Hide & Find (Mayfield Cozy Mystery Book 3)

by Jerusha Jones

  “But you don’t have to worry,” I finished, “because whatever happens, it won’t occur on Mayfield property. It won’t affect the boys or you at all.”

  I couldn’t tell Walt about Josh because Josh was running an even bigger risk than I was and was exposed more than enough already with Clarice, Tarq, and Loretta also knowing about his involvement. Unlike me, Josh had a shot at respectability and redemption if our scheme worked out perfectly.

  Fat chance. But better than no chance.

  At my second or third sentence, Walt’s brows had drawn together, and they stayed in a tight, furrowed line throughout my monologue. Now he added a frown to the mix and crumpled a little strip of paper into a ball which he rolled around on the desktop.

  “Do you know how many people are here, at Mayfield, right now?” he finally asked.

  I shook my head.

  “Me neither, and I’m supposed to. It’s not because I can’t count the boys or the construction workers or because you don’t know how many people are living in the mansion. It’s because we also have a contingent of federal agents camping out in the woods. You ever think about just letting them do their jobs?”

  “All the time,” I murmured. “But whenever I think honestly about my situation, the more convinced I am that waiting is a disadvantage, maybe even harmful — waiting for the FBI to use legal methods of evidence collection, waiting for Skip’s former business associates to find me, waiting for stuff to happen. It’s impossible to be useful when you’re always waiting.”

  I reached across the desk and took hold of Walt’s hand so he would stop fretting with the paper ball. “At least if I’m the one shaking the tree, I get to see which bad apples fall.”

  “But you gotta dodge.”

  “I have a safety net.”

  “Am I part of that?” Walt interlaced his fingers with mine.

  I smiled into his eyes. “The good you’re doing here at Mayfield, the boys, Emmie — all this means more to me than anything. You’re my refuge.”

  “Don’t forget to come home.”

  “Never.”

  oOo

  And then the real waiting began. The kind of waiting that crushes your soul — the kind I’d been trying so hard to avoid. But this particular waiting was a nasty byproduct of our best-laid plans.

  Josh’s proposal — the one Tarq, Loretta, and I had adopted without reservation and Clarice had amended herself into the moment she heard about it — wasn’t complicated. But it was brazen, bold, crazy. Therefore, there weren’t a lot of details to second guess or agonize over, so I worried that I didn’t have enough to worry about, as if somehow having more to worry about would have felt more productive, or satisfying, or useful in a horridly twisted way.

  Instead, I felt keenly how intensely inadequate for the situation I was and threw myself into gopher work at the construction site. Days went by — a week of painful days marked only by sore muscles and sweat. A week that stretched like a century.

  I’m masterful with a broom, decent with a wheelbarrow, and dysfunctional but well-intentioned with everything else. The paid workers — the ones who knew what they were doing — were generous in tolerating me and even offered a few pointers here and there.

  I’d left my phone — the original one that the FBI had tapped and quite possibly diverted into an active listening device as well — in the freezer. Clarice shoved it around every time she dug out packages of frozen vegetables or ice cream so those listening wouldn’t feel neglected. She occasionally took it out, let it acquire a signal, and bumped the buttons to check for messages too. Nothing.

  Not that I was expecting any contact on that phone. Skip probably knew better at this point, especially since he’d already proven adept at evading all the law enforcement agencies on his trail. And I really didn’t want to know if the FBI had any whiffs of Josh’s and my simple, if shaky, strategy. I was dead set on a course of mutual ignorance with them if at all possible.

  I could only imagine what kind of tense sitting-tight was going on over at Tarq’s place. I called Loretta every day, but only received the usual cheerful platitudes in her updates. She probably wasn’t going to admit they were all getting on each other’s nerves on top of the forced cabin fever on Josh’s part.

  “Busy as a beaver.”

  I jumped at the quiet voice and dumped the contents of my dustpan on the floor, right where I’d just swept.

  “Got something on your mind?” Dwayne asked.

  I gave him a weak smile.

