for fighting with his coworkers. I don’t mean a little quarrel; he put two guys in the hospital, and a third won’t walk again. On his last job, night maintenance at a chemical factory, his supervisor suspected Taggart of stealing chemicals. The guy died in a drive-by shooting before he talked to the authorities. From interviewing the other workers, the cops are sure Liam did it. They just can’t prove it. The son of a bitch is good at covering up evidence.”
“Dangerous fella,” Chester added. “We don’t need his kind around here.”
“Well, we’ve got him.” Callahan grimaced. “Let’s hear the rest.”
“We don’t know what chemicals went missing—the company is doing an inventory as we speak—but they work with some hazardous stuff. If it got into the wrong hands…” Gabe shrugged.
“So what’s he doing here?” Chester had no qualms about taking charge while his grands
on appeared deep in thought.
“It’s only a guess, but we suspect Taggart is here to pick up cash for the IRA. As far as we can tell they still have about four million dollars hidden by individual members in Ireland, Britain, Europe, and the US, either invested in businesses or kept in personal bank accounts. It’s all held in trust in the event the IRA decides a resurgence is necessary. ”
“So he’s after money? Makes sense.” Chester paused in thought. “Most of the IRA members who accepted the 2005 truce are in their 40s and 50s now. They moved on to political efforts instead of violence, toothless lions past their prime. The dissidents have formed splinter groups. Sounds like this Liam Taggart is one of those young cubs who prefers violence over politics.”
Gabe replied, “We’re not sure of his way of thinking, although you’re probably right.” He turned to Roxanne. “We suspect the IRA stashed about a half million in cash in this area around twenty years ago, give or take a few years either way.” To the others he said, “We need to determine which locals moved here in that time frame.”
Callahan leaned forward. “Everyone around here knows each other’s business. I’ll ask around, filter out those who lived here all their lives from those who relocated. Then narrow it down to those with Irish connections.”
Shaking his head, Gabe said, “Given more time, that might work, but Taggart has a return flight to Ireland booked for Friday. We need to find him and the money before he leaves. The DSS has compiled a list of all the wealthy residents in the area, and we have selected a few names to start with.” Gabe threw a meaningful glance in Roxanne’s direction.
“Wait, just a minute, here,” Roxanne protested. “You can’t mean me. I don’t know a damn thing about any money—IRA or not. And you don’t think my Aunt Roxy used the IRA money for her business, do you?”
Chester snorted. “I should certainly hope not. I knew Roxy all her life, and I’m absolutely certain she would have nothing to do with the IRA. If you fellas are suspicious of Roxanne or Roxy, you’re way off base.”
Raising both hands to placate the old man, Gabe explained, “We’re not looking at any one person in particular… yet. We discovered that Roxy O'Hara lived in Ireland in the late seventies and eighties. She came back here and opened a business in 1985. The time frame may be a little off, still we can’t ignore it.”
“You’re wrong,” Chester said with certainty. “I know for a fact Roxy detested the IRA and all it stood for.”
Gabe shrugged. “Taggart showed up on a traffic cam on I-79 north about two hours ago. It’s too much of a coincidence that he waited outside Miss Boudreaux’s apartment in Pittsburgh and then he’s spotted on a highway leading here.”
“Shit,” Callahan muttered, “the money has to be around here somewhere.”
“Maybe so, but I’m not buying it,” Chester told his grandson. “A lot of folks are of Irish descent. Roxy’s not the only one. Hell, it could be me, for all you know.”
Gabe replied in all seriousness, “No, sir, we’ve traced your movements since you left the ambassadorship, and you’ve been eliminated as a suspect.”
“Well, that’s good to know.” Chester grunted, indignant. “Glad our government’s spent time and money keeping track of my activities. Too bad they don’t put all those resources to work finding out who really has the missing cash.”
“That’s more difficult,” Gabe admitted. “The person with the money may not have settled in this area at first. He could have moved here anytime over the past twelve years, or he could have relatives who’ve lived here all their lives. We don’t have a clue.”
“You don’t seem to have much to go on.” Chester moved his attention to his grandson. “What do you think, John? You’ve worked with these guys. Are they looking in the right direction?”
Callahan raised his hands and lowered his palms slowly, a gesture that everyone needed to calm down. “This is a complicated situation. We only found out about Taggart yesterday, so they’ve done a hell of a job to trace him here so fast.”
Gabe’s quiet partner, Ron, cleared his throat and straightened in his chair. “Sir, we are confident the money is here and that Taggart has been sent for it. Where it is, we haven’t figured out. They’ve had a decade or more to hide it, and we’re trying to flush it out in one day.”
“You think Roxy was involved.” Roxanne accompanied her statement with a hard glare at Gabe.
“We’re not positive, ma’am.”
