Chapter 11
Jack rang Frank’s doorbell and waited on his oversized porch. He took deep breaths to still the nervous energy running amok in his bloodstream, also resisting the urge to turn around and leave before the door opened. It was time to talk. He’d procrastinated far too long already.
“Jack?” Frank took a step back and opened the door wider. “This is a surprise.”
“Hello, Frank.” Jack had obviously interrupted some downtime. Barefoot, with his shirttail hanging loose, Frank held a paperback book. Some spy thriller. “Sorry to bother you without calling.”
“No problem. Is something wrong?”
“I’m not sure how to answer your question, because your answers to mine will determine whether anything is wrong. Can I come in?”
“Oh? Sounds ominous.” Smiling, his nod indicated the formal entryway. “But you’re always welcome, so come on in and ask away. I’m not doing much today besides relaxing to gear up for Monday. Olivia and I just got back from a leisurely lunch.”
Frank led Jack into part of what had been last night’s ballroom, now reverted to a formal living room, and asked over his shoulder, “Would you care for something to drink? Bourbon, soft drink?”
“No, thanks.” This wasn’t a social call and he didn’t want to lose his train of thought while niceties were lobbed back and forth during the time spent waiting on drinks.
Frank made himself comfortable in a seating area near three oversized bay windows, a sofa flanked with two chairs, and a couple of tables. He crossed his legs. “Now, what’s this all about that can’t wait until Monday morning?”
Before sitting, Jack held out his hand containing the thumb drive. “I thought you might want this back.”
Frank eyed Jack speculatively, then lowered his gaze to the drive a long moment before glancing back at him. “How’d you determine it was mine?”
“Are you saying it’s not?”
He hesitated. “No.” Then his politician’s smile was back in place as he reached for it. “Thanks. I owe you one.” Pocketing the device, Frank added a little too smugly, “I’ve got to hand it to you. You work fast. I gather from your success in retrieving the drive, you and Maddox have gotten tight?”
“Yeah, you might say that.” Had Frank had a hand in someone searching Lucy’s house? Staring at him now, Jack couldn’t dismiss the idea. “We’re working together on Cassie Harding’s disappearance.”
Frank’s eyebrows rose. “As long as you keep her muzzled, it works for me.”
“She’s convinced me to help her, so maybe she has reason for blasting a few accusations.”
“I’m not sure I follow your train of thought. Are you accusing me too?”
“Not exactly, but I do have a few unanswered questions that have been bugging me.”
Frank’s expression hardened into a stone wall as all camaraderie vanished from his face. “Was she that good in bed that I have to worry about your accusations too?”
Jack stiffened. “Do I have good reason for questioning your behavior?” Frank was good at baiting his opponents and right now, he felt like an opponent. “Evading the issue leads me to believe this has less to do with Lucy’s accusations and more to do with the thumb drive she stole.”
“Oh?” Frank’s brow lifted higher as he urged in an impatient tone, “Then out with it,”
Jack only smiled in response. “Okay.” Maintaining eye contact, he sat, and then unable to continue suppressing his irritation, asked the question that had been on his mind for too long. “What the hell is going on with you and Olivia?” Only it came out a little too harsh for his liking.
Frank didn’t so much as move a muscle, his expression stoic. “I don’t follow you.”
“I’m sure you do,” Jack fired back, now totally annoyed because Frank seemed to be playing a cat and mouse game. “You both started acting funny right after Cassandra Harding’s visit. Gut instinct tells me the two are connected. Hell, considering your stonewalling, maybe Lucy’s accusations are right on and you know something about Harding’s disappearance, or Reecie Holloway’s death, as that’s what the woman was investigating before she went missing.”
“What?” Frank’s shock registered for a heartbeat before he snuffed all emotion from his features again, then smiled. “You’re not serious?”
“I only want answers. Did you know that Lucy’s house was searched last night?” he asked pointedly, not adding the bit about seeing Olivia’s niece with the girls referenced in the files just yet, preferring to wait until he heard what Frank had to say. “A little too coincidental, in my opinion, which means it relates to the drive I just gave you.” The smile Jack flashed was as phony as Frank’s. “I’m a firm believer in the motto…there is no such thing as coincidence.”
