The Indigo Brothers Trilogy Boxed Set

by Vickie McKeehan

  “Anniston did find a huge gap in his past, especially that time period he quit being Thornton and became Baskin. It’s not a leap to figure he’s done prison time.” Garret turned to Jackson. “Which makes me wonder how you plan to get this ex-con to open up to you in a public place.”

  “Tessa and I plan to hang out at Mattito’s until he comes in. We thought we’d get him talking about Royce’s rental property under the guise that we were interested.”

  “But you bought Nana’s cottage,” Garret reminded him. “That’s common knowledge.”

  “Baskin might not know that. And even if he brings it up, we plan to make him believe Tessa’s family wants to come here for the holidays. Thanksgiving’s coming up. It works as a ruse. All I have to do is get Baskin to believe we need a rental and keep him talking, somehow find out whether he has ties to Dietrich beyond the golf course project.”

  Mitch got eggs and sausage out of the fridge. “I think I’ve figured out what the Patagonia Pike is doing in the waters off the coast of Florida. It took several trips to the library, but I narrowed it down to one Nazi sub that was rumored to carry gold bullion—thousands of pounds of the stuff—on a course from Germany to Argentina to help SS officers hide out and start a new life down in South America.”

  Garret whistled through his teeth. “On today’s market that would be upwards of five hundred million dollars.”

  Mitch cracked eggs into a bowl. “That amount is enough to tempt the stupid and the brilliant alike.”

  Garret got up to help. Tossing the patties into a cold skillet, he turned up the heat. “What happened to the sub?”

  “This particular ship was a class of merchant U-boats built for long range destinations. It had a thicker hull than most, with a top speed of twenty knots, which was almost unheard of during the time it was built. It apparently went down in April 1945, on a course that kept it hugging the US coastline not far from here. The last known latitude and longitude puts it somewhere between the southern Keys and west of Bimini.”

  “That’s a lot of ocean, Mitch,” Garret noted.

  “Yeah. But something tells me Dietrich’s crew has an inside angle that narrows down the precise location quite a bit.”

  Garret flipped the sausages to brown on the other side. “Question. What was the sub doing so close to the US coast?”

  Mitch waved the spatula he’d used to scramble the eggs at his brother. “That’s the thing. If the U-boat crew wanted to avoid detection, then why would they veer from the middle of the Atlantic and travel closer to shore?”

  Jackson considered that. “Unless they had other business in Florida, a stopover for refueling maybe?”

  “I don’t know. But something brought them here. I think Hugo might know the reason.”

  Jackson made another pot of coffee, then got out orange juice. “So if there’s no need to go out on The Black Rum, then what do we do next? Go looking for this Hugo?”

  “How about we split up?” Garret suggested. “Jackson and I start the interview process, while you and Walsh go looking for Hugo, maybe get as close to the Patagonia Pike as you can, see if Hugo’s anywhere on board.”

  Mitch dumped the scrambled eggs into a serving bowl. “We could do that, see what the crew is up to, and maybe intercept their communications.”

  Garret loaded up the four slots in the toaster with bread. “We need a plan, guys, one that keeps the focus on Dietrich. If we really believe Walker was involved with this guy, then we need to get better prepared. I’ve been looking him up on the Internet. He’s the kind of guy who travels with a security detail. That means his goons will be armed to the max. We talked once before about going to see Michael Tang, but it wouldn’t hurt to follow through this time.”

  From a buffet-style spread, the trio piled their plates high and sat down to eat.

  Tanner had been listening at the doorway. “I like the idea of going to Michael for weapons. He’s a good guy.”

  “Do you think Mom is up to facing Dandridge?” Jackson asked. “I could go with you instead.”

  “Thanks for the offer. But your mother and I are stronger than you think. Our main focus is finding out who did this. Dandridge appears to know something. We want to find out what it is.”

  “But what about the funeral?”

