by Nancy Skopin
An hour later I watched my 2002 pull into the SFO arrivals pick up lane. Having been at sea for almost five weeks, I was almost as happy to see my little BMW as I was to see Elizabeth. After a bone crushing hug she asked if I wanted to drive, but I opted to remain a passenger for the moment.
On the road to Redwood City Elizabeth explained that Jim had called her the day I disappeared, explaining the situation. She’d made a copy of my office key for him and had used her own to check my mail, in case any bills came due. She’d paid my June slip fee, my office rent, and my utilities.
Jim had kept track of my office voicemail and e-mail, and Elizabeth had checked my home phone for messages. The yacht salesman had left a voicemail about my BMW. Elizabeth had erased all the messages after writing them down, then called the broker back and arranged to pick up the 2002.
Lily and Elizabeth had been watching the news together. Elizabeth is a little obsessive about keeping abreast of current events, especially when they have to do with celebrities. She said that Russell had started a mini-series about the cold fusion process. She’d had the TV on while she was cooking dinner, and the sound of my voice on television had nearly given her a heart attack. They never showed my face, but she knew it was me and had immediately started recording the broadcast.
She had heard rumors about the process being made available on the Web, and had actually checked out the site, which she said was relatively user-friendly if you were a science geek.
I was feeling a little disoriented. Even though Cliff and I had put this in motion, it was hard to believe it was real. I guess in the back of my mind I’d expected the government, or Batcom, or some unknown oil conglomerate to find a way to stop it. But it was too late now. It couldn’t be stopped.
When we arrived at the marina I jogged down the dock to Kirk’s Bluewater and collected Buddy along with a lot of face licking and chuffing. I hugged Kirk and told him I owed him big time. He insisted that I didn’t owe him anything.
I was afraid to go back to my boat. Afraid it might be booby trapped or wired with listening devices and transmitters and who knows what else. Buddy and I joined Elizabeth on her trawler and I used her land line to call my mom. I left her a voicemail saying the undercover job was over, and that I’d give her the details later. Much later.
Next I called Jim.
“Superior Investigations,” answered a sultry female voice.
“Hi, Heather,” I said. “It’s Nikki. Is Jim in the office?”
“He’s here. Hang on a sec.”
Jim came on the line immediately. “Nikki? Is it really you?”
“Of course it’s me.”
“How the hell are you? For that matter, where the hell are you? I saw Cliff on TV.”
I told him I was back at the marina, safe and sound, and we’d have to get together to discuss all the details. I thanked him profusely for keeping my business afloat in my absence, and I asked him to call Cliff’s parents from a burner phone and let them know that Cliff was alive and well, but that he probably wouldn’t be in touch for a while. I didn’t have the energy to deal with talking to them myself. I said I’d be back at work in about a week. Jim said that was okay with him. He was managing my clients just fine. I could only hope they weren’t happier with him and his team of agents than they had been with me.
“Would you like to come to dinner at Elizabeth’s tonight?” I raised an eyebrow at Elizabeth and she nodded happily.
“Absolutely.”
“Call me when you’re in the parking lot and I’ll come let you in the gate.”
“Can I bring anything?”
I handed the phone to Elizabeth and they decided he could bring a bottle of wine. They also decided that 7:00 would be the appropriate time for dinner. She gave Jim her phone number, so he could call when he arrived.
When they hung up I called Bill. He yelled at me for three full minutes, telling me how worried he’d been and how irresponsible it was of me to disappear for over a month. I lay back on Elizabeth’s galley settee just soaking up the sound of his voice. When he’d finished yelling he told me he loved me and begged me never to do anything like that again. I said I couldn’t promise anything, and that I loved him too. Bill agreed to come to dinner at 7:00, and Elizabeth asked him to bring a loaf of sourdough bread. I was asleep before they ended the call.
EPILOGUE
IT’S REALLY HAPPENING—just like in the movies when the good guys win. It’ll take a long while before the conversion is commonplace. I figure at least twenty years before cold fusion becomes recognized as the only practical energy source.
My hacker friend, Michael, told me over dinner that Batcom appeared to be owned by a Japanese organized crime syndicate. He didn’t use the word Yakuza, but I thought it was implied. He said proving it would be almost impossible and, frankly, I didn’t care anymore. I don’t know if they’re the ones who hired the assassin or how they’re connected to the U.S. government, but I have my suspicions. It’s all about the money. There’s no way to know how this whole saga will ultimately affect world economy. Only time will tell.
Jim told me that there had been no fingerprints on the tape I’d lifted from the brass door handle in the Montgomery’s hidden stairwell, but I will go to my grave believing that Marjorie Peterson was some kind of spy sent to monitor Cliff’s activities and sabotage his sanity.
Buddy and I stayed at Bill’s house the night I arrived home, and Bill spontaneously got down on one knee and proposed. He said he’d had a preview of what his life would be like without me, and it was not worth living. I cried like a baby. I was so overwhelmed with love for him that I ached with it. But I knew the timing wasn’t right. I told him I was on emotional overload and needed to think about it. I’m pretty sure it would be a mistake. People change when they get married. Just ask my three ex-husbands.
