Blind Trust

by Sandra Orchard

  He commandeered the spoon and set the mug aside. “And?”

  “Don’t you see?” She whirled away, snatched up a dishcloth, and scrubbed at the counter. “He knew my mom as a Baxter. He must work for the pharmaceutical company that’s trying to take over the research station.” The same pharmaceutical company that had demanded Dad’s arrest twenty years ago—the arrest that got him killed. Shivers wracked her body.

  “Did you get a name?”

  “Peter. I didn’t ask his last name. I didn’t want to talk to him. No one here knows about my father. I—”

  “It’s okay.” Tom pried the dishcloth from her hand. “I’ll churn the waters at GPC Pharmaceuticals, see if I can turn up an ID on this guy. Meanwhile, if he calls again, you need to talk to him, find out what he wants.”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” She raked her fingers through her hair. “He calls on the day the whole town is thinking I’m a criminal.”

  Tom tilted his head. “Sorry, I don’t get what you think he’s up to.”

  “He wants to kill my research. Blackmail me with threats of exposing my family’s secrets, at least their version of what they say my father did, while everyone’s already convicted me of counterfeiting.”

  Tom gripped her shoulders. “First of all, what your father did has nothing to do with you. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “How can I know that? For all our enquiries, the police department involved hasn’t so much as produced his arrest record. We don’t even know what he did, except for what the newspapers said GPC accused him of.”

  “Let’s worry about one thing at a time.”

  “Which would you suggest?” She flipped over the newspaper that sported Molly’s gloating smile. “That Molly will get off scot-free?” She motioned toward the neighboring house. “That poor Mrs. Nagy and I are caught in the middle of some counterfeiting ring? Or that I’m being blackmailed by some guy from my father’s past?”

  “Kate, you’re not alone. Okay?” The warmth of Tom’s voice melted a little of the fear icing her veins. “We’ll let the courts handle Molly. I’ll talk to Herbert at the Port Aster Press and ask him to put a stop to any rumors.” Tom brushed a strand of hair from her cheek and tucked it behind her ear. He waited until she met his gaze before continuing. “You can keep an eye on Mrs. Nagy. And I’ll see what I can dig up on this Peter guy. Okay?”

  Kate nodded. Yes. Verna. She could help her dear neighbor and ensure neither of them were wrongfully accused. Kate swallowed, but an indefinable fear stayed firmly balled in her throat.

  So the straitlaced detective wasn’t so straitlaced after all.

  Gritting his teeth, the man melted into the shadow of one of the giant oaks lining the sleepy street. The question was, did the detective have ulterior motives?

  The man refocused his attention on Kate. He didn’t like the nervous way she hugged herself as she watched the detective climb into his car.

  The overconfident officer was an unwelcome complication. One that might not be so easily eliminated.

  For the second time in the last ten minutes, the curtain shifted at the window of Kate’s nosy neighbor’s house.

  The man slid into his car. This was as good a time as any to gauge the detective’s game plan and, if necessary, devise a counterattack.

  Now that he’d tracked Katy down, he planned to stick to her like a burr on wool. And he could be a hundred times more prickly.

  Kate Adams was a magnet for trouble.

  Tom drew in a deep breath before pushing through the door of A Cup or Two. The local coffee and tea shop, and hub of town gossip, was not where he wanted to set straight the editor of the Port Aster Press on Kate’s connection to a supposed counterfeiting ring in their community. But their resident newshound had beelined here the minute he’d heard the news. To get “community reaction,” his secretary had said.

  Sure enough, Tom found Herbert Harold III, owner, editor, and sole reporter of their local rag, in the center of a beehive of buzzing eyewitness wannabes. The man had already worn his pencil to a nub.

  The last thing Kate needed was more unsubstantiated rumors. Tom had caused enough of those by hauling her into the police station during the investigation into her friend’s death. That move had almost cost her the funding for her research. It was a wonder she still talked to him.

  Tom nodded to Beth, the very pregnant owner behind the cash register—a friend of Kate’s who was clearly flustered by the fuss—then strode toward the group crowded around a table and tapped Herbert’s shoulder.

