by Meg O'Brien
He sighed again and handed her his cell phone, but the main Prayer House number wouldn’t come to her. She’d known it for almost two years, but her mind drew a blank. She knew the area code for Carmel, she thought—609. Or had it changed to 83…something?
She dialed 609, but wasn’t sure if the Prayer House number started with 464 or 646. Or maybe it was—
“Dammit!” she screamed at the phone, banging it against the dashboard over and over. “Dammit, dammit, dammit!”
“Hey, easy on the hardware!” Jimmy said, taking the phone from her hands. “Geez. I just got this car.”
She didn’t even say she was sorry this time, but sat there with her arms folded, staring ahead.
Another few minutes and she couldn’t stop herself. “Tell me where we’re going right now, or I’m getting out of the car.”
He slowed and pulled over to the curb.
“Okay,” he said.
“Okay, what?”
“Okay, get out of the car.”
“But I—”
“Dammit, get out of the car!” he said.
Turning off the engine, he took the keys out of the ignition and stepped out into the street, slamming the door behind him.
She began to really hate him, and was about to open her door and say so when he opened it for her.
“Are you coming or not?”
“Coming?”
“We’re here. Why do you think I stopped?”
She looked beyond him to a building with a flashy neon sign that announced, “Taco en Paraiso.”
“Taco in Paradise?” she said.
He took her arm and led her to a carved oak door that reminded her of some of the vintage Spanish ones in the Prayer House. “It’s a takeoff on Cheeseburger in Paradise,” he said. “My mom’s from Maui, where she used to manage the Cheeseburger in Paradise restaurant, named after Jimmy Buffet’s song.”
“Your mom is Hawaiian? But—”
“My dad’s Mexican. I’m kind of a mutt.”
He opened the door and they stepped inside. The interior was cool and dark, a welcome change from the hot sidewalk. As Abby’s eyes adjusted, she saw red booths against white walls, and tables in the middle of the room that were covered with crisp white tablecloths. Candles were on every table, and a barrage of spicy scents filled her nostrils, making her stomach growl.
“Mama’s cooking in the back,” Jimmy said. “Getting ready for dinner.”
“Cilantro,” Abby murmured, inhaling. “I love cilantro.”
“Mama!” he called out. “I’ve brought a friend. Tell Joey we need him, too.”
The woman who came from the back was not much over sixty, Abby guessed. She was tall and striking, like her son, with the same kind of angular face that made Abby think of the early royals of Hawaii, now that she knew the woman’s background.
Jimmy introduced her to his mother, and to Abby he said, “This is my mom, Ianela.” He pronounced it the Hawaiian way, Ee-ah-nay-lah.
The woman smiled. “Call me Janella, Abby. It’s easier. And welcome to Taco en Paraiso. What can I get you? And you, too, Kime. Are you hungry?”
Kime, Abby noted, was pronounced Kee-may, apparently the Hawaiian for Jimmy.
But before he could answer, a burly man of about six foot four joined them. He was nearly as broad as he was tall, and his frown was the opposite of Janella’s welcoming smile.
“Hey, Joey,” Jimmy said. “I closed the office for the day, and I’ve brought a friend. We need your help.”
He led Abby to a booth near the kitchen, and Joey followed. Janella said, “I’ll bring you a mixed platter to share.”
Jimmy smiled. “That’d be great, Mama. Thanks.”
To Abby, he said, “Go ahead and sit down. I’ll get us a pitcher of ice water.”
Abby slid into the booth and Joey followed. There were a few awkward moments when she didn’t know what to say, but she couldn’t help noting that he’d taken a hard look at her stitches.
Jimmy came back with the water and slid in at Abby’s other side. Turning over glasses and filling them, he said, “Joey, we have a situation here. I thought you might be able to help us.”
“Does this situation have anything to do with the news I just saw on the TV in the kitchen?” Joey asked. “Because if it does, I’d say you have more than a situation, brother. You’re harboring a suspect in a murder.”
“Suspect,” Jimmy said. “That’s the key word here.”
