No Hiding Behind the Potted Palms! A Dance with Danger Mystery #7

by Barton, Sara M.

  “You have a contact number for him?” She looked expectantly at me, as if she knew that Tom had given one to me. I went to the kitchen to retrieve it from the counter and she followed. The other cops were all looking over the scene. She handed the number to one of the cops who was standing at the counter, with instructions to get a hold of Tom and determine his present whereabouts. “Who ended it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The relationship. Who called it quits?” I told her about Adelaide and my caregiver duties. I also told her about the neighbor, Ingrid. She nodded, scribbling in her notebook. “How about during the recent visit?”

  I explained about the confrontation we had, about my concerns that he was threatening me.

  “What does he do for employment?

  ““He works for Vanguard Advanced. They do simulation training. He mentioned it was some kind of joint project between the Navy and Walden Medical Center. Something about operating on the battlefield.”

  “You lied to him about the spice box. Why?” Detective Zoros wanted to know.

  “Because I thought he was lying,” I admitted. “And I wanted to know why he pretended to love me again. Maybe I wanted to know if he pretended the first time around.”

  “Interesting. You think he did?”

  “His specialty is simulation training. He’s good at making people do what he wants them to do. I guess I wanted to know why he picked me. We never really had anything in common, other than a physical attraction.”

  “Maybe he’s just a run-of-the-mill creep,” Detective Wallinski suggested.

  “Maybe. But it was more than that. He never told me he was married until we’d been together for a while. And by then, he said he had left his wife. The next few years were filled with waiting for the divorce to be final.”

  “What’s the ex-wife like?” the detective wanted to know.

  “I never met her.”

  “At all?” Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Ever speak to her on the phone?”

  “No,” I said. It was true. I had never had any kind of contact with Tom’s ex-wife.

  “Do you know what she does for work?”

  “I think he said she was an emergency room nurse.”

  “How long were they married?” The detective had stopped taking notes. I wondered what it was that had her so interested.

  “Five years. Why?”

  “Was that his only marriage?” That question really got my interest. As I thought about it, I saw she was probing carefully, as if she suspected something about Tom, something I missed.

  “As far as I know. I mean, I had no reason to ask him if he had been married more than once.”

  “But you talked about marrying him,” the woman remarked. “Weren’t you ever curious about the other relationships he had with women?”

  “Every time we started talking about our lives before we met, he cut me off. Or he picked a fight.” As I sat there, those days and nights started to flood back into my mind, like snapshots of moments. The more I looked at the times we shared, the more I realized how much I had been played.

  “Detective,” said a cop, holding the piece of paper with Tom’s contact information on it, “I spoke with the man. He’s at work. No way he’s our guy.”

  “Thanks, Dolcini. I guess we’ll have to keep looking.”

  My cell phone rang. Without thinking, I reached for it, but then I hesitated, realizing it might be Tom. A glance at the number revealed it was Barry.

  “How’s Jim?” I asked, foregoing any semblance of a greeting. I was too intent on finding out about his roommate. “Is he any better?”

  “And hello to you too, Kim,” Barry said, more his old self. “As a matter of fact, I wanted you to know that he woke up this afternoon. He seems to have all his marbles and the doctors think he’ll be able to go home in a couple of days.”

  “That’s great news,” I told him, relief in my voice. As I spoke, I realized how guilty I had been feeling for what happened to Jim. I wouldn’t have forgiven myself if he had died.

  “Your stuff is arriving tomorrow. The moving men put it on the truck about an hour ago.”

  “Oh, Barry,” I sighed. “I can’t believe you did that for me.”

  “I didn’t do much. I gave them the key and they did all the heavy lifting.”

  “I still appreciate it. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  The police left a short time later, with instructions to contact them immediately if there was any sign of a return visit.

  Mac called and I filled him in on the events of the afternoon.

  “Are you okay, Kimmy?”

  “Not really,” I confessed. “What if he comes back?”

