“Trust your instincts, Watson.”
“I’ll look deeper too. See if I can dredge up any mischief she might have gotten into. Although searching for busted taillights that lead to drug stops is going to generate a long list.”
The conversation wound down. A few minutes later, Matthew yawned. “James, can you see that Bree gets back to her car? I’m going to work here for a bit then call it a night.” With that, he ushered them outside and shut the RV door, leaving them alone in the deepening shadows of the late evening.
From somewhere in the darkness, an owl hooted, the sound of its call carried on the cool October wind. Bree shivered and James wrapped his arm around her. “Cold? Or is something bothering you?”
“Mostly cold.” She snuggled into his warm embrace, wishing her worries could scatter as easily as the autumn leaves at her feet. Terrorists. Money laundering. Double agents. Murder. Restless thoughts swirled, but didn’t scatter.
“Let me guess.” James’s arm tightened around her shoulders. “You feel overwhelmed.”
“Yes.”
They reached his car and he leaned against it, turning to deepen his embrace. “In over your head?”
She bit her lip, hating the answer. “A little A lot, maybe.”
His hold shifted, one arm circling her waist to pull her close, while his other hand cupped her jaw. Bree breathed in the scent of spicy soap and warm male, tension easing from her frame. “I feel it, too,” he whispered. “And not just about the case.” He dipped close, his lips caressing hers, until finally, finally, thoughts of the case receded, chased away by his attentions.
Bree wrapped her arms around him and leaned into the kiss, deepening it, longing for more. Glad she’d chosen this man, with his steady, solid, normal existence to hold a special place in her life.
James groaned and took control, threading his fingers through her hair, cupping her head, letting his other hand drift lower…. Driving all thoughts but him from her brain as she pressed closer. She wanted this. She needed this. She—
“Quick question.” Matthew Tugood’s voice washed over her like ice. “Do you also want financials on Bill Jr.?”
James swore softly the minute he pulled his lips from hers. “Yes. And your timing sucks, man.” Bree left his embrace with a sigh, knowing the moment was gone, their illusion of privacy destroyed by a one hundred watt sliver of light from the camper and the man silhouetted against it.
Terrorists. Money laundering. Double agents. Murder.
Early the next morning before heading to Trader Jack’s, Bree stopped in at the Sci-PHi offices, hoping for a few quiet hours in her cubicle to work on the notes in her crime notebook. Instead, visitors descended on her office within minutes.
Kiki settled into the office chair and passed a mug of coffee to Bree. “I saw you walk in and figured you’d want this. How are you feeling?”
Remembering too late that she’d faked a doctor’s excuse to avoid coming into the office, Bree scrambled. She coughed.
“I’m not buying it,” Kiki said, laughing. “Not that I care if you take a few days off. God knows the doctor’s excuse will do wonders for keeping Troy off your back. But I know you better than that. You don’t get sick.”
Bree gave up trying. “Guilty as charged.”
“On the other hand, you do look like you’ve been put through the wringer. Dark circles under your eyes. Weight loss. General malaise.”
“Weight loss can be a good thing,” Bree mumbled, thinking about how her mother constantly chided her to lose five, or ten, or fifty pounds. She focused on her coffee, driving the family-induced insecurities into a tiny corner of her mind.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were involved in a special project you didn’t want Troy to know about,” Kiki commented. “In which case, you’re not catching up on rest. You’re still burning the candle at both ends but hiding it from your friends.”
Bree kept quiet and drank her coffee. Before she’d finished the cup, Norah joined Kiki in her cubicle. Their twin gazes sent Bree into a flashback of facing her professors at her doctoral thesis defense. “What’s going on?”
“Did you tell her yet?” Norah squirmed, barely keeping her excitement in check.
“I was waiting for you.”
“Kiki and I want to tell you something. Something big. The owner—you know, that secretive guy Charles Angelo—he sent a memo organizing a Halloween party!” She bounced in her seat until Bree worried her skin-tight purple jumpsuit would burst at the seams. “We get to dress up and everything. I’m so excited.”
