Because spies knew how to do that, right? Or was that me projecting as though this were some made-for-TV-movie? I couldn’t be sure, but better safe than sorry.
Setting my coffee down, I grabbed my pad of paper from the island and plunked into a kitchen chair, where I did most of my thinking.
I didn’t know what to make of all this, but rather than jump to conclusions, I figured I’d better write down everything the way I do when I’m sorting a mystery.
Now, before I get any deeper, let me assure you, I don’t think Win’s up to any hanky-panky here. I’m almost one hundred percent sure he’s not. First of all, Belfry left with Win this morning, and so did Arkady.
Bel would never betray me that way. Never. And even though I haven’t known Arkady for as long, I don’t believe he would, either.
So I ruled that out entirely. But you know what I do think?
I do think Win’s involved in some kind of investigation with people from his past.
Now, I know what you’re thinking. That’s a huge risk for him to take, right? Why would the man who fought so hard to get back to this plane and take on another man’s identity tell anyone from MI6 he was still alive?
Maybe he didn’t. Maybe someone found out and he’s not telling me because he doesn’t want me involved for fear I’d end up hurt. I mean, his ex-girlfriend/fellow spy Miranda and his evil father are still alive, even if they are incarcerated.
Who knows what they might have said to a fellow jailhouse cellmate? Maybe Miranda needed cash for tampons at the commissary and she sang like a bird to someone, who told someone else, and so on…
Either way, I’m now more convinced than ever that I heard the name Marsden on that phone call Win took a week or so ago, and he was definitely one of Win’s handlers back in his spy days.
Convinced.
As the wheels in my head turned, another startling revelation came to me—so startling, it made me gasp.
Maybe someone from Win’s past had found out he was alive and was blackmailing him?
Gasp again. That made perfect sense.
I grabbed my pen and wrote some things down, my mind on overdrive, but I couldn’t parse as well as when I talked it out.
“Whiskey?” I called, making him sit up, his ears standing at attention. “You’ve officially been inducted into the amateur sleuthing hall of fame. You ready?”
He snorted, settling back down and resting his nose on his front paws.
I jabbed my finger in the air. “I’ll take that as a yes.” Grabbing my paper, I looked at what I’d written. “Okay, so here’s what we have. The name Marsden. The name Donna Blitzhen, an Aston Martin, the numbers 24, 2000, and 13. Then there’s ‘Candy Cane who has the snow.’”
The snow… I bit the end of my pen. What did that mean?
Oh, holy macadamia nuts…
“The snow!” I shouted, hopping up and making Whiskey whimper. I reached down and soothed him by rubbing his spine. “Sorry, pal. But I think I just made an important connection. Tell me if you think I’m crazy. Maybe the ‘snow’ is drugs. Like cocaine? And Candy Cane and Donna Blitzhen are operative names? You know, like Win’s old MI6 name was Zero?”
Whiskey cocked his head at me, his soft brown eyes searching mine.
I flopped back down on the chair with a sigh. “You think I’m crazy, don’t you, my friend? And you could be right. I mean, for all I know, I could be way off base. For all I know, Candy Cane could be a stripper with a BFF named Donna Blitzhen. They don’t exactly connect to the Aston Martin and those numbers on that piece of paper I found at the shop, though. Aaaand,” I jabbed my finger in the air, “if Donna isn’t the pet name for Win’s car, why would her name be in a text on Dana’s cell phone? Isn’t that too much of a coincidence?”
Strike clucked in his sleep before curling closer to Whiskey. Clearly, I wasn’t making an impression.
But I soldiered on because the more I talked it out, the more I knew I was right. “And what about the Aston Martin. Why here? Why now? It’s been in hiding since I met Win. Maybe he brought it to Eb Falls because he needed a good getaway car? And hello, Hannah. An Aston Martin sure would do the trick, right?”
Whiskey sighed, curling back into a ball with a groan.
Still, the more thought I gave to the idea Win was being blackmailed by someone from his past, who’d somehow found out he was still alive, the more life I gave the notion.
