“Many reasons. Let it go for now.”
Peyton relinquished, sliding down in her seat and watching the countryside speed past the window. When they arrived in Santa Cruz, Lieutenant Brannon met them at the entrance to the farmer’s market. Peyton climbed out of the Suburban and closed the door, watching as Radar crossed to Brannon’s side and shook her hand.
“Reynolds is keeping an eye on the Horizon women. They’re at the other end of the market with a table, selling vegetables and some cloth. We didn’t approach them, but the cloth looks like natural fibers,” said Brannon.
Radar turned to his team. “Sparky, you’re with me. Tank, Bambi, spread out and search for anyone else selling natural clothing. Approach cautiously. We’re just asking questions right now.” His voice trailed away and his attention went beyond them. “Shit.”
Peyton looked over her shoulder to see a news van pull up in front of the market.
Brannon reached for her radio. “Hank, we got a news crew here. I’m gonna head them off. You wanna make sure there isn’t another crew coming in on your end of the street.”
“Got it,” came the response.
Radar motioned Peyton to follow him. Bambi gave her a wave of her fingers as she moved off with Tank in the opposite direction.
“Radar,” Peyton said, falling into step beside him. “What exactly are we going to do if we locate the baby’s mother? Are we going to arrest her for something?”
“There are a number of things we could arrest her for, Sparky. Let’s cross that bridge when we find it, okay? Right now, I just want an explanation of why she did it.”
“What if she’s just a scared kid? What if she didn’t know what else to do?”
“Then we’ll question her and decide how to proceed.” He placed a hand on her arm and stopped her. “You don’t think it’s okay to just toss a baby away like garbage, do you?”
“Of course not, but I also don’t know that a crime was committed here either.”
“We’ll let judges and lawyers decide that, okay? Let’s just focus on our job.”
Peyton nodded and continued beside him. He was right, of course, but it seemed a whole lot of effort for something that was a questionable crime, when Lance Corporal Daws had died under truly suspicious circumstances.
As they meandered through the crowds, Peyton found herself enchanted with the market. People sold vegetables and fruit. They crafted dishes and knick-knacks. They raised bees and gathered honey. They made candles and soaps and shampoos and perfumes. And some made clothing.
Every place they stopped, they asked the people what the material was and every time they got different answers, but none were made of hemp. A woman sold rag dolls made from cotton. Another had beanies out of wool, and a third knitted stuffed animals from mohair. Peyton wasn’t sure what mohair was, so the woman produced a photo of her angora goats, beaming proudly at them as if they were her own children.
Finally, they worked their way to the end and Peyton spotted the Horizon van. Two women in plain, brown dresses greeted customers from behind a wooden table. A round sun was painted on the side of the van with the word Horizon slashing across it.
Fingering the wooden handle of a boar’s bristle brush, Peyton watched the women interact with the people around them. One was young, about sixteen or seventeen, the other in her mid to late forties. They had their hair pulled away from their faces and wound in a bun, no makeup or jewelry to adorn them.
“Well?” said Radar beside her.
“I’m not sure what to do.”
The women barely spoke with their customers, keeping their eyes downcast, their heads bowed.
Slipping off her suit jacket, Peyton handed it to Radar. “Hold this.”
“Why?”
“I look like a fed in it.” She unbuttoned her white shirt sleeves and rolled them up to her elbows, then unbuttoned the first couple of buttons at her throat. Reaching up, she pulled the clips out of her hair and shook her head to let it spill around her shoulders.
“You planning to seduce them?”
She gave Radar a pointed look. “Whatever works, buddy.”
“You’ve called me that twice. Stop it. I’m not your buddy.”
She blew a kiss at him. “Of course you are.”
He clenched his jaw and Peyton saw the vein in his forehead.
“Calm down. Your vein is showing. Mrs. Radar wouldn’t like that.” Running her fingers through her mane of hair, she left him standing at the display of wooden utensils and sauntered over to the Horizon table.