“I’m in charge of scheduling who brings what food,” Kiki announced. “What can I put you down for?”
Bree thought for a minute and picked the first two ideas that came to mind. “Put me down for a bloody rat bake and Bailey’s Irish Crème cheesecake.”
Norah’s brow wrinkled and her indigo stained lips pursed. “Yes, to the cheesecake, but no to the rats. I’m not into vermin.”
Bree laughed but refused to give her any hints as to what she was really making. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”
“Got you down for a savory and a sweet,” Kiki said. “Now, if only I could find paleo offerings. One of the new hires has eating disorders and only eats paleo and what she calls clean food.”
Bree pulled out her phone and looked up a few recipes. “Some of these don’t look too hard. I’ll try to whip up something. I’m sure a few others will too.” She scanned through a long list of paleo treats. “My grandmother used to make amazing seven-layer bars. This paleo twist on them looks like something I could do.”
“Done.” Kiki made a notation on her notepad. “Now you just have to figure out what your costume will be.”
“Costume?”
“Costumes are mandatory,” Norah added, giggling. “I already have mine picked out. It’s a surprise.”
“I’ll pull together something too,” Kiki added. “But if you don’t get some rest, Bree, all you’ll have to do is tear your clothing a bit and go as a zombie. You won’t even need makeup at the rate you’re going.”
“Gee, it’s great to have friends,” she quipped. “If you could both leave me alone for an hour…”
“No. You are packing up and going straight back to your home. Stay there and rest. On my orders.” Kiki turned to Norah. “You go distract Troy while I get Bree out of here.”
Norah jumped up, gave a mock salute, and uttered a hasty good-bye. Then Kiki, true to her word, ushered Bree out of the office and back to her car before any other colleagues saw her.
Chapter 19
When Bree parked her car at Trader Jack’s later that morning, the employee parking area overflowed with vehicles she’d never seen before. A cordoned off area swarmed with bodies, tables, tents and more. She walked into the showroom to find Mrs. T behind the counter.
“Cat, so glad you came in a bit early this morning. It’s one of those all hands on deck days.”
“Do you need me to watch the showroom for you?”
The older woman shook her head. “Not at all, dear. I need you to help out in back. We’ve called in all of our seasonal and part-time workers and hired a few from a temporary agency.” Her eyes twinkled as if enlivened by the chaos.
“A lovely young couple planning a Halloween wedding just learned their event planner went bankrupt. All very sudden. They’ve asked if we can supply their needs. By the end of the week. So our team is out back cleaning the tents, tables, chairs, and other items to make sure they are in tip-top shape. Graham or Liza will be able to tell you what they need.”
“On my way.”
Bree made her way to the back lot that was, for now, swarming with workers. After a short conversation with Graham, she managed to get assigned to the cleaning team that included Michael and Samuel.
“Hi, guys, what do you need from me?” The stinging smell of bleach permeated the air around the table.
Samuel looked
up from scrubbing a section of canvas tent. “I could use a break. If you’d take over here, I can start disinfecting the dry sections with the ultraviolet wand.” He pointed to another table where a breeze ruffled the edges of a clean tent.
“Or I could just start with the UV,” Bree offered.
“Please, Cat. Come on! I’m soaking wet and cold. I need to change into a dry shirt and do something else for an hour.” His red-rimmed eyes and pink skin indicated he’d had more contact with the bleach than Bree liked, so she relented.
She took her place beside Michael—who didn’t seem to have an issue with scrubbing the canvas—and donned rubber gloves. “Do things like this happen often?” she asked.
The young man shrugged and bent over his work. “Usually we have a longer lead time. And usually the events that need tents happen in the summer.” He nodded in the direction Samuel had taken. “Sam’s new enough not to have been through a cleaning day before. He didn’t listen to me and ended up wet.
