Radar nodded, giving her that searching look of his. “You okay now?”
“Yeah.” She straightened her suit jacket. “I’m fine.” He still eyed her warily. “Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t pull my gun or anything.”
“Right.”
She rolled her eyes. “What did you want?”
He motioned over his shoulder at a rattan basket overflowing with naturally dyed fabrics shaped into baby blankets. Peyton moved past him and ran her hand over the top of one, then picked it up and shook it out.
“Can I help you?” A woman in a flowing skirt and a peasant blouse came out from behind a curtain along the back wall. “I’m sorry. I was just trying to catalogue our latest order.”
Radar reached for his badge and showed it to her. “Special Agents Carlos Moreno and Peyton Brooks, ma’am. Do you own this store?”
“My husband and I do.” She glanced toward the front. Her long brown hair fell nearly to her butt, straight and unadorned. She had a number of bracelets on her wrists made out of twined thread. “You’re investigating the mermaid case, aren’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Radar, reaching for a business card and handing it to her. “We understand you sell only natural fibers.”
“Right. Wool, cotton, alpaca, flax.”
“What about hemp?” asked Peyton.
She smiled. “I haven’t ventured into the hemp craze like some. I don’t know what it is but people shy away from using it in baby clothes. Silly really, there’s no reason not to use it. It’s amazingly strong and resilient.”
Peyton held up the blanket. “What’s this made from?”
She took it, running it through her hands. “Flax.”
“Have you sold any of these blankets lately?”
The woman narrowed her eyes. “I can look it up on my sales record, but maybe one or two over the last six month. It’s mostly the clothes that get snapped up. I do a lot of consignment sales.” She handed back the blanket. “Do you want me to look?”
“Please.”
“I’ll be just a moment,” she said and moved toward the curtain, disappearing behind it.
“We should call Igor and find out if he’s sure the fibers were hemp,” Peyton said to Radar.
“I’ll do that.” He reached for his phone. “You okay in here?”
Peyton gave him a scowl. “I’m fine, Radar. Geez. Go make the call.”
He walked to the door and stepped out onto the sidewalk. Peyton wandered around the store, looking at the handmade wooden toys, then stopped by a pile of books and began leafing through them. Cartoon animals and bright colors flooded the pages, the animals engaging in all sorts of silly antics. Peyton flipped to the back of one and found a stamp. Santa Cruz Public Library. Hm, why were library books sitting on a shelf in a baby’s clothing store?
She picked one up and carried it to the counter, waiting for the woman to reappear. The bell over the door tinkled again as Radar stepped back inside. He shoved his phone in his jacket pocket as he moved toward her.
“Catching up on your reading, Sparky?” he said with a mischievous grin.
“Actually, I was looking for something to keep you occupied on the ride back to the City.”
“Driving keeps me occupied.”
“I can drive too.”
“So you say.”
“Did you get a hold of Igor?”
“Yep, he said the fibers were definitely hemp, so we’re wasting our time here.”
Peyton turned the book over. “Why would they have library books in a clothing store?”
Radar shrugged. “What does that have to do with our case? You think you’ve uncovered a great library theft ring or something?”
Peyton frowned at him and settled the book on the counter. “You’re sure ornery today.”
He stretched out his arms. “I love being on a case.”
Peyton gave him a nod, then turned when the woman stepped out from behind the curtain. “I sold three blankets in the last six months. Two to women from out of town, here on vacation, and one to a grandmother for her granddaughter.”
“You’re sure the material on the blankets is flax, not hemp?” asked Peyton.
“Yes. If you want to find clothes made from hemp, try Margy at the Naturama.”
“Naturama?”
“Yep, it’s a health food restaurant further down Soquel. She also has a gift shop in front where she sells clothes made from natural fibers. She carries hemp.”
“Thanks.” Peyton pushed the book toward her. “Why do you sell library books?”