  Tanner went over to the coffee pot, topped off his mug. “What about it? A bunch of flowers and music won’t bring them back. We have four members of our family down at the morgue. Finding their killer or killers is all that matters now. Your mother feels the same way. We plan to go with Tessa’s idea and have the memorial service in the park. Raine and Tessa offered to put their heads together and help your mother with all the details.”

  “What do you want us to do?” Mitch probed.

  “Find the bastards who did this.”

  Anniston woke to her cell phone buzzing on the nightstand. After just three hours’ sleep, she rolled over and stared at the display.

  “Hi, Sebastian.”

  “Rough night?”

  “Rough three weeks.”

  “I heard it on the news. I wanted to let you know I’m coming in Friday afternoon as planned. Tell me what you want me to work on and point me in that direction. I’ll hit the ground running.”

  “Thanks for that. I’ll send you an email with several suggestions. Feel free to pick one. In the meantime, I’m trying to run down a man by the name of Hugo Reiner. You could help me with that.” She caught him up to speed on all the other players and the idea of the Indigos doing their own interviews.

  “Wait. You have a former mob enforcer who works for the richest guy in the county? He might be your triggerman, Anniston.”

  “Triggerman would only apply to Ryan Connelly, who ended up with the hole in his head. It doesn’t account for beating a mother to death and suffocating her children.”

  “I wish the Indigos would understand the folly of conducting their own interviews.”

  “Already tried. Hence the follow-along script idea. In fact, they’ll probably have the interviews done by the time you get here. Are you up for the legwork involved? Because I need someone to hunt down every piece of surveillance video in town. I’m looking for any clip where Ryan Connelly crossed paths with any of our suspects, add to that Walker and Hugo Reiner together.” She described the old German sailor and how he’d entered the picture.

  “Sure. However I can help.”

  “Then I’ll see you Friday.”

  She should’ve been nervous about Sebastian’s offer. They’d only collaborated once before, one of those cheating spouse cases, the kind Sinclair had complained bitterly about. The twist to that one had been the deceitful wife, who’d sweet-talked a former lover into becoming a reluctant hitman. The wife had persuaded the dumbass to buy a gun, lie in wait in the bushes for the naïve husband to get home and then attempt to bring him down with a little .22.

  Luckily for the hubby, the boyfriend had really bad aim and a peashooter for a weapon.

  While still recuperating, the poor husband wouldn’t believe anything bad about his wife. But after his discharge, he decided proof of that might go a long way toward saving his peace of mind. So he sought out Marcelli Investigations.

  Enter Anniston and Sebastian.

  The siblings pooled their talents and started the first of what would become hours of video surveillance on the unfaithful wife. Countless stakeouts produced confirmation the woman and her not-so-bright lover had conspired to do away with the hubby to collect on his ample life insurance. After months of work, Anniston and Sebastian delivered a thick file to the spouse and blew him away with the facts. They took what they had to the Miami PD, which in turn gave the case to the DA. The evidence had been enough to convict the boyfriend and lock away the conniving bitch in the women’s correctional facility at Lowell for fifteen long years, no early parole for her.

  For Anniston, the case was a source of pride. She didn’t doubt what Sebastian brought to the table. No, she could always rely on h
er brother’s expertise. But she wanted to be the one to find out what happened to the Buchanan family. She wanted to know why Ryan Connelly had to take a bullet to the head. But maybe, just maybe this case was too big for one person.

  When she glanced at the clock, she realized if she wanted the breakfast buffet she had about fifteen minutes to make it downstairs. While throwing on a pair of yoga pants and a top, she made a decision. The case would benefit if she banked her ego and accepted help. The most important thing was finding a killer. She’d arrived in town cocky and certain that Ryan’s death had kicked this whole thing off.

  She just had to prove the connection.

  That’s why after breakfast, Anniston locked herself in her room. She re-routed the signal again to that private site Sebastian had set up so her searches couldn’t be traced.

  But after hours of dead ends, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t find a single, solid thing on Hugo Reiner. She even called Wayne and picked his brain. According to the bartender, Hugo lived mostly off the grid, which could pose a problem finding a digital trail.

