Dinner And A Murder: The 3rd Nikki Hunter Mystery (Nikki Hunter Mysteries)

by Nancy Skopin

  “Do I have to?” I whispered.

  “Do you want to get caught?”

  I unscrewed the top of the tube and rubbed the noxious gunk all over my face, neck and hands. Then I wiped my greasy palms on my jeans. Paul would have to pay for the jeans. This stuff wouldn’t wash out.

  Jack took a small flashlight out of his fanny pack and whispered, “What’s the locker number?”

  “D-twenty-four.”

  He moved toward the nearest row of lockers and shined a narrow beam of light onto the area above the door. F-103. He moved the light one locker to the right and began silently walking toward the back of the facility. I followed. Halfway across the complex I turned to look over my shoulder, and when I turned back Jack was gone. He’d just vanished. This happens more often than you would think with Jack. I’m convinced he’s half leprechaun.

  There were no lights anywhere nearby, and I couldn’t see two feet in front of my face.

  “Jack,” I hissed.

  An arm snaked out of the dark, grabbed me by the wrist, and pulled me into the shadows. I sucked in a breath, but stopped myself before any sound could escape my lips.

  “Relax,” Jack whispered. “I thought I heard something, so I stepped into this alcove. I assumed you were right behind me.”

  As my eyes adjusted I realized we were in a long, narrow hallway off of which were doors to some of the smaller storage lockers. Jack and I stood perfectly still, pressed flat against the cold aluminum wall. I didn’t hear anything, but I suspected he had extra sensory hearing from the years he’d spent as a cat burglar. I stared out into the yard, which now appeared lighter than the interior of the hallway. Jack kept his hand on my wrist, making sure I didn’t move before he was certain it was safe. I felt protected and also a little irritated that he didn’t trust me not to do something stupid.

  After a minute, which lasted at least an hour, I heard a faint rhythmic clicking. I knew the sound instantly. There was a dog outside. Probably a Doberman or a Rottweiler, something ferocious and deadly. We were finished. We’d both be maimed and end up in jail, and Elizabeth would never speak to me again. I couldn’t let that happen. I love dogs more than any other animal, but this wasn’t just any dog. This was the end of my career, and Jack’s future with Elizabeth would forever be tainted because of me. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my stun gun.

  I felt Jack tense as the clicking grew closer. At the last possible moment I twisted my wrist out of Jack’s grasp, nudged him behind me, and dropped to one knee, taser extended, ready to knock out the poor animal who was just doing its job. I was overwhelmed with guilt. My finger was poised over the switch and my heart was racing. I heard a sniffing sound. The creature had caught our scent.

  Out of the darkness stepped a fluffy golden Cocker Spaniel. Big round eyes turned in my direction, and the pup’s tail wagged tentatively. I caught myself before I pressed the switch, and had to stifle a laugh. How ridiculous was this?

  I knelt in the doorway and whispered, “Hi, little fella.”

  The Cocker sniffed the air around me and then looked up at Jack. He growled softly.

  “Sit down, right now!” I hissed.

  Both Jack and the dog sat.

  “Good boy,” I whispered.

  I reached out my hand, palm down, and the Cocker sniffed and then licked it, greasepaint and all. Dogs can always tell how you feel about them. I dug in my pockets until I found a dog biscuit, broke off a small piece, and held it out. He sniffed the offering and gently removed it from my hand. He chewed slowly, wagging the whole time.

  I heard a shuffling noise and a woman’s voice called out, “Sydney? Where are you, boy?”

  The Cocker jumped up and ran in the direction of the voice. Jack and I stood slowly, not making a sound. I kept the stun gun out in case Sydney’s mom decided to pay us a visit. We didn’t move a muscle for several minutes and my legs started to ache from the tension.

  Finally, Jack poked his head out the door and looked in both directions. “Stay here,” he whispered.

  “I’m coming with you.”

  He grimaced, but said nothing. Together we exited the hallway, moving slowly toward the back of the lot. Jack didn’t want to risk using his flashlight again, so we had to get up close to the lockers in order to read the letters and numbers identifying them.

  Eventually we found D-24. It was in the south corner of the lot and it was the largest locker on the premises with a garage-size overhead door. Jack held the padlock in his hand for a moment, studying it, before he opened his fanny pack and selected the appropriate picks.

  I turned my back to him, watching for Sydney and anyone he might have with him. When I heard a soft snick I turned and saw that Jack had opened the padlock and was removing it from the overhead door. He placed it on the ground and then very slowly began raising the door. This was an agonizing process. Even when opened an inch at a time the door still made a ratcheting sound.

  When the bottom of the door was two feet from the ground, Jack slipped underneath it and into the locker. I stayed outside for a full minute. When I felt confident that no one had heard anything, I rolled under the door and joined him.

  “We don’t have much time,” he said.

  There was a vehicle in the locker under a canvas car-cover, but it was too small to be a Hummer. Jack held his flashlight on the canvas and lifted a front corner. It was a red and white vintage Corvette.

  “Shit,” I hissed.

