With Lenore out for the evening, Tanner had brought out his full box of cigars, the one he’d been hoarding, and passed them around.
Mitch had asked Walsh to join the game in a friendly gesture in an attempt to dupe new prey. So far the plan had worked. Between Mitch and his crew chief, the two men had cleaned up, winning almost every hand.
Which meant Jackson had gone winless all night. His mind had been on Tessa and how he intended to get her alone later. And Mitch had given him hell about his losing streak and lousy luck.
Tanner sat back and tossed in a quarter for his ante. “Jackson’s got his mind on a woman. That’s no way to play cards.”
Mitch shuffled and dealt the next hand. “Ah, so that’s his problem? Could’ve fooled me. I thought maybe he confused five card draw with Go Fish.”
Garret threw in his coin and decided it was his turn to take a dig. “Even before his mind was on a certain redhead, Jackson never could play cards worth a damn anyway.”
Tired of the insults, Jackson simply lifted his middle finger in the direction of both brothers.
“Are we in a serious card game here or at a frat party?” Tanner grumbled. “It’s hard to tell with all this stupid back and forth.”
“My thoughts exactly, who could concentrate with all the gum-flapping going on?” Jackson pointed out, picking up his cards and studying the prospects. He discarded two, waited for Mitch to deal him new. He fought the urge to show his pleasure when he picked up another six to make it three of a kind. With the best hand he’d held all night, he upped his bet by fifty cents and sat back to see the others take the bait. The betting went around the table until Walsh, Tanner, and Garret folded, each deciding the round was getting too rich for them. It came down to Mitch and Jackson.
“Okay, Brother Jackson, I call,” Mitch noted. “Show me whatcha got.”
Jackson grinned and slapped his cards on the table. “Read ’em and weep.”
Mitch groaned and threw down his paltry three deuces. “I should’ve known when you hung in there so long you had something better. I thought you were bluffing.”
“And I thought you were smarter than that,” Jackson said as he scooped up his winnings.
Mitch rubbed his hands together. “Okay, so we finally have us a game now.”
Walsh shook his head at the banter. “You guys always been this competitive and tough on each other?”
“Yes,” Tanner answered quickly. “Drove their mother and me crazy. One day I took all of them, including Livvy, to a remodel site I was working on.”
“How old were they?” Walsh wanted to know.
“Probably ranged in age from thirteen to nine. I told them to paint a wall. I thought that should keep them busy. Plus, how could you find anything to argue about by painting a stupid wall? Same color, using the same rollers. But damned if they didn’t find a way to squabble over how to do it the right way and then tried to see who could finish it first.”
“You got your room painted, didn’t you?” Garret said in remembrance.
“I did. And you guys were paid five dollars apiece to do it.”
Jackson picked up his can of beer. “As I recall Livvy bargained for more.”
“That she did,” Tanner said with a faraway look in his eye.
Taking that as a cue to change the subject, Garret wisely altered their course. “Did you read Anniston’s latest email? She laid out the high points from her meeting with Jessup. I think we should follow up.”
Mitch let out a whoop of laughter. “Yeah, I bet you do. Don’t you think you should play a little hard to get once in a while?”
“Why would I want to do that? With so many things swirling around in her head about this case, she could use a distraction.”
Tanner angled his head toward his youngest son. “Leave the woman alone until she finds your sister.”
“Is that an order?” Garret wondered with a glint in his eye.
“Can’t you tell?” Jackson said. “It’s a strongly worded suggestion.”
Tanner turned back to Garret. “But like all things you’ll go your own way. All of you do that. I expect nothing less. But you can thank your mother and me for instilling that individual spirit in all of you. Got four kids and none of them ever ask for a damn thing from their old man.”
Jackson suddenly realized his father was on the verge of tears. He got out of his seat and went over, put his arm around his dad’s shoulder. “None of this with Livvy is your fault. You’re not a mind reader. Don’t go blaming yourself. We didn’t even stick around here. So if you feel like passing out blame, aim it at the three of us.”