“Oh, Mrs. Elder at the library gives me old books when she gets new ones. There’s only so much room on library shelves, you know? I sell them for pennies on the dollar and give the proceeds to her for her library fund.”
“Thanks,” said Peyton again, then she slapped the back of her hand against Radar’s flat belly. “Come on, boss. Wanna get your beansprouts on?”
He gave a grunt and followed her from the store.
* * *
Peyton texted Bambi their next location and they walked down the street, leaving the Suburban where it was parked. The sun was out and the day was warm, the hint of an ocean breeze keeping everything pleasant.
They walked up three blue tiled stairs into the Naturama. The interior floor was also tiled, a long rectangle lined on both sides with tables and chairs, and in between the tables were plants, tropical plants spilling out of their brightly colored pots. To the left of the entrance was a small alcove choked with bric-a-brac and the same natural soaps they’d found at the Natural Child. A few ponchos and natural fiber t-shirts made up the clothing assortment.
Radar glanced over everything, then held up his hands and let them fall. “I don’t see blankets.”
A teenaged girl approached them. “Two for lunch?”
Peyton smiled at her. “Is Margy here?”
“Oh, she’s making her famous gazpacho. Can I tell her who’s asking for her?”
Peyton removed her badge and held it up. “We just want to ask her a few questions.”
“Do you want me to interrupt her?”
Peyton glanced into the restaurant. They were the only ones here, but it was almost noon and she hadn’t eaten anything today. “No, just tell her we’re here. We’ll grab lunch while we wait.”
“Great.” The girl snagged two paper menus off the counter and motioned them to a table.
Radar grumbled as he took a seat, flipping open his menu. “I guess I won’t be getting bacon here.”
“You don’t need bacon at your age.”
He gave her a severe look. “What does that mean?”
She smiled and opened her own menu. A few minutes later the teenager returned with two waters. “I told Margy. She said she’d be out in a few minutes.”
“Great. Thank you.”
“Do you know what you want?”
“I’ll have the avocado and sprout sandwich on whole grain bread,” said Peyton, handing back the menu. “And a side of the quinoa salad.”
The girl smiled and scribbled something on a pad of paper, then turned to Radar. “And you?”
Radar made a face. “A bowl of the gazpacho, I guess.”
She took his menu and left.
“Should we order something for Bambi and Tank?” Peyton asked him.
“How should I know?”
Peyton grabbed her phone and texted Bambi, then she reached for her water and took a sip. “Can I ask you something?”
Radar leaned back in his chair, unbuttoning his jacket. She could see the handle of his gun poking out beneath his arm. “Shoot.”
Interesting choice of words. “Whenever we pair up, you always keep me with you. Why?”
He gave her that searching look with his dark eyes again. “Does that bother you?”
“No, I just want to know why.”
“It’s training, Sparky. I run point, therefore, it falls to me to make sure you’re properly trained.”
Well
, that made sense. She’d hoped it was because he thought she was brilliant, but that was probably hoping for too much, especially from him.
“Can I ask you something?” he said.
“Can’t promise I’ll answer,” she said, giving him a broad smile.
He grunted. “You still seeing a shrink for the PTSD?”
“Nope. I was cleared.”
“Is that a good idea with everything that’s happened lately?”
“I’m fine, Radar. You don’t have anything to be worried about.”
“If you say so.”
Peyton looked at her water glass. She didn’t think she wanted to talk about this, but something about packing up Marco’s suits had upset her more than she wanted to admit. It meant the separation was more permanent than she’d thought it would be.
“You and Mrs. Radar ever have trouble?”
Radar drummed his fingers on the table. “Trouble? Marital trouble?”
Peyton nodded.
“Everyone has marital trouble, Sparky.”
“You ever separate?”
“Nope, but we almost did after Arthur died.” Arthur had been Radar’s partner before Peyton came on the team. He took a bullet for Radar. “I was messed up and I took it out on her.”
