New Growth (Spook Hills Trilogy Book 2)

by Menard, Jayne

  While Mathew expected Callie to pull away, she kept herself tucked into his side. Susannah ran up and squatted down next to her mother, then twisted forward and gave him a thumbs-up sign with a secret happy smile.

  “Time for breakfast. Come down too, Mathew,” Susannah said, peeking over at him. “Uncle Rick is making what he calls his famous buttermilk pancakes with peach syrup. He sliced peaches into the syrup when he made a batch last summer.”

  “Tempting, but I need to hurry back home. I must mend a fence.”

  “You have fences?” Susannah asked.

  “Make believe one,” Mathew said. “I snapped at Steve this morning, and I better go smooth things over. I dithered around in my own pessimism.”

  “At least you can admit when you’re wrong,” Callie said.

  “Unlike me to get myself into this situation. This morning I felt crabby. The sooner I remedy the situation, the better,” Mathew said, pushing himself back to his feet.

  “Come over around six?” Callie said as he helped her up, gazing up at him and smiling.

  He went back the way he came, only now the whole world made a swing for the better. Walking into the kitchen, he wished Ivy a good morning and told her and Steve about the dinner invitation.

  “Sassy requested a loaf of your jalapeno cornbread.”

  “Sure. I’ll double the recipe and freeze one.”

  “How about teaching us how to make it and we’ll do a triple batch?” he asked, pointing at himself and Steve.

  “Count me out. Work to do,” Steve said as he rose, snatched up his computer and hurried out of the room.

  “So much for Steve learning how to cook,” Ivy said.

  “This is my fault. Let me talk with him.”

  Mathew followed Steve downstairs and said, “Hey Steve, sorry about this morning and the way I got all grouchy. I’m in love with Callie, and I can’t seem to make any real headway.”

  The big man said nothing as he sat down at his desk and opened his laptop.

  “You made a sound decision in hiring Federico,” Mathew continued. “You gave terrific advice to Callie. Let’s not damage our friendship because I wallowed in my own gloom.”

  “In both instances I proceeded with you first in mind,” Steve said. While he spoke without raising his voice, his tone had an edge to it. “I wanted to help you out.”

  “You did,” Mathew said. “What can I do to make this right?”

  “Nothing.” Steve’s bearing continued stubborn and cold as he started typing.

  Mathew stood in the doorway and waited for about a minute before he said, “You remember a couple of years ago in Bern when you didn’t hear back from Ivy?”

  Steve raised his gaze to stare out the French doors to the lower patio. His face softened at the memory, and he nodded.

  “Remember how cranky you were?” Mathew asked.

  Steve turned towards him and said, “Not cranky . . . I was crotchety.”

  “Or maybe testy.”

  “That too,” Steve said with a wry smile. “What time is the cooking lesson?”

  “My guess is after we eat.”

  “See you in a bit,” Steve replied.

  Steve’s softening expression told Mathew he forgave him. Mathew turned and galumphed back upstairs to help Ivy with breakfast.

  Chapter 17

  A few days later Mathew came back into Steve’s house after a walk to gauge progress on Caspar’s Cottage, as he called the manager’s house. Lenny, Fred and Federico were hard at work with the contractor gutting the rooms and ripping out walls. Back in the kitchen, he poured a mug of coffee and went down to his room, composing the text in his mind to his father’s attorney about contacting his birth mother. He would follow up with a phone call in a day or two if he did not hear back. Down the hall, sounds of Steve and Ivy in what they now called their office drifted toward him. They worked on the Fuentes case before breakfast, on and off during the day around tasks on the farm and sometimes after dinner.

  He poked his head in the room after sending off his inquiry and said, “Morning. Any insightful discoveries?”

  “Yes,” Steve replied. “The genetic tests from the parents show the fellows we killed last year are the Fuentes brothers. However, Eduardo may not be his father’s son. Particular chromosomal differences may point to parentage by a close relative.”

  Intrigued Mathew asked, “Any guesses on who?”

