by J. R. Rain
“Yes! Anything for you, my love.” Vernon pulls himself upright and stumps out the door, dragging his broken leg.
I pull my dress back into place and tap my foot on air. Either Troy’s future is about to take a bad turn or poor Vernon’s going to wind up in a mental ward.
Honestly? I’m okay with either option.
n Saturday morning, I go for a nice long swim all the way out to the Pacific. I need a good couple of hours of deep ocean around me to wash away the stress of the past week. A medium-sized tuna makes for a good meal, chasing away the unpleasant taste of human. Maybe watching Barnaby tear into people I’d had conversations with less than an hour before left me with a permanent mental scar, but I don’t think I will ever enjoy the idea of eating my own kind.
They’re not your own kind anymore, dear.
I sigh. Yes, I’m aware of that, but you know what I mean.
After returning home, I take a quick shower. I adore the scent of the sea, but society as a whole tends to react poorly to people who run around smelling like saltwater and fish. Wrapped armpit to thigh in a towel, I let my hair air-dry while roaming the net for all things related to Rachel’s husband Eric. My expectations are low as I’ve already done this before and come up empty. Still, I have a few minutes to kill.
My phone rings, a call from Lorraine. Looks like I missed three earlier attempts.
“Hi,” I say. “Sorry for not picking up before. I was in the pool and didn’t hear it ring.” Please don’t be bad news.
“It’s not a problem.” She sounds calm, which lets me breathe again. “We’re home now, with Hannah. They discharged her this morning. On Monday, we have an appointment with a lawyer to finalize guardianship.”
I nod, despite a mild feeling like someone’s taking my kid away from me. Grr. Where did that come from?
“Gerald and I aren’t spring chickens anymore. He’s sixty-three, and I’m a year behind him. Our attorney thought it might be wise for us to name a backup guardian for Hannah in case we become incapable of caring for her. She seems to adore you, and I think you care quite a bit for her as well. We… umm, don’t have any other relatives left.”
Did I charm her over the phone?
Doubtful.
“I’d be honored,” I say. “But I don’t think anything will happen to you before she’s eighteen.”
Lorraine chuckles. “Well, you know what they say about umbrellas. Bring one, the sun blazes. Don’t, and you get soaked. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather stay dry.”
I stifle a laugh. “Yeah. Do you need me to be there on Monday?”
“No… it’s something we’re adding to our wills.” She pauses. “Is there a threat still? Gerald thought he saw a strange car glide by last night, going too slow.”
“I’ll ask around, but I have a feeling Troy isn’t going to bother you or Hannah again. In fact, I think he’s got an appointment with the police coming up real soon.”
She lets out a long sigh of relief. “I hope so. It’s taking them so long. All right, I’ve stolen enough of your time. Are you absolutely sure you don’t want us to pay you?”
I grin. “You’re not taking up my time, and yes, I’m sure.”
“Bless you,” says Lorraine, her voice smiling.
“Bye bye.”
I hang up feeling better than I have in quite a few months. I’d have preferred finding all three of them alive, but I couldn’t have done anything about that. Troy killed them before the Stricklands ever contacted me.
An email pops in from Detective Serrano.
Hey Alex,
Thought you’d like to know they picked Robertson up this morning. Raided an empty house, but the State boys got him about fifteen miles from the Oregon border. I hear he tried to make a run for it to the state line and got a little banged up going off road when he ran over some stop sticks. Strangest thing. Vernon Baker showed up out of thin air and confessed to a whole mess of shit, implicating Troy in both the attack on the Strickland girl as well as an unresolved ‘shots fired’ case at the hospital. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?
-Paolo
Crap. Vernon was too honest. I grab my cell and call him.
“It’s goddamned Saturday, Alex,” says Paolo.
“So? I thought cops never take the day off.”
He makes a slurping noise. “My Coors says otherwise.”
“I’d make a joke about you drinking beer on duty, but that isn’t beer.”
He chuckles. “Ouch.”
“Calling it like I see it. Listen, I spooked Troy enough that he hired Vernon to get rid of me. The shots fired at the hospital were pointed my way.”
