After gathering the information she wanted to get from us, she shared a little in return, though not nearly as much as I would have liked. She gave us a brief history of the case, saying that several different federal and state organizations had been looking into a certain group that was based in Atlantic City and had ties to organized crime. Gambling was legal in Atlantic City, of course, but there were certain kinds of gambling that were not legal—there or anywhere else in the United States. Without elaborating on exactly what she meant, she said that as this gambling ring grew larger and the stakes rose even higher, the various government agencies watching them had joined forces and mounted a full-scale investigation. It was through their monitoring of Troy Griffin that they had first become aware of Harmony Grove Bed & Breakfast.
“We probably wouldn’t have given the inn a second thought if someone hadn’t run the name of its manager through his database,” she said, adding that not only had Floyd come up as having a prior conviction, but that he also had known ties to the group in question.
“The U.S. attorney’s office came down hard on your place after that,” the silver-haired man added, unapologetically. “When they ran a profile of you, they found enough to give them concern there as well.”
“Like what?” I asked incredulously.
The woman looked down at the file she had brought in with her and flipped through several pages before answering.
“Like a forty-thousand-dollar bank deposit on August thirteenth, for starters, followed by the purchase of a brand-new condominium on the river. This by a woman who had almost no tangible assets and a median checking account balance in the past year of less than a thousand dollars.”
My mouth flew open as she even rattled off the condo’s exact price tag.
“How do you know this stuff? Did you people monitor my bank account? My mortgage application?”
Mike put a hand on my arm and told me to relax. He explained that in an investigation with stakes this high, the feds were given a lot of leeway. Still reeling with that surprise, I was hit with another. The woman explained how they had then traced the source of that large deposit to an advertising agency in Philadelphia, one that just happened to be owned by two descendents of one of the most notorious crime bosses who ever lived.
Even Liz seemed flummoxed by that revelation.
“Are you telling us that Buzz has ties to organized crime?” she asked.
Both the man and the woman shook their heads.
“They do not, no,” the man said. “But we had to make sure. Yesterday, both your name and theirs was removed from our suspect lists.”
I wanted more information than that, but even after much cajoling from me and a veiled threat from Liz, they weren’t willing to elaborate much. However, the woman finally told us that Ric and Jon’s mother’s maiden name was Capone.
At this news Mike burst out laughing, and even Liz cracked a smile. Personally, I didn’t see what was so funny. Noticing the peevish look on my face, my lawyer broke form for a moment, poked me with her elbow, and told me to lighten up, that surely I of all people could see the irony here.
“I mean, no wonder they suspended you. If I had a name like Capone in my family tree, I’d be pretty skittish about this stuff too.”
“They were probably scared,” Mike added, still laughing, “especially if they ever spotted those guns of yours. Probably thought you took the job there just to do a hit on them or something.”
Still laughing, Liz said to Mike, “Wouldn’t you love to have been a fly on the wall the day they found out their new star player had possible ties to organized crime? What do you want to bet they were on the phone with their lawyer within seconds, trying to find out how fast they could terminate Sienna’s employment?”
“No, the second call would have been to their lawyer,” Mike replied. “The first was to their mother: ‘Are you sure about this family tree business, Mom? Are you positive your cousin’s cousin isn’t holding some kind of grudge?”
At that point, all four of the people in the room were having a good laugh. Not wanting to be a wet blanket, I joined in with a smile, but I still didn’t think it was very funny.
In the end, what I most wanted to know was how Troy’s death fit in with all of this. I asked them, straight out, if he had turned state’s evidence, as Floyd had, but they said he had not. From the sound of things, he had been a key player with the group in question, a real wheeler and dealer who would have been slapped with a whole host of charges had he still been alive when the arrests went down.
“And when will that be?” Liz asked.
“Soon. Very soon.”
“I would love to tell you how and why Troy Griffin died,” the woman said, “but I don’t know. At least Weissbaum here is the detective assigned to the case. If anyone can figure it out, Mike can.”
Mike thanked her for the compliment, and as I listened to the two of them talking, I realized this wasn’t the first time he’d overseen a case that had him rubbing elbows with the feds.
The meeting ended soon after that, with Mike giving us a wave and disappearing down the hall, the woman promising us that the overriding investigation would be coming to a close very soon, and the man repeating a stern warning about the confidentiality of all we had learned today.
As Liz and I walked down the hallway, my thoughts were distracted by that strange ripple effect that we used to call “the parting of the Red Sea.” Back in college, everyone said that it was the combination of the two of us together that was so compelling, the light and dark, Beauty and Cutie. Though secretly I used to enjoy such moments, after the attack they only served to make me feel uncomfortable.
We had almost reached the door to the waiting room when we passed someone who knew Liz. Judging by their friendly greeting and ensuing conversation, they had at some point worked together, probably at a law firm or during an internship. Liz introduced me, of course, but as they continued to chat I found myself growing bored and wondered if Mike was still around. I really wanted to ask him about Nina. Telling Liz that I would be back in a few minutes, I caught the eye of our silver-haired interviewer and asked if he knew where I might find Detective Weissbaum. He directed me to the last door on the left, where he said Mike was sitting in on a training session.