“Always is, with you.” Joey gave Abby another of those hard looks. “No offense. I just don’t like seeing my little brother get in trouble with the law.”
“That’s just because Joey is the law,” his brother said easily. “He thinks being a cop gives him the right to make judgments.”
Abby’s fight or flight kicked in. Every muscle went on alert.
“And he thinks,” Joey said, “that being a lawyer gives him the right to prove me wrong.”
Jimmy didn’t take the bait, but merely folded his arms and looked at his brother.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Joey sighed. “Okay, what do you need?”
“Abby doesn’t know why they’re looking at her for this murder,” Jimmy said. “Can you find out what that’s about without raising any suspicions?”
“Sure. You could have called me for that. And?” Joey folded his arms this time.
“And,” Jimmy said, “I myself would like to know who’s saying she did it.”
“I take it you think this is a setup of some kind?”
He shrugged. “I think it’s a possibility.”
“And you?” Joey asked Abby. “Just out of curiosity and for the sake of my little brother here, how did you get those bruises?”
“I was looking for a friend,” Abby said. “At a house here in Phoenix. Someone gave me the address, but the woman at the house last night claimed not to know her. Then I got hit on the head and woke up in a junkyard.”
Joey just stared, and Abby sighed. “Look, it’s a long story. The point is, I need to find my friend. I think she’s in danger, and I really think the woman who was at the house last night knew her and didn’t want me to find her.”
Joey looked at his brother.
“Complicating matters,” Jimmy said, “is that there’s no one listed anywhere as living at that address.”
“Wait a minute.” Joey turned to Abby. “There’s no one living there, but you say you talked to a woman at the house last night?”
Abby nodded, and Joey fell silent. Before he could speak again, Janella arrived at the table with a huge platter of steaming food. Jimmy swept the candle and salt and pepper shakers aside to make room for it. “Mama, you’ve outdone yourself,” he said, smiling.
“That’s right, insult me!” she said. “Acting like you never saw food like this before!” But she leavened her words with a kiss on his forehead.
“You don’t look well,” Janella said to Abby. “Can I get you something else?”
“I’d love an aspirin,” Abby said. What she really needed was a head transplant. The painkillers from the hospital were wearing off.
“I’ll be right back,” Janella said. “Eat first, though. It’s better for your stomach.”
As Jimmy and Abby helped themselves to tortillas, frittatas, enchiladas and a sampling of appetizers, Joey excused himself. “I have to make a phone call.”
Abby put her fork down and watched him go to a pay phone at the rear.
“What’s he doing?” she said, afraid suddenly. “He’s calling them to come pick me up, isn’t he?”
“Joey? I doubt it. If he wanted to take you in, he’d do it himself.”
“You doubt it? If you aren’t sure—”
“Relax,” Jimmy said. “Nothing’s going to happen to you here. How about some of this chimichanga?” He cut the crispy, chicken-and-cheese-filled burrito in half and put one piece on her plate. “Mama puts cilantro in hers.”
She was surprised he had heard her about the cilantro, and even mo
re that he’d remembered. Should that make her feel reassured? Or more cautious? Her eyes were still fixed on Joey as she took a bite. He was coming back to the table, and she tried to figure out what he was thinking. He had that cop-look that Ben got when he was hiding something.
“Okay,” he said, sliding into the booth, “here’s the deal. The house at that address used to belong to the mob. Then, about a year ago, the mob abandoned it, and somewhere around seven months ago, it became a CIA safe house. The corporation you saw listed as the owner is a CIA cover, and the woman you saw there was probably an agent.”
Abby’s food went down nearly whole and stuck in her throat. She grabbed for her water and swallowed, washing it down the rest of the way.
“You get that from Brownie?” Jimmy guessed.
“Straight from the horse’s mouth.”
“Who’s Brownie?” Abby asked.
“A friend of Joey’s in the bureau,” Jimmy answered, since his brother’s mouth was full.
Joey washed the enchilada down with a tall glass of beer. Folding his arms across his chest, he sat back and said, “Ms. Northrup, I think it’s time you told us what’s really going on.”
