Peppermint Creek Inn

by Jan Springer

  “Sara’s had enough trouble lately, she don’t need his kind around her.”

  “What kind is that?”

  “Trouble is all. Heaps of it.”

  “Why do you think he’s trouble?”

  The drunk shrugged. “He just is.”

  “C’mon. You must have a reason. You didn’t shoot at me thinking it was him without a reason. So spill your guts.”

  The man remained silent as he studied Tom, probably wondering if he could trust him. He decided to try another approach to get an answer out of him.

  “Do you smoke?”

  “I don’t have any cigs if you’re trying to bum one off me.”

  “Answer me.” Tom growled. He made a threatening step toward Cran Simcoe.

  “Sure I smoke. Cigarettes. Cigars. Pipe. Anything I can bum off someone.”

  “You’ve been here before. You were the one smoking.” It was a statement not a question. The man had the same short dumpy profile as the one he’d seen in the window the other day when he’d woken up.

  The man didn’t answer, but Tom could tell by the way his face grimaced he realized Tom knew the truth.

  “You saw me in Sara’s bedroom that one day. So why’d you think I was Jeffries tonight? Wouldn’t it be logical I’d be with her on the porch?”

  “Heard talk,” Cran said simply.

  Tom sighed quietly. Now he was finally getting somewhere.

  “Talk?”

  “I was in jail a few days ago on a disturbance charge. Heard Jeffries talking on the phone. Said he was keeping an eye on Sara’s place for this person on the phone as best he could. But the guy this person was looking for hadn’t showed up yet. I’m figuring you’re the guy Jeffries is talking about.”

  “Why didn’t you tell Jeffries about me?”

  The man got edgy, angry. “Why the hell should I? Like I said—”

  Tom chuckled and gave the man a settling pat on the shoulder.

  “I know you don’t like him.” He was getting the feeling he had an ally in this drunk. Somehow, it felt rather comforting.

  “Are you the one who’s been lurking around here the past couple of years vandalizing Sara’s place?”

  Lightning flashed at that moment and Tom saw the look of horror on the man’s face.

  “I’ve been keeping an eye on the place not wrecking it.” The man was truly insulted.

  “So you’ve taken it upon yourself to be her protector.”

  “Her husband was a good buddy of mine. Got the booze out from under me.” His voice grew hard. “Then his old partner shows up and Jack didn’t help me out anymore. He kind of got sidetracked with his old buddy.”

  Tom’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What old partner?”

  “Jeffries of course. Don’t you know anything?”

  Apparently not. It was something Sara had neglected to tell him.

  The drunk’s voice grew angrier and louder as it sliced through the damp night air. “Then some low-life scum of the earth murdered Jack. I figured I owed him for helping me out. Figured I could repay him by looking out for his widow. Drop in once in a while, since the cops aren’t doing their job, letting the hooligans getting away with bothering Sara all the time.”

  “You ever see who’s doing all the damage?”

  Cran shook his head. “Na. Whoever’s doing it is good.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “They always do it when she’s not around. But me? I’m not privy to when she’s not around. Me and her don’t get along much. She doesn’t like it when I’ve been drinking.”

  “I find it hard to believe Sara can’t get along with anyone.”

  The man merely shrugged in answer. “The way I figure, someone’s got the inside scoop as to where she’s going to be and then comes in, does the job and gets out.”

  “So Jeffries and Sara’s husband had been partners in the NYPD?” Tom mulled over this new bit of information. Partners depended on each other. Shared a deep bond. Trusted each other. Saved each other’s lives. Killed for each other. Maybe even killed each other.

  The man weaved dangerously. “That’s what I just said isn’t it?”

  A crack of thunder ripped through the air and thick drops of rain began to fall, forcing Tom to think about getting to shelter soon.

  “You’re welcome to spend the night, Simcoe. Wait out the storm. Maybe dry out. After all you owe it to Jack and yourself to stay on the wagon.”

