She put her notebook and pen back into her purse. “No problem.”
Ernie walked her back to the sidewalk in front of Bait & Tackle. He seemed to search for something to say, then settled on “Thanks.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask you. Tommy Cavendish said he’s working for you this summer.”
Ernie nodded. “Running errands. Saves me having to take things down to the docks that my crews forget. Why? You don’t think he was one of the vandals.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I was just thinking about hiring him to do some things for me. He’s a good worker?”
“He’s okay, he’s a kid,” Ernie said, and shrugged, squinting at her and into the bright sun.
“I heard he’s also running errands for Brody Ries.”
“I wouldn’t know.” The phone rang inside the Bait & Tackle and Ernie excused himself to go answer it. He turned once to look back at her.
She waved and then, against her better judgment, glanced across the street to the Wharf Rat where Jonah’s motorcycle was parked out front. He was nowhere in sight, thankfully.
But Kat hadn’t gone two steps when Jonah fell in beside her, startling her.
“Hello,” he said, his voice deep, setting a tremor off inside her. “I wanted to apologize for last night.”
“What for?” she asked, pretending the kiss hadn’t meant a thing to her.
“For not offering to walk you home,” he said.
She stumbled and looked over at him in disbelief.
“Oh, did you think I was going to apologize for kissing you?” He smiled, sharklike. “I’m not sorry about that at all. In fact, if you give me the chance…” He laughed. “Got to get to work. Nice seeing you.”
She stopped to watch him jog back to the Wharf Rat. The man was impossible. She mentally kicked herself for still being attracted to him. Like mother like daughter.
BACK AT HER OFFICE, Kat was surprised to find a message on her answering machine from Dr. Leland Manning, a local scientist who lived in town and, according to local folklore, did strange experiments in his laboratory.
“Ms. Ridgemont, if you could call me regarding an urgent personal and very private matter, I would greatly appreciate it,” Manning had said in a clipped, officious tone.
She dialed the number the doctor had left, curious beyond words. She’d never even seen Manning, let alone talked to him, and now here he was asking her to call.
An older-sounding woman with a European accent answered the phone. “The doctor is unavailable. May I take a message?”
“Just tell him Kat Ridgemont of Ridgemont Detective Agency returned his call. I will be out of my office—”
“Ms. Ridgemont,” Dr. Manning broke in, his voice just as clipped and cool as it had been on the answering machine. “How good of you to call so promptly. I would like to discuss acquiring your services.”
She blinked, caught between curiosity and uncertainty. Why would Dr. Manning possibly want to hire her? “I’m free this afternoon—”
“I’m afraid I’m tied up until later on in the evening,” the doctor interrupted, “but it is of utmost importance that I speak with you in person tonight. It will have to be late because of a previous engagement. Say, nine-thirty? At my home?”
She’d had a mental image of the Manning estate since she was a kid. Tall, dark spires that rose above the gnarled trees, hidden behind an electric fence, like some brooding entity. In her mind, it made The Bluffs, a castle at the edge of the sea where the town’s local hermit, David Bryson, lived, look like Candyland.
And go out there after dark?
But she wasn’t one to turn tail and run from anything any more than she was apt to turn down a job without a good reason. “Nine-thirty is fine,” she said, assuring herself there was a very good explanation why no one had ever seen Dr. Manning in the daylight. Why few people had ever seen him at all. “But can you tell me what this is about?”
“I’d rather not discuss it on the phone. Until nine-thirty then.” He rang off.
Just before she hung up, she heard a click on the phone as another line disconnected. She wondered if the older woman she’d talked to first had been on the entire time. Or if it had been someone else at the estate? Hadn’t she heard that Dr. Manning had married? A much younger woman. The word around town was that she never left the estate.
Kat replaced the receiver, torn between curiosity and apprehension. She didn’t like the idea of going out there at night, though.
The other message on her answering machine had been from her friend Elizabeth—and was about the wedding. At least that’s what Elizabeth said it was about. Elizabeth had never been a good liar. Kat hoped everything was all right.