  I turned on my own flashlight and started looking around the locker, hoping to find some other clue that would either vindicate or incriminate Boscalo. There was nothing.

  “We have to go,” Jack whispered. “If she heard the door opening she may have called the police by now.”

  That got my attention. We both slipped back under the door. Jack closed it as quietly as possible and replaced the padlock. We sprinted to the fence where we’d stowed my towel. Jack flipped it onto the barbed wire and adrenaline carried me up and over. Once safely outside I turned to watch as he vaulted himself up, clinging to the fence long enough to pluck the towel off the wire before dropping gracefully to the ground. An Irish Baryshnikov.

  We bolted to the street where my Bimmer was parked. In the car, Jack removed his watch cap and quickly used it to wipe most of the greasepaint from his face. I used the towel, feeling the terrycloth stick to my skin. I started the car and drove away at the speed limit. As we turned from Delaware onto Concar we saw a police cruiser silently speeding south, its lights flashing.

  “How much are you going to tell Elizabeth?” I asked.

  Jack was quiet for a moment. I assumed he was thinking about the question.

  “I’ll have to tell her everything,” he finally said. “She’s smarter than I am. If I leave something out she’ll know, and then she’ll never trust me again. I can’t afford to have that happen, since I plan to spend the rest of my life with the woman.”

  I felt the breath catch in my throat. Was he saying what I thought he was saying?

  “Have you picked out the ring?” I asked.

  “It’s being sized. Her hands are small.”

  I felt heat behind my eyes and bit my lower lip, trying to keep the emotion in check. Jack turned to look at me.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  Men. “Nothing,” I croaked.

  “Do you want me to drive?”

  I blinked a couple of times and took a deep breath. “I’m fine, you idiot. I’m just happy for you, and for Elizabeth.”

  Even though I don’t believe there will be a ‘happily ever after’ for me, I still get emotional about anything that resembles a declaration of love between other people. I always cry at weddings. I know, I’m a dichotomy—tough yet sensitive.

  We made the drive to Hillsborough without
saying another word. Jack used a remote to open the gate, and I parked in front of his house. We sat in the car for a few silent moments before I cleared my throat and said, “Thank you, Jack.”

  “My pleasure. You can call me any time. I like to keep my hand in.”

  I drove back to the marina thinking about relationships and commitment.

  When I arrived home, Bill was on the settee in the main salon with Buddy draped across his lap, his hand resting on the dog’s head. I kissed Bill on the lips and Buddy on the nose.

  Bill examined the remaining grease paint at my hairline and on my hands, and a smirk formed on his handsome face. “Do I want to know?” he asked.

  “Nope,” I said. “I need a shower. Join me?”

  Chapter 21

  Timing was everything, the killer told himself. He shouldn’t have rushed the skateboard operation, but it was better this way. He was glad the attempt with the bomb had failed, because today would be the perfect day. It wasn’t about the sequence of events. It was about the right date for the right mission.

  He took out a steel bastard file and began sharpening the broadhead tip of an arrow.

  Chapter 22

  On Saturday morning Bill was up before dawn and went to the station to work on his sex offender homicide, saying he’d be back in a couple of hours if that was okay with me. It was.

  After he left I called Paul at home.

  “Marks residence,” Quinn answered.

  “You sound tired,” I said.

  “I wouldn’t sound tired if people didn’t call and wake me up.”

  “Sleeping on the job, eh?”

  “Fuck you, Hunter. I can’t be awake twenty-four hours a day. What do you want?”

  “I want to know if Paul’s okay and if anything suspicious happened last night or this morning.”

  “He’s fine. We haven’t seen the Hummer again. That doesn’t mean the subject isn’t out there watching. Probably driving a different car now, since he’s been spotted.”

  “Please tell Paul that I called, and I’d like to hear his voice. Have they increased security at the airport?”

  “They have a couple of guards stationed in the employee parking lot, and one at each building entrance.”

  “Better than nothing,” I said. “Thanks, Quinn. I’ll talk to you later.”

  She humphed and hung up the phone.

  I walked Buddy down to the point where the marina parking lot meets the water, and we watched the sunrise. It was a cool, clear morning.

  After our walk we unlocked the office and I called Sam to tell him what Jack and I had found in Boscalo’s locker. He was understandably disappointed.

  Then I pulled out the background reports on our three subjects. The first time I’d gone over them I had focused on any criminal activity. I needed to take a closer look. Maybe I was missing something.

  I started with Wallace’s background, reading every word this time. When I’d finished I opened my computer file on Paul’s case and looked up the dates the three controllers had been killed. James Flannery had been blown-up on September 19th, Shirley Jensen had drowned on September 24th, Gordon Mayes had driven his SUV off an overpass on October 9th, and someone had attempted to kill Paul yesterday, on October 16th. None of these dates matched any significant dates in Wallace’s background.

  “Damn,” I said. Buddy looked up at me, his ears pinned back. “Sorry,” I said.

  I used the bathroom, refilled my coffee mug, and sat down with Boscalo’s background report. By 11:30 I knew everything there was to know about Wallace and Boscalo, and I was getting a headache.