So I said it out loud. Just to see if it sounded as crazy as it did in my head. “I dunno, buddy. I really think I’m onto something. I think someone from Win’s past in blackmailing him and making him sell…drugs, maybe? Don’t they call cocaine snow? Or maybe they’re making him launder money from drugs? Or help them move their drugs? I think we both know from all the missions he’s been on that he’s been around all manner of criminals. Rich ones, poor ones and all the ones in between. Is it so crazy someone’s found out he’s alive and they’re extorting him to keep them quiet?”
This time, Whiskey didn’t move. He completely ignored me.
“Okay, so you’re not a fan of that theory, but have you paid attention to how he’s been behaving lately? Especially today when he was so distracted and kept surveying the backyard? Maybe he was looking for a bad guy…”
Saying that made me give a surreptitious look around outside. Was there a bad guy lurking in the shadows? Or plural bad guys? Would Win leave me to my own devices if bad guys were skulking about?
That didn’t sound like Win at all…
Chills ran along my bare arms and down my spine, but I forced myself to grab my phone, where I went directly to Facebook to look up Candy Cane and Donna Blitzhen.
As I scrolled, I mumbled, “Also, food for thought. It could explain why the entire town, including the garden club ladies, are behaving so oddly. Maybe…maybe they’ve seen Win bandying about town with this blonde woman and they’re trying to spare my feelings, because they’re totally unaware of his storied past?”
I didn’t find anything on Donna or Candy on Facebook, unless you count the Candy Cane Lovers Unite group, though, I’m not sure I really thought it would be that easy anyway.
The one thing I knew for sure? We needed to talk, and I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything until we did.
I was prepared to rush off to find him when another thought occurred to me, which I shared with my very reluctant pseudo Watson.
I looked down at my beloved dog, basking in the sunlight, and said, “My only question is, how do Bel and Arkady fit into this scenario? Win would never, not in a trillion years, involve them in something so dangerous and ask them to keep it from me. Arkady kind of stinks at keeping secrets from me anyway. So what do they have to do with this? Why are they with him today if he’s running around with some drug mule?”
That thought made me look up at the ceiling. “Arkady? Are you there?”
I cocked my ear, but there was no response. Next, I sent a text to Belfry. I don’t know if he has his phone with him because someone has to carry it for him—he is the size of a fruit fly, after all. He only has the one he uses when he pretends to be my virtual assistant, but maybe there was a small chance he’d taken it and given it to Win to hold.
Or was his phone somewhere in the house? I sent another text and listened for the signal a message had come in, but I didn’t hear anything—which of course didn’t mean he didn’t have it on silent somewhere, and if he didn’t have it, what difference did it make anyway?
Though, his phone might have some clues about what was going on.
I debated whether I should cancel my spa day and hunt Win down when my phone signaled a text.
Peering at it as I grabbed my purse, I blew a quick kiss to Strike and Whiskey before I read the message.
Ironically, as if a psychic connection really did exist between us, it was Belfry, via Win’s phone.
“Hey, Boss! It’s Belfry. Winterbutt asked me 2 text u and tell u he’s sorry he missed ur call, but he’s in the middle of negot
iations with garden club ladies. Something abt cow manure over organic doodoo. I dunno, it sounds gross, but he said he’d talk 2 u 2night.” Poop emoji, flower emoji.
I almost chuckled at Bel’s grammar. He was so hip, wasn’t he? But then I realized he was with Win… But where? In his pocket? At garden club? How could that be if he was capable of texting?
Wait…had Win left him in a hot car? I’d kill him!
“Where are you, Bel? Are you okay? Do you need me to come get you?”
“I’m in the car, silly. Where do u think I am?” Silly-face emoji.
I stopped at the front door, panic seizing me. “The car?! You’ll die of heat stroke, Bel! It’s too hot! I’ll come get you. Where are you parked?”
“Stahhp. I’m fine.” Thumbs-up emoji. “The windows r cracked and I like it hot. I come from the jungle, bananapants. Remember?” Heart emoji.
My heart settled back in my chest. “Are you sure you’re okay? Because I can skip my hair and nails.”
