by Lyz Kelley
“Nothing specific. I’m still throwing the net wide to see if I can’t get a few pieces to connect before I leave. Do you know if he had any recent interactions with the DEA, FBI or any other agency?”
“Odd you asking about the FBI. Sam put a call into the FBI about a month ago. Not sure why”
Yes. I’m right. The initials on the ground were about the FBI.
“There might be something in his office. Want to take a look?”
No. He wanted to respect his brother’s privacy. If this were anyone else, he’d be first through the door, but this was Sam’s stuff. His brother never liked people messing with his things, and was the first one to throw a punch when he found someone in his room. Rummaging through his brother’s personal effects was disrespectful and the reason he didn’t ask to see his brother’s office in the first place.
But Sam was dead.
The harsh actualization he’d never get a chance to repair the past wrongs choked off his air. Why did he think competing against Sam was necessary? All the rivalry did was rip them apart—prevent them from having a solid relationship.
Sam, bro. I’m sorry, man.
Time was running out and he didn’t seem to have a choice. The trail of information had pieces missing. Which meant he had to dig deeper, then deeper, and still deeper, until he found the answer.
“Sure. I’ll take a look.”
The yin and yang burden of not wanting to know what Sam had gotten involved with, but being driven to find answers, made him respond, “Lead the way.”
He followed Ernie down the carpeted hall to the last office, where a US flag stood proudly in the corner. The white-painted walls were covered with all the usual certificates, but a painting of Elkridge valley, just as the leaves turned gold and fiery red, captured his attention. Taking a step closer, he inspected the signature. Just as expected, his sister Anna’s scrawled name painted in small black lettering sat in the bottom corner. On the desk sat a phone, pottery mug, nameplate and the usual desk items squared in perfect horizontal and perpendicular lines. Joey moved behind the desk and stood by the black leather chair. “Has anyone removed anything from the desk?”
“Your dad took his personal items last week, but no one else has been in here.”
Joey scanned the neat piles of papers, unlike the scattered papers at the house, which solidified his suspicions. Someone had searched his brother’s place in a hurry. Joey studied the desk, creating an inverse image. His brother being right-handed, he opened the left-hand drawer and then lifted a pile of business cards to thumb through the stack. A couple of cards down, a gold embossed FBI shield caught his attention. Special Agent Bantner. He grabbed a pen and jotted down the number.
“Mind if I stay here for a bit?”
“You have anything you want to share?”
Who could he trust?
Joey perused Ernie’s body language, looking for any signal, a flicker of the eye, a tick of the jaw, a twitch of a finger—anything to indicate deceit. Good people wound up in bad situations sometimes. Small town deputies and mayors were no exception. “You know these things take time. I’m still trying to put pieces together.”
“If you find something, the mayor would like to be kept in the loop.”
Sam must have pushed some buttons hard enough to get noticed. Knowing his brother, he pushed harder and harder, refusing help, enjoying the thrill of single-handedly solving a big case. Joey wanted to find Sam’s killer, but didn’t want to make the same mistakes. He’d been trained by some of the best and wasn’t about to become someone’s target. He had time. The rest of his life kind of time.
“That’s a good idea. When I have something worth sharing, I’ll be sure to schedule a meeting.”
Ernie nodded an approval. “I’ll call on the lab files again, see if I can’t get them expedited.”
“Perfect.”
Ernie disappeared through the door before Joey pulled out Sam’s chair and slowly lowered his body onto the leather high-back. Okay, bro, fess up. What were you playing at here? I’m getting closer. I can feel it. I just need a little more help. He tapped on the piece of paper with the Special Agent’s quickly scribbled number.
Why not?
He lifted the handset and dialed. “Hello, Special Agent Bantner? This is Detective Gaccione.”
“From Denver, right?” the deep, concise voice responded.
“Actually, no. I’m Joe Gaccione from the Seattle Detective Division. I think you might have been talking to my brother, Sam Gaccione. He was killed several days ago, and I’m hoping you might be able to tell me what he was working on.”