Tanner scrubbed his hands over his face. “That’s just it. You guys were off in other parts of the world living your lives. I was right here, living practically down the street. I should’ve done something, should’ve seen something. She’s my daughter.”
“And our sister. We’ll find out what happened, Dad,” Jackson promised. He skirted the table, plopping down just as Walsh began dealing the cards again.
Garret took that opening to kick his brother under the table. “Uh, Jackson, could I see you for a minute in the kitchen. You too, Mitch.”
“Now?” Mitch complained. “I haven’t even looked at my hand yet.”
But Tanner immediately suspected something was up. “No point in running off to the kitchen, Garret Davis. I’m not a child. Might as well say what you got to say in front of me.”
Garret shifted in his chair. “It may take Anniston some time before she gets her hands on the GPS settings Walker used to take Ryan fishing. I was thinking we could board the Misty Dawn, download the info, and leave out the middle man entirely.”
Tanner grinned. “Now there’s an idea. Nothing I’d like better. And since the women are otherwise occupied, there’s no better time like the present. Do you guys know how to do that kind of thing?”
Jackson thumbed the air toward his baby brother. “He does. Garret’s a whiz at this sort of thing.”
“Walker might’ve been a total ass, but he was a techie in every sense of the word. Last Christmas, I got a look at the system he uses when he invited me to go for a beer. He has a transponder that tracks each time that yacht comes within range of a wireless signal. It uploads all its data automatically. The beauty is, that if I can get in, crack his password, we’ll have every single place this ship’s been and when. But here’s the excellent part. Walker set it up with a Bluetooth connection. There should also be videos and a voice diary.”
“Holy shit,” Jackson said. He glanced around the table. “That could crack this case wide open on many levels, answer a lot of questions. So who’s in or out?”
“Well, hell,” Walsh said, throwing down the cards he’d just picked up. “I guess that puts an end to poker.”
The men piled into a Nissan Titan pickup Mitch had leased to use to get around town.
“Nice wheels,” Tanner said, riding shotgun in the passenger seat while the others jammed into the rear. “Wouldn’t mind having one of these myself.”
“Don’t you think someone should stay behind in case we get busted?” Walsh suggested from the backseat.
Garret agreed. “Not a bad idea. I think it should be Dad.”
Jackson tapped his father on the shoulder. “Somebody has to hang back to bail us out of jail in the event we get caught.”
Tanner glanced over at Mitch behind the wheel. “So you boys think your old man is too old for this sort of thing, is that it?”
Mitch did, but he didn’t it was a good idea to verbalize it. “Not at all. But it makes sense because you live here. We’d need a local to put up bond. Am I right?”
“That’s BS. The solution to that is, don’t get caught,” Tanner chided.
“This must be the wild heathen ways Sinclair told us about,” Jackson muttered as they climbed out of the truck.
The marina was quiet. The only noise seemed to be coming from Raine’s houseboat, lit up like a Christmas tree.
“Any
advice for us?” Mitch asked Walsh. “I know you’ve done this sort of thing before.”
“Yeah, get in and get out, don’t linger.”
Mitch turned to Garret. “Did you bring the cables and flash drive?”
“I’m not an idiot,” Garret snarled. “I brought everything I need. Since this was my idea, I’ll do the downloading. All I need is for you guys to stand guard, let me know if anyone gets too close and too curious.”
It was a simple plan.
The four men stationed themselves along the pier leading up to Walker’s yacht while Garret slipped on board. At the helm, he had trouble accessing the ship’s computer without knowing Walker’s password. After playing around with several combinations, he smiled to himself when he finally figured it out. He booted up the GPS software, brought up the main menu, selected the tracklog feature, and highlighted the time frame he needed. He plugged in the flash drive, and hit save.
“What the hell is taking you so long,” Jackson whispered when he came up behind Garret. “Everyone’s getting antsy out here. Hurry it up.”
“Almost finished. Had a hard time figuring out Walker’s password. That’s what took the longest.”