“How did you work it out?”
Radar shrugged. “We just did. I went to counseling and she forgave a shit-load of crap. It wouldn’t have worked if she hadn’t been willing to forgive me.”
Peyton swallowed hard and nodded.
A woman with long grey hair approached their table, carrying a plate and a bowl of soup. “Jenny says you wanted to talk to me,” she said as she set the food down in front of them.
Peyton showed her her badge. “I’m Special Agent Peyton Brooks, and this is my partner, Special Agent Moreno. The woman at the Natural Child suggested we talk to you.”
“This is about the mermaid thing, right?”
Lord, news traveled fast. “Yep.”
“What can I help you with?”
“We discovered the baby was swaddled in a blanket made from natural fibers, specifically hemp. We understand you carry clothing made from hemp?”
“T-shirts, a few skirts. No blankets.” She thought for a moment, looking out the windows. “You know who you might ask?”
Peyton shook her head.
“We have a farmer’s market downtown on Center and Lincoln Street every Saturday. A few women usually come from Horizon and sell vegetables and stuff. They always have clothes, blankets and such, made from hemp.”
Peyton considered that. Horizon? Why was that name familiar to her?
“What time on Saturday?” asked Radar.
“Uh, it starts about 10:00.”
“Do they come every Saturday?”
“Most of the time. At least one or two of them show up.”
Peyton’s phone buzzed and she pulled it out. Bambi had responded to her text. “Can we get two more sandwiches like mine with the quinoa salad?”
“Coming right up,” Margy said, moving toward the back.
Radar picked up his spoon and aimlessly trailed it through the red liquid in his bowl. “I really like bacon.”
Peyton pushed her sandwich aside. “Radar, that Horizon thing’s familiar. Where have I see it before?”
Radar shook his head, lifting a spoonful and letting it spill back into the bowl. “Building or something?”
“No.” Peyton chewed her lower lip, trying to remember. “It was somewhere around here.”
“At the press conference yesterday?”
“No.”
“In the shop?”
“No…” Peyton’s head lifted. “It was on a van in the parking lot when we first came out here.”
“Parking lot?”
“Yeah. Remember at Natural Bridges? They’d closed off the road to keep the media away.”
“Right.”
“But there were a few cars still in the lot. One of them was a van and on the side it said Horizon.”
Radar looked up at her. “You sure?”
Peyton nodded.
Radar leaned over the bowl and lifted the spoon to his lips. “Well, I guess I know what we’re doing on our Saturday then.” He took a sip, then made a surprised face. “Hm, that’s good.”
“Even without bacon?”
He gave her an arch look. “Nothing’s that good, Sparky.”
* * *
Peyton’s phone rang. It was after 9:00PM and something about a ringing phone that late at night set her heart to pounding. She snatched it off the coffee table and looked at the display. Her mother. Great. Just what she needed. She reached for the remote and turned off the television as she pressed the icon for the call.
“Hey, Mama,” she said into the receiver.
“Hey, baby, I haven’t seen you in a few weeks. I thought you and Marco could come to dinner. I know you usually have dinner at his folks on Sunday, but if you’re free I’d love a turn at Sunday dinner myself.”
Peyton closed her eyes. She hadn’t known how to tell her mother that Marco left her. Alice wasn’t sure marrying a cop was a good idea. She couldn’t get over her own loss of Peyton’s father.
“Sunday works fine, Mama. I’ll be there.”
Alice hesitated. Peyton should have known that she couldn’t slip anything past her mother. Mothers were trained to pick up on those little shifts in language. “Is everything all right?”
She tucked her knees under Marco’s jersey and wrapped her arm around them. Pickles rolled over on his back next to her. Once her house had been teeming with people, living in every room, sleeping on every available surface. Now she was alone. She hated alone. Tears stung her eyes.
“Everything’s fine, Mama,” she said brightly. Too brightly. Even she heard how strange her voice sounded.