The accentuated pause on the other line made his pulse pound in his ears.
“Sorry to hear about your brother. He called about FBI activity in the area.”
Odd. “Do you have agents working on the case in the area?” Was Sam working with you?
“I’m not at liberty to say. That’s classified. But your brother had some interesting theories. If I were you, Detective, I would watch your back. Loop me in if you discover anything. Call anytime.”
Joey’s stomach started to churn, and he wondered if he might have to revisit his morning’s granola bar. That’s just great. Everyone wants to be kept in the loop, but won’t reciprocate. “Fair enough. Thanks for the warning.”
He hung up and sank farther into the chair. Who did you trust that you shouldn’t have, Bro?
For some reason, Mara popped into his mind. He could trust her.
“I thought I heard your voice.” Stella released the doorframe and walked into the office to take a seat in one of the two guest chairs. “You look good behind that desk.”
An ambush. The muscles at the base of his neck and shoulders seized. “Yes, but I already have a desk in Seattle.” And, with the last name Gaccione, I don’t need another desk or a target pinned to my back, and I certainly don’t want Mara to be a target.
“Your response just means we’ll have to try harder to get you to stay. I found some money in the budget. Just say the word, and I’ll put through the budget reallocation proposal at the next committee meeting.”
“The team I’m currently working on is counting on my help. My boss wants me home. Maybe you can spend some of that newly found money to fix equipment.”
Eighteen hours before Pia had called to give him the news, the stalker had taken it upon himself to hack his last victim into pieces, creating a mosaic of body parts. The sight of the walls splattered with blood and human remains haunted his dreams, and made the bile in Joey’s stomach churn and pool at the back of his throat just thinking about it. His psychology degree meant he couldn’t avoid envisioning the scene frame by frame by frame.
The rage of the perpetrator.
The terror of the victim.
Intuition is what made him good at his job. Damn good. It’s what made his boss put him on some of the toughest cases, even if he was the youngest member of the team. It’s also what made him unable to sleep at night and sometimes question what he did for a living.
During his annual assessment, he’d recently told the department psychologist that he was fine. Good thing the shrink hadn’t looked too closely at Joey’s definition of fine…as in, Freaked out, Insecure, Nervous and Emotional…FINE.
Yet, he needed to finish the job, because he just couldn’t let the team down.
Stella stood and gave him a direct stare. “Just tell me we still have time to convince you otherwise.”
“I’ll be leaving town tomorrow, so I guess the answer has to be no.”
“That’s too bad. You would have made a great sheriff.” She turned back at the door. “It’s a glorious Colorado day outside. The sun is shining. An elk sauntered through my garden this morning. Maybe you should take a walk. Remember why the folks around here love this place. It’s a great town.”
“Still trying to change my mind?”
“Never hurts to try.”
If she pushed any harder, she just might punch a hole straight
through his willpower. He pocketed the piece of paper with the information he needed and gave some thought to his true desires. “Would you mind seeing if Ernie can forward me the lab results electronically?”
“Will do.”
When Stella exited the office, his mind again turned to the business card in his hand.
FBI? Sam I got your message, but why would you be calling the FBI? And what type of activity would be classified?
Joey activated his cell phone contact list, scrolled through some names to his buddy on the Joint Task Force, and dialed.
“Chuck, hey, it’s Joe Gaccione.”
“Hey. It’s been a while. What are you up to these days?”
“Funny you should ask. I’ve got a puzzle you might like to help me brainstorm.”
“Yeah? Lay it on me.”
“Colorado legalized marijuana. I’m trying to figure out if, or how, that might play into a small-town sheriff getting murdered for no apparent reason, and why the FBI may be involved, instead of the DEA. Got any ideas?”
“Let me do some poking around, see if I can track something down. You do know Colorado is a drug highway to Canada.”
His gut tightened. “That’s news to me.”
