In Too Deep

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  "I told him no," Isabella said, still incensed. "Then he informed me that a hundred thousand dollars had already been wired into an offshore account. The number is on the table."

  "What about the threat?" Fallon asked.

  Lockett cleared his throat and managed to regain his salesman's voice. "Uh, that would seem to be moot at this point."

  "No," Fallon said. The word was etched in steel. "It's not moot."

  Isabella moved to stand at the foot of the bed. "He said that turning down the offer from his client would not be good for my future health and well-being."

  "That's all there was to it," Lockett said earnestly. "I swear it. I don't know what the client had in mind. You know my policy, Jones. I always deliver the exact message, word for word, that I was commissioned to carry and I never deliver any threat that could get me arrested."

  "In that case, I will just have to use my imagination." Fallon said. "Which is not a good thing for your client. Go deliver that message."

  "Of course, of course," Lockett said.

  "I want it delivered exactly twenty-four hours from now," Fallon added.

  "Always happy to oblige a long-standing client such as yourself, sir."

  "Get out of here before I change my mind."

  Lockett scrambled upright, grabbed the ski mask and headed for the patio door.

  "My apologies, Miss Valdez," he said, skittering past Isabella. "Just business, nothing personal."

  He vanished into the night.

  Isabella turned on Fallon, outraged all over again. "You let him go?"

  "He's a rat, but rodents have their place in the feeding chain." Fallon crossed the room to close the sliding glass door. "Occasionally he's my rat. Besides, I know how to find him."

  "You've actually used that dreadful little man to deliver messages to people?"

  "Lockett is a professional, and he has connections at all levels of our world."

  "You mean the world of private investigators?"

  "No, the community of people with talent. Sensitives inhabit the entire ecosphere of society. We've got our thieves, scam artists and drug runners, just like we've got our CEOs, academics and politicians. There are good guys and bad guys in our world just as there are in the rest of society. Lockett is one of the few people I know who can move from the streets to the boardroom to government circles and back again. In his own way, he's trustworthy. I've used him before and I'll probably use him again."

  "I see." She sniffed. "Well, I suppose professional investigators like us have to be practical about this sort of thing."

  "I'm afraid so. Talent is talent and in my experience, really good, reliable talent is hard to come by."

  "He's a little weasel of a man, though."

  "I'll give you that," Fallon said. "But if it's any comfort, he won't ever bother you again."

  She thought about the panic in the Messenger's voice when, for a brief moment, he thought he was facing death at Fallon's hands. "I think you're right about that. What about the money?"

  "Hang on a second." He took his phone out of his pocket and punched in a code. "Dargan, it's Jones." There was a short pause. "What do you mean which Jones? Fallon Jones . . . You're right, I'm the only Jones who would be calling you at three o'clock in the morning. Unfortunately for both of us, you happen to be the best tracking hunter on my list in the Sedona area. I want you to keep tabs on a man named Kit Lockett. He'll be using some other name, but I'm going to e-mail you a photo and profile, which includes his home address, make and model of his car, credit card info and favorite bars. He just left the Cloud Resort here in Sedona. He'll be staying somewhere nearby. Find him and keep an eye on him."

  Isabella folded her arms and listened while Fallon issued instructions with surgical precision.

  "No, I don't want you to grab him," Fallon said. "I gave him a message to deliver to one of his clients twenty-four hours from now. He always does that part of his job in person so that there is no electronic trail; otherwise I'd have one of the cryptos handle this. He'll be making contact with someone soon. I want the name."

  And suddenly Isabella understood.

  Fallon closed the phone and dropped it into his pocket. He paused, brows slightly elevated, when he saw Isabella looking at him.

  "Of course," she said, satisfied. "You want to find out who tried to bribe me."

  "That's the idea," Fallon said.

  "Ha. I should have thought of that right away. Can't wait to see which dumbass in the Society thinks I can be bribed for a lousy hundred thou."

  Fallon grinned briefly. "A lousy hundred thou?"