"Speaking of which, grab yourself a rubber apron and roll up your sleeves before you get started. Your arms might get chilly but believe me—or ask Sam—being both wet and cold is worse.” He stopped scrubbing long enough to point to a table holding rubber aprons and other supplies.
Bree opted for not only the apron and gloves, but also a pair of vented goggles. The chemist in her wanted more PPE—personal protective equipment—rather than less. The goggles would protect her if any bleach laden water splashed near her eyes.
Bree returned to work, cleaning sections of the tent as she and Michael moved in tandem along its length. “How long have you worked at Jack’s?” she asked, hoping to learn more about him.
“Me? Probably four years. I started part-time during high school. Now I juggle working full time here and taking college classes.”
“Where do you go to school?”
“I got a partial scholarship to Plainville Pioneer. At their online and evening school,” he added. “I usually head straight over there after closing up here. It makes for long days, but I was raised to work hard.”
Plainville Pioneer, long known as a local private college catering to youth from wealthy families, had been the site of one of Bree’s investigations. “I didn’t realize they had online or evening classes,” Bree said, warming to the young worker.
“Yeah, well, it’s a trial program. Some rich dude gave a bunch of anonymous money to start it. Guess they wanted to see if kids from my side of the tracks could compete with the cream of the crop.” He gave her a melting grin before attacking a mildewed section of the canvas.
“My mom is half Chinese, half white, courtesy of her dad’s deployment in the military. My dad, now, he’s black and middle eastern, with some Winnebago—the people, not the vehicle—thrown in a bunch of generations ago.”
“That’s a lot of history to keep track of.”
“Yeah. Dad says our family tree is like a bowl of Fruit Loops, lots of variety.”
“Nah,” Bree said. “I’d say it’s more like my grandmother’s seven-layer bars. Lots of unique components made into one amazing whole. I’ll bake some and bring them in one of these days and see what you think.”
“Deal.” He gave her a cocky grin. “Anyway, I focus pretty hard on my studies. Loops or layers aside, I’m going to show the educational snobs just what I’m made of.”
“Good for you.” Bree wished she could step out of her role to be Dr. Bree Mayfield-Watson, chemist and encourage him more, but she had to make do with Cat Holmes, recent graduate.
“My mom and dad weren’t able to afford private schools, either. My dad used to say what matters is what you do with what you’ve been given.”
“Sounds like a wise man. Like Jack Trayder. He and Graham have been good to me. Encouraging. Accommodating my school schedule. I couldn’t ask for better.”
“What are you studying?”
“A little of everything for now.” He picked up his bucket and moved to another section of the tent. Bree followed. “I want to study a combination of business and visual arts. I’ve got this idea about how to amp up the commercials for Trader Jack’s. Plus, I have a million ideas about ways to add to the business. To expand. That kind of thing.”
“For what it’s worth, Mr. Trayder seems to be the kind of man who would listen to new ideas. He listened to Billy’s idea about the rental car business.”
“Yeah.” Michael’s face darkened. “I’m not an MBA yet, but I think Billy’s ideas were half baked. For starters, we’re not in a good location for the vehicle rental business. And we don’t have a fleet so much as a group of cast-off cars salvaged from garages where Billy had contacts.”
“Trader Jack’s doesn’t own the cars?”
“Now they do, but like I said, they’re all rebuilt clunkers, except for one or two of them. But Billy said he was making Jack money and Jack didn’t contradict him, so maybe there was more to it than I could see.”
More indeed. Vehicles modified to have hidden compartments, for a start.
“It sounds like you would have been an asset to the car rental team. How come you ended up working in shipping and stocking instead?”
Michael stopped scrubbing and leaned close to Bree. “You didn’t hear this from me, but Billy was an ass. He especially didn’t like new people coming in, if you know what I mean.”
“New as in young?”
“Yep. He gave everyone a hard time. The part-timers working while going to school were one of his favorite targets. Claimed we were all entitled sissies that needed toughening up.” He looked across the parking lot to where Samuel was wielding the disinfecting wand, its blue light pale in the winter sun.