Frank’s face reddened and he practically snarled, “Sex with Maddox has definitely skewed your thinking.”
Jack clenched his jaw, resisting the impulse to slam a fist into his mentor’s gut. “You’ve been in politics too long, my friend. I think some of the shit has started to rub off.”
Frank snorted. “That’s a low blow,” he accused, shaking his head. He stood and headed for the bar. “You might not need a drink, but I do.” He poured himself a double, then made his way back and stood across from him. He gulped several mouthfuls while eyeing him thoughtfully. “You’ve lost your objectivity, Jack. I never thought I’d have to defend myself to you against the likes of Lucy Maddox.”
“I’m not interested in defenses. Yours or anyone else’s.” A flicker of something, hurt or perhaps pain, entered Frank’s expression, but the fleeting glimpse was gone too quickly for Jack to be sure of what he’d seen. Still, he wasn’t deterred from saying what needed to be said, not if he was to continue as the man’s campaign manager and top aide. “I’m only interested in the truth.”
“It’s complicated,” Frank said, before taking another drink. “And I can’t talk about it, even to you.”
“I can’t do my job without knowing what’s going on.” He had to believe in what Frank Cardello stood for, and right now he had too many questions that niggled inside his brain. At one time, he and the man before him had been firmly committed to the same ideals. But now, too much bullshit had piled up to block his view, leaving him with no idea of what Frank truly thought or where he stood. “I deal in honesty. You know that. I’ve never tolerated being lied to and you’ve been lying to me by omission.” Jack shrugged, giving an outward appearance of calm, but inside his anger simmered. “I need to know why.” He definitely didn’t like the doubt roiling around inside his gut since last night concerning Frank and Olivia’s actions that now seemed to grow larger. “Cassandra Harding is missing. My gut tells me so. And considering you’re the last person she had contact with and now you’re being deceptive, even handing out your ‘I don’t give a shit’ attitude, I’m forced to believe you’re somehow involved.”
Clutching his drink with one hand, Frank leaned back, extended the other arm along the top of the sofa cushion. “I don’t appreciate your tone or your implications.” His lips curled into a sneer. “According to my sources, the woman’s working. On an undercover assignment.”
Eyeing his mentor closely to gauge his reaction, Jack said, “I think Harding’s been kidnapped, and you’re hiding something. I need to know what that is.”
“And I’m telling you to back off.” When Jack remained silent, Frank asked, almost growling, “What do I have to do to prove my innocence?” He sat forward and slammed the glass on the table, as the decibels in his voice increased the more he spoke. “Go out and find her? Bring her back so that you can see for yourself she’s fine?” By this point, he was yelling. Indignation flared from his eyes as he lowered his voice and added, “You’re absolutely insane to insinuate that I’d be involved in such garbage.”
Jack ignored the heated comment, deciding it time to ask about Olivia’s niece and broach the question foremost on his mind since seeing her at the mall with three of the girls in
Harding’s files. “Kim Darlinski. Is she what Harding was here to see you about?”
The bluster went out of Frank’s demeanor as his shoulders slumped. Immediately, he averted his gaze to reach for his drink. He cleared his throat and spent a long time scrutinizing his hand gripping his bourbon. Jack waited, watching Frank’s finger follow a drop of condensation the length of the glass, while his friend seemed to choose his next words carefully. “I already told you. It’s complicated.”
“Complicated?”
“Frank,” Olivia called excitedly from the other room, her shout drawing both men’s attention. “Someone from mall security called and left a message about finding Kim’s iPhone. I didn’t even know it was missing. She’s not working at the store until five and I’ve tried calling a few of her friends, but no one is answering, so I’m heading to the mall to pick it up. If Kimberly calls, tell her what’s happened.”
Olivia entered the room, then stopped abruptly. “I didn’t realize you had company.” Her fake smile could give the word knockoff a new meaning. “Hello, Jack. So nice to see you.” Her frozen glare belied the greeting.