  He clipped a tape measure to his belt, tucked his clipboard under his arm and leaned a shoulder comfortably against the freshly mudded Sheetrock wall. He’d changed drastically from when Bodie, Thomas and I had dragged him out of a raging mountain stream, half-drowned and unconscious, a few weeks ago. In fact, he’d changed even from the first time I’d met him, when he’d saved my life, and Eli’s, from an unknown, knife-wielding messenger sent by the drug lord, Giuseppe Ricardo Solano.

  Dwayne seemed less stooped, less frail, just as old and raggedy, but invigorated with a sense of purpose and even, perhaps, authority.

  “Secrets don’t make the best companions.” His brown eyes were clouded with cataracts, but he clearly didn’t miss much. He’d lived so long — I didn’t even know how long — as a hermit that I’d assumed he was also really good at minding his own business.

  I still didn’t have an answer for him.

  “But you’re talking to Tarq. He’s your lawyer.” It was a statement, not a question.

  I nodded.

  “That’s good.” Dwayne stroked his chin through his long, scraggly beard. “I’ve been talking to Tarq for a few decades myself — confidentially, of course. He’ll sort you out.”

  I’d known the two men were acquaintances. But I hadn’t assumed it was in a professional capacity. I’d figured it was possible Dwayne, as a recently reformed bootlegger, had been one of the suppliers of the alcohol that had made Tarq’s liver a hospitable starting point for the cancer that was now raging though his body.

  I finally found my voice. “I didn’t know you needed legal advice.”

  “Didn’t you?” Dwayne tilted his head. “I thought for sure you saw that rucksack under my cot when you fetched a blanket for Bodie.”

  The night Dwayne had found Bodie wandering around in a meth-induced haze, and we, Walt in particular, had informally adopted him. In a way, Bodie also owed his life — definitely his current quality of life and the fact that he wasn’t hallucinating in a gutter somewhere — to Dwayne.

  My mouth fell open, and Dwayne chuckled. “Thought so.”

  The rucksack stuffed full of cash. I hadn’t told a soul except Clarice, and she’s as tight as Fort Knox with other people’s information.

  “Just wanted you to know that if I could spend that, I’d be using it to help you with this.” He waved a hand at the new walls around us. “I always wanted to stick it to the man, if you know what I mean. But it looks like you’re doing it much more effectively than I ever could. You keep it up.” He gave me a short nod and straightened. “And keep on talking to Tarq.”

  I stared after Dwayne as he hitched his jeans up on his narrow hips and skirted around a trio of protruding pipes on his way out.

  But the phone in my pocket rang, and I just about jumped out of my boots — again. The phone that had been glued to my person ever since the clandestine meeting at Tarq’s cabin. The phone only Josh had the number for.

  “Yeah?” I breathed.

  “We’re on. Tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?” I gulped. “Are we ready? He agreed?”

  “Yes, no, and yes, in that order.” Josh chuckled. “He fell for my hints about Ziggy Beltran. Said he’d been suspecting the same. When you’re a criminal, you can never trust your colleagues. They’re both coming.”

  “Wow.”

  “Doubt is a beautiful thing.” Was that a trace of giddiness in Josh’s voice? I wondered how long it had been since he’d participated in an undercover
operation. Stress does bizarre things to otherwise sane people.

  He quickly sobered. “But he knows it’s you. He’d already pieced together that Skip must have been the mastermind behind the theft, but he also knows Skip’s been incommunicado since your wedding. The criminal underground has a rumor network that far outstrips anything on this side of the law. Logical conclusion is that you’re the one calling the shots now. He definitely has more patience than I would have given him credit for.”

  “Why tomorrow?” I blurted.

  “The sooner it happens, the less exposure he faces. The less time we have to set up a double cross. Or so he thinks. I’d do the same if I were him. We wanted a weekday. This’ll work, Nora.”

  “He must be driving through the night.”

  “All the better.”

  “And he believes Ziggy was complicit in the theft?” I asked.

