Sands of Time

by Bruce A. Sarte

  “Yeah, I saw you on the phone when I got up. And you are holding your phone. Who is up at this hour? Telling your girlfriends of your monumental conquest?” I flashed a sly smile her way.

  She didn’t smile back right away. She looked at the phone in her hand, quickly painted a smile on her face, and crossed over to me. She put her hands on my bare chest and kissed me lightly on the lips.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know? I have to use the bathroom now, too.” And she closed the bathroom door. She still had her phone in her hand, which I found odd. I was left wondering whom had I just had sex with. I crossed the room to the table where she had put her purse, presumably when she woke up to get her phone, and I opened it. I put my hand in it and felt something cold, hard and metallic. A gun. I pulled out the small Glock 26 handgun and looked it over quickly. The small 9mm pistol was sleek and gleamed in the moonlight. I glanced at the bathroom; I could hear her running the water in the sink. I put the gun down quietly on the table and continued looking for her wallet. I pulled the small black leather wallet from her purse and opened it. I stared in disbelief.

  “Sam, I can explain.”

  I looked up to see Emily standing in the doorway of the bathroom, the light illuminating her supple figure. I turned her F.B.I. identification towards her.

  “You can explain?” I responded flatly. “What’s to explain? You work for the F.B.I. and you aren’t a lawyer. Or are you? And all that crap about your husband? You used me! And you used my dead wife to lure me in.” I glared at her with a questioning look. “Okay, I was wrong, I guess I do need an explanation. Explain to me how someone could be so cold and calculating, playing on my pain like that.”

  “Sam, it’s not what it looks like.” She began walking to me with her hands in front of her, trying to keep me calm. I wasn’t really upset yet, but I was well on my way.

  “It looks like you’re an F.B.I. agent, is that not what this is? A lying, whoring F.B.I. agent who drops her skirt as soon as Uncle Sam asks her to.” My voice was still very flat, not betraying the emotion I was feeling. But inside, I was about to explode, ready to let her have it full force. Still, I could see my words were hitting her hard, and heck, maybe she had a good reason for lying.

  “Well,” she stammered, “yes, that is what that is, but I mean I didn’t want to lie to you.” She shook her head, closed her eyes, and pursed her pretty little lips. “I mean it didn’t start out that way. When we met last weekend, what I told you when I was drunk… that was all true. Well, mostly… and I was really upset about it. That wasn’t all an act.”

  It? What the hell is it? That thought must have registered on my face because the look on hers went to shock.

  “Oh,” she said simply and looked down. “You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you? Dammit! Me and my big mouth!”

  “Well, Agent Emily Noble, no, I don’t know what you are talking about, but you had damn-skippy better tell me. What do you mean ‘mostly?’ And now would be a good time, since I am standing here holding your purse.” I reached down and picked up the gun. “And your gun. The feds don’t take too kindly to agents losing their guns, do they? And I have to be totally honest—the purse doesn’t go with my outfit.” I stared at her, my eyes like daggers directed right at the lying little slut. I had suspected something about her when I heard the phone call, but now she had confirmed that it wasn’t just her job she was lying about.

  “Come sit down,” she motioned me toward the bed, “and I’ll explain. And can I have my gun back, please?” She reached her hand out. I looked at her with disdain and contempt.

  “Forgive me if I don’t trust you at the moment; I’ll stay here and”—I paused for effect—“I’ll hang on to this for now.” I shook her gun in my hand. “Now, that explanation?”

  “Sam.” She looked me straight in the face and changed her tone to a serious, professional sound. “I am a special agent as part of the F.B.I.’s Special

  Affairs detachment. We are in charge of hunting down and ferreting out special groups that local law enforcement is not equipped to handle.”

  “Special Affairs?” I responded quizzically. “What kind of special groups can the local authorities not handle? Are we talking mafia or aliens or what?

  And what on earth does that have to do with me?”

  “Sam, I’m on your side here,” she said pleadingly. “Don’t make me your enemy.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  She began speaking, but she clearly wasn’t happy with herself for being in this situation.

