He kept going, not saying anything to Kristin. Those three would have to be Jackson’s associates. Why were they here? If it was to keep an eye on Kristin, he’d say they were doing a poor job of it. But they were FBI, so they wouldn’t be slackers. Were they here just to look for Eloise?
He wasn’t going to get his answers right now. Not with the rest stop coming into view. No one was there except that waiter wiping tables in the brightly lit seating area. Zane was glad for the privacy.
The waiter gaped at Zane as he walked in. “What happened to you?” He hurried behind the counter and quickly set two mugs onto the counter, then filled them with hot coffee.
“I took a quick dip,” Zane muttered. Though he’d warmed up slightly in the car, he felt chilled to the bone. Kristin walked straight to the small gift shop and found a sweat suit for him.
After purchasing it with soggy bills and then quickly donning it in the restroom, Zane accepted the waiter’s offer of a plastic bag in which to put his wet clothes.
The waiter washed the counter where lake water had dripped onto it. “This doesn’t have anything to do with that car crashing into the lake just now, does it?”
Kristin’s head shot up. She’d been quiet, staring darkly into her coffee mug. “How do you know about that already?”
“The old guy who lives nearby called me. He asked if whoever had driven into the lake had stopped by here first. He wanted to know if they’d said anything about why they were there.”
“What did you say?”
“I said several cars had stopped here. Two men and a woman, when you were here, then later, two other guys pulled in, each grabbed a coffee to go and left. I have to tell you, they looked like pretty unsavory characters. I think one of them stole one of the fundraising chocolate bars I have by the cash.”
“Wait a minute,” Zane interrupted, setting down his mug. “Who called you?”
“Joey Hamilton. He lives on the lake. Says he saw most of what happened through the woods at the edge of the lake.”
“There’s a driveway at the very end of the road,” Kristin asked. “Is that where he lives?”
“Yup. He’s a bit of a recluse, and doesn’t like strangers, so he keeps a watchful eye out for them nowadays.” With his fingertips, the waiter tapped his temple in that knowing way.
Kristin looked at Zane as he sipped his coffee appreciatively. He used both his hands to hold the mug.
“Maybe my parents were going down to visit him?” she asked him quietly. “To take some things to him, perhaps?”
The waiter shook his head and answered for Zane. “I don’t think so. He has a son in Missoula who owns a bakery and grocery store and once a week brings him whatever he asks for.”
Kristin exchanged a glance with Zane. He could feel her energy rise. A bakery? Did that have anything to do with her parents? Or her mother? If her mother was such a good baker, would she have worked there? Zane didn’t believe in coincidences, and yet this seemed to be a genuine one.
But why go down to this old guy’s place anyway? Were her parents friends with him, as they’d told the waiter? A mentally ill recluse didn’t seem the kind of friends Kristin’s parents had. Perhaps he’d been a client of her father’s once.
The waiter refilled their mugs, and offered more cream and sugar. “I see your car didn’t get dunked in the lake, so it must have been the other one. So why did you jump in?”
Before Kristin could quite innocently answer with the absolute truth, something he didn’t want her to do, Zane spoke. “That’s not important. What is, though, is that the lake is one cold body of water.”
The waiter laughed. “Dead right on that. With the snow-melt being later than usual this year, I’d say the lake will stay cold all the way to August. Those police divers are going to find it chilly, too.”
“Police divers?” Kristin echoed.
“Sure. I called the police. Joey Hamilton won’t call. Like I said, he doesn’t care much for visitors. So I called them. They should be racing past soon. Was anyone hurt? Did you fish those guys out then just leave them on the road?”
Instinct kicked in, hard and hurriedly. From his wet wallet, Zane dug out some more dripping bills and after paying for the coffee, he grabbed the bag of wet clothes. “Those guys will be okay, but we have to get home. It’s been a long day and I need a hot shower.”
Kristin caught his fast glance and slipped off her stool. “Thank you for everything. We’re sorry we have to rush off, but don’t worry about those two men. Though, tell me about this Joey Hamilton’s son. Do you know the name of his grocery store?”
“It’s Hamilton’s Home Bakery. The grocery store part is small, but the bakery is very popular.” He frowned at them. “You’re not in any trouble, are you?”
She smiled at him as she followed Zane to the door. “No. But if you kept our presence here to yourself, we’d appreciate it.” She hastily added, “We don’t want you to lie, of course, but we’d rather no one know we were here.”
The waiter looked suspicious. “I can’t promise anything.”
She looked sympathetically at him. “I understand. Thank you for everything.”
“Are you sure you’re both okay?”
She smiled at Zane, then at the waiter. “Yes, thank you. It’s just that, quite frankly, the less people know about us, the better it is for us. We’re not running from the law or anything. Quite the opposite, really. We’re just—”
Before Kristin unabashedly told the man her whole life story, Zane stepped in front of her. “Look,” he told the waiter. “All we’re trying to do is keep a low profile. We’re not fugitives, but for our own safety, we have to avoid everyone. I realize that you don’t know us from Adam, but it would mean a lot to us if you kept quiet about our visit.”