  “I’d like to go on record,” Tom announced.

  The onlookers gasped.

  Herbert spun around, his look of surprise instantly transforming to pleasure. He poised his pencil over his pad. “Yes, yes. Go ahead.”

  “Several of our residents have been victims of an unknown counterfeiter and may have inadvertently passed phony bills on to others. The police are asking anyone with information, or anyone who has received suspicious bills, to please contact us.”

  A round-faced woman he didn’t recognize spoke up. “I heard Kate Adams tried to pass a phony hundred at the grocery store.”

  “And you are?”

  The woman shrank back.

  Typical. “The fact is, Miss Adams attempted to pay for a small amount of groceries with several ten-dollar bills. We investigated and are convinced that she too was a victim of this counterfeiter.”

  A flat-nosed soldier-type snorted. “Probably helps that she’s dating a cop.”

  Yeah, I wish. Tom clenched his teeth and managed to refrain from glaring at the guy.

  “Nonsense,” blurted Mrs. C, the one woman present who could silence the crowd with a single word, having taught grade school to the majority of them in her forty-year career. If only she could convince Kate such talk was nonsense. Then maybe she would date him. “I’m the treasurer for the Women’s Missionary Circle at my church. Even we’ve had a couple of phony bills in our donation basket in the last month or so.”

  “Doesn’t Adams go to your church?” the cynic countered.

  “She does, but not the mission meetings. They’re during the day, when she’s working.”

  But Verna Nagy attended those meetings. Tom bit back the urge to confirm as much in front of everyone. His more immediate concern was why the guy with the brush cut had it in for Kate. His whiny voice didn’t match the rasp of her caller, but Tom didn’t recognize him from church either.

  His stomach pinched. So how’d the guy know Kate attended church, or that they might be dating?

  Tom scanned the rest of the shop and noted a vaguely familiar farmer-type guy—plaid shirt, leathered face, diesel-stained fingers—reading a paper by the stone fireplace in the corner. When their eyes met, the man immediately raised his newspaper, hiding his face from view.

  Tom’s internal radar spiked. The guy didn’t fit Kate’s businessman description of the caller, but he wasn’t a regular either. Tom moved to the counter. “You know the guy in the corner by the fireplace?” he whispered to the owner.

  Beth glanced briefly at the man. “He’s been in here a few times. Drinks his coffee black and likes my blueberry muffins.”

  “A fairly new customer then?”

  “He’s been around a few weeks, maybe more.”

  Tom discreetly hitched his thumb toward the cynic. “What about the other guy?”

  “Vic Lawton? He’s harmless. His wife took the receptionist job at the newspaper when he lost his. I think seeing her boss here got him kind of riled.” Beth shrugged. “You know how hard it can be on a guy’s ego when his wife makes the money.”

  Yeah, but Tom didn’t appreciate Vic taking out his frustration by badmouthing Kate. “One more thing. Has anyone tried passing off phony bills in here?”

  “Not that I’ve noticed. Thank goodness!”

  A Latina woman approached the counter. “Mr. Nagy sent me to pick up Verna’s special tea. He said you’d have it ready.”

  At the menti
on of the Nagys, Tom gave the petite woman a discreet once over. She wore a pale blue, uniform-style dress and carried a fabric shopping bag. Her dark hair was pinned into a bun that made her look older than the faint lines on her face would suggest.

  Beth leaned down and retrieved a small paper bag from beneath the counter. “Right here. That’ll be four dollars.”

  As the woman pulled out a bill, she nervously glanced his way. “Oh, wait.” She stuffed the ten back in her purse and laid a five on the counter instead.

  Coincidence? Or had she been about to pay for her package with a phony ten-dollar bill?

  She grabbed the bag and hurried out. The plaid-shirt guy left right behind her.

  Beth’s chuckle drew Tom’s attention back to the counter. “What?”

  Beth pointed to his weapon, visible beneath his open sport coat. “I think you scared her.”

  Yeah, he’d noticed. He fastened his button.