  "Okay, so I've never seen that much money in one place at one time in my life. That's hardly the point."

  "What is the point?"

  "I am deeply offended. Pissed off, actually. My honor has been impugned or something."

  "I'm a little irritated myself." He picked up the slip of paper that was on the console.

  "Wonder what the client will do when he realizes I'm not going to take the money," Isabella said.

  "I don't think the client cares whether or not you accept the bribe."

  "What makes you say that?"

  "The idea is to make sure that there's a trail from this account that leads straight back to you," Fallon explained. "Trust me, whoever goes looking will soon find out that it is in the name of Isabella Valdez. Word of the bribe will be all over Arcane within hours after the discovery is made."

  "In other words, it's all about making me look guilty."

  "Yes." Fallon opened the slider again and made a move onto the patio.

  "Wait." She hurried to the door. "Where are you going?"

  "Back to my room. I need to go online."

  "What are you going to do?"

  "Close that bank account and make sure there is no link to you."

  "But what about the money?"

  He kissed her lightly. "I've got a plan for that."

  "What plan?"

  "No reason it shouldn't go to a good cause. I'm going to transfer it into the Society's Foundation Trust."

  She smiled. "Someone just made a generous donation to further paranormal research?"

  "At the moment it's an anonymous donor," Fallon said. "But I hope to be in a position to personally thank the individual very soon."

  26

  The aging trailer sat on the last concrete slab in the last row of the Desert Palms Trailer Court. Fallon brought the rental car to a halt.

  "This is it?" he asked.

  "Yes." Isabella contemplated the trailer, afraid to open her other vision. There was a forlorn air of neglect about the place. The inside shades were pulled shut. "What if I'm wrong, Fallon? What if she really is dead?"

  "We'll deal with that when we have more data."

  She half smiled at his bracing, no-nonsense statement. "I love it when you do that, you know."

  "When I do what?"

  "Insist on collecting the facts before leaping to a conclusion."

  He opened the door. "I've been told that it drives most people nuts."

  "That's because they don't understand. I really can't imagine why so many people think you're prone to finding conspiracies around every corner."

  She got out and waited while he came around the car to join her.

  "See anything?" he asked.

  She knew what he meant.

  "I'm afraid to look," she admitted.

  "But you'll do it because you're an intrepid J&J investigator."

  "There is that." She braced herself and raised her talent.

  Energy enveloped the trailer. She drew a sharp breath.

  Fallon watched her. "Something needs finding?"

  "Yes." Jolted, she started forward. "Whatever it is, it's very hot. That means it's important. Oh, Fallon, I should have come here sooner."

  "Take it easy." He caught up with her. "You handled things the way your grandmother wanted them handled. If there's something in that trailer to be found, we'll find it. In fact, she probably meant
for you to find it with me, not on your own."

  "Maybe." She dug the key out of her purse and went up the three steps.

  The door of the neighboring trailer swung open. A woman with tightly permed blue hair peered out. "About time you showed up, Elly."

  Isabella exchanged a quick glance with Fallon. She could tell that he understood that when she came here to visit her grandmother she used yet another ID.

  "Hello, Mrs. Ragsdale," Isabella said politely. "Nice to see you again."

  Mrs. Ragsdale glowered. "I suppose you didn't bother to come here until now because you didn't think that your grandmother left you anything of value, eh?"

  "I've been busy dealing with her business affairs," Isabella said weakly. "Lawyers, wills, that sort of thing. You know how it goes with estates, even small ones."

  "Bernice always said that if anything ever happened to her, you'd be along eventually to take charge of her things." Mrs. Ragsdale peered at Fallon. "Said when you did show up, you'd most likely be with a man."

  Fallon looked at her. "Were you and Bernice good friends?"

  "Played bridge every Wednesday and Friday night," Mrs. Ragsdale declared. "Bernice was a fine player."

  Isabella tightened her grip on the key. "Were you here when my grandmother died, Mrs. Ragsdale?"