“Sam took it especially hard. What with not having a dad and all, he looked up to Billy. Worked his butt off in the garage. We would meet for lunch and he looked like he’d been in the ring with a prize fighter. Banged up something awful.”
“How?” Bree asked, wondering exactly how bad things had gotten for Samuel.
“Sam wrote it off as horseplay, but I went to Graham about it. Next thing I know, Graham and Jack announced Sam would be working in shipping permanently. The kid’s happier, but he still has this need to impress.”
Bree looked at Michael, thinking that he’d be a wonderful supervisor and mentor one day. And hoping that he wasn’t the kind of young man to take revenge on behalf of a friend. “I bet you were ticked at the way Billy treated your friend.”
“I was. But what else could I do? Tell Jack? Billy had a hold on him that none of us, except maybe Mrs. T, understands. Staying out of Billy’s way was the best option.”
“And out of the garage?”
“Yeah. Although Magnus and Juan are good guys. Easy going. I’d probably like working with them. Bill Jr. is a clone of his dad. Steer clear of him, Cat,” he warned.
“Will do.”
Michael showed her how to rinse the tent, then he stripped off his protective clothing. “Come on,” he said. “You look like you could use a break. Let’s collect Samuel and head inside for a few. On days like this, Jack usually springs for donuts and later sandwiches as a way to thank us for the extra effort.” He waved Samuel over, told Graham they were taking a break, and shepherded his younger colleagues inside.
Bree made a mental note to check class rosters at the college to see if Michael had been in class the night of Billy’s death, then moved him to the bottom of her mental list of suspects. Right beside Mrs. Telligio.
On her way back to the condo, Bree detoured to visit The Barkery, where her friends Horace and Wendy Clark lived and worked. Warm hellos from the couple, along with slobbery, wet kisses from the pack of dogs who live there, had her relaxing within minutes.
“It’s been an age since you stopped by,” Wendy chided as Bree gave the dogs Rookie and Krupke a last pat on the head. “How is that cute little girl with the tiger and monkey doing?”
“Ning? She’s settled in at the university and is volunteer
ing at the vet school, besides taking care of Lucky the tiger. And Miss Peepers follows the pair around everywhere they go.” The tiger and her trainer had no shortage of fans at the school, including the little capuchin monkey they’d taken under their wing.
“I somehow think she’ll change her life’s goal from starting a Thai restaurant to being a vet.”
“You and me, both,” Bree added.
Wendy looked at her critically. “You’ve done something to your hair. And your makeup. I’m trying to decide if I like it.”
Crap. She’d completely forgotten to wash off the Cat Holmes makeup and pull back her hair to hide the faux blonde steaks. She forced a grin to her lips. “We’re having a Halloween party at work and I was trying out various costume ideas.”
Wendy pursed her lips thoughtfully. “I don’t think it’s enough of a change for a good costume.” She turned toward the back of the shop. “Horace,” she yelled “come out here for a minute.”
Before Bree knew it, she was being subjected to a barrage of friendly suggestions for costume ideas. She nixed the idea of mad scientist—too close to reality, and spy—really too close for comfort, before raising the possibility of zombie.
“That’s a great one. And I have just the thing to help you whip up some party food.” Wendy hurried toward the living area the Clarks kept behind the shop and returned quickly, her hands full of items. “First, here are some recipe cards. Hot dog mummies made with strips of crescent dough bandages, short bread witches’ fingers with almond nails, stuffed dates made to look like roaches, and, my favorite, Jell-O shot brains.” She passed the recipe cards—each with disturbing photos—to Bree along with a silicone mold for individual sized brain shaped treats.
“Thank you,” Bree said, not sure if she should be grateful or disturbed that the couple was so into Halloween. Wendy’s warm, earth-mother vibe and Horace’s tall, rail-thin stooping stature took on a menacing air when viewed through the Halloween lens. “I was planning to make some bloody rats and a few desserts,” she said, explaining the recipes to them.
Studying Scarlett the Grey Page 14