  “Tell you what. I’m coming down. I’ll spend the night. And I’ll help you pack up again. Tomorrow, we’ll start moving you out of there.”

  Chapter Seven —

  By six, I had cleaned up the kitchen enough to pull together a meal of honey-glazed chicken with mango salsa, jasmine rice, and corn salad. Mac arrived with a bottle of sauvignon blanc, a box of trash bags, and a couple of rolls of packing tape half an hour later. We got to work while dinner was in the oven, took a break to eat, and went back to the task as soon as we were through. Mac tackled the debris. I focused on re-packing the boxes I had prepared for the upcoming move. Of the twelve of them, stacked in my bedroom closet, eight were still intact, two were opened, and two were upended on my bedroom floor. Once I checked the contents, I left them for Mac to seal up.

  I left the television on while I was picking up the living room, half-listening to the evening game shows. I didn’t even notice when “Dance, America, Dance!” came on.

  “They’re playing our song, Kimmy,” Mac announced, appearing in the doorway of the living room. “Shall we?”

  “Don’t be silly,” I told him.

  “How can dancing ever be silly? You didn’t think it was silly when I took you to the prom.”

  “You remember that?” I was surprised.

  “How could I not? You were so lovely in your dress, with your hair piled up in that chignon.”

  “You’re just saying that,” I laughed, as he took me by the waist and hand. “You don’t remember that dress!”

  “Sapphire blue satin,” he began, describing the gown as he twirled me around. There was a twinkle in his eye as he gazed down at me. “Tiny little iridescent crystals on the bodice, spaghetti straps. You had beautiful shoulders, Kimmy. I’d tell you that they’re beautiful still, but I can’t see them under your exquisitely oversized tee shirt.”

  “Very funny,” I chuckled. My mind was reeling with the realization that Mac really had found me attractive all those years ago. I thought he was just being kind when he told me I looked lovely that night.

  “And those shorts,” he sighed. “What could be more attractive than a pair of baggy shorts?”

  “Cute.” By now the song was ending, and I found myself reluctantly pulling away. As I did, I saw something in Mac’s eyes I didn’t recognize. Maybe it was regret. Maybe it was sadness. But then it was gone, and he gave me one last spin and let go.

  “What’s for dessert?” he wanted to know.

  “Let me see what I have available,” I told him. I checked my inventory. I had bananas, vanilla ice cream, butter, and brown sugar. I checked the liquor cabinet. I had rum and some banana liqueur from a dinner party I hosted for Adelaide ages ago. I made a quick caramel sauce for bananas Foster as Mac resealed some of the packed cartons. With the banana liqueur in the skillet, I placed the banana halves in the sauce, letting them gently brown. When they were golden, I added the rum, swirling it around carefully until it ignited and burned down. With the pan off the burner, I scooped vanilla ice cream into dessert cups and carefully ladled the sauce on top.

  “Mac!” I hailed him as I set the dishes at the kitchen counter.

  “That looks good,” he decided, taking a seat. “You should be careful, Kimmy. You keep feeding like this a
nd you’ll break my heart.”

  “Why is that?” I wondered.

  “Not only can you dance like a dream, you can cook like one. That’s a lethal combination for a man like me.”

  “You’re such a tease!” I scoffed, taking the seat beside him. “Still my ‘almost’ big brother.”

  “Is that what I am?”

  I dug my spoon into the dessert cup and retrieved a generous piece of banana. As I slipped it into my mouth, I caught Mac’s intense eyes on me. For a moment, I thought I imagined an invisible flame passing between us. That burning sensation went straight to my heart and I was suddenly aware of the heat of my body and the closeness of his.

  “Oh,” he smiled, suddenly looking sly. “You’ve got caramel sauce on your chin.”

  “I do?” I used my tongue to catch the drips but they were evasive. Mac reached over and dabbed it away.

  “I just love it when women drool over me,” he laughed, tweaking my cheek gently with his fingers. Once again, he was the boy of long ago, who teased me like the brother I never had. Had I fancied the magic that seemed to pass between us? “Where’s that silver chicken of yours?”