  “Where she comes from, the police can’t be trusted any more than the criminals. Maybe less.”

  “Who is she?” And why was that guy following her?

  “Lucetta. She’s Verna Nagy’s housekeeper.”

  Tom’s interest piqued even more at the direct connection to Kate’s neighbor. “And she does Verna’s shopping?” He angled his body to keep Lucetta and plaid guy in view through the large front windows.

  “Verna’s son usually picks up the tea blend.”

  “What’s in it?”

  Her gaze darted to the crowd still hovering around the newspaper editor. “I probably shouldn’t say.”

  Tom didn’t like the way she hesitated. “It’s important.”

  She leaned over the counter and lowered her voice. “It has herbs that enhance mental acuity. Brian’s concerned his mother’s succumbing to dementia.”

  Huh. Nagy’s efforts to help his mother were impressive.

  Lucetta entered the shop across the street.

  “I’ve got to go.” Given the woman’s change of heart on paying with a ten-dollar bill, Tom wasn’t ready to let her out of his sight.

  Outside, Tom squinted under the late afternoon sun, looking for plaid guy. Keeping the door Lucetta went through in his peripheral, Tom glanced in the neighboring stores and down side streets, but the guy had disappeared.

  Tom’s cell phone beeped. He checked caller ID. The chief.

  Letting out a groan, Tom leaned against a nearby lamppost to wait for Lucetta and hit the Talk button. “Yeah.”

  “You got any leads?”

  “A few.”

  “And?”

  “And I’ll let you know if any of them pan out.”

  “If?” The distinct sound of a desktop being slapped punctuated the question. “The mayor is breathing down my neck on this. Bad press could change GPC’s mind about expanding to Port Aster.”

  “More likely he’s worried about jinxing the healthy raise he’s counting on if the town doubles its tax base.”

  Lucetta exited the specialty shop and, with a furtive glance over her shoulder, hurried down the sidewalk away from him.

  “I gotta go,” he said, cutting off whatever the chief had been saying, and trailed her at an inconspicuous distance.

  “Don’t let that woman affect your judgment again. We can’t afford any insinuation she’s getting special treatment from the police.”

  “Understood.” Tom disconnected before he said something he’d regret. One date. One! That could hardly be construed as special treatment. But it was too easy to treat Hank like his former school chum instead of his boss. A boss who could crush his career like a coffee cup.

  His cell phone rang again—the bell drop ringtone reserved for his sister. “Tess, I’m kind of busy.” He jogged across the street to catch up to Lucetta. “What’s up?”

  “I heard about Kate’s run-in with the law.”

  “Why am I not surprised?”

  Lucetta stopped to examine a rack of blouses outside a dress shop.

  Phone pressed to his ear, Tom stepped to the edge of the sidewalk as if the call required his full attention.

  “Yeah, I guess the Franklin sisters figured I should know what kind of woman my brother’s been seen fraternizing with,” Tess teased.

  He groaned. “I trust you set them straight.” To the old spinsters, Tom and Kate sitting together in church a few Sundays in a row no doubt meant they were practically engaged.

  She laughed. “About the fraternizing? Or Kate’s trustworthiness?”

  “Tess, I don’t have time for this. Is there a point to your call?”

  A beat-up pickup pulled to the curb, blocking his view of Lucetta.

  “Yes. After the Franklin sisters left, I did an inventory of the bills in my cash register and found a phony ten-dollar bill.”

  Tom pulled a notebook and pen from his pocket as he maneuvered to get a view of Lucetta. “Any idea which customer paid with it?”

  “Yes, sort of. He didn’t pay exactly. A teenage boy, Pedro, brought in his aunt’s antique tea set. He said she was interested in selling it and wanted to know what I’d pay.”

  “Weren’t you suspicious that the set might be stolen?”

  “Sure. He gave me her number to confirm. Which”—she continued before Tom could point out that the boy could have given her an accomplice’s phone number—“I did a reverse look up on, on the pretense of looking up the item on the computer in my office. The number belonged to her landlady, who also happens to be a friend of mine. She confirmed Pedro’s story, so I made him an offer.”