AS JONAH UNLOCKED HIS door, he knew someone had been in his apartment before he even saw the tiny piece of dental floss already on the floor. Brody?
Cautiously, he opened the door. The nice thing about a studio apartment was the lack of adequate places for a man of any size to hide. He stepped into the room, moving quickly and quietly to the bathroom. No one behind the cheap plastic curtain in the shower stall. Nor anyone hiding behind the bathroom door.
He glanced around the apartment. Nothing looked out of place or gone. But maybe the intruder hadn’t come to steal anything. Maybe he’d come to leave something behind—like a bug.
Stepping to the couch, Jonah reached under to the thin shelf holding his laptop. The computer was still there and it didn’t appear it had been touched. He could see Brody looking under a couch cushion, maybe even bending down enough to peek under the couch, but his cousin would never get down on his hands and knees—and that’s what it would have taken.
Jonah booted up the laptop. He ran a check on Cassandra Quintana. No big surprise. Either Cassandra Quintana wasn’t her real name or she had never bothered with a social security card or any other identification.
“About time,” flashed on in the message box.
“What’s up?” he answered.
“We got another anonymous tip.”
Jonah groaned. “What now?”
“Our anonymous source thinks shipment coming in tomorrow night on Audrey Lynn.”
Jonah jumped at the sudden loud knock on his apartment door, followed almost immediately by Brody’s strident voice.
“Open up.”
The computer screen flashed. “BTW.” Online lingo for “by the way.” “That name you asked about—Ridgemont. We just picked it up on Dr. Manning’s phone surveillance. Not Leslie. Kat? Meeting him tonight, nine-thirty, his place.”
“OKAY, WHAT’S REALLY bothering you?” Kat asked after she and Elizabeth were seated in her friend’s living room. “I know you too well. You didn’t just invite me here to talk about the wedding.”
Elizabeth wasn’t just a brain. She was refined and beautiful with long brown hair that, until recently, she’d worn in a bun. It seemed she’d let her hair down since her love affair with the local cop.
Elizabeth gave her a sheepish look. Deceit was something her friend failed at miserably. “I just thought you ought to know. There is a man in town asking questions about you and your mother.”
Kat stared at her, remembering the man in the army jacket. “What man?”
“Cullen said his name is Jonah Ries.”
Jonah? “What kind of questions is he asking about my mother?” She could understand Jonah asking about her. Kinda. But her mother?
Elizabeth looked uncomfortable. “Then you know him?” She sounded surprised—and worried. “Cullen says he’s a former FBI agent and that there are federal charges pending against him. He sounds dangerous.”
More than Elizabeth could know. “Liz, I appreciate you worrying about me—”
“Okay, butt out, right?”
“No, I just…What about my mother?”
Elizabeth seemed to hesitate. “He’s been inquiring about her murder.”
Kat couldn’t hide her surprise. What possible interest could Jonah have in her mothe
r’s murder? She looked at her watch, wondering if she had time to stop by the Wharf Rat before she met with Dr. Manning.
“Look, I’m sorry, this has obviously upset you,” Elizabeth said.
“No, I’m glad you told me. I just can’t talk about this right now. I have an appointment.”
“This late at night?” Elizabeth frowned. “Not with—”
“No, not with Mr. Ries. But don’t worry. I can handle this.” She hoped.
“I know you can.” Elizabeth sounded relieved. “I should have known you wouldn’t get involved with anyone like that. I mean, not—”
“Again?” Elizabeth had found out about the abusive relationship Kat had had. Kat almost confessed to her right then and there just how scared she was about her…attraction to Jonah. Was there a twelve-step program for women like her? But she didn’t want to worry her friend, not with the wedding less than two weeks away.
Kat told herself she was too smart to let another man hurt her. The problem was, she was having trouble believing that Jonah Ries was dangerous. Why was that?
Because of his kiss? Or because of the way he’d been with Tommy? She knew she could never get him off her mind until she got to the heart of the matter, so to speak. Until she found out what he was doing in Moriah’s Landing and why he seemed to have taken such an interest in her—and her mother’s murder.