Abby tensed. “How did you know my last name? Did your FBI friend tell you that?”
“It was on the news,” Jimmy reminded her. “Is that where you heard it, Joey?”
“Sure,” Joey said. “That was it—on the news.”
Abby pushed away from the table. “Okay, that’s it. You seem a nice-enough guy, Joey, but a very bad liar. Jimmy, please thank your mother for the food, but I have to be going.”
She stood and turned to the front door.
“Better not go that way,” Joey said casually, popping an appetizer into his mouth.
“Why not?” Abby turned back.
“’Cause they’ll be out there waiting for you.”
18
Abby froze. “Who will be out there waiting for me?”
“Local feds, probably, and some police chief from California. They were in the office when I was talking to Brownie.”
“Then you did tell them I was here!” she said angrily.
“Of course he didn’t,” Jimmy said, frowning. “You didn’t, right, Joey?”
“Nah, I didn’t tell them. But I’m sure Brownie figured out that’s why I was calling.” He looked at his watch, then at Abby. “That’s why they’ll be out there by now.”
“And you couldn’t bother to tell me?” Abby said. “You’ve just been sitting there stuffing your face?”
Joey winced. “That’s pretty offensive. I’ve been eating my lunch, I have not been ‘stuffing’ it. Besides, they won’t come in here.”
“I—” She shook her head, dumbfounded. “How can you possibly know that?”
“Because the local cops wouldn’t let them. They respect Mama too much to start anything in here. But you won’t be going out there, either. At least, not through that door—or looking like that.”
Abby’s hand went to her stitches and the pain in her head. She longed for the serenity of the Prayer House, and the life she’d had before Alicia Gerard showed up. Was all this worth it? She was in a strange town with people she didn’t know and couldn’t really trust.
But Jancy needed her mom, and she’d promised everything would be all right. What if the FBI or CIA caught up with Alicia first? She would be arrested and most likely deported—or worse, sent to prison for treason.
As for Jancy, God only knew what would happen to her. Would she live the rest of her life without a mother?
Abby wasn’t sure how she felt about her old friend now, but she couldn’t just leave her without some sort of backup. Even if she were guilty of the murder, there had to be something that made her do it, something that had pushed her too far. She was protecting someone, either Jancy, herself or possibly even Gerry.
The terrorist connection was impossible. That was some kind of story made up by those agents, to cover whatever they really wanted her for.
As for Gerry, had the police or FBI in New York contacted him by now? Surely he’d be frantic about Alicia, and even more about Jancy, especially if he thought she was on the run with her mother. And even though Abby had agreed to Alicia’s request the other night not to call him, the circumstances were far different now.
She sat back down. First things first. She needed help, and she couldn’t be picky about how she got it.
“Okay, I’ll tell you as much as I know,” she said. “I told you I was looking for my friend at that address. That was the truth.”
“But you said she wasn’t there.”
“She might have been. I wasn’t allowed inside.”
“Well, if your friend’s being held in secret at a CIA safe house, your friend must be in trouble with the government,” Joey said reasonably.
“Or,” Jimmy pointed out, “she’s being protected by the government.”
“And why would they do that?” Joey asked.
“I have no idea,” Abby answered.
But she could guess. A matter of national security, Kris Kelley had said, warning her not to tell a soul. But she hadn’t actually agreed to that, had she?
A planned attack, Ben had added. Only a week away. And he’d said that a couple of days ago. Were there five days left? Or hadn’t he been that precise about the time?
A phone rang, and Joey reached into his hip pocket and pulled his cell out. It was so small, it was almost engulfed by his round face.
“I’m here,” he said. “Yeah. I’ll tell her.”
Putting the phone down, he said to Abby, “Chief Schaeffer says if you come out now with me, nothing will happen to you. They just want to talk to you.”
“Like hell,” Jimmy said. “Stay where you are.”
“And you, brother, just made yourself an accessory,” Joey told him sharply.
“Not if I’m her lawyer.”