  "Yep. Watching the late-night talk show. She must have called the ambulance, herself." Mrs. Ragsdale sighed. "We all saw it pull up. They took her away. She never came out of the hospital. Heard later it was a heart attack. Everyone here at the Court is going to miss her, that's for sure."

  "So will I," Isabella said. "If you'll excuse me, Mrs. Ragsdale, I need to get started on organizing her things."

  "She said you'd probably give everything to charity except for the pictures, of course."

  "Probably."

  Mrs. Ragsdale cleared her throat. "I could take that old microwave of hers off your hands, if you like."

  "I won't be able to make any final decisions today," Isabella said. "I just came to pick up her personal papers."

  "And the pictures," Mrs. Ragsdale said. "She said that's all she had that would be important to you. She really wanted you to have the pictures. Told me to remind you when you turned up."

  "I'll be sure to take them," Isabella said.

  "I cleaned out her refrigerator and emptied her garbage," Mrs. Ragsdale said. "Didn't want things to spoil and stink up the place."

  "That was very thoughtful of you," Isabella said.

  Fallon looked at her with veiled interest. "You have a key?"

  "Oh, yes, Bernice gave it to me a couple of weeks before she passed. She said she was having some chest pains and was getting concerned. I told her to go to the doctor, but she refused. Said it was just a bad stomach."

  "Did anyone else stop by after she died?" Fallon asked.

  "Nope." Mrs. Ragsdale paused. "Well, except the manager, of course. He comes by occasionally to check on things. Told me the only reason he hadn't sold Bernice's trailer and her things was because she had promised him that if anything happened to her, Elly, here, would pay him whatever was owed."

  "Was the manager the only person who went inside the trailer besides you?" Fallon asked.

  Mrs. Ragsdale snorted disapprovingly. "Nosy, aren't you, young man?"

  To Isabella's amusement, Fallon gave the elderly woman his rare, wickedly charming smile, the one that should have been registered as a dangerous weapon.

  "Been a while since anyone called me a young man," he said.

  Mrs. Ragsdale responded right on cue. Her faded eyes sparkled, and she suddenly glowed.

  "It's all a matter of perspective," she said gruffly. "Trust me, at my age, you look young. In your prime, as they say." She gave Fallon a head-to-toe perusal. "Yep, in your prime and a mighty fine prime it is, too."

  Isabella coughed discreetly.

  Mrs. Ragsdale seemed to realize that she had gone off topic. She smiled warmly at Fallon. "To answer your question, the only other person I've seen go inside was the new man on the maintenance crew. He checked Bernice's trailer after it rained. Said he wanted to make sure there wasn't any water damage. Old trailers leak like sieves, you know."

  "So, to the best of your knowledge, no one except you, the manager and the guy from maintenance has entered the trailer," Fallon concluded.

  "Nope." Mrs. Ragsdale snorted. "Trust me, someone would have noticed straight off if an outsider got within fifty yards of that trailer. Everyone in the Court pays attention to everyone else's business. It's about all the entertainment we get. Some days it's more interesting around here than one of those reality TV shows."

  "Thank you for looking after things," Isabella said.

  "No trouble at all, dear. And I'm real sorry your grandmother is gone. She was a live wire. Kept up with all the latest news on her computer. Always seemed to know what was going on behind the scenes. Bridge won't be nearly as interesting without her. Let me know if you need anything. And don't forget about that microwave."

  "I won't," Isabella promised.

  She got the door of the trailer open. Stale, musty air spilled out. She took a breath and stepped inside. Fallon moved in behind her and shut the door.

  Isabella looked around. The interior of the trailer lay in shadow, but it looked very much as it had the last time she had visited three months earlier. The small space was neat and carefully organized.

  "Grandma always says that living in a trailer is like living on a boat," she said. "A place for everything and everything in its place."

  "She was the methodical, organized type?"

  "Oh, yes. To a fault."

  "That makes it easy then. We just look for whatever seems wrong or out of place."

  "Easy for you to say. Grandma may have been organized but she had a lot of stuff."