“Ah. What was it?”
“The word harlow, no caps, and the numbers three-four-nine.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“Yeah, that’s what I said. I need a beer,” Garret grumbled as he made his way past Jackson and out into the night.
From start to finish the entire covert operation had taken less than an hour. But learning Walker’s password put a damper on the rest of the night’s festive mood.
Chapter Twenty-One
Fishing on the Key had always been a popular pastime. An angler could catch speckled trout by using shrimp as bait, or bag several redfish if you were willing to stay to the grass flats.
Thirteen-year-old Clint Sayer and his running buddy, Wedge Crowder, had a plan. They’d waited all week for Friday to get here to go fishing. They’d stowed their gear in their school lockers, ready for when the final bell rang at the end of the day that signaled the beginning of the weekend. They’d already bragged to everyone who would listen that they’d catch enough mangrove snapper for a fish fry on the beach that very night.
Their favorite fishing hole was a small back bay off the beaten path known as Rumrunner Cove. It offered a shallow channel where you could snag snapper, tarpon, snook, or redfish in four feet of water without too much effort.
After scrambling to get to their lockers, the boys exchanged binders and heavy textbooks for their beloved fishing gear. Arms full of equipment—rods and reels and tackle boxes—they flew out the double doors and into the bright sunshine ready for whatever the weekend had to offer.
The two young teens set off down the street for the convenience store that sold bait, chattering like two magpies.
Walking fast across the playground, Wedge recounted his day. “Did you see Katie Sutcliffe puke her guts out this morning in the hallway outside Mr. Bell’s English class?”
“Nah, I heard about it though.”
“I was three feet away when the chunks started flying. Some of the spew almost landed on my shoes.”
“Gross.”
“No, it was kinda cool to see how green Katie’s face turned when she tried to bring up that last little bit. I thought she was gonna choke or something right there.”
Not to be outdone, Clint contributed his own story. “Did you hear Sarah Gellman got herself a size thirty-four bra? Thirty-four!”
“Be glad. When she cheers at the football games like she did last night, her tits bounce up and down all over the place.”
“Yeah, but I’m sure gonna miss that sight. None of the others jump down off that pyramid like Sarah.”
Wedge poked Clint in the ribs with his elbow. “Judd Trimble told me Lisa Garfield gave him her panties after gym class.”
“No way! How’d he get her to do that?”
“He gave her five bucks and promised he’d take her to the movies.”
Wedge pulled up short near Willie DeSoto’s bait shop called Fast Willie’s. “We gotta stop and get the bait. I’m not relying on no artificial lures this time to catch me a fifteen pounder.”
“Everybody knows live bait’s the best thing for drawing ’em in.”
Once they reached Fast Willie’s they left their gear outside on the open-air patio long enough to fill their grocery list. They pooled their money and bought a bucket of live bait—finger mullet and mud minnows—two Snickers bars, two cans of soda, and a big bag of Cheetos.
It wasn’t until Willie rang up their tab that the teens realized they had no cash left to buy ice or the Styrofoam cooler that would keep the fish fresh.
“What are we gonna do without the ice chest?” Clint wondered.
Wedge had it covered. “No problem. I brought my keep sack. We’ll let them dangle in the water until it’s time to head home.”
The boys set out again, arms loaded down with even more goodies, in the direction of Rumrunner Cove, a mere dash around the bend. They trekked down sloped terrain to the water’s edge and found their favorite spot blessedly deserted.
Once they reached the surf, Wedge freed up his overburdened arms by kneeling down on the ground to let his fishing rod drop gingerly to the sand. He picked up his spinning rod, tested it out with a flick of his wrist, making sure the bow was still prime. “I was worried about cramming it into my locker. But it looks like it survived just fine.”
“Told you the bamboo would flex back okay.” While Clint gathered up his fly rod, the one his dad had given him last birthday, he started toeing off his Nikes.