“Small planes and hidden mountain runways make tracking air traffic difficult.”
“Yeah, but drugs are still the DEA’s problem, not an FBI issue. Maybe that’s a good enough reason not to take the mayor up on his offer to become town sheriff.”
“You’d get bored.”
Bored? Maybe. Kidnapping, pornography, sex trafficking, tax evasion, counterfeiting, mail fraud. What else did the FBI deal in? He drummed his fingers on the desk, trying to remember. “You’re probably right. I appreciate the information.”
“Hey man, gotta run. I’ll let you know if I find anything.”
“Thanks.” Joey tossed his cell on the desk and leaned back in the chair, thoughts racketing through his mind like a pinball bouncing from one place to another.
FBI. DEA. Sam’s killer needed to be stopped.
If the deputies would just do their jobs, it was only a matter of time before the guy was apprehended.
Then again….
Chapter Fifteen
“Awesome-sauce. The parking lot’s full.” Kym’s excitement didn’t rub off.
Mara swallowed several times to keep from vomiting. A double dose of fear made her regret the day she promised Mad Jack she’d sing at the local pub. “It’s just the end of the dinner crowd. Everyone will be leaving soon, before the music starts.”
“I wouldn’t count on it.” Kym opened the pub’s front door. The noise hit Mara like a blast of a jet about to take off.
Three songs. Just eleven minutes. That’s all it is.
But those few short minutes generated opportunities for her to humiliate herself by forgetting lyrics or notes. Her fingers tightened around her guitar case handle. You can do this. You’ve always wanted to sing for people. Now’s your chance.
“I need a drink,” Mara said, stopping just inside the place.
“That’s the way to do it. You go, girl!”
“I meant water.” Mara crooked her mouth into a smile, and most likely crushed her friend’s assumption she’d emerged from the safety box she’d lived in for the past six years. Risks. She needed to take more risks. Wasn’t that what she’d been telling herself that past several months? Wasn’t that why she’d had sex with Joey? No more regrets. “Maybe a glass of wine wouldn’t kill me.”
“No, a glass or two might just do you good.”
Mad Jack’s sounded way too crowded for a usual Saturday. Large screens televising basketball, football and hockey hung in various places, depending on a person’s preference. Tony had been all excited when the pool tables and dartboards were updated a few years back, not that the games made a difference to her. The smell of buffalo burgers and garlic-seasoned fries made her mouth water. She wished now she hadn’t given Buddy a night off. If she embarrassed herself, she’d want a way to get out of here, pronto.
Kym led her to the far corner where a small stage and dance floor accommodated different types of regional bluegrass, country and rock gigs throughout the week.
“Mara, you made it.”
Jack’s deep, gravelly voice and an emphasis on the M in Mara contributed to his verbal profile. Mad Jack had owned the pub for as long as she could remember. A Harley rider back in his day, rumor had it he’d ridden into Elkridge one stormy afternoon, and decided he’d had enough of the sleet, hail and rambling from job to job, dropped his kickstand and stayed.
“Hey, Jack. It’s busy tonight.”
“You can thank Kym for that. The fliers around town helped.”
Mara yanked her arm out of Kym’s grip. “You didn’t.”
“Now, don’t be getting pissy about things already done. Who better to support you than your friends? Besides, the bigger the crowd, the bigger your three-percent paycheck.”
Well, poop on a stick. She did need the money, and singing on stage had always been her dream—at least in theory. “If I suck, at least I won’t have to see everyone cringe. Maybe, I should just record my songs and try to put them on YouTube.”
“Would you stop! You love to sing. And you wanted to thank the residents for supporting you and the flower shop by singing a few songs. You’re going to be great. Let’s get you oriented to the stage and then get some grub. I’m starved.”
“There’s a news flash. Where does your tiny body put all that food?”
“Action-packed days, baby. If I had one of those step-tracker thing-a-ma-jigs, I bet I’d clock ten miles easy.”