  “I am here in an on going investigation of the Khayman clan. The bureau sent me to try and get information from you about the clan.”

  “Me? I don’t know anything about them. Never met them, never spoken to any of them. At least not that I know of, except that black car that keeps hanging around, but wait—” I put her purse and ID down on the table but kept the gun in my hand and began pacing back and forth.

  “That day at the inn, that was a setup. You didn’t have any problems with your reservation—you didn’t have one. Did you?” She looked a little embarrassed. “And you knew I was roaming the halls that night and would hear you crying. It was all a setup!” My anger was growing inside me as I paced. My arms were flailing, gun in my hand. Emily began to look nervous.

  “Sam? Sam, calm down!”

  “You!” I pointed the gun at her quickly, like a finger, and she flinched.

  “You lying little whore, what was all this tonight?” My arm fell to my side.

  “Sam, I swear this wasn’t supposed to happen. I—I was just supposed to get to know you, try and get information from you, that was all, but…” She trailed off and looked away out the deck doors. “But I like you, Sam.”

  “You like me?” I answered, incredulous.

  “Yes! I like you, and this—“ she pointed to the bed, ”—this was real. This was something spectacular. I don’t sleep with people—and I certainly don’t give blowjobs to get information from people. And you clearly don’t know anything about the Khaymans anyway. I knew that before dinner was over. That is what I was doing on the phone, telling my supervisor that you didn’t have any useful information.”

  “What about the man in the hall? Who the hell was that?”

  She looked a little surprised.

  “The man in the hall? That was another field agent checking to make sure

  I was all right. I didn’t report in on schedule, which would have been just about the time we passed out.” She finished her sentence with a little smile on her lips. For some reason, I now believed her. This was just a job that went too far. I put the gun down on the table, went to the bed, and sat down.

  “Well, Special Agent Emily,” I sighed, “why are you here? What made the

  F.B.I. think I had anything to do with the Khaymans?” Emily came and sat next to me, throwing one of her legs up on the bed and underneath her.

  “Sandy,” she said simply. “We have intelligence that shows a connection between Sandy and Max Khayman.”

  “What?” I practically screamed. “What would Sandy have to do with Max

  Khayman?”

  “The same thing my husband does. We know they knew each other, and we suspect that the Khayman clan had something to do with her and your children’s disappearances. I’ve been following this since my husband disappeared.”

  “Your husband? How is he involved?”

  “I’m not sure, but what I am sure of is that the Khayman clan was responsible for his death. They wired his ignition and blew up his car.”

  “Wait.” I stood up and looked for my pants. “The picture!” I found my pants and pulled out my wallet, opened it and removed the picture I found in the

  Lincoln. It was all coming together as I unfolded the picture and saw Sandy laughing, across from a pretty little blonde woman. Emily. How had I missed her there before?

  “You were in her book group!” I showed her the picture.

  “Yes, but wh
ere did you get this?” She looked the picture over.

  “At the tea room, the car in the back; it was in the trunk in a suitcase.”

  “In a suitcase in the trunk of the car in the back of the tea room? What were you doing there, Sam?”

  I looked her straight in the eye.

  “I heard what you said, you believe it, the F.B.I. believes it. Sandy, Tyler and Caitlyn… they are alive. And I was looking for them. I doubted myself after yesterday, thought it was all a coincidence, too much drinking, but now… with what you have said… I stopped drinking, you know. But it’s not a coincidence, is it?” I quickly went over the details about the black Lincoln, the “hallucinations” I was seeing, Portrait of a Lady, and how I thought I was losing my mind so I just had to go and look around.

  “That’s what led me to Farragut and the tea room. I thought they were connected; now I’m 100% certain. Khayman owns the tea room, Farragut, and the car that has been watching me. I still don’t know why. Why am I seeing Sandy? Why are they following me?”

  And that’s when it really hit me. Emily was right. Sandy was mixed up with Khayman, and that’s why they were gone.

  “Sam, we aren’t sure. They may be alive, they may not—there’s no way to know. What we do know is that the Khaymans were involved, and that car accident was no accident.”