  He didn’t want this guy driving around in his condition. Besides, it would be better if the man stayed close by and he could keep an eye on him. After all, he was the only other person who knew Tom was staying here at the inn. He hadn’t said anything to Jeffries yet, but if the man got some more whiskey in him it may loosen his tongue enough to sign Tom’s and Sara’s death warrants.

  “Naw,” The man swayed again and lifted his arm in a parting wave. “Wouldn’t want to cramp your style.”

  Cran let his arm drop and began to clamber into his truck. Tom was about to protest when the drunk suddenly swayed dangerously and began to fall backward.

  Catching him quickly, the guy had passed out cold. He shivered at a sudden thought. Luckily the man had passed out now and not behind the wheel of his truck out on the highway, possibly killing himself or worse, someone else.

  He grabbed Simcoe’s keys where he’d dropped them on the seat and pocketed them. Lifting the man, he threw the drunk across the bench seat, and locked him in. He’d tack the keys to the front door of Sara’s house tonight so when Cran Simcoe awoke with a hangover and came looking for them, he’d find them easy enough.

  Cold rain ran down Tom’s back in rivulets and his teeth chattered uncontrollably when he climbed up the wheelchair ramp and stepped onto the porch out of the cold downpour. Everything was dark, except for the occasional streaks of lightning.

  “Sara,” he called as his hand reached out to open the screen door. “It’s me. I’m back.”

  No answer.

  A tingle of fear slithered through him.

  Shit! Where was she? He cursed out loud as anger roared through him for being stupid and leaving Sara all alone here after the gunshot.

  He jumped when a few feet away the porch swing creaked in the darkness as if someone’s weight shifted. In one terrifying instant he thought another intruder was in the midst, his arms came up ready to defend himself when her icy voice curled out of the darkness.

  “Did you have a nice time?”

  Her anger barely put a dent in the overwhelming relief of finding her okay.

  “I thought I told you to get inside!”

  He clammed up when lightning blistered across the stormy sky. Sara didn’t wince at the sight as she stared at him coldly. She looked really ticked off.

  He threw her a sheepish look. “I’m sorry for taking off like that. I didn’t think—”

  “No!” she snapped. “You didn’t think. You didn’t think at all.”

  He winced at her angry tone.

  “This is twice you took off on me, heading straight into danger. Don’t you know you could have been killed? Have you so little regard for your own life?”

  “My life?” He thought she’d be upset with him because he’d left her alone and in danger.

  “Yes, your life. Since you don’t care a rat’s ass about you, why should I?” She abruptly stood. “I’m going to bed. Finish your tea.”

  She was inside the house, the door slamming shut behind her before he could get a chance to explain about Cran Simcoe being her shadow.

  “Great,” Tom muttered to himself as he picked up the cold cup of peppermint tea sitting on the tray. “Just great.”

  Taking a huge gulp of the liquid, he shivered involuntarily as the icy chills sliced through him.

  Suddenly blinding flashes of light slammed into him. He fought the urge to scream.

  He couldn’t scare Sara. Couldn’t let her see him like this.

  Blindly he collapsed on the porch swing, buried his head
deep into the soft cushions desperately fighting the pain ripping through his brains as the visions came forth.

  Crimson.

  Shouts.

  Shattering glass.

  A gunshot.

  Blood gushing and gushing and gushing.

  —

  New York City…

  Jocelyn Brady couldn’t wait to get the news she’d just gotten to Garry. She knocked quickly and waited for his reply before entering the adjoining hotel room. She found him staring through the rain-soaked window into the dark abyss beyond, a severe frown working away at his wrinkled face.

  Her heart went out to him. Garry had been eagerly waiting for his brother to get some sort of business out of the way so they could go on their annual fishing trip down in Florida, but instead tragedy had struck.

  Garry’s brother was now dead and Garry was hell-bent on avenging his brother’s death.

  “Your sister’s been trying to get a hold of me,” he said as she entered.

  “Sara? Is she all right?” She didn’t like the concerned look he tossed her way. He was always worrying about Sara living alone in Northern Canada, especially since what had happened to his son Jack and then Peppermint Creek Inn burning down this past winter.