The waiter looked at Kristin, then Zane, and then slowly nodded. Obviously relieved, Kristin headed out the door, but she stopped just as Zane held it open. He’d rather she just walk out and stop this chitchat, but to make a scene and yank her out might provoke the waiter to say something to the police.
Jackson had told Kristin not to trust the police even, and after discovering that someone had removed the grease stain from her vest, Zane wasn’t about to trust them, either.
As if sensing Zane’s feelings, she walked out. A moment later, they climbed back into his car and drove north again. At one point, several minutes later, an ambulance shot past them. A few minutes after that, a police cruiser, lights blazing, ripped by.
Kristin shot him a wide-eyed glance.
They weren’t stopped.
And Zane thanked God privately for that small mercy.
ELEVEN
All the way home, Kristin’s thoughts were a jumble of fear and worry. She’d said more than one silent prayer for her and Zane’s safety, and that the FBI would apprehend those men. And that wisdom would prevail.
But she’d also wondered repeatedly about the bakery in Missoula and its rather odd, almost tenuous connection to her parents. Of course, that was assuming that her parents were on their way to visit it, via Joey Hamilton, that fateful day.
But to find out for sure, she’d have to wait until she got home to dig through her father’s files. He had been meticulous about record keeping.
She’d tried once to read his files, shortly after the safe had been opened, but the memories attached to anything of his had been too raw.
Not so now.
“I’d like to go home, if I can,” Kristin said quietly. The request was the first thing she’d said since leaving the rest stop. “Dad would have written something down about this trip, I’m sure of it. If it was for the church, he’d do it for the pastor. If it was work-related, he’d need it for the office’s records. If he’d been searching for my mother, then he’d make sure he kept notes on that.”
Now, as he took the only exit into Westbrook, he nodded. “I’d like to do some searches of my own, too. First up, I want to know who in the Martino crime family knows how to ma
ke a bomb. And I hope you’re right. There must be something that would explain your parents’ relationship to Joey Hamilton.”
“My parents never mentioned him. Dad kept meticulous records, not just in his work, but with his personal stuff, as well, all in separate files. But he didn’t talk about work much. There’s going to be a lot of files to sort through. He’d been on staff at the church, too, so he kept receipts for that.”
“What did he do at the church?”
“He handled all their legal issues, of course, but he also assisted in pastoral visits. The pastor liked to take someone with him. Mom would go, too, especially if they were visiting a widow. Dad would keep records of all the visits.”
“Joey Hamilton’s house seems a long way to go.”
“True. And the pastor always went with them. I’m sure Joey Hamilton wasn’t a part of our church. I’ve never heard of him before now. We’ll search my father’s office.” She nodded, wet her lips and tossed him a quick look. “Um, I’m sorry if I talked too much back at the rest stop. I hope I didn’t say anything unwise.”
“Don’t worry about it. I have a feeling that that waiter isn’t going to say too much about us.” He threw her a smile. “And I appreciate your honesty.”
She tried to smile back, but the memory of those men, racing toward them, trying to force them to their deaths…it was too strong.
They passed familiar houses on their way to her home, Kristin feeling the heat blasting from the vents. Although very warm now, she couldn’t turn the fan down. Zane must still be cold. “We ended up with more questions than answers today, despite meeting Clay. I’m beginning to realize why Jackson asked us not to look for my mother. And yet, on a totally unrelated drive, we nearly get killed.”
“I’ll get you home safe and sound where you can figure out what your parents were doing down there.”
“But what about Hamilton’s Home Bakery? Don’t you find that just a little coincidental?”
“Kristin,” he began as he pulled into her driveway. The motion sensing light came on in the approaching dusk. “Do you have any idea how many bakeries there are in Montana, especially if they are part of grocery stores? People have to eat, and it could just be a coincidence that your mother liked to bake. Lots of teen girls like to tinker in the kitchen.”
She nodded. He was right, of course, but still, as Zane said, she knew that real coincidences were rare.
They climbed out of the car. Automatically, he dropped to his knees and peered underneath it. “It’s got to be here. I didn’t have a good enough look before—” He reached farther and yanked out a small box about the size of a cell phone. “Here it is.”
After straightening, he removed the battery. “There, no more spying.”
They hurried into her house. “I’ll wash your wet clothes,” she said, taking the heavy plastic bag. “Maybe they’ll be dry by the time we’re done.”
She then indicated to him to follow her into her father’s office. There, she handed Zane a folder that her father had entitled “church stuff” from where it lay on her father’s desk. He may as well search while she filled the washer.
Kristin worked mindlessly for the next few minutes, then after preparing a small snack for them—stress always made her hungry—she returned to her father’s office.
When she entered the warm, bright room, she stopped. Zane sat in her father’s chair, behind the broad, dark desk. Having always loved this room with its bright sunny corner windows and warm, dark furniture, she used to sneak in when her father was working. The only thing now marring the pleasant memory was the gaping hole in the far wall. She’d have to call that drywaller soon. “I really like this room, you know. Always have. My dad used to let me lie on the floor in front of the fireplace and color in my coloring books while he worked. Though, I used to chatter on a lot, so I don’t know how much work he got done.”
“Maybe he could tune you out?”
