by Lane Stone
“Wonder if he’ll take my call.”
“Hello, Leigh.”
“Go home,” I said.
“Why? I’m working.”
“Paige Ford is walking your way. She knows you didn’t take her call.”
“How do you know that? Where are you?”
Tara took my phone. “We’re up here. Look up the hill.” She waved an arm.
“Where?” He was looking everywhere but across the street.
I took my phone back. “Paige is about ten yards away. You need to get out of there.”
“No, I don’t.” He was still scanning the area around the dealership, but much closer in than where we were located.
“You’re not that strong. Make a run for it.”
“I’m still not feeling a hundred percent. I’ll go home as soon as we wrap up here. Tell me again where you are.”
I hung up. “Some people you just can’t help.”
Paige Ford reached her destination and began putting a major flirt on the detective.
CHAPTER 15
Continuation of statement by Leigh Reed. Tuesday morning at six o’clock I was green to go on Suwanee Dam Road, headed back to Bryn Marie’s office to record the Buford Dam water release schedule. The Toyota was still in the shop, so I was driving the rehabilitated Jeep. What I saw when I pulled out of my subdivision gave me a jolt and I made a phone call. “I need to report a crime.”
“On my cell phone?” Detective Kent’s voice still sounded weak. “This time of the morning? Call 911, Leigh.”
Caller ID, damn. “The r’s on the entrance sign to Gary Pirkle Park have been stolen.”
“What?”
“The black letters on the stone fence now spell Gay Pikle Pak. The mayor is not going to be pleased.”
“I wouldn’t think so. Is Tara with you?”
“I’m going to meet them later this morning.”
“Who’s them?”
“Tara and Victoria.” Who did he think? This was the longest conversation we had ever had without him yelling at me. It felt peculiar.
“I’ll get someone on the park sign vandalism.”
“Thanks, Detective Kent.” I hovered between doing the right thing, which always gets me in trouble, and the easy thing. “Are you drinking plenty of fluids?”
“Yeah, actually my wife brings me a glass of water every hour.”
That confirmed my suspicions. “Stop drinking it. Stick to bottled water until you feel better.” Being an environmentalist, I’m not wild about bottled water, but say your wife tried to kill you more than once, say she went to Mexico, say she came back with a bag of water, and you got sick. I’m just sayin.’”
There was dead air for a long minute. “Leigh, call me Jerry.” Peculiar. “Did you have a nice dinner Sunday night?”
Sunday seemed like a lifetime ago. And the question seemed out of the blue. “Why do you ask?”
“Thomas Chestnut’s daughter called me that night. She seemed to think I was going to be there.”
I had no idea how to respond to that, but I had another question. “Have you arrested anyone for the explosion at the car dealership?”
“A press conference will be held later this morning.”
I saw a forest ranger car and, not wanting to get caught talking without a hands-free device, I mumbled something about having to hang up. Retracing the route we drove the day before, I took a left onto Buford Dam Road and then a right at the sign that read, “Lake Lanier Project Manager Office.”
The building hadn’t opened for the day, but Bryn Marie came to the lobby and unlocked the door. “The room we use is down this hallway.”
I sat at a table in a sparsely decorated room, with a microphone and a script. I looked it over then leaned in. “This is a public safety service regarding water release at Buford Dam from the US Army Corp of Engineers. Following the start of water release, waters below Buford Dam are subject to rapid rises and are dangerous. Lifejackets must be worn by all persons on the river from Buford Dam to the Georgia Highway 20 bridge. Today, Tuesday, the scheduled water release will begin at 4:55 p.m., and end at 7:10 p.m., local time.” Riveting, right?
When Bryn Marie walked me out, I saw a shot and I took it. “The man who was killed on Friday believed that more attention should be paid to cyber security to protect infrastructure. I understand not everyone agrees with that. Some security experts say, physical security, like guards and cameras are more important. Where do you come down on that argument?”