“Crap.” His chair squeaks and slams in the background. I picture him shooting upright. “Are you okay? Why didn’t you report that?”
“They missed, and ran off before I got a good look at them. Figured it wouldn’t go anywhere.”
“Alex…” He draws my name out long.
I roll my eyes. He has no idea how much I hate being talked to like a teenager trying to keep secrets. “Okay, maybe they didn’t miss, but… reasons. I’m okay. They did run off before I got a good look at them.”
“More of that stuff I agreed not to talk about?” he asks.
“Yeah. Look, don’t worry about those two palookas.”
Paolo groans. “You’re going to say something to me I legally can’t hear, aren’t you?”
“Of course not.” I fight a giggle. “Just, you know, woman’s intuition. Pretty sure they’ve both fled the country. I don’t think they have the heart for crime anymore.”
“Right.” Finger tapping comes over the line. “Well, I suppose I’ll tell Webb to send you a card to offer thanks for the gift-wrapped case.”
“Heh, you do that.” I lean back and swing my chair side to side. “Tell him to make sure there’s a Starbucks card in it.”
Paolo laughs. “I’ll pass that on.”
“Take care of yourself, Paolo.”
“Back atcha, kid.”
I grin and set the phone back on the desk. Hmm. What am I going to do with a quiet Saturday? What else would I do? I’m going to work a case. According to the tracker app, Eric is still home. Perfect. I’m of the opinion that Rachel is clingy and a touch paranoid. The longer this case takes, the worse I’ll feel charging her for running in circles. Time to put this one in the ‘closed’ file.
Few things in my life ever go according to plan or expectation. The GPS tracker app makes a tweep when I’m a few minutes away from the Moss’ house. Of course, that sound effect tells me he’s not only away from home, he’s outside of the predefined area I set up. That could mean he’s twenty minutes out of the way at Katherine’s house or maybe fifteen minutes the other way at his office. Crap.
I pull over at the first available space and dig my phone out. His dot is moving northwest on Edmond’s Way. Hmm. That’s well out of his normal stomping grounds. Well crap. Maybe Rachel’s on to something after all. After mounting the phone in my dashboard holder, I pull back into traffic and follow.
Assuming Eric’s about to cheat on his wife, he’s probably going to the other woman’s house, so I don’t feel the need to play speeding ticket bingo. Over the course of the next half hour, I follow him up Edmonds Way until he makes a left on West Dayton and goes into Edmonds Marina. Hmm. Some guys hide boats from their wives due to the expense. Maybe he is cheating with a lady, but not a living one.
I find a parking space close to Eric’s car, hop out, and tail him. He joins a group of three other men hanging out to the left of Q Dock. Two large flowerboxes flank a small table-and-benches set on a narrow strip of boardwalk between the parking lot and the boat launches. They’re all about his age, later twenties to early thirties, though the other three give off a ‘bad side of town’ vibe.
The shortest guy’s body language tells me he considers himself the leader. Always the little ones, right? Tank top, grey cargo pants, tribal tats on both shoulders, short, spiky ha
ir. Geez, dude, 1989 called. It wants its clothes back. And throw in the tats too.
There’s almost nowhere to hide close enough to listen in, so I do a slow walk-by while staring at my phone.
“… gotta do this for us, Moss. We need that boat of yours.” The short guy pokes Eric in the chest with a finger.
“I dunno, Bobby.” Eric fidgets, looking down. “It’s different now. I’ve got a lot more to lose.”
“Bullshit man,” says a guy in a long olive-drab coat. “Remember Copeland.”
I stop nearby and radiate a ‘don’t see me’ aura.
“That was goddamn high school, Wayne.” Eric kicks at the ground. “Things change. I can’t keep getting involved in your guys’ crazy bullshit.”
“Eric…” The short guy, Bobby, claps him on the arms by the shoulders. “Dude. We’ve been tight since ninth grade. This is waterproof, man. Why you been dodgin’ us for weeks?”
Since none of them have reacted to me, I snag a couple photos using my cell phone.