She caught sight of Reynolds, his tall, spare frame looming over the people at the end of the market, leaning against the barricade. She gave him a nod and picked up a tomato, rolling it in her hand.
“How much?” she asked the younger girl.
She glanced at her through her lashes. She had brown hair, a plain face scrubbed free of all makeup, and pale brown eyes. “How many do you want?”
“A couple of pounds.”
The girl reached for a paper bag and began putting tomatoes into it.
Peyton glanced at the other woman, but she was helping a man choose squash. Next to her sat a display of brown cloth with embroidered edges.
“Are those blankets?” she said, nodding at the end of the table.
“Yes,” said the girl.
“What are they made from?”
The girl glanced up at her again. Peyton gave her a disarming smile.
“I love natural fibers,” she said, but the girl’s eyes lowered to Peyton’s polyester suit. “When I can find them,” she added.
The girl continued to pick out tomatoes. “They’re all natural.”
“But from what? Flax, cotton?”
The girl glanced over at the older woman, catching her attention. She gave the man his squash and dropped the money in a wooden box, then came to the girl’s side.
“Can I help you?” she asked Peyton, meeting her eye. She also had pale brown eyes and brown hair.
“I was just wanting to know what the blankets are made from?”
“Natural fibers.”
“Right. But which?”
The girl settled the bag of tomatoes on a rusty scale and weighed it.
The older woman gave her a forced smile. “Hemp.”
“How much for a blanket?” Peyton moved down the table and fingered it. It was surprisingly soft.
“They’re not for sale.”
“Why are they out here then?”
“Display,” said the older woman.
She lifted her eyes to the van. “What does Horizon mean?”
“It’s the name of our farm.”
Farm. Finn Getter had mentioned the farm in his letters to Aster King.
“How fascinating. Where is it?”
The woman grabbed the bag of tomatoes from the girl and held it out to Peyton. Her eyes swept over Peyton’s clothing. “That’ll be $6.00.”
Peyton reached for her wallet and took the money out, passing it to the woman. “I only have a twenty. Can you give me change?”
Snatching the bill from Peyton’s hand, she opened the wooden box and began searching through the money. Peyton moved back to the girl. “You might know my friend. He’s about your age.”
The woman stopped moving. The girl took a step away from the table.
“He lives on a farm around here too. He told me he helps keep the vegetable garden, grows tomatoes and squash.”
The girl refused to meet her eye.
“He has a funny name. He was named for a character in a book.”
The girl’s gaze snapped to her face.
“Finn. Finn Getter? You wouldn’t know him, would you?”
The older woman moved in front of the girl, holding out the twenty. “Take the tomatoes. They’re yours.”
Peyton looked around her at the girl, then she reached into her pocket and pulled out a business card, settling it on the table. “We can help you,” she said, meeting the woman’s eyes. “We can get
you to a shelter.”
“We don’t need help.”
“Okay, but if anyone on the farm needs medical attention, we can get that for you too. We can…” She leaned toward the girl. “We can bring doctors, medicine, counselors.”
“We don’t need help from outsiders.” The older woman made an impatient motion with the twenty.
Picking up the business card, Peyton reached out and closed her hand around the woman’s, folding the twenty and the card into her fingers. Holding her eyes, she squeezed her hand. “Keep it.” Then she opened her fingers and took a step away.
The woman didn’t drop her gaze nor did she release the card.
Peyton backed from the table slowly, then turned and strode back to Radar.
“Well?”
“Something’s wrong.”
Radar nodded. “Looked that way from here.”
“We need to get on that farm.”
“Under what grounds, Sparky?”
“A mermaid being tossed in the ocean.”
“Can’t prove it came from there.”
“The blanket was hemp, but they wouldn’t sell me one. Can we get a warrant for that?”
“I don’t see how. We had a few fibers at most.”
Peyton looked back at the van. The two women were packing up, the blankets had already disappeared. Shit. She knew something was wrong with those women, but she had no way to prove it. She knew they recognized Finn Getter’s name. She’d seen the light in the younger girl’s eyes.