  “Possibly the father’s brother. Gunned down in a drive-by shooting the same year as Eduardo was abducted and Cruze went off to juvie. Tell him about Annetta, Ivy.”

  “A cousin named Annetta, who often appeared in photographs with the Fuentes boys disappeared that same summer,” Ivy said. She put an image up on the screen.

  “Strong family resemblance. Wow, she is striking!” said Mathew. “Any indication of where she went?”

  “Not so far.”

  “She ever reappear?”

  Ivy put up another snapshot. This one of the three Fuentes siblings with the twins grown from boys to men and Eduardo as a teen. A fourth young man stood in the picture.

  “I don’t understand,” Mathew said, peering over her shoulder for a closer look.

  Ivy honed in on Annetta, isolating her face. She did the same for the fourth man and then she said. “We think she became a he. Check out the features of the two faces. The Bureau ran its new Next Generation software for facial recognition. Their analysis points to the same person.”

  “Why would she want to transform herself into a man? What a stunner she was as a teenager!”

  “A lovely teen who transformed into a handsome young man,” Steve said. “Might have been genomic. Felt masculine or perhaps she perceived an easier path to gain power and control was to become a man.”

  “The brothers knew. That’s obvious,” said Mathew

  “One of the Behavioral Analysis Units is doing a profile for us. Two Fuentes may still be around to deal with, Cruze and this transgender cousin called Julio. He appears in snapshots sometimes over the years. They continued to be close.”

  Ivy put up another pair of photos and said, “The other interesting point we discovered is how much Eduardo changed after the abduction. Here he is in the last shot from before those thugs nabbed him. Notice how Eduardo gives the impression of a bright, happy kid in the photo on the left taken in the spring of 1985. Then look at this picture taken in the summer of 1986. Notice how he stares at the camera without smiling. His jaw is set as if he is clenching it and his whole body looks taut like he is ready to flee.

  “In all the photographs after the trauma, he never smiles, and he grows stranger looking. See here two years later when he is fourteen. Sure he is entering his teenage years, but his eyes have that wary look of a far older person who has seen too much.”

  Mathew nodded and said, “Yeah, I see what you mean. Sometimes he looks sad and sometimes angry, but never do the photos show that happy kid he used to be.”

  “See how Cruze always stands to the side in each photo and Cristo is more in the center?” Steve said. “When they are together, he seems to want Cristo featured more than himself. Could be he let Cristo lead. If true, Cruze will be a lost soul without his twin.”

  “Cruze dropped out of the operations after the sting in Mexico City,” replied Mathew.

  “Wanted out and got out by sticking an actor in his place? Left Cristo and Eduardo to dispose of the business?” Steve continued. “We know from the phone calls we intercepted between Cristo and Eduardo they wanted to sell the drug business.”

  “Remember how you traced the funds during the money laundering research to the Middle East before the trail disappeared?” Ivy asked. “Perhaps those reserves became Cruze’s share and he re-invested the wad elsewhere.”

  “Possible,” Mathew said. “Did he or this transgender cousin travel in or out of the country in the last year?”

  “Based on the aged photo from the Bureau yes,” Steve said. “About 12 different instances of people with vari
ous names coming and going in the last year. We’re going through them today. A man who resembled Cruze has entered the States twice in the last month or so. The others resemble Julio. No hits on the Annetta appearance. No name matches.”

  “Any hints on whether they remain in-country?” Mathew asked.

  “Julio perhaps. The Cruze alias flew to Rome.”

  “Good findings,” Mathew said. “Anything else?”

  “We’ve worked our way through other leads – the contacts on Eduardo’s and Cristo’s cell phones, other family members including two second cousins who emigrated from Cuba around 2000 –”

  “What! Not more Fuentes!” Mathew exclaimed.

  “Mother’s side,” Ivy said. “Last name of Machado.”

  “By tracing transactions, we think the brothers put those cousins through college and med school via deposits into the Mother’s bank account,” Steve said. “Both of those cousins are pediatricians in Miami. They practice together and do pro bono work in the Cuban community. No evidence that they were involved with the Fuentes brothers or are into any wrongdoing.”