“Win said u’d say that, and he said 2 tell u, poppycock. Go enjoy ur day. Said he’ll explain everything at dinner. Gotta go. Need nap. Ok?” Heart-eye smiley-face emoji.
Explain everything at dinner? So there was an explanation for the blonde with the floppy hat in the sedan? Is that what that meant? I chewed on that for a moment before my stomach settled. Should I tell Belfry what I suspected? What I’d seen in the driveway?
If danger was imminent, would Win really have Belfry with him? Where had Belfry been when Win was climbing into a black sedan with a blonde? Did Bel even know about the blonde and the sedan? I was afraid to ask about it over a text or a phone call due to someone possibly tapping the phone.
“Boss? Ok?” Bel prodded.
Surely everything must, at least for the moment, be all right. Why would Belfry lie to me if it wasn’t? Unless…unless someone was holding him hostage and forcing him to lie?
Panic resurged in the pit of my stomach and I decided to prompt the safe word we’d agreed upon if he were ever in trouble but couldn’t say so directly.
“Promise you’re okay?”
He sent me the mildly annoyed emoji. “This is not a winklepicker. I repeat. Not a WINKLEPICKER. Ok? And that’s a stupid word 2 use 2 tell u I’m in danger. We shld talk abt changing it. Now go have a good time.” Red-lips emoji, hand-wave emoji.
Blowing out a breath, I rolled my head from side to side and stuffed my phone in my purse.
I don’t know about you, but I’m still not sure I believe a word Belfry said, and I can’t say why—it’s just a feeling.
Except the part about him not being left in a hot car, but that’s only because Win knows I’d set every last one of his pleated trousers on fire with a blowtorch if any harm came to Belfry.
I threw the door open and reset the alarm, deciding to head back into town with an hour or so to spare for my hair appointment.
Maybe I could find someone who’d seen Win with the blonde in the black sedan.
And if you’re wondering, no, I still don’t think he’s fooling around on me.
Not in the raise-your-eyebrows, whisper-about-me-behind-my-back kind of way, anyhow.
But I do call shenanigans, and I can’t explain why. And I feel as though my fake James Bond needs me. I can really feel it, and I’m nothing if not ride or die.
So it was time to put on my thinking cap.
#Stewinforever
Chapter 7
On the drive back into Eb Falls, I gave some thought to where I could even begin investigating Win’s whereabouts or what he’d been doing with that blonde woman, but I hadn’t a clue. I mean, he did meet her in our driveway. If something was awry, surely he wouldn’t show a bad guy where he lived—where we lived, right?
But maybe she wasn’t a bad guy? Maybe he’d summoned someone from his past to help him with Candy Cane and the snow?
I parked once more in my space in front of Madame Z’s and hopped out of the car, planning to sit on the bench and give this some serious thought.
As I crossed the street, I thought about the evidence. Here’s what I had: Donna, Candy Cane, snow, some random numbers written on a note by Win, a blonde who could be Donna or Candy, an Aston Martin, some really bizarre interactions with the people of Eb Falls, and a sometimes unreachable boyfriend.
Plopping down on the bench for the second time today, I exhaled with impatience. I sure didn’t have much to go on.
Looking out at the water, I pinched my temples. Get it together, Stephania Louise. Think.
If you were a Donna or a Candy Cane, where would you hide while you were in a small town like Eb Falls, planning to pull off a big coup?
“Hey, Stevie!” I heard a cheerful voice call.
Turning, I saw Adele from the local florist’s shop, her stout middle covered in a green apron. I grinned and waved to her.
“Hey, Adele! Long time no see. How have you been?”
Her wide hazel eyes glistened as she strolled toward me, her pixie-cut, dark brown hair lifting with the warm breeze. She rounded the bench and stopped. “I’m real good. How are you?”
Maybe I was just feeling sensitive to everything else going on with Win, but did I hear extra emphasis on her inquiry about my well-being?
I patted the seat next to me. “I’m great. Just passing the time, waiting for my hair appointment with Leif.”
But she waved me off with her chubby hand, her smooth skin clear and fresh under the afternoon sun. “I can’t sit and chat. Sure wish I could, but we’ve got a big order to finish up for late this afternoon. I was just grabbing a breath of fresh air.”