  “Enough to coerce him to take a road trip, or so he says. If they don’t arrive together tomorrow, then we’ll abort.” Josh slowed down, spoke patiently, reminding me we’d already run through this scenario.

  “Right,” I whispered. “Right.”

  “You know what else this means?” Josh asked.

  My brain was overloaded at the moment and not prepared to hazard a guess. “Just tell me.”

  “The paintings are originals. There’s no way Lutsenko would make a gamble like this for anything less.”

  “What’s their black market value?” I asked.

  “No more than fifty percent of value at auction. Most likely a lot less. I expect Lutsenko negotiated a steep discount.”

  “Still,” I muttered. “He’s getting a good deal if he trades what we asked for.”

  “He’ll get more than he bargained for. Eat pasta tonight. It’ll make you sleepy, which you need. Then eat plenty of protein and fat for breakfast, but no carbs. That’ll keep you alert throughout the day tomorrow,” Josh said.

  “You sound like a coach.”

  “Pack tonight too. So you have a few extra hours to remember if you forgot anything,” he added.

  “Now you sound like Clarice,” I said. “We’ll be in place and on time. Get some sleep yourself. And thank you — for everything.”

  I stuffed the phone back in my pocket and looked at the scattered dust and wood shavings at my feet. Sweeping was no longer on my agenda.

  I’d spent the week nursing my terrifying hope — everything depended upon Lutsenko taking the bait. But now that he actually had, I succumbed to a whole new level of gut-wrenching anticipation.

  CHAPTER 17

  The weather conditions had been flirting with snow, even producing a few tracings here and there over the past week. But as I walked, the flakes started falling in earnest. Big, soft fluffs that settled with dampening effect. The air was still, and the trees were completely flocked within minutes.

  The woods were hushed, peaceful; the trees gentle giants. I wanted to dodge between their knees and find a hollow amidst their root ridges to hide in, a blanket of snow to cover me until this was all over. I envied the woodland animals and their uncomplicated lives.

  Well, I guess it depended on where the creature ranked in the food chain. I sighed and scuffed a long streak through a snow-filled rut.

  Josh was right. Tomorrow was going to be as good a day as any for a shakedown. Or at least an attempted shakedown.

  When I got back to the mansion, I placed a short phone call to Gus. He’d been holding a package for me, and it was time to pop that baby in the mail.

  Clarice rose to the occasion, producing spaghetti and meatballs in epic portions. Emmie and I held fork-twirling contests which also resulted in massive mouthfuls that made it difficult to chew with our lips closed. Clarice narrowed her eyes behind her cat’s eye glasses and made a show of daintily dabbing the corners of her mouth with a paper towel. Emmie and I failed to take the hint.

  Because we are a classy bunch. I should start a finishing school for girls. I have no doubt Clarice would sign on as headmistress.

  oOo

  The next morning seemed leisurely, accustomed as I was to dashing off to some crisis or other at the break of dawn or earlier. But the rendezvous with Lutsenko was set for mid-afternoon, so I had the luxury of being jittery in the comfort of my own home instead of freezing my tushie off at the scene for a few hours.

  I took Emmie on a walk through the woods. I’d assembled a change of clothes, her notebooks and pencils, and a few snacks in her little backpack, and then I zipped her into her winter coat and settled a hat on her head.

  She hopped along, glancing over her shoulder to watch her footprints line up behind her, her cheeks pink from the exertion, arms outstretched for balance. I stooped to scoop up a handful of snow, but it was too dry to pack nicely and it crumbled off my gloved fingers.

  “Here’s the deal,” I said. “I’m going to ask Walt if you can hang out with the boys today. But there’s a chance that Clarice and I won’t be home tonight, so are you okay with spending the night in the bunkhouse?”

  She squinted up at me. “Where are you going?”

  “It’s a business meeting.” I wrinkled my nose at her. “Not my favorite thing, but it has to be done. Icky grown-up stuff. Just promise me one thing — if the snow gets stickier and you end up having a snowball fight with the boys, go easy on them, okay?”