She looked around and I took that as a sign she was going to tell me her true feelings. “I’ve heard the case for both sides. I’m not concerned about cyber-vandalism. Hacktivist groups use malware to make money. There’s no money here. To do serious damage would require the amount of money only countries have. And no country is interested in disabling Buford Dam.”
“What about a terrorist organization?”
“If we were targeted, it wouldn’t look like it does in a movie. The dam wouldn’t be operational one minute, shut down the next. We would be ahead of the perpetrator. Physical security is where our extremely limited resources should go.”
***
Victoria was at our favorite table at Cracker Barrel when I got there, on time and on target in the front by a window next to the far wall. Three sweet teas were lined up. “Tara’s in the ladies room. Her phone has rung twice in the last five minutes. One time it was Detective Kent calling. She assured us last night she wouldn’t do anything crazy, but should we ask her what’s going on?”
I dropped my handbag on the floor and took a seat. “I wouldn’t touch it.”
“You don’t think Tara would ever….?”
Tara walked up. “She would ever do what?”
Victoria shrugged her shoulders and looked at the table with wide-eyed innocence. She mumbled something. I couldn’t make it out but let’s just say she didn’t exactly cowboy up.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t ever go out with Detective Kent?” Vic owed me one.
The waitress arrived, we ordered. Tara smoothed imaginary wrinkles from her skirt before responding. “I see a different side to him than you two see. He’s such a romantic.”
“With everyone, though.” Victoria rearranged her napkin and straightened her silverware.
“By the way, Paige Ford called Detective Kent on Sunday night!” I giggled when I said it, which made the morsel sound like gossip, which maybe it was. I recounted my early morning conversation with him. “Do you think she likes him? Is that why she came to dinner with us? Considering all that had happened? Good Lord, when we left the funeral home, her father was AWOL!”
Vic drained her ice tea glass. “Was that what she was doing outside, calling Detective Kent?”
We all said, “Hmm.”
I was out of tea, too, and looked around. I made eye contact with the waitress, who brought the pitcher. “Tara, should we tell Mrs. Ford that she’s not woman enough to take your man?”
“As your mother would say, ‘LOL.’ If we dated, he would want to marry me. You remember my first marriage didn’t end well. I just don’t know if I want to get married again, to anyone. If I thought it would be a marriage like yours, Leigh, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”
“If you married Detective Kent, it wouldn’t be a marriage like mine. You know it wouldn’t.”
“Nor if I married Asher Charles.”
Victoria’s hand flew to her face. “He asked you to marry him? He is a stunning looking man.”
“Yes, but he doesn’t care about me. I told you, he thinks because his lips tingled after we brushed against each other, it was a sign and he’s in love. He’s a kid.”
Victoria put her napkin in her lap. “He’s in his forties, isn’t he?”
Tara shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t ever want to have to worry about the new wearing off.”
“Paul’s fifty-something, right? And he wants to marry you too.” I gave my tea a squirt of lemon.
The waitress brought our fo
od but Tara kept talking. “How do you know that?”
“He told Jack, and Jack wanted me to try to convince you to say yes, but I said I wouldn’t. Let’s change the subject and talk murder.”
Victoria snorted her tea. “Maybe we already are.”
“Very funny. Paul’s been acting odd lately. Last night he said, ‘If I don’t love you, grits aren’t groceries.’ I have to tell you, hearing that in a Yankee accent killed the mood.”
I groaned. “Jack may have told him to say that.”
Tara’s phone rang and she reached for it. “Good, it’s my attorney. I want him to meet with the people at the Porsche dealership for me. I’ll take this outside.”
Neither Vic nor I could say “bye” because our mouths were full.
I looked around for the waitress since my tea glass was low.
In between bites, Vic said, “So, Asher Charles, Detective Kent, and Dr. Paul are all in love with Tara. Kind of makes Al look like a refreshing change. I wonder why he doesn’t like her? It’s a mystery.”