I did ask Bill to move aboard the boat with me. I’m too attached to the freedom of being able to untie and take off at the drop of a hat to move onto land, and I wanted Bill close as much of the time as possible. He agreed, but he’s keeping his house, which he says he intends to rent out as soon as he finds someplace to store all his stuff. I’d resisted taking this step for almost six months, but when you’ve faced your own death, moving in with the man you love becomes a slightly less threatening prospect.
When we were settled in bed that night, wrapped in each other’s arms with Buddy at our feet, I asked him what had been going on in his world while I was gone.
“Well, Nina’s been busy,” he said, tucking a curl behind my ear. “We found two more bodies. Garlic-coated stiletto.”
“Did they have a relationship with Giordano?” I asked, my heart skipping a beat. Nina Jezek and I had history, and I’d hoped it was over.
“Yep.”
“Well, at least we know they weren’t innocent victims.” Nina only killed sexual predators, and my feelings about that were disturbingly ambivalent. “Did the FBI ever give you a list of Giordano’s known associates?”
“Not yet. I think they’re intent on catching Nina themselves, and don’t want to make things any easier for us.”
“So they might actually be watching the other men on that list?”
“That would be my guess.”
Before I fell asleep I told Bill everything that had happened. I knew some of it would upset him, but he had a right to know because we have a deal. I don’t lie or keep secrets from him, and he doesn’t nag me about taking risks or bending the law. When I got to the part about shooting the assassin’s hands and shin I caught a grimace on his handsome face that slowly morphed into a soft smile. Go figure. I guess my safety was more important to him than my willingness to be a law abiding citizen. If there’s one thing I’ve gained from this adventure, it’s a deeper appreciation of true friendship and of the sacrifices people are willing to make for each other.
The next day I called Bishop Diving & Salvage and arranged for Bishop himself to check the Cheoy Lee for explosive devices. He reported
back that her hull was clean, which was a huge relief. Still, I left Buddy with Kirk while I went over the interior inch by inch until I was sure it was safe. I found no unexpected electronic devices. I guess I didn’t become a target until after Cliff and I were on the run.
Batcom is being investigated, but with all the collusion involved I doubt the investigation will get very far.
The last time I heard from Cliff, he and Karen were cruising off the coast of Belize. I almost envy them. Cliff sends me letters in which he encloses letters to his mom. I put on latex gloves when I handle the mom-letters and forward them to a friend of mine in Canada. She also wears gloves when handling them, and forwards them on to Anna Montgomery. It’s all very cloak and dagger.
Along with the first letter, Cliff sent me a cashier’s check to settle up for the job he’d originally hired me to do. It was a lot of money. I had some work done on the 2002, bought a new pistol purse, replaced the Glock, and got the boat hauled out and the hull scraped and repainted. Buddy and I stayed at Bill’s house while the boat was out of the water.
I’ve finally gotten back to my regular PI work and I’m grateful for the routine. I worship the mundane. I still have nightmares about the guy who looked like an Asian Nicolas Cage. Sometimes he comes back from the dead with that cast on his leg. I hear him limping down the dock toward my boat. I wake up from those dreams gasping for breath. Then I see Bill sleeping soundly next to me and Buddy curled up at the foot of the bed, and I think maybe everything might feel normal again someday. That’s enough for me, for now.
It was late June, and I was in my office with the air conditioning cranked. I was just finishing up a report for my least favorite client, which was likely to elicit some changes in personnel at his airport restaurant.
My dog, Buddy, was by my side, and when he chuffed softly I looked up from the computer and noticed a woman standing outside, reading the signage on my glass doors. The one on the left reads, “Hunter Investigations,” and the door on the right reads, “Nicoli Hunter, Owner.”
The woman looked to be in her sixties and wore a brightly colored, floral, short sleeved dress and a black-and-tan striped sun hat that reminded me of a dart board. I motioned her inside.
She opened the door, gave Buddy a confused look, then flounced into one of my visitor’s chairs.
“Ms. Hunter, my name is Abetha Mimbo,” she said, “and I need your help. Someone is planning to kill my son.”
Aw, crap!
– THE END –
Books by Nancy Skopin
Murder On The Menu
Murder Over Cocktails
Dinner And A Murder
Murder A La Carte
Murder Served Hot
A Side Order Of Murder
Visit Nancy's Author Page on Amazon for more information:
www.amazon.com/Nancy-Skopin
About the Author
Nancy Skopin, 2015 Beverly Hills Book Award winner for her first novel Murder On The Menu, is a native of California, and currently lives on the Oregon coast with her husband, Max Ferry, and their two dogs, Turq and Malcolm. An avid student of human nature, she is happiest spending her days imagining the best and the worst that we are capable of and translating these ideas into her Nicoli "Nikki" Hunter mystery series.
As does her central character Nikki, Nancy lived aboard her yacht in the San Francisco Bay Area for thirteen years, though she has recently settled down on solid ground. While researching her quirky serial killer mystery series she worked for two years with a private investigator, learning the intricacies of the business and, specifically, the art of restaurant and bar “mystery shopping.” For some years she has worked closely with a retired police detective who is both a procedural consultant and a friend.
If you’d like to be notified when new Nikki Hunter mysteries come out, email me at:
[email protected]
You can visit my website at:
http://nicolihunter.com/