“Oh, then I won’t disturb him.”
“It’s not like that. You can go in there, no problem.”
Taking the man at his word, I went down to the door and cracked it open to peek inside. The room looked like a small gymnasium. In the center of the shiny wooden floor was a large blue mat upon which stood two men, both in athletic wear, facing off in what looked like some sort of karate-type stance. Other people, both men and women, were hovering around the fringes of the mat, watching the two of them and cheering them on. At the very back of the room, not far from the door, I spotted Mike, who was leaning against the wall, arms folded across his chest.
Slipping inside, I tried to move toward him without attracting attention. I was looking right at him when he first noticed me, and I was startled by the expression of pleasure that filled his eyes for just an instant. He was genuinely happy to see me. But then that steel door slammed shut again, and I knew it didn’t really matter.
Why should it matter? I had a boyfriend.
I was asking him my question about Nina when suddenly the whole group was looking our way and calling his name. From what I could tell, he was being summoned to the mat for his turn.
“Sorry, this is why they wanted me here,” he said to me. “I’ll call you later after I’m done.”
“Can you tell me anything at all?” I asked, stepping back as he removed his jacket and shoes in preparation for his turn.
“Sure,” he replied, placing his shoes against the wall. “I talked to Nina this morning. She’s blaming you for everything, including Troy’s death.”
FORTY
Watching in stunned silence as Mike crossed the room to take his place on the mat, I decided that the man ha
d a cruel streak. No decent person would tell someone a person was blaming her for another person’s death when he wasn’t in a position to follow up those words immediately. Did he enjoy tossing out bombshells and watching them explode? Or was this just some small way he could make a dig at me in retaliation for the rejection he felt I had given him?
Whatever this was about, it was a side of Mike I found very unattractive.
Pulling out my phone, I texted Liz to say that I was sorry, but I would be a few more minutes and for her to please wait for me. Then I put my phone away and focused my attention on the man in the center of the room. If I had to stand here until he was finished, I would. Now that he’d said what he said, I wasn’t leaving without some answers, that was for sure.
It wasn’t until then that I realized Mike had been invited here to demonstrate some kind of technique. The way he began to speak to the class, it almost sounded as though he was an expert on the topic.
“First of all, this is not the best place to train for Krav Maga, on a cushy mat inside a gym. Your workouts should be outside, on uneven terrain, and in more realistic conditions whenever possible.”
Mike asked for a volunteer and then chose one from among the many raised hands. As the guy suited up with padding, Mike explained to the group just a little bit about the history and technique of Krav Maga. First designed for use by the Israeli army in the 1930s, this self-defense system pulled elements from a number of other martial arts, emphasizing close combat moves and fierce bursts of energy and aggression.
From the way he talked, it sounded brutally effective to me, and soon I was caught up in his lecture and had forgotten to be irritated with him. Facing his opponent, Mike handed the guy a rubber training knife and said to come at him full force and do whatever it took to stab him.
The action that followed was mesmerizing. No matter what the guy tried, he was no match for Mike, who seemed to be using karate blocks, judo throws, and even jujitsu disarming techniques. He hadn’t been kidding when he said that Krav Maga incorporated elements from other martial arts. Soon, the opponent was on the floor on his back, the knife was in Mike’s hand, and the match was over.
Mike stood, offering a hand to the guy to help him up. He asked for another volunteer, and though not as many hands shot up this time, he still had a few to choose from. As the second guy suited up, Mike asked the group if anyone could tell him what the most unique element of what they had just witnessed was.
No one seemed to give him the answer he wanted, so finally I raised my hand. With a bemused smile on his face, Mike called on me.
“You were blocking and striking at the same time,” I said, and I was secretly thrilled when his expression immediately transitioned into one of respect.
“Exactly. Come on, people. She’s a civilian, and she’s the only one in this room who got it.”
Feeling particularly proud of myself, I moved closer to stand among the others and get a better look at the action on the mat. From what I could see, the strength of Krav Maga was in the way it could be done in tight spaces, even where there wasn’t any pullback room at all. Watching Mike easily defeat the second volunteer and then the third, I found myself wishing I had discovered this particular defense method sooner. Most of the techniques I had studied focused on protecting myself one-on-one against a single attacker, but Krav Maga seemed to offer techniques that would allow one person to ward off multiple opponents.
Of course, that spoke volumes to me.
To show this in action, Mike had everyone step onto the mat—everyone except for me.
“Sorry, Sienna. I can’t let you participate for insurance purposes,” Mike said. Glancing around to make sure that the others were distracted with putting on their gear, he added under his breath, “Not that I wouldn’t enjoy it very, very much.”
Adrenaline coursed through my veins as I looked away, stepping back to give them more room.
Over the next few minutes, as the class began to rush at Mike and he fought off every attacker in turn, things grew far more intense. At first, I found myself drawn to the violent spectacle, fascinated by it even. But the more I watched, the more things began to shift. Something about it began to feel disturbing to me. Maybe it was Mike’s guttural yells or his fierce, blazing eyes, or the animal way in which he was so fully engaged in the fight.