Wedge did the same with his shoes and got rid of his socks, prepared to wade out into the water. Just as he’d hoped, the channel was calm, the waves barely drifting to shore in a slow glide.
“If we’re lucky we might catch us some good-sized shrimp for gumbo.”
That prompted Clint to dig out three squirming mullets and thread them one by one on the hook. He tossed his line in, used those same fingers to unwrap his candy bar, and finished it off in four bites.
The Cheetos would have to wait otherwise the crunching might scare off the fish.
Thirsty, Wedge popped the top off his soda and gulped the cold liquid before letting out a showy belch loud enough to wake a bear.
“Shhh!” Clint cautioned. But before he could scold too much, his mouth stopped moving. His jaw fell open. “Wedge, look over there near that bunch of marsh grass.”
Wedge rolled his eyes and returned the same sound his friend had directed at him. “Shhh, yourself. You’re screeching like a little girl.”
“Wedge, I’m telling you, check out that spot over there. What is that hung up in the maiden cane? That looks like a body to me, still wearing a shirt that’s all tattered and stuck in the bramble.”
Wedge let out a holler. “Holy shit. Or all that’s left of one.” He took a few steps to get a better look as his feet sunk into the sandy bottom. “It’s his middle half, Clint. It don’t have no head. We gotta tell somebody.”
“Dang it! This place will be crawling with cops. And you know what that means.”
“Yeah. No snapper. No fish fry for us. And now we’re stuck with all this bait.”
The news spread like a wildfire’s inferno. Neighbors came out of their houses to gawk and try to look at what the boys had discovered. Cars showed up, drivers slowing down to see if they could catch a glimpse of the body from the roadway.
By the time Jackson and Tessa pulled up they had to park on the other side of Willie’s convenience store because the onlookers had gathered and tested the boundaries of the crime scene tape.
The Florida Fish and Wildlife Commission were already there. No doubt due to Jessup Sinclair calling it in. Deputies had promptly sealed off the area with yellow tape. From the sidewalk down to water’s edge the roped-off area kept news crews back near the curb. Reporters and cameramen edged toward the rope trying to get an on-air inte
rview with anyone who would talk to them.
Because they couldn’t get anywhere near Rumrunner Cove, Jackson took Tessa’s hand in his and ambled up to where Jessup stood guarding the pathway.
It was the first time in almost two weeks that Tessa had spoken directly to the police chief. Not since reporting Ryan missing had she bothered. Now anger boiled to the surface at the man’s lack of interest in finding her brother. “Anything you want to share with us?”
Jessup adjusted his gun belt. “Not much. Boys found a partial body, a torso, hung up between the rose mallow and maiden cane. That’s all I know.”
“Is it Ryan?” Tessa asked.
Jessup’s face didn’t hide his annoyance at the question. “I don’t know that for sure yet.” He cast an eye toward the crime scene techs and coroner. “And neither do they. The body’s so decomposed it may take weeks to get an ID.”
Tessa found his callousness rude and unnecessary. “You never really wanted to find Ryan, did you? Why is that? What did my brother ever do to you that kept you from looking for him?”
In a defensive posture Jessup crossed his arms over his chest. “I put out a BOLO. That’s standard procedure, same thing any other agency would’ve done. I made calls to other states. That’s also standard. What else did you figure I should do?”
The chief’s coldness pissed Jackson off. “What the hell did Ryan Connelly ever do to you?”
Jessup met Jackson’s anger with stone-cold silence.
The two men glared at each other until Jackson finally muttered, “I see why the state didn’t think you were up to handling a high-profile case like Livvy’s disappearance. After all, this woman’s brother’s been missing for almost a month and you barely went through the minimum. We won’t take up any more of your precious time since we see how busy you are, relegated to traffic detail.”
That last part hit a nerve. “You keep that attitude up, I’ll find a way to jerk a knot in your tail, boy. You wait and see if I don’t. You Indigos think because the town carries your name, you run this place, but you don’t.”
[Indigo Brothers 01.0] Indigo Fire Page 25