  I showed it to Mac after I had loaded the dessert dishes into the dishwasher. He took it in both hands and carefully studied every inch of it.

  “Want a magnifying glass?” I asked sardonically.

  “Do you have one?”

  “Actually, I do, but it’s in one of the crates.”

  “I’ve seen these spice containers before,” he told me. “There’s definitely something different about this one.”

  “The numbers?” He nodded, his eyes focusing on the details. I sat down beside him again.

  “Just out of curiosity,” Mac asked, “where were you in your relationship when Tom gave this to you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “How soon before you broke up?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, trying to remember. “He used to give me little gifts every time he came back from an overseas trip. I think this was the last one. Adelaide had her heart attack soon after that.”

  “What else did he give you?” Mac looked at me expectantly.

  “Let’s see. There was an antique Swiss doll. And there was a charm bracelet. Oh, and a singing bird music box.”

  “An automaton?”

  “A what?” I replied.

  “Was it a box with a little bird that pops up and sings? Was it brass?” I was surprised that Mac knew what the music box looked like.

  “How did you know?”

  “Kimmy, do you still have these things?” Mac put the spice box down on the counter carefully and gave me his full attention.

  “Sure.”

  “And let me guess — you’re going to tell me that we just packed them up in these unmarked boxes?” Mac smiled at me, the corners of his mouth turning up cheerfully.

  “What’s so funny?” I wanted to know.

  “Do you realize that you thwarted the bad guys? Most people mark their cartons when they move. They describe the contents, or at least indicate what room the box belongs in. Not you.”

  “But I did mark them,” I insisted. I walked over to one, pointed to the tiny number in right-hand corner, and looked back at Mac. “See? I used my laptop for the inventory list.”

  “You listed everything in your laptop? Not on the box?”

  “Sure,” I admitted. “I wanted a master list that stayed with me. I figured if I only marked the boxes and I lost one, I wouldn’t know what was missing unless I had a master list.”

  “Kimmy, you’re a genius!” Mac kissed me on the top of my head. “Now, let’s get to work. Get that laptop out, woman! We need to find those items.”

  Mac pulled all the drapes while I got busy with my laptop. I showed him the list I had made of the items at Adelaide’s, along with the one for my belongings in my storage unit down in Belle Haven. The automaton was en route to Jenkins Beach, along with the doll. The spice box and the charm bracelet were with me in Northford. Mac was especially curious about these two items I received just before we broke up. He went over each one of them with the magnifying glass I brought out of one of the cartons.

  “Well, well, well….” Mac was holding the charm bracelet in his left hand. “Tell me something, Kimmy. Why did you put the charm bracelet in your slipper sock?”

  “That was Adelaide’s old trick. You never keep your really valuable stuff in your jewelry box, especially when you’re moving. She used to hide her treasures in her stockings, wrapped up in her shoes. The everyday earrings and bracelets were stored in her jewelry box, so it looked like she just had costume jewelry, nothing worth stealing.”

  “She was something else, wasn’t she?” Mac smiled, remembering my mother. “A real lady.”

  “That she was,” I agreed, “a unique person.”

  “You must miss her a lot.”

  “I do. Especially now that Marnie and her husband are out in Mountain View and Poppy is with Hank in Belize.” My sisters had moved so far away from Northford that when Adelaide was ill, we had spent most of our time connecting with sporadic video-conferences to talk about medical issues. Marnie was a professor of information sciences, married to a man who worked for a large Internet search engine company out in California. Poppy was an interior designer, married to a real estate agent. She and Hank had been offered an exclusive opportunity to develop a big condo complex for ex-pats and they jumped at the chance. I had been planning to visit my sisters once I got settled back in Belle Haven.

  “As long as your laptop is still running, let’s get a little more information about Tom. What’s his last name?”

  “Robacher.”

  “What’s the name of that company he works for?”