Finn Getter. He was the answer. He was the way to get onto that farm.
She whipped back to face Radar. “Finn Getter spent as much time as he could at the library.”
“Yeah?”
“The librarian was Mrs. Elder. I knew I’d heard that name before. Maybe if we go see her, we can get to Finn. And if we get to Finn…”
“Maybe we get to the farm.”
“Right.”
“Why do you think this connects to the mermaid?”
“Something’s not right there, Radar,” she said, motioning to the van. “I’m telling you. Finn talked about birth defects on the farm and those women act scared. The older woman told me the blankets were made of hemp. Come on. This isn’t coincidence. This is all connected.”
Radar exhaled and rubbed at his forehead. Peyton noticed his vein was bulging again. “Goddamn it, Sparky, you’re going to get me mixed up in a cult thingy.”
“A cult thingy?”
“Ruby Ridge, Waco? Either of those ring a bell?”
“Yes, but what choice do we have? The younger girl? She’s maybe fourteen or fifteen. Who knows what’s going on at that farm, Radar?”
“We go in there and guns get pulled.”
Peyton glanced back at the van. The younger girl was watching them surreptitiously as she boxed up produce. “Since when is the FBI afraid to do what’s right? Since when is the FBI afraid to help people in trouble?”
Radar whipped off his glasses and glared at her. “Since innocent people die in these things. This is still America and if you want to live in a bloody damn cult, you have the right to do it.”
“Well, the part of that I heard was if. What if you don’t want it? What if you have rampant inbreeding causing birth defects? What if young girls are being forced to bear children before they’re old enough, leaving them with the only option of throwing the bodies into the ocean?”
Radar held her gaze. “You’re trouble, you know that, Sparky?”
She didn’t respond.
“The minute I saw you, I said that one’s trouble. She’s going to make my life hell.”
Still Peyton didn’t respond.
“You aren’t a superhero. That badge doesn’t give you the right to interfere in people’s lives. You need to know when you have something and when to walk away. You were right before. What are we going to prosecute? There was no murder, there was simply a bad decision of disposing of a body improperly. Then because the media got involved, we got dragged into it, but there’s no case here. There’s just a weird cult, some weird letters, and…” His gaze went beyond her to the van. “...and a baby who was tossed away like garbage.”
Peyton crossed her arms in front of her.
Radar’s eyes whipped back to her face and he lifted a finger, pointing it at her. “Fine. We’ll come back on Monday and talk to Mrs. Elder. We’ll see if she can locate Finn Getter and then we’ll ask him what goes on at the farm.”
Peyton smiled.
Radar shook his head, clenching his jaw. “No, don’t you smile at me. You’re trouble. The minute I saw you, I knew you were trouble. And they went and gave you to me. Shit.” Turning on his heel, he began walking the way they came.
Peyton glanced over her shoulder. The girl was climbing into the passenger seat of the van, but she looked back, making eye contact with Peyton before she disappeared inside. Peyton shifted her attention to the painted sun and the lettering on the side of the van. Horizon, my ass, she thought.
* * *
Walking up the ramp to her door, Peyton reached for her gun. She could hear voices on the other side, music playing, and laughter. Without drawing it, she reached for the handle and eased the door open, peering into the house.
Abe wheeled into her line of sight, carrying a tray with tall, thin glasses on it, sporting a sprig of mint at the top. She breathed out and eased her hand away from the gun, stepping inside. As soon as they saw her, all motion ceased.
Peyton catalogued everyone instantly: Abe, Jake, Cho, Maria and Tag. Their faces burst into smiles and “Peyton!” rang out over the thump of the base. Pickles raced for her and she scooped him up, closing the door behind her.
“Nice of you to break-in,” she said.