  “I don’t know. A buddy of mine called from NYPD, said she left a message with him a few days ago. He didn’t tell her about Robin. Thought it might be better coming from me. He had to leave town in a hurry and had forgotten to pass along the message, so I just got it today when he returned. He said she wanted me to call her. She also left a message on my home answering machine. Said it was important. She sounded…stressed. I tried calling her, but apparently the phone lines are down.”

  Jo couldn’t help but feel a tinge of anxiety rip through her. “What do you mean she sounded stressed?”

  “I don’t know. Something in her voice…she just didn’t sound right.”

  Shit! She was definitely buying her sister a cell phone for her birthday. If only to prevent herself from worrying silly every time she couldn’t get a hold of her because of those damned phone lines going down all the time.

  “Okay, I’ll phone my parents later on and see if they’ve heard anything and then I’ll call her myself, too. But in the meantime I’ve got something for you, Gar.” Jo quickly withdrew a notepad paper from her pocket.

  “I asked a friend of mine who works with the FBI to run a computer check on all the pertinent information in the suspect’s file. Y’know social security number, medical insurance number, stuff like that. She pulled in some favors and one of her contacts gave her a phone number to call and to use the name I’ve written on the paper.”

  “You try the number yet?” Garry asked.

  “Not yet. I figured you’d like to do the honors.”

  “You know me so well, Jo. Let’s give it a try shall we?” Garry wheeled over to the phone and Jo handed him the slip of paper with the information.

  Garry cocked an eyebrow as he scanned the number. “A Washington DC number?”

  “Thought it would pique your interest.” Jo slipped off her violet raincoat and sat down on his bed, legs crossed Indian style.

  Garry’s weathered face broke into a smile as he picked up the phone and punched in the phone number. He nodded his head to indicate someone had picked up the line on the other end.

  He gave his name and frowned. Instantly Jo knew something was wrong. Maybe her friend had goofed and given her the wrong information.

  “Isn’t this the uh—” He scanned the sheet for the name her FBI confidant had given her “—the Turdus residence?” Garry’s hand tightened around the receiver and he hissed desperately. “Hello? Hello? Are you there?”

  He threw Jo a questioning glance and she leaned forward anxiously watching the tiny beads of sweat pop across his forehead. Obviously she’d gotten Garry’s hopes up to a frightfully high level. She hadn’t meant to though, she’d only wanted him to feel better.

  Jo jumped as Garry slammed down the phone.

  “What happened?”

  “A woman answered really casual-like. The minute I mentioned my name, the tone in her voice changed. She got all flustered, recovered quickly then told me I had the wrong number and hung up.” His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “She’s hiding something, Jo. I got the feeling she knew who I was.”

  He made a grab for the phone. “I’m going to get a trace and call back that number.”

  “Hold on, Gar.” She placed her hand over his weathered one to stop him. “A trace will take too long. Let me try first.”

  Reluctantly Garry gave up the phone to Jo. “All right, maybe you’ll have better luck.”

  Jo dialed.

  She cleared her throat then pointed a finger in the air to indicate someone had picked up.

  “Hello, My name is Jo Brady. I’m a private investigator looking into the murder of Detective Robin Smith. The FBI gave me your number along with the contact name Turdus.”

  The woman on the other line paused a moment before answering in the same casual tone she’d said “hello” in. “I’m sorry but you have the wrong number, Miss Brady.” Before the woman could hang up Jo replied in an angry tone. “If you don’t help me out here, I’m heading straight to the New York Times and telling them everything I know and believe me it’s plenty. They’ll be breathing down your neck faster than you can say—”

  “Take it easy, lady, please.”

  “Don’t tell me to take it easy!” Jo shot back. “A friend of mine has been murdered and you’ve got answers. Do we exchange or do I go to the press?”

  Jo could hear the woman’s anxious breathing. She sensed she had her confused and scared. She needed to attack before the woman had a chance to think straight.