  “Okay,” she chirped and aimed a mighty kick at a small drift, sending it poofing in a shower of ice sparkles.

  And I had the sudden, stabbing thought that I should designate a guardian for her. She wasn’t even mine, really — at least not yet — and if something happened to me, she’d be stranded in a Neverland of bureaucracy. I needed to ask Tarq to set up a legal cocoon for her, just in case. Except my lawyer was doubtless as preoccupied as I was today. Sheltered in Walt’s care was absolutely the safest place for Emmie at the moment.

  Walt and a couple of the boys were feeding the pigs when we arrived. Walt flashed a slight smile as I stepped to his side and leaned over the railing to scratch Orville’s back. The pig grunted happily, the noise echoing since his snout was deep in a bucket of slops.

  Walt nudged me. “Don’t lean too hard.”

  I straightened. “Huh?”

  “The pen’s a little shaky,” he said in a low voice. “Don’t want you to end up face-first inside. The boys are working on their construction skills.” He chuckled. “The pigs haven’t figured it out yet, but if they were determined and coordinated, I think they could flatten a section and escape whenever they wanted to.”

  “And the next pen would be built sturdier,” I said.

  Walt nodded, the little smile back and lightening his eyes. “Exactly.”

  I wanted to hug him. I just love his policy of laissez faire, his gentle but firm approach in training the boys. But I restrained myself and instead requested an imposition upon his hospitality in the form of Emmie.

  “Of course. Always.” Walt glanced over at the huddle she and Eli and Odell had formed. They were examining something Eli had produced from his pocket and were safely out of earshot.

  “Is this one of those things where you’re going to give me a watered-down version of the event later?” he asked.

  I nodded. “Thanks for taking care of my girl.”

  “I hate this, Nora.” Walt’s blue eyes blazed.

  I found it much more comfortable to look at a clump of dead weeds with drooping seed pods poking out of the snow. “I know. I’m not fond of it myself.”

  Walt pulled his glove off and tipped my chin up with his warm hand, forcing me to meet his gaze. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.

  I hated it too — keeping him in the semi-dark — but it was vital to me that Walt be able to maintain his integrity through, and in spite of, all my questionable exploits.

  “I’ll bring Emmie over as soon as you’re ready. You’ll call when you get back?” Walt murmured.

  I nodded.

  Then I squashed Emmie with one last embrace and whispered, �
��I love you,” into her ear.

  It was a lonely trek back to the mansion.

  oOo

  Clarice met me at the kitchen door with a no-nonsense glare. “Double check,” she commanded and waved at the table. She’d assembled our supplies last night as Josh had instructed, but now in Emmie’s absence, the items were spread out for review.

  As usual, she was prepared for every contingency and some that weren’t even in the realm of possibilities, like an attack from Mars. I held up the box of aluminum foil and shot her a questioning look.

  “It blocks RFID signals,” she huffed. “I’ve been doing some research of my own.”

  “I was planning on leaving my passport here,” I said. “I’m pretty sure everybody involved in this little escapade already knows who I am.”

  Clarice shrugged. “Should block reception for that traitor phone of yours too.”

  “Really? Isn’t that kind of kooky?” I tried not to smirk.

  “If it’s stupid but it works, it’s not stupid,” Clarice growled.

  “Amen to that.” I slipped back out onto the patio and stretched to retrieve the two GPS trackers from their hiding spot in the crook of the downspout. “Let’s wrap these up too. Better safe than sorry.”

  Clarice hustled out with a sheet of foil a yard long, and I dropped the little boogers into it. She crumpled the foil into a ball with a sly grin stretching her wrinkled face.

  “You are enjoying this way too much,” I chuckled.

  Then I grabbed the handy little bug detector gadget I’d ordered online and Gus had brought from my general delivery address. I went back outside and put Lentil in neutral, letting her roll just to get some movement and therefore, in theory, a broadcasting signal from any motion-sensing trackers attached to her undercarriage.