  I was still shell-shocked at the revelation. Was Sandy a criminal? Did she have deep ties in the mafia? How would I ever know?

  “What now?” I asked. Emily took my hand and looked in my eyes.

  “Sam, I don’t think we can do this—“ she looked down at the bed for a moment and smiled pleasantly, “—again. As wonderful as that was… I need to continue my investigation, and you are a part of that. With what you have just told me, I am more certain than ever that we are on the right track to nailing

  Khayman.”

  “Nailing Khayman?” I said absently. “What about Sandy and the kids?”

  “If they are alive, we will find them. If. I think they are all alive, along with my husband. His car blew up, but there was no body, just like Sandy, Tyler and

  Caitlyn’s accident.”

  I needed a drink then more than ever. Could they all be alive somewhere? No way.

  But they never found any bodies.

  “What can you tell me about Natalie Sullivan?”

  “Nat?” I answered with a question in my voice. “She’s the best person I know. She is honest, doesn’t lie or make up stories about dead husbands or anything.” Emily looked hurt by that, but screw her. I was still mad at her.

  “Nice, Sam. No, seriously. She’s very involved in her church?”

  “Church? Yes, she is a good Christian woman as far as I know. Goes every Sunday, has Bible study at her apartment. She volunteers whenever she can around the church. I can’t believe she would have anything to with this.” But I didn’t want to believe Sandy did, either. Maybe they were in it together; but then why take Sandy and not Natalie? And what do the kids have to do with it? Were they nothing more than unfortunate victims of circumstance? I suppose I looked at them that way before, anyway.

  “Natalie isn’t a suspect, just a person of interest. Like you are, Sam. We don’t think she is involved, but we feel she knows something about what is going on. She might have vital information.”

  “Emily, I want to go home.” I stood up and put on my pants. “Can I have my shirt back?” She looked at me a little sheepishly, as if she didn’t want to take it off in front of me.

  “Seriously? That is one of the nicest pair of breasts I have ever had the pleasure of having in my mouth. Don’t be shy, take the shirt off, I’ve already seen them… touched them… licked them…”

  She reached over and smacked my arm.

  “That’s enough, jerk.” She unbuttoned my shirt quickly and handed it to me, one arm covering her breasts. I took the shirt and whistled at her as she grabbed her shorts and pulled them on, her breasts bouncing pleasantly along.

  I’m gonna miss them. I was a little less mad now.

  On the drive back to the inn up Route 35, we didn’t say anything to each other. Just watched the ocean-side scenery blow by at 45 miles per hour. We kept the top down—it was a warm night, and I needed the air. We got back to the inn at 3:30, and I gave Emily the keys to the cottage.

  “You go stay in the cottage. I’m going to sleep in my office tonight.”

  “Sam, that’s not necessary. I can sleep on your couch; you can have your own bed.”

  “Agent Emily, I really just want to be alone now, good night.” And I walked away, leaving her standing in the parking lot with the keys in her hand.

  The lobby was empty, no one behind the counter. It wasn’t unusual for the counter person to walk around at night and check the place out, so I wasn’t alarmed or annoyed. What I needed now was a drink. I opened my office door and let it slam behind me as I threw my keys onto the side table by the couch. I walked over to the mini-bar and opened the door. I grabbed my usual glass, reached for Jack, but he wasn’t there. Where was he? Was I out? Then it came back to me: “Natalie,” I exclaimed out loud.

  “Yes, Sam?” her voice came quietly from behind my desk.

  “Natalie!” Shock and surprise were apparent in my voice as I turned to face my desk. My desk chair spun around to reveal Natalie, her dark hair hanging over her shoulders. She sat and stared at me for a minute before standing, leaning both her arms on the desk, revealing her loose-fitting white cotton blouse that hung forward just enough so I could see she was not wearing a bra.

  “Sam, what are you doing? You asked me to make sure you didn’t drink, and that is what I am doing. I cleared out all the Jack Daniels and cleaned up in here a little while I was at it.”