  “Nothing on the rest of the family?” Mathew asked.

  Ivy shook her head. “Most are still in Cuba. Not finding ties to the brothers.”

  “This is Ivy’s work,” Steve said proudly. “She found the photo album and put it all together, along with a chronology and a family tree, at least as much as we can construct thus far. Next, we will connect with a squad out of the Santa Fe office to go over the Fuentes property. The FBI have held the house and grounds pending final case closure. They are bringing a couple of guys to explore the old wells in case any evidence missed last year is packed away there. You fine with the two of us going?”

  “When are you heading out?” asked Mathew.

  “Bubird tomorrow morning at five. We expect this to be a day trip unless we make any remarkable discoveries.”

  “Did they scan the land last year?”

  “Their work is suspect,” Steve said shaking his head. “I’m having the parcel rescanned with metal detectors and having geo soundings taken in case any unidentified underground chambers or tunnels exist.”

  “What are you searching for?” Mathew said, stepping towards the stairs. He would mull over this new twist with the Fuentes while he worked outside.

  “See if we can find more lines of inquiry including any hints on where Cruze might be or who he may have teamed up with. Plus somewhere the Fuentes must have tucked away a crisis plan – an escape strategy or a way to reach each other,” Steve said. “Only a hunch on my part.”

  “Your hunches are better than most agents’ facts. Sounds like we bailed too fast on this case and the takeover team failed to be thorough. Did they spot the Annetta/Julio connection?” Mathew asked, leaning against the wall.

  “Nothing in the file. The photos appear untouched by the FBI until we requested having them scanned. They did not wrap up the case as they should, leaving loose ends and overlooked information.”

  “Shoddy. The case wrap-up should include having everything fully researched and documented. You wouldn’t let us throw things in a box, no matter how much we wanted to be working on your next case.”

  “You want to come along with us to the Fuentes house?” Steve asked.

  The offer tempted the trained FBI agent still living in Mathew. That side of him had come back to life during Susannah’s kidnapping. However the vineyard and the construction project each needed his attention.

  “Too much going on here with tracking the fermentation processes, the new acreage, Casper’s Cottage,” Mathew said.

  “Casper’s Cottage?” Ivy asked, echoing the name back.

  “My nickname for the old manager’s house. Remember Casper the Friendly Ghost?”

  “Spook Hills theme. Should we change the name of the tree house too?” asked Steve.

  “Hobgoblin’s Hideaway?” Ivy said with her characteristic laugh.

  “Glimmer’s Glade?” Mathew said. He walked away chuckling as he headed for the stairs.

  The next day Ivy and Steve tramped around the Fuentes land near Madrid, New Mexico, starting up the squad to scan the surrounding acres in widening concentric circles. They walked over to the site of the old well near the house as an agent out of the Albuquerque office pulled on a harness to be lowered in.

  “What am I going after?” the agent asked.

  “A place where the Fuentes might have squirreled things away – a small box perhaps holding safety deposit box keys or a few papers or even a thumb drive,” Steve said, frowning that his instructions to the local leader had not been passed on. “While a large box or chest could be stashed down there, I suspect a small container may be concealed near the top of the well. Expect it to be obscured.”

  When constructing the old well, the diggers had spaded out dirt and stones until they located a clean supply of water, then they had reinforced the walls and set up a pulley and rope for the water to come up in a bucket. The frayed end of the rope hung over the well. The old bucket had long since disappeared, perhaps down in the bottom of the well.

  After securing himself to a cable attached to a winch mounted on a big Ford 450 Super Duty pickup truck, the agent kicked off, using a rappelling technique to go around the well in a slow circle, before dropping down a few feet and repeating the procedure. He wore a headlamp and carried a powerful hand-held flashlight. After splashing down in the bottom, he reversed the hunt while another man winched him back up three feet at a time. Most of the way to the surface, he stopped and shone his light back and forth.