“Don’t ma’am me,” she snapped. “What do you think the connection is?”
“She had something to do with it,” Gabe told her without defining his suspicions. “Taggart’s plane reservations were made over two months ago, and he isn’t the kind to plan in advance. That means this is big. Since the IRA is retrieving their money, it’s significant and it’s happening in the not too distant future. We can’t figure out what or where.”
Chester asked, “I assume you’ve informed Interpol of this?”
“Yes, sir. It seems reasonable that this concerns Ireland, not the US. Interpol will contact us if they pick up any new leads. Right now, the best we can do is prevent Taggart from getting the cash.”
Chester rubbed his forehead, taking time to clear his throat. “I debated telling you this— Roxy knew about the money.”
His pronouncement left the other four people at the table stunned.
“But…” Roxanne sputtered as Chester held up his hand for quiet.
“She called me the night before she was shot. Said she needed to talk about something she overheard at the diner. It had to do with a stash of money.”
Gabe asked, “How much do you think she knew?”
“Obviously enough to get her killed. We were to meet the next morning. She… never made it.” Chester gazed into the distance. “Perhaps if—”
“Don’t go blaming yourself,” Callahan interrupted. “You couldn’t have known what would happen.”
“I knew it wouldn’t be good,” Chester told him.
Roxanne asked, “She didn’t say how she heard this? Or who she heard it from?”
“No. Looking back, I should have asked. She sounded upset, and a little frightened. When she didn’t want to go into it on the phone, I agreed.” Chester shook his head.
Gabe’s mood brightened a little. “So at least we’re on the right track. The money is around Oilville somewhere.”
“That’s a possibility,” Chester said. “Or someone from out-of-town is bringing it here. If Roxy overheard something at the diner, it could be anyone. The patrons at the diner are not necessarily locals— especially now, during hunting season.”
“I disagree.” Despite his dissent, the respect in Callahan’s tone spoke volumes. “If it were a stranger, Roxy wouldn’t have been so determined to talk to you about it.”
“You could be right,” Chester admitted. “But we’re still no closer to finding out who has it or where.”
Roxanne thought for a moment. “Perhaps I can find out who was in the diner that night.”
“No,” Callahan, Gabe, and Chester all said at the same time.
Gabe frowned. “You cannot be involved. This is an official investigation.”
“It is best you stay out of it, young lady” Chester added.
“Wow,” Roxanne said. “That’s something you all agree on.”
Callahan shifted to face her. “Hey, I only agreed to let you attend this meeting because Gramps insisted you needed to know the whole story.” He glanced to the others around the table. “Even if you need to hear about the dangers that got Roxy killed, you still can’t go sticking your nose in it.”
“I only offered to help,” Roxanne huffed. “Geez, calm down, all of you. You’re the professionals; I’ll leave you to it. I have things to do anyway.” Roxanne stood. Thanking Chester for his hospitality, she started for the hallway to reclaim her parka.
Callahan followed and blocked the closet door. “Hey, none of us wants anything to happen to you.”
�
��How sweet,” Roxanne said. “None of you?”
“Yeah, Gabe and Ron have to answer to the boss if they let a civilian get involved, and Gramps is already blaming himself for Roxy”
“What about you?”
“I… I’m concerned. I’ve already found you unconscious twice. I don’t want to find you that way again. Or worse. Dammit, Roxanne…” He pulled her close.
Then his lips found hers.
No matter how much she told herself she could not, would not, fall for another man, she let the kiss deepen while locked in his arms. It felt good. Good? No, it felt right. No, more than right, it felt outstanding. Just as she thought her legs would collapse, Gabe entered the hallway and cleared his throat.
Roxanne jerked away, thankful for the interruption yet sorry to end the closeness.
Callahan held her hands while he eyed Gabe. “You need something?”
“Just wondering when we can get started. We have a lot to work out and put into motion.”
“You can start right now.” Roxanne slipped from his grasp. “I’m gone.”
“Try to stay out of trouble,” Callahan called after her.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Despite the laceration on her forehead, Roxanne returned to the diner to look for the will in Roxy’s office. One way or another, she needed to settle this inheritance problem. Besides, what could happen with all those hungry customers around?
A few families sat scattered among the couples occupying the booths, so she took a stool at the counter. The hunters who usually occupied those seats must only come in for breakfast or lunch. Along with the two other waitresses, Patti scurried back and forth delivering meals while clearing tables on the return trip. Roxanne waited to get Patti’s attention, then signaled she was going in the back. Patti nodded in between serving burgers to a table of unruly eight-year-olds who wore muddy football uniforms.
Roxanne pushed through the swinging door to the kitchen, startling a large man chopping an onion. In surprise, he spun her way. With beads of sweat glittering on his ebony forehead, he raised his eyebrows in question.