“Yah dude.” The third guy picks at a bit of food in his long, shaggy beard. “You can’t just leave us hangin’. You all fancy now wit’ a boat and wife and shit.”
“Look.” Bobby pats him on the shoulder. “Do us a solid, right. We’re brothers.”
“Always brothers,” says Trenchcoat, reaching out.
“Brothers.” Beard grabs the hand.
Bobby takes it as well. “Dude… C’mon, man. Class of 2008, yo.”
“I…” Eric’s frown twists into a begrudging smile. He grabs the four-way handshake. “Fine. I’m beggin’ you guys though. Don’t mess this up.”
“No need you gotta worry ‘bout that.” Bobby kisses his left hand and slaps the top of the group fist, breaking it apart. “We good.”
Eric stuffs his hands in his pockets, again staring at the ground like a scolded schoolboy. “How long?”
“Soon.” Bobby spits to the side. “Ain’t gonna be a lot of time, so when we call, you need ta be ready ta move like pronto. Prob’ly gonna be late-ish.”
Suppose a rolling stone―or crime in this case―gathers no Moss.
That was awful. Even for you.
Licinia laughs.
“Ugh.” Eric paces around, running one hand repetitively over his scalp. “What the hell am I going to tell Rachel? I think she thinks I’m cheating or something. There’s calls on her cell statement to a private investigator.”
Okay, so they’re both paranoid.
The three guys laugh.
“Whoa dude, a private investigator?” asks Bobby between chuckles. “Them shits exist? I thought that was like movie stuff, man.”
“Apparently.” Eric pulls a hand out of his pocket long enough to wipe at his nose. “When the Martin thing happened, I told you I can’t take that kind of risk anymore. This is the last time, guys. I’m no rat, but I can’t keep dipping my balls in that world. You don’t have to cut me in on anything here. Pay me by not involving me in any more bullshit like this.”
Hmm. Eric’s smarter than he looks. I’m no lawyer, but not accepting any payment might help him somewhat if this blows up in their faces. Maybe he could claim they coerced him.
Bobby scowls at the ground, but nods. “All right dude. I get it. We’ll respect that.”
The group fist bumps and breaks up.
Hmm. He’s not cheating, but whatever these guys are involved with could be every bit as bad for his marriage. I wish I could whammy those three to leave him alone, but the charm would wear off in a couple hours and do little more than confuse the hell out of them.
So, what now?
I do what I’m being paid to do and send Rachel an email.
few days later, I meet Rachel Moss at Wantanabe’s for lunch. Wednesday afternoon has a special $4 appetizer menu, but most of it is tempura, dough, or veggies, so I don’t bother with it. Not like I’m hurting for money.
I admire her promptness; we pulled into the parking lot within seconds of each other, both ten minutes ahead of our planned 12:30 arrival time. Our eyes met across the parking lot like long-lost lovers, and we walked to the door at the same time. Neither one of us spoke until after a host brought us to a table.
“All right. Tell me what you found.” She stares at me, her too-big eyes widening even more. “I can’t believe you made me wait. Haven’t you ever heard of video calling?”
I smile. “I’m a little old school. Your husband is not cheating on you.”
She stares. “But… There’s a ‘but’ in that tone.”
The waiter hands us each hot towels to wash our hands. I order a green tea while Rachel goes for a Diet Coke.
As soon as we’re alone again, I pull an envelope from my bag and hand it to her. “You were partially right. He is up to something, but it’s not another woman. Eric met some old high school pals at the marina.”
She tugs the printouts from the envelope and stares at the three miscreants in stunned silence. Severe guilt wafts off her, enough for me to pick up on. “I shouldn’t have doubted him…”
“He also knows you called me. I overheard him talking about your cell phone statement.”
Rachel lifts her head with the forlorn expression of a lost child.
She had herself so convinced he’d cheated on her, she’s having difficulty coping with that manufactured truth breaking apart.
I’ve got a feeling Licinia’s right.
“He sensed you being suspicious of him, and told his friends you think he’s cheating,” I say. “They didn’t talk about much detail, but it sounded like they’re planning something illegal and want to use Eric’s boat for the last part.”