“Speaking of mysteries, how is it possible to sweat half the night and be retaining water in the morning?”
When Tara returned she was smiling. “I sure do feel better.”
“What’s up?” I asked.
“It was my car that blew up and caused the damage, but I want to forestall any claims of legal responsibility. Now I can enjoy my breakfast.”
I put my fork down. “I hope this won’t ruin your appetite but I’d like to go over everything that’s happened since Friday. Saturday night someone started a fire outside my house and hinted at a link to Thomas Chestnut’s murder.”
“That couldn’t have been random?” Tara’s voice was hopeful.
“Nothing’s random.” Victoria put up her hand as a stop sign. “Before you ask, not even acts of kindness.”
“Next Bea was kidnapped, then Anniyah was moved and left with a souvenir that pointed to us, and last night the business with Tara’s car,” I continued. “Pattern, anybody?”
Tara looked up at the ceiling and chewed the lipstick off her bottom lip. “Home, friends, possessions.”
Victoria leaned in and whispered. “I think the hardest part is not knowing what will happen next.”
“Oh, did you have to say that in front of Tara?”
Victoria poured more syrup on her blueberry pancakes. “Leigh, what’s our cover story for the CDC?”
“We don’t have one. I’ll try to come up with something on the drive over. If I made an appointment, Janice Marshall would know we were coming. The museum is the only sector open to the public.”
Tara groaned. “Surely, we can do better than that.”
“We’ll be visitors. I want to visit Janice Marshall, assuming that’s her real name. If I have to say that’s who we’re there to see, I will. I hope I don’t have to, just in case that name’s as false as Alyssa. Tara, what is your assignment?”
Tara was working on her scrambled eggs, grits, and bacon. “I’d like to find the identity of the guy Bea told us about––the one who had a disagreement with Thomas Chestnut. She said he was fired, but if I can find his office maybe there will be something left to indicate how violent he was, or could be if pushed.”
“If I had to guess, I’d say, not very.” I was almost through with my two eggs, sunny-side up. I don’t even like them cooked like that, but I love saying it, so that’s what I order. “Thomas Chestnut felt the best way to defend against an attack on the country’s infrastructure was cyber security. His co-worker felt physical security was more important. When two geeks go at it, no one ever gets hurt.”
“But it could happen.” Victoria looked skeptical. “I wish I’d ordered biscuits.”
“Maybe once in a blue moon someone could get injured in some geek on geek action. Just tell the waitress you’d like a biscuit.”
“He still has to be a suspect,” Tara said. “Otherwise all we have is Al, for the inheritance. And another thing, we need to either talk murder, or biscuits, not both.”
“Murder. Let’s add in Janice Marshall for making her fool self look guilty.” I drained my ice tea glass again. I’d lost count of the number of refills and just knew I was going to be talking at warp speed the rest of the day.
“Oh, if we’re going to include folks who go out of their way to make themselves look guilty, we have to add Paige for sneaking around outside her own house Sunday night,” Vic said. “And why was she at the car dealership last night? Let’s find a way to talk to her.”
The waitress brought more tea and we stopped listing suspects long enough for her to replenish our glasses. This time she brought a saucer of lemon wedges. I love Cracker Barrel, especially the one on Lawrenceville-Suwannee Road.
I tried to make myself drink water, but my hand went for the sweet tea. What the hell, you only live once. “Let’s add the funeral director to the list. He didn’t see those two big guys around the body? What a slipshod organization! I still can’t get over someone taking the body out of there. That’s not allowed in any religion.”
Victoria took my tea glass and moved it to the other side of the table. “When we get to CDC, I’ll try to find out what Thomas Chestnut was working on.”
***
The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention headquarters building on Clifton Road in Atlanta is a glass structure, bowed into a slight C-shape, but with a round appendage on one end. There’s, and I’m not making this up, a moat.
We drove up to the security checkpoint and showed our driver’s licenses for identification. Victoria had asked me to drive her car.