“You must have a million things to worry about other than me,” Kat said to her friend. “Getting cold feet?”
Elizabeth laughed and shook her head. “I’m busy, but I think I’m on top of it.”
That was so like Elizabeth. “You look happy. Radiant, as corny as that sounds.” She gave her friend a hug. “Thanks for the concern.”
“If you need me—”
“I know,” Kat said, but right now she just needed answers and there was only one person who had those—Jonah Ries. Unfortunately, she had just enough time to get to Dr. Manning’s. Jonah would have to wait.
Chapter Eight
“Come on,” Brody yelled, banging on the door again.
Jonah stared at the computer screen, that bad feeling in his gut stronger than ever. What the hell was Kat thinking, going out to Manning’s alone late at night?
He clicked off, closed the computer on his way to the bathroom, stashed the laptop under some towels and called out, “Just a minute” as he flushed the toilet. “Who is it?” he asked as he neared the door.
“Who do you think?” Brody snapped.
Jonah unlocked the door, surprised Brody hadn’t just used his key. “Yeah?”
“You got another shirt?” Brody pushed his way in, bringing with him a cloud of cigar smoke. Jonah noticed his cousin was dressed like a pimp in a pair of burgundy slacks, a brightly striped gold and burgundy shirt, white patent-leather shoes and enough gold to require an armored car.
Jonah looked down at the shirt he had on, his favorite wash-worn chambray one. “What’s wrong with this one?”
“Put on a decent shirt if you own one,” Brody snapped. “I don’t want you looking like a bum.”
Jonah glanced at his watch. Way too early for the poker game, unless—
“Come on, the game’s been moved up.” Brody peered nervously around the apartment as if looking for something. “You got any money?”
“You want to borrow some?” Jonah asked as he unbuttoned his shirt, pulled another one down from the makeshift open shelves at the end of the couch and put it on.
“Funny.” His cousin started to sit down on the dilapidated couch, then changed his mind.
Jonah buttoned up the clean shirt he’d put on, avoiding Brody’s gaze. “You never did say who was going to be in the game.” It would be a complete waste of his time if Dr. Manning wasn’t there—and after what he’d heard about Kat meeting Manning tonight at nine-thirty—
“No, I never did say.”
He turned to see his cousin puffing on his cigar and eyeing him with suspicion. “Does it make a difference?”
“Just curious,” Jonah said with a shrug.
Brody continued to eye him, as if worrying he might have made a mistake.
Jonah was surprised Brody had asked him to the poker game this soon. Something was up. Either Brody was motivated by greed—thinking Jonah would make a great mark—or he was hoping Jonah would do the fleecing. Why did he feel as if this was a test?
“Don’t make me sorry I asked you,” Brody said after a moment.
Jonah took the warning to heart. He’d seen Brody almost kill a man once on the wharf. He’d been ten or eleven, which would have made Brody about nineteen, just a kid, but with a man’s temper. The fisherman had been big and strong, but not as fast as Brody—or as mean. If one of the other fishermen hadn’t come along and helped Jonah pull his cousin off, Brody would have killed the man.
As it was, Brody never forgave Jonah for interfering. It was just another sore point between them—and another reason Brody would never trust him completely. But blood was blood, especially in this town.
“Ready?” Brody asked, eyeing Jonah’s only clean shirt. “I thought I told you this wasn’t penny-ante poker.” But Jonah could tell Brody was pleased that his cousin looked like the bartender he’d become. “I should have loaned you something decent to wear.”
Jonah shuddered at the thought.
Once in the hallway, Brody headed to the back of the building. The smell of stale beer wafted up from the Wharf Rat below, along with the sounds of music and loud voices.
Jonah was surprised to find out the game was held in one of the larger apartments at the back, over the bar. It was quieter here and the smell of old beer not quite so strong.
“I thought this was a high-class card game,” he said, needling his cousin.