Jack nodded. “Olivia. You’re looking good,” he said, keeping the small talk going. He couldn’t think of anything more coherent to say after absorbing the info about Kim’s cell phone being turned in. “Especially after such a hectic night.”
“Why, thank you, Jack. So’re you.” She brushed a nonexistent stray hair away from an expertly made-up face and patted a too perfect hairdo. “To what do we owe the pleasure of this visit?”
“Business as usual,” Jack said, as his mind raced back to the mall and Lucy’s actions. He’d seen her head to Sbarro to stand in line behind Kim Darlinski. At the time, he’d sweated bullets about the encounter, but then after nothing had happened, he’d relaxed his guard.
Unfortunately, that had been a costly mistake as there was now just a bit too much coincidence for his liking. If he didn’t know better, he’d say Lucy had a hand in relieving the girl of her phone and had somehow turned it in to mall security—all behind his back.
Damn!
Jack mentally slapped his head as more truth struck like lightning. That’s why she was so quick to get rid of him. And here he was, feeling guilty for not mentioning he knew Kim when Lucy was out stealing from innocent kids. Not only that, she had him questioning Frank. Damn her. She’d played him. Again. And like a fool, he’d let her. Again.
Chapter 12
“So, how did you find Cassie’s car?” Lucy glanced over at Mike as he sped up to merge onto I-64. She wondered if he was still pissed at having to return the phone. Yet as earlier, his features were unreadable. “You never said.”
Mike shrugged. “Jameson,” he replied, referring to a good friend, a cop and ex-partner he used for information now and then. Before taking the job at GD Investigations a year ago, Mike had started out as a beat cop in Lexington. “I didn’t tell him why I was looking for her car, only that I was. He put out the information to a state trooper he knows real well. We lucked out when the trooper spotted the late model Ford Mustang. Plates match. It’s definitely Cassie’s car. I called you the minute I hung up with Jameson, so hopefully it’ll still be there.”
“Hopefully Cassie’ll be there too.” That would be nice. More than nice.
Neither spoke during the forty-five minute drive.
Mike slowed for a traffic light, southeast of Lexington. “It’s in the parking lot of the Starlight Motel.” He pointed to a sign up ahead that looked as if kids had used it for target practice. The S and the O were busted out.
Lucy nodded. The old motel was probably built in the fifties, and looked like it hadn’t had a penny spent on upkeep since, judging by the faded paint and visible wood rot.
Mike turned into the deserted parking lot containing only one car. A Ford Mustang, the same cherry red color as Cassie’s. The second he stopped, Lucy opened her door, shot out of the van, and slowed only when she neared the sporty vehicle.
She walked around it, peered inside the windows, and searched for any sign of a struggle. There were none. Then she glanced at her surroundings.
“Why would her car be here in this parking lot?” Lucy asked aloud. The motel was miles away from Oakmont and Cardello’s house. Miles away from the girls in the file, not to mention even further away from Louisville, where Cassie lived and Reecie Holloway’s body was found. “And where is she?”
“Don’t know,” Mike said. He indicated the entrance with a nod. “We should go inside and see if anyone’s seen her, don’t you think?”
Lucy started for the motel’s double glass doors, covered with so many fingerprints and other grime they were no longer clear. She shuddered and gingerly reached for the handle, remembering Mrs. Holloway’s dirty trailer and grasping all too quickly the reasons for her reaction. Despite living her teen years in relative filth and having accepted grime as a way of life back then, this was a reminder of her forgotten past. She damn sure didn’t like the déjà vu feeling. Not one bit. Feelings this dismal had a way of piggybacking on others that were better off left buried.
Mike stilled her movements with his hand on her shoulder. She released the door handle and glanced his way, the question forming in her eyes. He cleared his throat and shoved the same hand he’d stopped her with through his hair, resting it on his neck as his gaze landed at a point beyond the car.
Finally, he spoke. “I’m sorry for what I said.” He made eye contact before he added, “Earlier. You know, about you and Finnegan. I was out of line.”