  “Don’t keep me waiting, lady.” Jo barked, fully enjoying the brilliant smile tipping Garry’s mustache into the air. “I demand to speak to your superior. Now!”

  There was a muffled sound as if the woman held her hand over the receiver and was saying something to someone. Then the woman came back on the line, her voice sweet and professional. “One moment please. I’ll put you through.”

  “She’s putting me through,” Jo whispered to Garry who now was anxiously wringing his hands in his lap. She sat straight up as another woman’s voice spoke. “Good afternoon, Miss Brady. How may I help you today?” Instinctively Jo knew she’d hit the right person. This woman’s voice held authority and confidence.

  “You can start by talking to me face-to-face and not hiding behind a phone.” She saw Garry grimace and she held her breath. Maybe she shouldn’t have demanded a face–to-face meeting. Maybe she’d blown it. Maybe—

  “All right,” the woman sighed in obvious surrender.

  Jo blinked not quite believing the answer. The woman had agreed. Just like that. Why?

  “Miss Brady? Are you still on the line?”

  “Y-yes. Tonight. A public place.”

  “I’m sorry that cannot be possible. I’m too far away from your location. I’ll have to fly in to a secure area and the secure area is a bit too far from where you are to get to at a safe hour.”

  Jo’s mouth dropped open. How did the woman know where Jo was staying? “Tomorrow morning would be more convenient to meet. You may bring Mr. Smith along as an escort, but I will not be able to reveal my identity to either of you. Any information I supply will be entirely anonymously. Is that understood?”

  Jo shook her head in disbelief. The woman knew she was with Garry. Did they have the lines tapped? Call display? Or were they watching her?

  Her gaze flew to look out the window. She could see nothing but a black curtain of rain. She returned her attention to the woman. “Um…yes that would be acceptable.”

  Jo made a mad grab for a pen and paper.

  “This is a secure line, Miss Brady. The address I’m about to give you is highly confidential. Please don’t leave a paper trail.”

  Jo’s hand stopped in midair. Her eyes grew wide with surprise. Once again her gaze flew to th
e window and the yawning darkness beyond.

  “And if you do decide to write this address down, our procedure to follow is to quickly memorize it, then destroy it, preferably flushing it down the toilet.”

  “Like Mission Impossible.” Jo joked.

  The woman chuckled slightly. “I’m glad you get the idea, Miss Brady. From your reputation I’m sure I can trust you.”

  “You know me?”

  “Let me say your reputation precedes you.”

  Jo noticed Garry strain his neck in an effort to see the address as she wrote it down. Jo turned slightly, blocking his view. If he got a hold of the address, he might slip out earlier without taking her. She sensed he was already wishing he hadn’t brought her in on this, especially now when things did not seem as they looked.

  When the woman finished the address, Jo crinkled the paper into the palm of her hand.

  “Thank you,” she told the woman.

  “You’re welcome, Miss Brady. Until tomorrow then.”

  The woman hung up.

  Jo gently placed the receiver into its cradle, and slowly shook her head in wonder.

  “We’re set to meet tomorrow at eight a.m. It’s over in Queens. I know the area. And get this. She seems to know where we are staying. And she knows me.”

  Garry’s white bushy eyebrows furrowed into a frown.

  “And she knows we’re together,” Jo continued. “And she told me to memorize the address and destroy it by flushing it down the toilet.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Deadly.”

  “Hold on, Jo. It may be some sort of a trap. Whoever killed my brother might be waiting there. I think you’ve already done enough. I’d rather you back out of this.”

  Obviously her instincts about Garry wanting her out of the picture had been right. “No way, Gar. I’m in. Let’s hit the sack early tonight so we’ll be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for the meeting. I’m gonna go down to the hotel restaurant and grab some donuts before I call my parents and try to get a hold of Sara. You want to come along?”

  “Sure. I’ll come along.” Garry rolled his wheelchair toward the door.

  “Hold on a sec, Gar. I want to try something.”

  Jo picked up the phone and hit the redial button. On the second ring, she received a pre-recorded message saying the number was no longer in service. She tried the number two more times with the same result.