“Like you’d know class if it came up and bit you in the rear,” Brody retorted.
The apartment wasn’t much better than the one Jonah was living in, it was just larger and the carpet was chartreuse shag instead of orange.
The kitchen had a better fridge, as it turned out, one stocked with beer, and a small bar with hard liquor and clean bar glasses. Jonah was afraid Brody might have brought him here to serve the drinks instead of play in the game, but then Brody would have to pay him.
The living room had a large octagonal poker table, complete with green felt and eight chairs. A swamp cooler pumped in cool air. That appeared to be the only furniture in the one-bedroom apartment. Through the doorway, he could see an empty bedroom and a bath with a tub but no shower curtain.
“Nice place,” Jonah commented.
“It works,” Brody said, obviously distracted.
Jonah saw him glance at his watch. He could tell that his cousin was nervous. Because the others didn’t know that he’d invited Jonah to play? Or because of the real reason Brody had invited him? What was his cousin up to?
There was a tap at the door and Brody almost jumped out of his skin. Suddenly Jonah felt naked without a weapon snug against his ribs. But he hadn’t dared wear one tonight, even if he could have hidden it under his shirt. There was too much chance that he might have been frisked.
He couldn’t help worrying about why his cousin was so nervous as Brody went to the door. Dr. Leland Manning walked in—Jonah recognized him from an FBI photograph he’d been given of the man—and then he had a pretty good idea what had Brody on edge. The man was damn disconcerting.
“This is my cousin Jonah, the one I told you about,” Brody said, obviously anxious about the scientist’s reaction.
Out of the corner of his eye, Jonah watched Brody sweat while Dr. Manning gave him the once-over. Manning was a rather large but slim man in his fifties with the damnedest eyes Jonah had ever seen. Like a blowtorch, they seemed to cut to your core, boring so deep into you until you could swear the doctor knew your every thought.
Jonah waited, not wanting to appear too anxious, his mind blank, just in case the doctor really could read his mind.
Brody seemed to finally remember his manners. “This i
s Dr. Leland Manning, the—”
“—leading genetics-research scientist in the country,” Jonah said.
“In the world,” Manning corrected with a smile, his teeth small and sharp-looking. He extended his hand.
Jonah had touched fish that were warmer.
“You’re interested in genetics?” Manning asked.
“As a matter of fact I am, if it can explain how Brody and I could be cousins,” Jonah quipped, getting the laugh he’d hoped for.
Brody scowled at him. “A real comedian.”
“Brody tells me you were in the FBI for a while,” Dr. Manning said.
“For a while.”
“Now you’re bartending at the Wharf Rat,” the doctor said. “That’s quite a fall from grace.”
“Yeah,” Jonah admitted. “But I don’t plan on being a bartender for long.”
Dr. Manning nodded at that.
Brody seemed to relax, offering the doctor a drink. At the next tap at the door, he sent Jonah to get it. Jonah figured he’d passed the first test. So why did he feel there would be other, tougher tests tonight and unpleasant consequences if he failed?
Marley Glasglow filled the doorway. Jonah remembered him, a bully with a mean streak.
“Glasglow,” he said with a nod, noticing the bulge under the man’s jacket. It appeared at least one of them was armed. Definitely cause for concern.
Glasglow didn’t respond, just pushed past him and headed for the bar. Behind him was Ernie McDougal, a quiet stocky man in his sixties.
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” Jonah said, extending his hand as he introduced himself. “Ernie McDougal, right? The Bait & Tackle?”
Ernie nodded, his hand large, his grip solid for a man his age. He didn’t seem surprised to find Jonah here. Obviously, he’d already heard, just as it appeared Glasglow had.
As Jonah started to close the door, he let his gaze sweep the room. Poker brought out the best—or worst in people. Glasglow would be cutthroat and a poor loser. Manning would play for blood. McDougal? He’d play close to the vest. Brody would be as easy to read as a flashing neon sign.
“Excuse me,” said a female voice through the crack in the door as Jonah was closing it.
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