Nodding my understanding, I rose, brushing off my dress. “Understood. It’s good to be busy—especially these days, with the economy the way it is.”
Adele rocked back on her sneakered feet and drove her hands into the pockets of her jeans with a wide, dimpled grin. “You bet it is. I can’t tell you how grateful I am. Thanks to your… Uh, thanks to so many repeat customers, I’ve been very lucky.” And then her face turned a light shade of red.
Now, it’s not unusual for a Washingtonian to be red in the face when the weather is warm. We’re a pale lot used to tons of rain, but I felt as though Adele’s cheeks were red because she felt embarrassed.
That made no sense. What did she have to be embarrassed about?
And then it happened again, just like it had with everyone else I’d talked to today—Adele looked over my head, refusing to meet my eyes.
I reached out to her, placing my hand on her arm. “Are you okay, Adele?”
She flapped her hands dismissively at me, her eyes still glued to something behind me. “Oh, I’m fine. Stevie, but I better get a move on. I’ll catch ya around!” she said before taking off at a brisk pace back across the street.
I whipped around, and that’s when I saw her—or at least I think it was the same her. The blonde with the floppy hat…strolling quickly down the sidewalk across the street.
Was that what Adele was so uncomfortable about? I was beginning to feel as though everyone thought they were privy to whatever was going on with Win, and they were too embarrassed to tell me. Had they seen him with her, too? Should I ask? Would it make more tongues wag than was necessary?
I’ll tell you this much. If that’s what everyone was up in arms about, my favorite International Man of Mystery wasn’t doing a very good job of hiding this covert op.
But I didn’t have time to think about that right now. Right now, I needed to catch up to this woman and find out what the heck was going on.
Grabbing my purse, I barely looked both ways before I crossed the road, sprinting toward her as fast as I could in my wedges. She had the advantage, wearing flats and a stretchy wraparound dress, making it easier for her to navigate the potholes while I dodged them.
From a distance, it looked as though she was talking on the phone to someone, her hair flying in the breeze, her pace brisk as she passed the brick-front stores along the way.
When she ducked into
a side street, I ducked right behind her, tailing her as best I could, but man, this woman could speed walk. It was almost as if every time I’d start to gain on her, she sensed it or something.
And listen, she’s a spy, right? Or I think she’s a spy—or someone, a bad guy, something—so she should be good at making a quick getaway.
Quite suddenly, she stopped in the middle of everything and turned around, making me slow to a crawl.
I couldn’t tell if she was looking at me or not, so I held my breath, waiting to see her face, but her big, round sunglasses and that dang floppy hat hid most of it.
As I was about to call out to her to stop, without warning, as though she sensed I was chasing her, she turned back around and began a light jog.
Of course, that was my cue to put some pep in my step and utilize all that working out Win had made me suffer when I was training under his tutelage to protect myself in times of danger.
I pumped my legs harder, trying to discern where she was going as my heart began to throb in my chest and my legs began to ache from running with these darn shoes.
Argh! I’d be all sweaty before my hair appointment, and if she kept running away from me like I was the devil himself, I’d need a shower and another change of clothing before I had dinner with Win.
That was when someone yelped, “Look out!” seconds before I crashed right into Sanders McGee, the older gentleman who’d recently bought the Sunshine Inn from Coraline Evans.
I hit him so hard, my purse went flying, the contents scattering all over the sidewalk. Thankfully, he grabbed me by my arm and caught me before I toppled over again, but that didn’t keep me from scraping my knee on the brick façade of the building.
“Stevie?” he asked, his handsome lined face worried. “Is everything okay?”
When I looked over his shoulder, my mystery woman had all but become a dot on the horizon. Gasping for air, I nodded. “I’m fine, Sanders. Did I hurt you?”
He straightened his light sweater and shook his salt-and-pepper head. “No, no. I’m fine, Stevie, but look at your knee. You’re bleeding. Come with me to the inn and I’ll get you fixed right up.”
Gettin' Witched (Witchless in Seattle Mysteries Book 12) Page 5