  Frustrated, she switched gears. She texted Dack three times, bugging him about the caliber weapon that made the hole in Ryan’s head. When he didn’t call her back, she called him, irate.

  “Look, I’m not your enemy here. I’m trying to be another branch, another tool to help you out.”

  “Okay, okay. I was on the phone to Chuck. We agree the gun had to be a large caliber, and not because of the visible hole on the flesh, which the marine life pretty much decimated, but because of the size of the hole it left in the skull. The shot was clean, meaning it penetrated and went all the way through. Chuck is certain that Connelly was dead before he hit the floor of the Misty Dawn. We found blood splatter to back that up, by the way. There’s no doubt he was shot there.”

  “That’s all great information, Dack, but what about the weapon?” Anniston insisted.

  “Another thing my brother is fairly good at is ballistics. Chuck is sure it’s something along the lines of a SIG-made P210. But there’s a major snag with that way of thinking. Those guns were manufactured from 1949 to 2005, which takes in a huge market. But they’re the type of weapon gun owners rank repeatedly as the Cadillac of the 9mm. Known for using high quality materials, it’s built for accuracy.”

  “And it’s pricey, something a rich guy would have in his arsenal rather than the everyday, recreational shooter,” she added.

  “You know your weapons.”

  “Damn straight I do. At one time I would’ve given a month’s paycheck for a P210. That firearm sells for upwards of three grand. The low recoil alone is worth it. The weapon is so precise, it’s the gun of choice for Special Forces and for the German police force.”

  Her own words stopped her cold. “There’s no doubt we have a German theme going on here.” Since Dack had shared the info about the SIG-made pistol, she told him about Hugo Reiner.

  On the other end, Dack was silent. “You’re suggesting all this started when Walker got a harebrained tip about Nazi gold? Anniston, that’s nuts.”

  “Stranger things have generated a murder spree,” Anniston pointed out.

  “It’s hard to argue with that. I once saw a guy lose it in a fast food joint because they got his order wrong. He ended up killing three and wounding five.”

  “There you go. All I’m saying is try to keep an open mind. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t make the treasure hunt common knowledge.”

  “That’s the one thing I’ll guarantee. I bring that motive up and I’m liable to get laughed out of the room.”

  Garret was able to catch a mid-morning nap that lasted three hours because the house finally cleared out around ten. He still couldn’t sleep in Livvy’s old room—not since her body had been recovered anyway. If he couldn’t talk Anniston into letting him sleep with her, he preferred bunking on the sofa.

  As soon as he rolled over and sat up, his stomach rumbled. But more than food, he wanted a run on the beach. He still thought it important to stay in shape—just in case he ever made it back on the circuit. Realistically he’d already considered he might have to pass on the Pipeline competition held every December. If this thing couldn’t be wrapped up in the next two months, he’d consider selling his house in Oahu and buying something back on the Key.

  Before throwing on his running shorts, he checked his emails. He still had friends checking in every other day to ask about the progress of the case and when he was likely to get back to his regular routine. One was from a former love interest, a model named Dominka Karetnikov. He hadn’t seen her since she’d accompanied him to the Billabong Pro in Teahupoo, Tahiti. That destination had yielded some steamy nights and plenty of hot surfing. Ah, the memories.

  He laced up his Nikes and headed out the door for a jog through the neighborhood to think… maybe reminisce about sex. After all, it had been a while since he’d experienced a woman’s body.

  He let his legs take him on a trip around the marina, during which he conjured up Anniston’s curves and used his imagination to picture her naked.

  He had to get a grip. He had a lot more important stuff to deal with at the moment than his sex-deprived state. Just when he decided he had his lust under control, an image popped into his brain—Anniston’s bare midriff, showing a hint of belly button.

  He really did need to find a way to get her alone.