  “Got something,” he said, raising his voice to be heard by those above him.

  “What?” Steve asked.

  “A brick wedged in a rock layer. Odd. Make sure I am locked here to hold steady.” The agent hung the lamp on his belt and took out a hammer and short pry bar. He tapped the tool into the wall. After loosening both sides, he put the tools away and wriggled the brick out with his hands. He tilted his head to illuminate the hole.

  “Nielson, you psychic?” the agent yelled up. “A box is jammed in here. Four inches high. Thinking titanium. I’m going to pull out a stone or two and hope the wall stays together. Pull me out if I give a yell or you hear a rumble.”

  The agent resumed the extraction with the hammer and pry bar, working three adjoining rocks out of the wall until he made enough space to jiggle the box out. “Got it. Bring me up. I’ll come back down to scout out any other anomalies in the last third of the well. First, let’s figure out what I found.”

  After he was cranked up, Steve grabbed the box, handed it to Ivy and helped the man out of the well. “Good work spotting this! A guess on my part the Fuentes had stowed away personal items that might be important to us.”

  After cutting open the lock on the box, Steve pulled the lid up. In a sealed plastic bag, he found four sets of forged passports and credit cards under various names for Cristo and Eduardo. The second bag contained three flash drives, two removable hard drives and $100,000.00 in U.S. cash. The last one had two sets of bank box keys, a sheet of paper with three phone numbers, three email addresses, and a list of financial institutions with accounts. At the end was a “J” and what might be a toll-free number.

  “Bingo!” Steve said with his big toothy grin. “I think we found the missing links in the cash flow and additional contact info. This box contains more than I hoped for.”

  He cast a cautionary glance at Ivy, not wanting to disclose any leads on Cruze or Julio prematurely, then he yelled for the leader to join them and gave pointed directives. “I want scanned copies of every page, front and back, in this box. Email them to me as soon as possible. Do not put these discoveries in the case files until I tell you to. Run those passports through the system to assess if any have been used. Get your people researching these bank accounts and analyzing all this media. I do not want a single piece of proof neglected. Do not attempt to use the phone numbers or the email addresses. I don’t want anyone tipped off.”


  Receiving orders from a retired agent left the man abashed by his failure. His group had botched unearthing this stash the previous year, which meant he had not led them to success. Steve watched him as he swallowed his embarrassment and nodded, understanding he could only redeem himself by being 100% this time.

  “Yes, sir!” the team leader said. “No wonder you are legendary at the Bureau. I will inform the D.C. office as well.”

  Steve stared at him a little hard. “Delay putting anything into Sentinel or the official records until I give my consent. With three moles of the Fuentes uncovered and arrested in the D.C. office last year and two more this year at the DEA, I do not want any leaks. What if one or two are still in place? Don’t worry. I’ll square this through the Chief. Where’s your boss at?”

  “She’s on her way here,” the team leader said. “Just had a text from her.”

  “When she arrives, bring her to me. I want to brief her too.”

  Steve turned his attention again to the well while the man finished his inspection. Once done they moved on to the modern well supplying the house and then went to another abandoned well near the old mineshaft entrance. His intuition told him more secrets of the Fuentes remained buried, perhaps in the mine tunnel forming a passage from the vault in the basement to ground level, several hundred yards from the house. He glanced at his watch, noting the time was after one. They needed to be here the next day. He called the number for the Bubird, scheduling a flight for late the next afternoon and called Mule, the former Chief.

  Ivy took a headcount and called to order lunch from a burger place in Madrid that Steve remembered Moll recommending from eating there the previous fall. As she walked to the car to pick up the food, he heard her reserving a hotel room for the two of them in nearby Santa Fe.

  They each retained bad memories of this place from last November when Cristo had fired two bullets at Steve’s chest, stilling his heart. While his protective vest thwarted the projectiles, the impact shocked Steve’s heart into stopping. After several unsuccessful attempts and just as hope started to fade, expert work by two medics had resuscitated his heart and restarted his breathing. This Fuentes place unnerved him.