  “Nat, I know; I just forgot for a while. It’s been a long night, and I needed… something.”

  She stood straight up and rounded the desk to reveal her smooth-skinned legs, only partially hidden by a short green skirt that was loose fitting but nowhere near knee-length. She usually did not dress so provocatively, but tonight she was smoking hot. She let her hair hang down so that it pressed down ever so slightly on her blouse, bringing out the small yet firm curves of her breasts. I hadn’t turned on the office light when I came in, but the light from the courtyard outside silhouetted her firm stomach and the bottom curves of her breasts and nipples as she came around to face me.

  “I’m not going to let you indulge yourself. Not physically or spiritually.”

  Her face was serious, yet soft and caring. “I’m here for you, Sam.” She put her hand on my arm and looked into my eyes.

  “I know you are, Nat, and I appreciate it. I just wanted to be alone—that’s why I came here instead of going to the cottage. Emily is sleeping in the cottage tonight.”

  Her expression changed to confusion.

  “Emily? Noble? In the cottage?”

  “Yeah.” I broke her hold and dropped myself heavily on the couch. “Can you keep a secret?” Natalie looked at me with a crooked smile.

  “Of course I can; what you got for me? She’s really a guy? I knew it! Her body was way too perfect.” She laughed a little too loud and covered her mouth to stifle the sound.

  “No,” I said with a small smile on my face. I really wasn’t in the mood to laugh. “Emily is actually an F.B.I. agent, and she is investigating Sandy’s death.”

  Natalie’s face went blank.

  “F.B.I? But why would the F.B.I. investigate Sandy’s death? It was obviously an accident.” She said it, but not in a way that made me believe she believed it.

  “They think the Khayman clan had something to do with the ‘accident.’ I don’t know,” I continued, a little exasperated, “it seems so far-fetched and such a crazy idea, but they think that Sandy was mixed up with Khayman somehow.”

  “Wow,” she said, but didn’t really sound surprised, “Sandy with the

  Khaymans? I can’t imagine.”

  “I know, it’s crazy, but things have been so weird
around here lately with the Lincoln hanging around…”

  “Yeah, and the picture from yesterday.” She stopped and covered her mouth.

  “Picture?” I said suspiciously. “I didn’t tell you about the picture—how did you know about that?” My eyes bore into her, searching for an answer from this woman I trusted implicitly, but who clearly wasn’t telling me something.

  “Natalie? I need you to tell me how you knew I found the picture. I know I didn’t tell you about it.” She evaded my eyes, turned her face downward, and took a deep breath.

  “I followed you,” she started so quietly I had to struggle to hear her, “to the tea room, the school, the river. I’m sorry, Sam, I was worried; I have been so worried about you.” She put her hand on my shoulder and looked into my face.

  “Sam, I care about you whether you care about yourself or not, and look, you are starting on the road to recovery now by kicking drinking.”

  I looked at her, hard. I didn’t believe her.

  “How did you know about the picture? Even if you followed me, you wouldn’t have known anything about the picture except that I had one.”

  “I just assumed… the way you looked at it.” Her voice trailed off. She was still lying.

  “Natalie, if you are going to shovel shit in my mouth, then you are going to have to go. If I can’t trust you, who can I trust?” I stood up, walked to the window, and looked out over the courtyard with my hands on my hips.

  “I took the picture,” she said softly. I didn’t move.

  “What?”

  “I took the picture, Sam. I was trying to document what was going on, I took a lot of pictures. I don’t know how they got it, but from where I’d parked, I could see enough of the picture to recognize it. I took it.” I whirled around on her angrily.

  “Why, Natalie, why did you take the picture?”

  “I know who Emily is; I’ve known all along.” She stopped talking and just looked at me. I was about to prompt her to continue when she said, “I know

  Emily from a self-defense class she taught; I took it about five years ago. One day I drove with Sandy to the tea room. She had her normal book club and I just wanted to sit and read, drink some tea and relax, really. When I saw Emily, I mentioned to Sandy that I knew her, and she asked how I know Erica. I asked her if she was sure about the name and she said she was, so I assumed that