“Aah. You gonna be her lawyer now?”
“I already am,” Jimmy said. He turned to Abby. “Right?”
“Right,” she said.
“Come with me,” Jimmy said, taking her hand and leading her back to the kitchen.
“But—” She looked back at Joey, certain he’d try to stop them. His dark eyes were unreadable slits in the ample folds of his face.
“Never mind him,” Jimmy said. “He barks, but I’ve only been bitten twice.”
“Are you sure he won’t send them after us?” Abby said.
“I am for now,” Jimmy answered. “But we’ve got to hurry. Once those people outside get to him, that could change everything.”
“Wait. Why are you doing this?”
“Let’s just say it’s downtime in Phoenix and I’m bored,” Jimmy said. “Now, come on.”
Abby held back. “But you’re a lawyer. And Joey’s right. If you help me, you’re an accessory.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he said. “Nor the last. Are you coming?”
He pushed the swinging kitchen door open and pulled her inside. His mother was walking back and forth behind the head chef, checking out his work and making comments about ingredients, how fresh they were and how much to use.
“Mama? May I speak with you a moment?” Jimmy asked.
Janella nodded but didn’t stop. When Jimmy got to her, she stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.
“Storeroom,” she whispered. “It’s all there.”
He gave her a hug. “Thanks, Mama.”
Confused, Abby followed Jimmy to a room by the back door. Along one side were shelves holding linen tablecloths and napkins, candles and silverware. On the opposite wall were assorted cleaning solutions and paper products.
Abby’s attention, however, was caught by the chair at the end of the long, pantry-size room. Hanging over the back of it was a man’s thin khaki jacket, worn and shabby, a pair of men’s faded, torn jeans and a black T-shirt. There was also a crumpled khaki hat. A tackle box, fishing rod and dirty, worn sneakers finished out the outfit.
�
��Your wardrobe, madam,” Jimmy said, pointing to it with a flourish.
“You’re kidding,” Abby said, but his look told her he wasn’t. She shrugged. “Well, I’ve always wanted to look like the sloppy half of the Odd Couple.”
“Hurry,” he said. “I’ll wait outside the door. Knock when you’re ready.”
Abby wasted no time asking questions. She stripped down to her underwear and put the clean but tattered clothes on in less than a minute.
She knocked lightly on the door, and when Jimmy opened it, she said, “How’s this?”
“Where’s the hat?” he asked, stepping in and peering closely at her. “You’ll need that to cover the stitches.”
“I need something to hold my hair up, first.”
“Right.” He took a carved wooden box from one of the shelves and opened it, revealing various jars of makeup, bobby pins and an assortment of hair clips.
“How fast can you make yourself look like a man?”
“Watch me,” she said. How many times had she done just that for a mom on the run?
Opening a jar of foundation with a suntan tint, she slathered it on thickly. The stitches puckered a bit as the makeup touched them, but it did a reasonably good job of hiding them. Grabbing the clips, she drew her hair up into a knot and shoved the hat down on her head, tilting it slightly in front.
“Okay?” she said.
Jimmy shook his head and said softly. “More than okay. Who would have thought you could ever look like a man?”
She blushed, but said, “Your mother keeps all this on hand?”
“We’ve had occasion to help people disappear before. Unfortunately, there’s no time to get you false papers.”
“You do this sort of thing often? Work outside the law, I mean?”
“Only when the law doesn’t make sense,” he said.
“But who decides that?”
“I do. And whatever happens, it’s on me.”
Wow, she thought. A man after her own heart.
“Well, not to worry about the false papers,” Abby said, feeling free at last to be herself. “I’m good.”
“All right, then. We’d better go.”
Crossing to the back wall, Jimmy pressed a small spot that looked like it had a spider on it from a few feet away. Upon closer inspection, Abby saw that it was a small painting of a spider over a button, made, like trompe l’oeil, to look three-dimensional. A door swung open, revealing an empty room. Its storefront windows were covered with brown paper, and a yellowed For Sale sign hung on the door, facing out.