  I walked Buddy around the marina grounds and then down to the boat. Bill was back, sitting in the pilothouse playing his acoustic guitar. Buddy leaped from the dock steps onto the deck and pranced into the pilothouse where he planted himself on Bill’s feet. Laughing, Bill set his guitar aside and ruffled the pup’s ears as he looked up at me.

  “You look tired, babe,” he said.

  “I didn’t sleep well last night and I just read two lengthy background reports.”

  “Find anything?”

  “Not yet. I think I’ll take a power nap before my lunch with Cher.”

  I stumbled down the companionway, went into the stateroom and stripped off my shirt and jeans. When I turned around both males were standing in the doorway watching me.

  “What?” I said, climbing into bed.

  “You want some company?” Bill asked.

  “Okay,” I said, “but make it fast, I really need a nap.”

  “You’re such a romantic,” Bill said, smiling.

  At 12:30 I hopped into the shower feeling totally revived.

  I fluffed up my curls and dressed in jeans and a quarter-zip sweatshirt. I pulled on my leather jacket, and walked Buddy over to Elizabeth’s boat before going up to the restaurant. Bill had offered to stay with him, but I wanted Buddy to get used to Elizabeth too. He needed to understand that he had an extended family.

  When we arrived at Elizabeth’s trawler the door was open and the TV was tuned to one of those entertainment magazine shows. Elizabeth likes to keep track of what the stars are doing. I led Buddy up her dock steps and knocked. Elizabeth was at the sink with her back to us. When she turned around she was holding a jumbo-size doggie dish full of water.

  “Hi, honey!” she exclaimed.

  “Did you go shopping just for Buddy?”

  “I did, and I had a wonderful time.”

  I looked around the boat, searching for K.C., but didn’t see him anywhere.

  “He went for a walk after breakfast,” she said. “He’s always home in time for dinner though.”

  “I don’t know how Buddy is with cats yet.”

  “He’ll be fine,” Elizabeth said. She set down the dish and gave Buddy a hug. “Won’t you sweetums?”

  “Okay. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

  “Take your time,” Elizabeth said.

  I stepped outside wondering if Buddy would try to come with me. As I walked up the ramp I turned and saw him standing in the doorway. Elizabeth was holding onto his leash. His brow was furrowed, but he was wagging his tail. Elizabeth said something to him and he looked up at her as I stepped through the gate. Maybe I was the one with separation anxiety.

  Chapter 23

  I had five minutes before I was due at The Diving Pelican so I stopped by the office. I still needed to read through Fragoso’s background, and the tension had quadrupled since the attempt on Paul’s life yesterday. The document was fifteen pages long so I stapled the pages together, grabbed a highlighter pen, and stuffed everything into my purse.

  As I locked the office I glanced over at Elizabeth’s trawler. The door was closed. I wondered if she and Buddy had gone for a walk, or if she’d had to close the door to keep him from following me.

  Cher was seated at an outside table when I arrived at The Pelican.

  “We have to order inside,” I said, giving her a hug.

  We tilted our chairs against the table to reserve it.

  A few years ago when the restaurant which formerly occupied this space went belly-up, Bennett Zepeda, who is another boat dweller, quit his job and opened The Diving Pelican. It’s not extremely well known outside of the boating community, but it should be.

  Cher scrutinized the chalkboard menu listing the day’s specials and selected a salad of fresh greens, Gouda cheese, walnuts, and mango. I ordered the meatloaf. I needed comfort food. We carried our beverages out to the table and sat facing the water.

  “That’s my boat,” I said, pointing out the Turning Point.

  Cher looked at the boat and smiled. “You were always so adventurous.”

  “I don’t remember you backing away from any challenges.”


  “That’s because I was with you. You made me feel like anything was possible.”

  “What are you talking about? We were teenagers, cutting class, sneaking smokes, and rolling up our skirts. How could I make you feel like anything was possible?”

  “I don’t know, but you did. I’m always afraid, Nikki. I didn’t identify the feeling until I started therapy, but it’s been there for as long as I can remember.”

  I looked at her, digesting this information.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know.”

  “I think that’s why I married Hal,” she went on. “He’s a big, strong man, and he made me feel safe when we first met.”

  “What about now?” I asked, feeling slightly awkward about prying into the personal life of a woman I hadn’t spent time with in almost twenty years.

  “Now I think I want a divorce,” she said. “But I’m afraid to be alone.”

  “What are you afraid will happen?” I asked.

  “That’s a good question. My shrink asked me that.”

  “And what did you tell him … her?”

  “Her. Amber Tofford. She’s wonderful. I told her that I was afraid of being lonely, and afraid I wouldn’t be able to support myself. I never have, you know.”

  “How long have you and Hal been married?”

  “Since college.”

  “That’s a long time. If you divorce him won’t you retain some of the assets the two of you have accumulated? I’m guessing, based on the size of that rock on your left hand, that half your joint assets would set you up for the rest of your life, providing you’re frugal.”

  Our lunch was served and Cher placed a napkin on her lap, looking pensive. She took a bite of her salad and rolled her eyes. “This is incredible.”