Lucy offered a half smile. “Like I said at the mall, we’re square. And if we weren’t, this more than makes up for it,” she said honestly, taking his hand and squeezing it. “I really appreciate your help.” He was okay and just being Mike. She doubted he could change even if he wanted to. The guy did make a decent partner when he wasn’t frustrating her with his continued come-ons. Besides, she wasn’t the only one he annoyed. Everyone in the office treated him in the same fashion. A pesky fly they shooed away to go and bother someone else, which he usually did.
She nodded at the dirty glass doors. “Come on.” Leaning with her shoulder, Lucy pushed one open. “Let’s go see if we can discover anything useful about Cassie.”
They went inside and up to the unmanned desk. Attached to the wall beyond was a nameplate with the words Manager on Duty in bold letters, with the name Manny Graves underneath. Mike hit the bell on the countertop and seconds later a wiry guy, no taller than her five feet seven inches, and probably weighing much less than her one hundred and twenty pounds, strutted out of the back room.
“Fifty bucks for the first hour, twenty-five for the second, a hundred for the whole night,” the guy, most likely Manny the MOD, rattled off rapidly. “So, what’ll it be?” His days’ old, wrinkled clothing emitted a smell of stale perspiration when he moved behind the counter. He directed his lewd gaze at her, a lingering one that traveled the length of her body and had Lucy inwardly cringing. “You look like you can go for more than a couple, sugar.”
Lucy bit back an irritated reply, hating the affectation that many in the county used too freely in her opinion, and forced a frozen smile held in place by gritting her teeth. “We’re not here for a room, sugar,” she said more sweetly than her thoughts allowed. How could this moron have the audacity to think she’d sleep with anyone in this god-awful place, little alone sleep with Mike? She quickly flashed her PI credentials, hoping he’d mistake her for a cop. That might make the little weasel sweat a bit for running an obvious front for prostitution. “We’re here for information concerning someone who may have rented a room.” She paused a beat and added, going for as much sarcasm as she could muster, “Sugar.”
“Oh?” Manny stiffened slightly and frowned, clearly considering her comment.
“Yes.” Lucy nodded as he made eye contact before giving her body another once-over that made her feel even dirtier, if that were possible. Either he didn’t like her sarcastic use of his endearment or he
figured out she wasn’t a real cop.
“Well, sugar.” He broke off. “Oops…sorry. You don’t like it when others call you sugar, do you? I got that real clear.” His lips curled at the edges. “Just as well. You’re not so sweet, are you?” Or could be both, Lucy thought, considering that Manny’s smile suddenly became an all-knowing, leering grin, reminding her of a salivating lion licking his lips, ready to pounce on his prey. “I’m not sure I can help you.” Then he winked, which made him appear ten times sleazier, if that were possible. “We’re mostly a pay-by-the-hour operation, if ya know what I mean.”
His teeth hadn’t seen a toothbrush in days. He smoothed back greasy hair with a dirty hand—neither of which had seen soap and water in at least twice that time—adding to the willies she already had. What was it about guys with skewed thinking, who had nothing to offer women? This one erroneously thought he was God’s gift even though he was a woman’s worst nightmare.
Tamping down a strong urge to flee, Lucy refrained from doing an about-face. He was just a sleazoid doing his damnedest to rattle her. He’d soon discover she wasn’t easily rattled. Besides, leaving wouldn’t give her the answers she sought.
Mike stepped forward. “Just answer the lady.”
“Most of our business is between the hours of ten and two,” Manny said, drawing Lucy’s attention back to his stained smile. “Lunchtime quickies, if ya know what I mean. Friday and Saturday nights are smoking too. But Saturday afternoon’s a little slow, as you can see. Should pick up around ten.”
“We’re not interested in your operations or your busy times,” Mike said, as Lucy stuck her ID in her pocket and then reached for her cell phone.
She clicked on Cassie’s picture and held the phone out, careful not to get too close to Don ‘stinking’ Juan. “We want to know if you’ve seen this woman.”
Manny looked at the picture then stroked his chin as his gaze narrowed. “Come to think of it, she does look familiar.”
“Well?” Lucy prodded, after he’d stared at the picture for what seemed a full minute, although probably only a handful of seconds had lapsed. But Lucy was in a hurry. Mainly to get away from him. “You’ve either seen her or you haven’t.”
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