Whatever it was, it rattled me. Suddenly, that ever-present element of danger in him was not so appealing, not at all. That intensity that always seemed to burn inside of him made me feel frightened and claustrophobic, as if it might burn me up completely.
My heart pounding in a familiar panic, I moved toward the door, opened it, and stepped into the hall. Taking a deep breath, I wondered if I would ever tell him what had just happened. Certainly, Mike understood panic attacks, as he had helped me through one very serious one in the grove. But this was a different kind of panic. This was about me and him and that strange dance of attraction we had been doing with each other since the moment we met.
As Liz and I drove toward the B and B, all I could think was that the dance was finally over.
Fortunately, Liz seemed to be in a pensive mood, and our drive was a quiet one, punctuated by my occasional directives to “turn left here” and “fork to the right.” As we drew closer to the inn, she apologized for not being more talkative, saying that between a morning in court and an afternoon at an FBI interrogation, her brain was simply fried. I thanked her again for making the time to come, but she wouldn’t even let me finish, waving away my words with her perfectly manicured hand.
We were just about to turn into the driveway of Harmony Grove Bed & Breakfast when I noticed movement in front of Nina’s house. With a start, I realized she was home. Already?
Supported by a person on each side, Nina was being led not upstairs to her own apartment but straight into her mother’s house. Hadn’t she just recovered consciousness this morning? What on earth was she doing home so soon?
Remembering what Mike had said about Nina blaming me for Troy’s death, I knew she and I needed to talk. If she genuinely blamed me for any part of this week’s tragedies, then I wanted to hear that straight from her, and I wanted to know why. I would give her a little time to settle in, and then I would go over to her house for a chat. Our families had known each other far too long to let this matter rest—not to mention that I very much needed to know what had happened Wednesday night and why she thought I had had anything to do with it.
Turning left, Liz pulled slowly up my long driveway and came to a stop in the parking area between my car and Floyd’s. Thinking about going inside to face him yet again, I couldn’t believe I had agreed to let him stay one more night. As far as I was concerned, morning couldn’t come soon enough if it meant getting rid of Floyd.
Mrs. Prickles met us at the car, with Heath following along behind. As Liz enthusiastically greeted her baby, I simply wrapped my arms around this man and held on tight, whispering a soft thank-you for having remained by my side thus far in this ordeal. Even the fact that he’d been willing to dog-sit back here at the B and B rather than insist he be allowed to attend the meeting spoke volumes about his character.
“Looks like Floyd may not be spending tonight here after all,” Heath said as we headed up the walk. “He’s waiting to hear from the witness protection people, who are trying to expedite things as much as possible.”
Heath had pizza waiting for us inside, but Liz needed to hit the road, so she took her slice to go, promising she would keep me posted on any new developments as they arose. I had hoped she would be able to spend the night, but she asked for a rain check instead. Heath and I walked her out to her car, and as he settled Mrs. Prickles into the back seat, Liz gave me an extra long hug and told me to hang in there, that this would all be over soon.
After she was gone, Heath and I returned to the dining room and shared the pizza as I went through all that had happened, step-by-step, during my meeting with the feds. Of course, I omitted the part about Mike’s Kr
av Maga class afterward. Half an hour later, as we were clearing the table, I looked out the front window to see that all of the cars were gone from across the street except for Nina’s and her mother’s. Whether she wanted to see me or not, it was time for me to pay my neighbor a visit.
Heath insisted on going with me. As we were walking out the back door, Floyd came out of his room and asked if there was anything he could do for us, if there was anything at all that we needed. His obsequiousness was more irritating than if he had chosen to ignore us completely.
“Just stay out of my sight, why don’t you?” I told him as I stepped outside.
“That was pretty harsh,” Heath said as he closed the door behind us and we headed down the walk.
“He deserves far worse,” I replied, my jaw set stubbornly.
When Heath and I reached the driveway, we saw that another car had just pulled in next to mine, a black Buick with tinted windows. Discreetly, I reached for the gun at my waist, fearing this was the first of the underworld treasure hunters come to call. But when two men climbed out, neatly dressed and asking specifically for Floyd Underhill, I realized with relief that they must be the ones he’d been waiting for from the witness protection program. We told them they could find Floyd inside.
Then Heath and I drove to Nina’s house together, but not wanting her to feel ambushed by the two of us, I suggested that he wait for me in the car and let me do this on my own. He had brought along the translation of Daphne’s journal and said he would sit in the car and finish reading it while I talked with Nina inside the house.
I went to the door alone, afraid Nina’s mother would be the one to answer it, but before I could even knock, it swung open to reveal Nina herself.
“What do you want?” she asked, bleary eyed and pale. At the moment, I couldn’t imagine that anyone would call this girl “smoking hot.” More than anything, she looked ill.
I started by asking her if she was okay and what she was doing home so soon.
Secrets of Harmony Grove Page 31