“Peyton?”
Peyton started to tell her, but a knock sounded at the door, setting Pickles to barking. She felt her heart kick against her ribs. Who the hell was coming over this late at night?
“Someone’s here, Mama, I’ve got to go.”
“Who’s there? Peyton, what’s going on?”
“Everything’s fine. I’ll see you on Sunday, okay?”
“Peyton, I don’t like you answering the door at night. Let Marco get it.”
“Mama, I have a gun.” The knock came again, loud and demanding. Peyton climbed off the couch.
“Still, let Marco get it.”
“Okay, Mama, I will. See you Sunday around six?”
“Six is good. Cliff can’t wait to see you, honey.”
Sure, he couldn’t. Cliff Martin was her mother’s live-in boyfriend, who wasn’t exactly thrilled she had a mixed race daughter.
“Bye, Mama.”
“Bye, darlin’.”
Peyton set the phone on the coffee table and walked to the peg by the door, drawing her gun. She pointed a finger at Pickles and he sat, falling silent. Then she eased to the door and peered out the peephole. Her breath caught and she quickly replaced the gun as the person on the other side knocked yet again.
Unlocking the door, she yanked it open. “What the hell are you doing here?” she demanded.
He gave her an unfocused look, then slowly licked his lips, his eyes lowering down her body. Emotions warred in Peyton – she wanted to strike him, she wanted to slam the door in his face, she wanted to scream at him, but she did none of those things.
“I had to see you,” he said, looming in the entrance. He reached out and cupped her cheek, then slid his hand around to the back of her neck under her heavy hair, pulling her toward him. Peyton braced her hands on his chest to hold him off, but when he lowered his head toward her, she found herself lifting on tiptoes to meet him.
He tasted smoky and dark – Jack Daniels. She pushed against his chest, but he simply lifted his mouth a hair’s breadth from hers.
“You’ve been drinking,” she accused.
He nodded and started to kiss her again, but she held him off.
/> “How the hell did you get here? Did you drive?”
“Took a cab.” She heard a clatter, but didn’t bother to look down. He’d dropped his cane, so he could slide his free arm around her waist and haul her up against him, even as he captured her mouth again.
Peyton knew she should break his hold, pummel him with her fists, but she found her hands curling into the lapels on his suit, pulling him into the house with her as she met his demanding kiss.
“This is wrong,” she said, feeling her back come up against the sofa table.
He slid his mouth along her face to her ear, then slid it lower to her throat. With his other hand, he swept her keys and wallet onto the floor, then lifted her and set her on the table. She was breathing hard as he drew back and looked her in the eyes.
“This is the only thing that’s gone right in days,” he answered before molding her to him again.
* * *
Jeff folded the letter and put it back in the envelope, then added it to the pile. He wasn’t sure what to do. It wasn’t like Finn Getter’s situation had anything to do with him. He’d written to Jeff’s mother, not Jeff.
Still, he couldn’t deny this kid seemed to be in trouble.
He reached for the letter again and pulled it out, folding it open. He stared at the date. Six months ago. Six months. It was probably too late to do anything now. Finn would have turned twenty-one by this date and he’d have been forced to leave the farm, set out on his own somewhere else.
Jeff didn’t begin to know how you tracked someone down who didn’t seem to have an actual identity. The kid didn’t really have any sort of education. He’d never held down a real job. He puttered about taking care of kids and messing in a garden.
He would have been turned out into the world with very little money, no prospects, and no real idea how to survive on his own. His life had been sheltered and the only experience he had with the real world was what he got from outdated computers at a public library.
Jeff paced his study, wracking his brain. Why was he getting so mixed up in this kid’s life? He couldn’t do anything to help him now. It was six months ago. He’d either found a way to survive or he hadn’t. And he hadn’t written to his mother since then.
Mermaids in the Pacific (Peyton Brooks, FBI Book 2) Page 13