“Probably. It’s not as though I said anything deep and important. Mostly silly stories about the pages I was coloring, I think.” She cleared her throat as she set down the snack on the desk’s polished hardwood surface. Enough of the sad memories. She had a lifetime ahead to reminisce.
By herself, maybe? She stole a furtive glance at Zane, his dark head tilted down as he opened the folder.
Forget it. Forget about what she and Zane shared back there at Lindbergh Lake. They were just releasing some extra emotion. A kiss meant nothing nowadays.
To most people, that is, she told herself.
They pored over the surprisingly thick file. She took the gas receipts and a map and carefully compared the two. With a set of colored markers, she marked the stops her parents had made on various trips.
Zane took the other receipts plus a variety of papers, then watched her at her task. “It looks like they went down to Missoula often,” he said when she finished. “I’ve compared dates and times. They’d go to Hamilton’s Home Bakery straight from here, and then on the way back, stop at the rest stop some time later. But what’s a bit confusing is the place is north of the turn off to Lindbergh Lake. They’d have to backtrack if they were going to visit Joey Hamilton.”
“It’s just a few minutes north,” she countered. “There are no gas receipts for Missoula, so maybe my father got into the habit of going there for gas before heading down to Lindbergh Lake. Plus my mother probably wanted to stretch her legs. She would get cramps in them. Is there anything useful in the other receipts?”
“No, and they rarely purchased groceries in Missoula, so I have no idea why they went there in the first place. There’s one receipt from Hamilton’s Home Bakery, a loaf of cheese bread and a block of old cheddar. From Christmastime last year.”
“I remember that. They gave both to our minister. It’s odd, though, to drive all the way down to Missoula for cheese and bread. Our deli downtown has both. And even I can make a decent cheese bread.” She fell silent immediately.
The quiet echoed around them. Was Zane thinking what she was thinking? That her parents had found her mother in that bakery? Did she dare to call with the hope her mother worked there? What would Jackson say should he find out?
“There’s a phone number on the receipt,” Zane noted quietly, “but it’s too late to call now. We can call tomorrow.”
She sagged in her chair near the wide desk. “I guess. I wonder if the people who work for Jackson got to those men before the police did.”
“Probably. The police arrived after the FBI and they’d be told that the FBI was in charge, and would have to back off.”
“Because those two men are wanted for attempted murder?”
“No, because it would be part of a federal case, the case against Vincent Martino.”
“I hope those two wise up and tell the FBI the truth. But they didn’t seem the kind to start blabbing. I hope the FBI actually finds them. I doubt those two would call for help.”
“Especially considering the fact that I gagged them.”
Despite herself, Kristin giggled. Zane’s deadpan expression struck her as funny. Maybe it was the whole incredible situation, like nothing she’d ever experienced before, which made his remark seem something light and funny.
“How do you know that Jackson’s men got there before the police? I mean, we passed that police car about ten minutes after we left the rest stop.”
“I saw a car pull onto Lindbergh Lake Road just after we pulled out. Plus, remember Jackson knew you wanted to talk to Clay West.”
“Yes!” She lit up. “Do you think he’d sent someone to follow us?”
He shrugged. “He may have suspected you were looking for your mother, and decided to get an agent or two closer to you. That would explain how they managed to get to Lindbergh Lake so quickly. But they could also be searching for Martino or your mother.”
Again, she thought of what that waiter had said about Hamilton’s Home Bakery. Was the Lord leading them there?
Her heart revved at the thought she c
ould be talking to her mother tomorrow. How was she ever going to sleep tonight?
Tension built in her, and she reached for the last snack on the plate. But stopped. She’d be as big as a house if she continued to eat when she was stressed. “I should get out and exercise. Go for a walk or something.”
“Not just yet. And you shouldn’t be leaving your house whenever you please.” He softened. “I know it’s hard to sit and wait. I’ve been doing that for a couple of years because my own search for my brother had to be put on the back burner so many times. But trust me on this. I’ve seen a lot more garbage than you have, and it’s better for you to just stay here.”
She pursed her lips. “I’ve seen my share of tough stuff, too, especially dealing with the aftermath of my parents’ deaths.”
“What do you mean?”
“All I could think was that my family’s lives were suddenly reduced to a few paragraphs in various obituaries. And only one short article about Dad in the Billings paper. At the time, it struck me as garbage. Great, Godly lives, but who cares? That’s all my father got after all he’d done for Westbrook and Billings.” She paused. “I sound ungrateful, and un-Christian. Forget I said that. I was hurting back then.”
He lifted his head. “I remember reading about their deaths. It made news all over Montana.”
She shrugged. “Dad’s law firm had done some prominent work in Billings years before I was born. The newspapers called him the ‘Billings Bonanza.’ When he relocated up here, he got the nickname the ‘Westbrook Whiz.’ Dad was good at his job. He used to get calls from people in Billings asking him to move back there. Years ago, for a human-interest story, the newspaper in Billings ran the article about Mom and Dad, and the work Dad did, with a picture of the family. When I went to the Marshal’s Office in Billings with that note from my mother to Jackson, a few people from there offered their condolences. At the time, I thought they deserved more. I was hurting so much.”
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