  Fallon took in the tiny kitchen, the dining nook, the bed and the miniature bathroom in a single sweeping glance.

  "Where's her computer?" he said.

  Startled, Isabella turned toward the dining nook. It took her a second or two to register what was wrong.

  "It's gone," she said. "Grandma had a new laptop. I gave it to her. She kept it on the dining table. If she was going underground, that is the one thing she would have taken with her. But if someone did murder her, that is the one thing the killer would have grabbed."

  "It is also the one thing that a thief looking for electronics to sell in order to support a drug habit would have stolen," Fallon said patiently.

  "True." Isabella pulled herself together. "But you heard Mrs. Ragsdale. No one has been inside the trailer since the night Grandma was taken away."

  "Except Mrs. Ragsdale," Fallon said. "And the manager. And some guy from the maintenance crew. I'm sure Mrs. Ragsdale does her best to keep on top of things, but she's a seriously senior citizen. Probably hard of hearing. And this trailer sits at the far end of the Court. Late at night a thief could have gotten inside without being seen."

  "Not in this trailer park," Isabella said. "Everyone here is elderly."

  "Your point?"

  "Older people don't sleep well. Grandma said that this place was like a Vegas hotel. Someone is always watching because someone is always awake."

  "I'm not trying to argue with you," Fallon said. "But the fact is that the computer is gone and there are a number of possible explanations. The one that has the highest probability is the theft scenario. It may have been ripped off by one of the maintenance crew or the manager or a burglar."

  "Okay," Isabella said. "But there are other possibilities, right?"

  "Yes, Isabella, there are other possibilities. They just aren't very likely."

  "Unless my grandmother is alive."

  Fallon started to methodically open and close the myriad built-in drawers and storage cabinets that lined the interior of the trailer. "If your grandmother is alive, that changes everything."

  She watched him glance into another drawer. "What are you looking for?"

  "Something else that looks
wrong or out of place. Get busy. You're the one who knew her best. Take a good look around. Do it first without your talent. You don't want to miss what your normal senses can tell you. Too many agents rely on their psychic abilities and wind up missing obvious clues."

  "Got it." Isabella opened the cabinet beneath the sink and peered inside at the half-empty bottle of dishwashing liquid. "You know, what Mrs. Ragsdale said about the pictures was sort of strange."

  Fallon closed a drawer and looked at a calendar that hung on the wall. "Why was it strange?"

  "Because in my family we never took photographs." Isabella felt sudden hot tears in her eyes. "I don't have a single picture of my parents or of my grandmother."

  Fallon offered no sympathy. He was still studying the calendar. "I can understand that a dyed-in-the-wool conspiracy theorist like the Sentinel would not go in for family photo albums, especially in this day and age when the pictures might wind up online."

  Isabella dashed away the tears with the back of her hand. "That's what Grandma said."

  "So what pictures was she talking about?"

  "I don't know. If she had any here in the trailer, she never told me about them." She closed another drawer. "Nothing looks strange or out of place, Fallon. Except for the missing computer, of course."

  "All right, use your finder-vision. Your grandmother was aware of your talent. If she hid something that she wanted you to locate, it should be obvious to your para-senses."

  Isabella opened her other sight carefully. She knew what to expect. Her grandmother's secretive nature had generated layer upon layer of fog in the trailer. But most of it was in the cool, gray zone.

  The exception was the searing mist that swirled around the wall calendar. She took a closer look at it.

  "That calendar is locked in hot fog," she said.

  "Wrong month," Fallon said. "It should be showing the month that your grandmother was taken away in an ambulance."

  Isabella felt her pulse kick up. "Maybe she wrote something important on one of the dates."

  Fallon moved to stand directly in front of the calendar. Isabella joined him. Together they studied the colorful, glossy picture of a stretch of beach complete with crashing waves. The focal point of the shot was a large, oddly shaped rock. Eons of wind and tides had formed the stone into the shape of a roughly hewn arch.