“They’re scanning the undercarriage of the car,” I said.
“Must they?” Tara asked. “I’m not wearing underwear.”
I was laughing when the security officer tapped on the window.
“Would you please open your hood and trunk?”
I could handle pushing the two buttons.
“The visitors’ parking lot is straight ahead. The museum lobby is accessed through the ground level.”
Right. We parked where he had instructed, but skipped the museum.
We were overdressed for the joint in our wool suits. Mine was an Escada brown pants suit with velvet trim on the lapels. Tara was in her green Reed Krakoff suit, a pencil skirt and fitted jacket. Victoria was rocking a winter white ensemble, skirt and fingertip length jacket, by Donna Karan. You know how heels make you strut a little? Well, we walked up to the security desk like we had background music. Before we had time to get our first lie of the day out of our mouths, some loud, short, bald guy wearing polyester and shoes he didn’t know were really athletic footwear approached from the side. “Are you here from the temp agency?”
“Yes, sir.”
He turned and pounded off. “Follow me.” Thank the Lord he didn’t say, “walk this way.” We were caffeined-up to the sky and would’ve had a Monty Python moment.
“You all need to sign in.” The uniformed, young woman at the desk was calling out behind us. Of course, that was a nonstarter. We had to follow our new boss.
“My administrative assistant didn’t come back after lunch on Friday. And she didn’t show up yesterday or today.” We followed him into an elevator and he pressed the buttons for the second and fourth floors. Then he looked at each of us before jabbing a finger at me. “You’ll come with me. You two I’ll drop off at human resources.” So basically the guy had made an end run around HR and snagged a temp. All of sudden, I didn’t feel so bad about not having any office skills at all.
When the elevator stopped at the second floor, Tara and Victoria were unceremoniously dismissed with the flapping of his hand. Sure, it was rude but I was thinking that this was just getting better and better, since he could have walked them to the personnel office himself.
“Take a left and you’ll see a sign for HR,” he said as the elevator doors closed.
More useless information had never been spoken. Those two Tiara Investigations detectives already had their as
signments.
“I’m Leigh.”
“I’m Harold and I’m Director of Environmental Safety.” Better and better, since that would include water.
Standing in front of my cubicle, he pointed to the instructions for answering the phone and told me generally how he liked things done. I only heard every third word because a photograph on the desk caught my eye. A young woman was sitting on the ground giving the camera a huge, seemingly genuine smile. It was Janice Marshall. In another photo she was dancing and peeking playfully under a tall man’s arm being too short to look over his shoulder at the photographer. She wasn’t dressed like a pseudo bad-girl as she had been yesterday morning, nor was she the Miss Jane Hathaway at the funeral home.
“Is this the person I’m replacing?” I had interrupted him and that threw him off.
“Uh, yeah. Janie, or something. She hadn’t been here that long. I have a conference call in about five minutes. You can place the call and transfer me in.” He loped into his office and came back with a piece of paper. “Here’s the number to call.”
Tara was walking up to my cubicle but slowed down when Harold came back. The phone on my desk rang. I sat down and placed my handbag out of the way. Then I adjusted my chair. I was killing time until he left and I could make out what Tara was trying to tell me. She was pointing to me and then pretending she was holding a phone up to her ear. Did she want me to call her cell?
Harold paced in front of me, stopping to scowl at my phone each time he turned. Finally he bellowed, “The phone’s ringing! Aren’t you going to answer it?”
“It’s probably for you.”
Harold’s eyes bulged out like I’d only seen on ‘Remember to take your blood pressure medicine’ posters. He growled and huffed off. The caller had hung up before he answered. Harold was going to have to move faster than that.
It rang again and Tara was close enough to whisper, “Answer it.”
So I did. It was for Harold, which I could have told her. He yelled out at me, “Transfer the call in here!” I pressed the transfer button and then hung up.
Next the intercom button lit up so I answered it. “You lost that call!”