  “You paid him. So how’d you wind up with phony cash?”

  “I didn’t have the exact amount. I gave him three twenties, and he gave me a ten-dollar bill as change.”

  “How can you be sure that the bill in your register came from the kid?”

  “That was the only cash transaction I’d done in the last couple of days, and the bill was on top of the pile.”

  Lucetta climbed into the pickup.

  Tom quickly jotted down the license plate number, then, phone still to his ear, jogged the block back toward his car. “I don’t suppose you happened to catch the boy’s last name?”

  “No, but his aunt’s name is Lucetta.”

  Tom came to an abrupt halt.

  “I remember her name because it’s so pretty. Don’t you think?”

  Tom squinted at the pickup pulling away from the curb and the teen behind the wheel. “Was the kid Latino?”

  “I assumed Mexican, but yeah, from somewhere in South or Central America would be my guess.”

  “And this happened today?”

  “Yesterday afternoon.”

  Tom unlocked his car and tossed his notepad onto the passenger seat. “Thanks, Tess, you’ve been a big help.” A note flapped against his windshield, anchored under his wiper.

  He snatched it up and slid behind the wheel. He skimmed the words:

  Are you reading your Bible? “The accomplice of a thief is his own enemy; he is put under oath and dare not testify.” You can’t protect her forever.

  Tom’s gaze shot to the street, the sidewalks, store windows. No one appeared to be watching him. The pickup had disappeared. Tom headed straight for Kate’s, his mind racing. What did this guy want? Did he intend to hurt her? Tom caught sight of the pickup turning the opposite direction. Forget it. There’d be time enough to follow up on Verna’s housekeeper and her supposed nephew later.

  Five minutes later, he rapped on Kate’s door.

  She didn’t answer.

  But her car was in the driveway. She couldn’t be far. With the way rumors were flying, maybe she didn’t want to face anyone. Or maybe she was working out back in the garden.

  He rounded the side of the house. The backyard was empty, but the patio door sat halfway open. Inside, the kettle whistled.

  He jogged to the door, expecting to find her grabbing the kettle. “Kate?” he called through the opening.

  No answer.

  He stepped into the kitchen and snapped off
the stove. Again he called. But still no answer.

  No sound at all beyond the hammering in his chest.

  3

  You can’t protect her forever. The words roared through Tom’s head as he raced from bathroom to bedrooms to basement in search of Kate. Bracing himself in the center of the basement, he sucked in a calming breath and slowly turned, scanning every detail, doing his best to think like an objective cop. To stay detached.

  It wasn’t working.

  He pounded up the basement stairs. Her cell phone. He pulled out his own and dialed her number. Please, Lord, let her pick up.

  A ring sounded from the living room. Argh! Why can’t anything be easy with this woman?

  He found her cell phone on an end table being charged.

  He returned to the kitchen. “She probably popped over to one of the neighbors,” he said aloud, as if hearing it might make him believe it. Only . . . Kate wouldn’t have left the kettle on the stove and the door gaped open.

  He willed his heart to slow, forced himself to focus on the clues to where she might be.

  An herb jar sat open on the counter next to a teacup and half-filled tea ball. From that position, Kate would’ve been able to see out the kitchen window. If she saw someone coming, she might have made a run for it.

  Tom slipped out the patio door and scanned the neighboring yards.

  Mrs. C waved to him from her garden.

  He jogged over to the white picket fence separating the yards. “Have you seen Kate?”

  Mrs. C tipped back her floppy hat. “Verna’s grandson hollered for her as I pulled up.”

  Tom’s fingers bit into the fence board. If Verna’s grandson was connected to the counterfeiting, fear of being found out might make him do something really stupid. “Did you see which way they went?”

  “No, I’d just gotten back from town and was head—”

  Tom cut her off with a terse “Thanks” and headed for Verna’s house. Peering through the side window, he debated the wisdom of knocking. He spotted Kate helping the older woman to a chair. No sign of distress.