  “Vanguard Advanced.” Mac sat back on Adelaide’s sofa and typed in the information. An odd look crossed his face. “Let’s try this again, Kimmy. The guy’s name is Tom Robacher and he works for Vanguard Advanced.”

  “Right,” I agreed. “What’s the problem?”

  Mac turned my laptop around so I could see. He pointed to the screen.

  “This isn’t the guy who introduced himself to me.”

  “This isn’t Tom,” I replied. “There must be another Tom Robacher.”

  “Working at Vanguard? Working on a joint Navy project with the Walden Center?” Mac scrolled down to Tom Robacher’s biography. There it all was. Married to Bridget. His wife was an emergency room nurse and they had three children, two boys and a girl.

  “This doesn’t make any sense!” I stared at the photograph of the man with the sincere, yet professional smile. I had never seen him before.

  “Maybe it makes a whole lot of sense. Listen, Kimmy,” he said urgently, “I’m going to get in touch with a friend of mine, a guy who’s a federal agent.”

  “Why are you going to do that?” I asked. “What’s the point?”

  “The real Tom Robacher may be in danger. What if your fake friend has been targeting Vanguard Advanced? We know they beat the living daylights out of poor Jim. They tried to get at you. Robacher has a wife and kids, honey. He needs to know about this.”

  “Why can’t you just call him?”

  “If those guys are after him, he’s going to need professional protection.” Mac was sincere about that. I knew that as I studied his face. There was an intensity that seemed to crackle in the air around him like a live wire. “If I call the real Tom Robacher and they’re watching him, they might move in before we can help him.”

  “Oh,” I responded lamely. “Okay. Do what you have to do. I’ll put on a pot of coffee.”

  “Coffee?” Mac was already punching in numbers on his cell phone.

  “Coffee. It’s going to be a long night.”

  Chapter Eight —

  “Tom Robacher is missing,” Mac announced, half an hour later. “And so is his family. No one has seen them since last Tuesday, when they were on their way back from a camping trip over the holiday weekend.”

  “Ar
e you saying they were kidnapped?” I asked.

  “Not necessarily.” Mac sat on the sofa, his hands on his face, lost in thought. He stayed like that for some time. I left him alone while I started to pack the contents of Adelaide’s hutch. Luckily, I had bought packing cartons in bulk, along with bubble wrap, so I got busy. After several minutes of working silently at the kitchen counter, I heard Mac cough. Looking up, I watched as he rose from the sofa and took a seat at the kitchen counter.

  “You know, it’s possible that Robacher disappeared because he knew these guys were after him. Maybe he wanted to keep his family out of harm’s way,” he suggested. “That’s what I would do.”

  “Or they kidnapped him because they needed something from him,” I pointed out. “They could be holding him for ransom. Or worse.”

  “You said that your fake Tom claimed he was here for a conference on simulation training for battlefield medicine. Maybe they needed the real Tom out of the way, until they got what they were looking for, or maybe they needed to impersonate him until they found it.”

  “What’s so important about the technology?” I wanted to know.

  “I can think of a number of reasons why it might have value,” Mac said. “if you’re a terrorist and you need to keep your people alive, simulation training can help your doctors do that without having to go to a medical center to learn the latest techniques. Battlefield medicine can mean the difference between life and death, Kimmy.”

  “Terrorists?” The thought of Tom helping terrorists chilled me to the bone. Mac saw me shiver, so he got off his stool, came up to me, and put his arms around me.

  “He might not have been dealing directly with terrorists, Kimmy. He might have had a deal with a middleman.” I could smell Mac’s aftershave as I rested my head under his chin. It had the scent of confidence and experience.

  “Like who?” I couldn’t imagine what kind of person would help terrorists get their hands on technology like the Vanguard simulation program.

  “Spies do that kind of thing all the time. Take the Russians. They’d be very interested in this kind of thing.” Why was my childhood friend talking about spies? What did he know about the subject? I felt like I was in a bad dream, but I didn’t think pinching myself would help me wake up to a brighter day.