“Oh, no…” Rachel opens her mouth, but bites off her words as the waiter returns with our drinks.
We order. Sashimi deluxe for me while she gets the chirashi sushi. Wow. First time I’ve been here with a client who didn’t order cooked food. I guess if she travels overseas for work, she’s no stranger to international cuisine. She eats real sushi. I decide to like her a little more.
“Please don’t go to the police,” says Rachel, her voice hollow and breathy. “I’ll talk to him. He hasn’t done anything yet. I know Eric. He wouldn’t break the law unless he’s been threatened.”
I swipe a stray hair that’s dangling in front of my eye and tuck it back. “Sounded more like guilt than threat. The old ‘oh, come on, we go way back’ routine.”
She fidgets at her napkin for a few seconds, eyes shifting around at random. Eventually, she sits still and stares at me again. “Can you help him? Somehow? Do private investigators do that sort of thing?”
“Seems like he’s expected to be the final part of their plan, the getaway. I could track down those three guys, find out what they’re up to, and tip off the police before Eric gets involved. Anything more… ‘hands on’ than that, I’d have to think over.”
Rachel nods. We sit in silence for a little while before her expression morphs into an eager, hopeful look. Wow. Those big, pleading eyes would be a dangerous weapon when turned on fathers and husbands. Being neither, I pick up my chopsticks and pick at the little bowl of wakame in front of me. I wonder if seaweed counts as food for me since it’s from the ocean.
Ahh, one of the greatest mysteries of our kind.
I stifle a snicker.
“Think about it, okay?” she asks.
“I will. I may need more information first. Why don’t you talk to Eric and maybe both of you come in and give me a real idea of what’s going on?”
She grins. “Okay. Yes. I’ll talk to him.”
Amazing. She’s not even angry with him for auditing her cell phone use. I’d be pissed. Then again, she did hire a PI to snoop on him. I suppose it would be hypocritical of her to be offended at his snooping back.
“Great. You’ve got my number if he wants to talk.”
Rachel eats her micro-salad in one bite, nodding while chewing.
“That’ll be a separate case though. The meter on this one’s done.”
> “Okay,’ Rachel says, a glimmer of hope in her eyes.
Great. How deep is this next rabbit hole going to be?
n Saturday morning, a full week after meeting with Rachel, my phone rings. It’s been quiet, only one case, and an easy one. Just a jackass dodging child support, hiding out in Nanimo, Canada under an assumed name. Easy fix since he hadn’t crossed the border legally. All I had to do was lead the cops to him. Then again, I hadn’t crossed into Canada properly either. I don’t even have a passport. I’m about to ignore the phone and enjoy spending all day in the ocean, but I spot Lorraine’s name on the ID. I pounce, rushing to swipe the screen before she drops the line. Excited, I wind up standing on tiptoe, leaning against the desk, hair covering my face.
“Hello?” I ask.
“Alex, good morning.” She sounds happy. Good sign. “I was wondering if you could do us a small favor?”
“Sure, what’s up?” I lower myself to stand flat and puff at the hair over my eyes. It falls right back in place to spite me.
“We’re meeting a realtor to handle David’s house. It’s going to be a few hours, and Gerald and I were wondering if you might be willing to watch Hannah for a while, say till around five?”
“Of course.”
Licinia stirs. It’s so weird feeling happiness radiating from a Dark Master.
I heard that.
I grin at Licinia. “When should I pick her up?”
“Any time now is fine,” says Lorraine. “We’re leaving at eleven to go to Greenwood.”
“Okay. Umm. Would it be all right if I took her swimming for a bit? I promised her I would if she could be brave for the trial.”
Lorraine pauses a few seconds. “Well, I suppose… She was brave giving a recorded statement, even if the bastard took a plea.”
“I’d call life without the possibility of parole fair. The prosecutor wanted to go for a double death penalty trial plus however many years he’d have gotten for conspiracy to kill Hannah. They even tacked on insurance fraud since he intentionally sank that boat and then filed a claim.”