Jake was the first to approach, kissing her on the cheek and taking the dog. She removed her suit jacket and gun, hanging them on the peg by the door. She couldn’t help but search the room a second time, looking for Marco. She knew he wouldn’t be there, but she couldn’t help herself.
Abe bounced over, extending the tray. “How about a mojito, sweets? You only get one, so sip it slowly.”
Peyton took a drink and gave him a smile. He planted a kiss on her forehead. “You might have told me you were planning a break-in.”
“And spoil the surprise? Silly girl.”
Silly girl, indeed.
Maria stopped in front of her. “I won’t even ask what you’ve got going on here.” She motioned down Peyton’s body. “But go get changed and come see what we have for dinner. We’ve got a taco bar going.”
Peyton nodded and wended her way through the living room, waving to Tag and giving Cho a quick hug. She slipped into a pair of shorts and a loose tank top, releasing her curls from the bun she’d hastily tied after they left the farmer’s market. Picking up her drink, she returned to the living room and Maria pounced on her, dragging her into the kitchen.
All the fixings for tacos had been laid out on her counters, among Abe’s paraphernalia for drinks. “Grab a plate. You look thin,” Maria tsked. “You’re not going to have any ass at all if you keep this up. You look like a prepubescent boy.”
Peyton opened her mouth to respond, but decided it wasn’t worth it. There was no win with Maria. Either she had the ass of a hippo, or she had no ass at all. Before she could dish up a plate, Maria began piling things on it, shoving it into her hand and pushing her out of her own kitchen.
Peyton retreated to the couch and sat down next to Tag. “Hey, partner,” she said.
Tag offered her a chin lift. “What’s shaking, Fluffy?”
“Not much. How are you?”
“I got saddled with Holmes as a partner. How do you think I am?”
Peyton lifted a taco and took a bite, giving Tag an understanding nod. “He’s all sorts of pleasant, isn’t it?”
“If I have to hear how many women he bangs in a month again, I’m gonna castrate him.”
Peyton laughed. “You eating?”
“As soon as Betty freakin
’ Crocker gets out of the kitchen.” Tag leaned close to Peyton. “She said my face was looking fat.”
Peyton smiled. “Usually she compares my ass to large animals, but today she said I looked like a boy.”
Tag shook her head, then pushed herself off the couch when Maria came into the living room and took a seat in Marco’s chair. “So I bought some new product for your hair. You can’t go around looking like Bozo the clown.”
Tag halted as she passed behind Maria’s chair and made a stabbing motion with her hand. Peyton hide her smile, reaching for her mojito instead. As soon as she finished her plate, Maria pounced on her, taking it from her hand. Peyton eased back on the couch and watched Jake and Cho argue about which opera was the best.
Her house was filled with people again and it made her happy.
Abe carried his drink over to the couch and dropped down beside her. She snuggled against him, resting her head on his shoulder.
“How you doing, my sweet girl?”
“Better now that you’re here.”
He nodded, pressing his cheek to her hair. “You sleeping all right?”
“Not so good.”
“Nightmares?”
“Yeah. Thank you for coming over.” She leaned back and looked into his face. “What’s Marco doing?”
Abe shrugged. “I left him to his own devices, sweets. He needs to get his ducks in a row and I can’t do it for him.”
“Is he still drinking?”
“Off and on. He won’t see my friend Grey, so the pain is eating at him, but you can’t force someone to do something they won’t.”
She played with a bead on the end of Abe’s dreadlock. “He say anything about us?”
“I haven’t had much time to talk to him. Although, the other night, he played poker with Serge and Misha.”
Peyton gave him a disbelieving look. “Marco? My Marco?”
Abe pealed off into laughter. “Yep. Serge and Misha loooved him. And they told me I couldn’t get a younger man.”
“You didn’t get a younger man.”
Abe placed a finger against his lips. “Shh, little soul sista. What they don’t know can’t hurt them.”
Peyton laughed and laid her head on his shoulder. “I love you, Abe.”
Mermaids in the Pacific (Peyton Brooks, FBI Book 2) Page 20