Mara slid her foot forward to find the stage and set her guitar on the edge. “Why don’t you go order dinner? I’m not hungry.”
“Talk about yummy.” The way Kym stretched the phrase like a piece of warm caramel indicated she’d suddenly become distracted by eye candy—the zero-calorie kind.
“No, you can’t go there. You promised to be my escort tonight.”
“No problem. I might be off duty in about thirty seconds because your yumminess is headed this way.”
As Mara stood there trying to piece together what Kym meant, all possible options ceased when a familiar squeak provided the answer. She grabbed the back of the nearest barstool.
“Ladies. Rumor has it there’s live music tonight. Thought I would drop by.”
Drop by, my Aster. Her dry and tangled tongue prevented her from responding.
Kym grabbed her by the arm, effectively keeping her feet anchored in place. “We were just about to order some dinner. Want to join us?”
“We were?” Mara asked.
“I had dinner at my folks’, but I can join you. Let me get my beer. I left it over by the pool tables. Tony and Gina are playing, and everyone’s making bets.”
“On who’s going to win?” Mara managed to choke out, even though she knew the answer. Gina hardly ever lost.
“No. On when Gina is going to deliver. She’s barely able to get that protruding belly close enough to the table to use the pool stick, so betting on the pool game wouldn’t be fair.”
Kym placed her dinner order with Jack and then escorted her to the pool tables, where a large number of voices laughed and taunted the players. Mara could decipher Tony and Gina’s voices, as well as Jenna from the bakery, Harold and Claudia from the Value-Stop grocery store, and another female, possibly Gwen from the Second Time Around thrift store. Her frayed nerves unwound a bit more.
“She’s here.” Gina stopped playing to hug Mara. “Hey, Kym. Tony says you’re next up.”
“Who’s winning?” Mara asked.
“I was until the baby got in the way. Tony’s thinking he’s going to kick Joey’s butt next.”
“He can try. But I sincerely doubt it’s going to happen.” Joey’s smug voice gave her a triple-shot of glee. Go, Joey.
Tony boomed from across the room, “Want to put some money on it?”
“It would be cruel to take your
money, Jock-o-boy.”
The audience let out a rowdy set of jeers, hoots, hollers and the deliciousness of family and community made her smile, until the scent of a familiar aftershave pummeled her senses.
“You should smile more often,” Joey whispered into her ear. The heat sent a shiver to her toes, reminding her how his naked body felt against hers.
“Do you two need somewhere private?” Tony asked in a not-so-private tone.
Heat from the social spotlight beamed down on her, and her cheeks burned.
Kym’s arm, the one she’d been holding onto, disappeared when her friend marched forward. “Tony, quit being an ass, even though I know it’s your natural state of being.”
“Easy there, tiger.” Joey’s commanding tone caused conversations to halt. “We don’t need to extend those claws. Tonight’s supposed to be fun.”
Kym meowed, then purred like a cat, then hissed. Typical Kym.
“My beer has disappeared.” Joey said above the crowd noise. I’m going to get another. You two want anything?”
“Water for me,” Mara said.
“A lager would be great.” Kym snuggled up to her ear. “Isn’t that cute? Him being all protective.”
“Please stop poking. He’s leaving for Seattle tomorrow. I overheard a conversation with his boss. I think he’s demanding Joey return to work. Something about being shorthanded.” Her statement had revealed more than was prudent, evidenced by Kym’s contemplative silence. Mara didn’t want to discuss Joey or the intimate deliberations still whirling a hundred miles an hour in her head, making thinking about anything else almost impossible. “I’m going to warm up and see if I can remember the words to the songs I’m supposed to sing.”
“Don’t sneak off to a corner. I promise to be on my best behavior.”
Best behavior. Don’t think so. Kym never could keep her feet going in a straight line. That was why Mara adored her friend and never wanted her to change. During the past twenty-plus years, her friend’s rebelliousness had rubbed off on her in small, sometimes unpredictable ways.