  Truth be told, he’d taken this route on the lookout for Hugo Reiner’s ketch, a forty-foot Cheoy Lee clipper class probably a half-century old. Jackson might not remember the old sailor, but he did remember the boat. What he recalled from childhood was the unusual wavy white marking on top with squiggly blue on the side, at the water line.

  He stopped in at Fast Willie’s for a bottle of water. At checkout, Garret casually brought up Hugo to the owner and cashier, Willie DeSoto, a man who’d been born and raised here and knew every single resident by name. “Does Reiner ever come in here?”

  “Sure does. He buys his supplies here whenever he’s moored at the dock, which amounts to four or five times a year.”

  “When’s the last time you remember seeing him?”

  “Hmm, probably a week ago.”

  Garret stared at Willie. “Are you sure it couldn’t have been three weeks ago?”

  “Nope. I’m fairly certain it was the day they found Livvy and Ally.”

  That didn’t jibe with what he’d pictured in his mind. “Any idea the name of his boat? I’ve racked my brain trying to figure it out, but I just can’t.”

  Willie scratched the side of his face, scrunched up his nose, and shifted his feet. “That’s because that old tub has a funny name. No one knows how to pronounce it half the time.”

  “If you think of it, will you give me a call?”

  “Sure thing. You gonna make it back to the circuit anytime soon?”

  “Eventually. But not until I find out what happened to my sister and her family.”

  Chapter Eleven - Heat

  Lenore and Tanner had Boone Dandridge clearly in their sights. They practiced all morning on the script, changing their tone of voice depending on the questions. They went over each point, line by line, until they’d put the high points to memory.

  Eager to get on with it, the couple stopped by Anniston’s hotel to pick up the recorder. They got a pep talk and listened to the private eye’s final word of advice.

  “Remember, all the while you’re standing in front of Boone, you’re wondering if he’s our weakest link. Only you two can determine if we cull him out of the herd and move in to work on his guilty conscience, if he has one. In this case, blackmailing him with what you know happened in Oregon in exchange for rolling on his cohorts.”

  “But that incident was twenty years ago.”

  “Doesn’t matter. The knowledge makes him vulnerable, or so we hope. But don’t overplay your hand. Hint at his past and then sit back and determine if he’d be susceptible to it going public. I know it’s a fine line to walk. T
his is about bluffing him into thinking you know more than you do. If you’re good to go then make your encounter work to the fullest, because this might be the only time he’ll allow you to get anywhere near him. Plus, his guard should be down since you’re approaching him in public.”

  “No pressure there,” Lenore breathed out.

  Before walking out the door, Anniston gave them both a hug. “You can do this. I’ve no doubt. The circumstances are definitely in your favor. And don’t forget to turn on the recorder.”

  The thing about Boone was that Tanner and Lenore knew his schedule as well as anyone around. They knew he’d be in the church office writing his sermon or catching up on emails until noon. He’d then stop for lunch and spend an hour and a half eating at a sandwich shop in the business district, where he’d linger over his soup, reading a book.

  Which is how they were able to corner Boone at his table just shy of one-thirty as he packed up to leave.

  Lenore eyed the lanky pastor who wore a pair of horn-rimmed glasses. “Hey there, Boone.”

  Tanner could tell they’d caught him off guard by the way he adjusted his glasses and fidgeted with the bookmark stuck down between the pages of his novel.

  “Well, I was wondering if you’d ever come by to apologize to me for your outlandish accusations.”

  Lenore did what she knew Tanner couldn’t, she held up her hands in peace. “Look, you know our family’s been under a great deal of strain. That day in your office Tanner was extremely emotional about you having a hand in calling off the search. Naturally, you taking the stance you did on that upset him. At the time, we wanted more than anything to be able to locate Livvy and the kids alive.”

  Boone bobbed his head in understanding. “It was a drastic step on my part. I can see where you might’ve gotten the wrong impression.”

  “Yes, well, what’s done is done. Since that day, I’ve tried to settle Tanner down over your position on the golf course development. I explained to him that it’s just a differing opinion over politics, nothing more.”