“What else?”
“Roger Demmers is also in intensive care at the correctional facility, with critical gastric distress.”
“Poison?”
“Most likely. Those two ‘accidents’ happening that close together seem more than a bit suspicious to me. I’ve got Ringo chasing down info on both Demmers and Bartlett, but it looks to me like whoever killed the attorney was trying to tie up loose ends,” Spencer speculated.
“So now we need to find the tie that binds Demmers and Bartlett,” Chas nodded.
“And unfortunately, we have to interact with Solinsky because someone is clearly trying to get to those two. They need protection.”
“We may not have to do anything in that regard. I would think that the feds who have been nosing around would take notice of what’s happened and would be right on top of it,” Chas mused. “Do you have contact with the guy that you used to know?”
“I can get to him, yeah. Why?”
“You might want to let him know that by checking me out, he’s barking up the wrong tree. There’s someone out there with an interest in my house, who has decidedly homicidal tendencies.”
Spencer nodded. “I’m also going to talk to Kel. I think he may be able to help us out on this one.”
“Good call. Keep me updated.”
***
“Hey, Boss Dudes,” Ringo stuck his head into Chas’s office. “I got some info that you might want to see.”
Chas stared at the eccentric young man for a moment.
“Come in, Ringo,” Spencer pulled out the chair next to him.
The hacker plunked his laptop, with a splash of pizza sauce across the cover, onto the rich mahogany top of Chas’s desk, and began tapping at the screen.
“So, your man Demmers has a babe who visits him once a week. She’s been doing that since he went in. Name is Britannia Steenburgen. I bet she had fun growing up with that name,” Ringo snickered, while Chas and Spencer regarded him impassively.
Noting the lack of reaction from his bosses, Ringo sobered and got back to the point. “So anyway, this babe shows up at the hospital, wanting to see her man, and gets hysterical when they keep her away. ICU rules and all, you know. I got an address, phone number, email, and copy of the hospital security report. She might be good for some info.”
“Good work, anything else?” Spencer asked.
“Heck yeah, I don’t just twiddle my thumbs in that righteous computer center,” Ringo grinned. “I logged into some confidential files that Demmers’s attorney had regarding his case, and it looks like he may have been about to tap into some serious stuff.”
“Like?” Chas raised an eyebrow.
“Don’t know yet, but I’m working on it. Oh, and that Bartlett guy? Nobody liked him. He’s got enemies all over the place, so I’d put my money on Demmers’ girlfriend and see if you can find out where the connection is, but that’s just me,” Ringo reached into his pocket, pulled out a piece of beef jerky and tore off a giant chunk, chewing with relish.
“Do you ever eat real food?” Spencer wondered.
“Nosh is nosh, my friend. Fuel for the soul,” was the laid-back reply. “So, I gotta jet for now. My cat is probably out of food, and when he gets mad, he pees in my shoes. So I’ll catch you dudes later.”
Ringo unwound his lanky form from the club chair and headed for the door.
“That is an interesting young man,” Chas commented.
“And he may have just turned up the lead that we need to blow this thing open.”
“I hope so. Let me know how it goes with the girlfriend. I’m going to head to the correctional facility and put out some feelers.”
“You got it,” Spencer rose and headed for the door.
CHAPTER TWELVE
* * *
“After all of the ridiculous drama that we’ve been through lately, I’m going to take a day to just relax,” Missy vowed on the phone to Echo.
“Are you sure that going to your new house while it’s still being investigated is the best way to do that?” her friend was hesitant. “I mean, last time you went to your house, we ended up in jail.”
“I told Chas my plans and he has the chief’s assurance that Mr. Awful Solinsky won’t bother me. I’m not going anywhere but the pool cabana anyway. I’m bringing a little salad for my lunch that I can keep in the fridge out there, and I plan to work on my tan.”
Echo was silent for a moment. “Okay, girl. What are you actually up to? And do you need help? I can see if Destiny is available.”
“You know me too well,” Missy sighed, chewing on her inner cheek.
“Say no more. Spencer is over here talking to Kel, so I’ll get Destiny on the line and then I’ll slip out. Where should I meet you?”
“At the pool cabana, of course.”
“Oh. Wait, you were serious about that?” Echo was confused.
“Yep, you’ll see,” Missy whispered conspiratorially.
“Gotcha. Okay, so about half an hour?”
“Perfect.”
***
“Okay, Kel. I need your experience in the art world,” Spencer told the artist, as the two men once again perused the photographs taken of stolen art from the box in the backyard.
“How can I be of service, dear boy?”
“Who would be both wealthy and unscrupulous enough to collect art via theft?”
Kel chuckled and stared at the Marine, incredulous. “That would be a long list indeed.”
“But these items, you said they’re rare and precious, which means that they’d command a high price. How many corrupt collectors can there be that would have the kind of resources to be able to get this type of product?”
“I understand your point, Spence, but you’re forgetting one important detail.”
“What’s that?”
“No high-powered criminals have these pieces. They were stored in the dirt. In the backyard of a petty thief. It does make one wonder if we’d be able to entrap the actual culprit by letting word slip that the pieces had been discovered,” Kel mused.
“Use them as bait?”
“Precisely,” the wily artist nodded, his eyes sparkling.
“But how would we get the word out?”
“I have my ways, young man, never fear.”
“Okay,” Spencer nodded. “I’ll still keep digging, but in the meantime, put some hints out there, and we’ll see what happens.”
***
Echo peered out at Missy from beneath the wide brim of her sunhat. With her dark glasses, the redhead looked as though she’d dressed for a mission of intrigue, and Missy nearly laughed.
“Okay, so what are you up to?” Echo asked, opening a bottle of coconut water.
“We’re going on a search,” her friend replied, all mystery.
“A search for what?”
“I have no idea, but I can’t just sit back and wait for my house to be safe again, we have to do something.”
“Fair enough,” Echo shrugged. “But what can we possibly accomplish while sitting by the pool, other than a killer tan?”
“Well, I was thinking about that. So, the stolen art collection that Spencer found was behind the old caretaker’s house, right?”
“Yeah, so?”
“Then doesn’t it stand to reason that there might be other hiding places on the estate?”
“Hmm… maybe. What are you thinking?” Echo was mystified.
“Well, where’s the last place that anyone would think to look for priceless works of art?”
“I don’t know… the bathroom?” Echo guessed, not knowing where her friend was going with the line of inquiry.
“No silly, the cabana! It’s outdoors, people inside are generally wet and messy. A thinking person would never store art in such a place,” Missy grinned.
Echo nodded, delighted at the clever deduction. “Okay, so where do we start?” she looked around.
“My thinking is that if they’ve used the ground before, maybe they used
it again, so let’s walk the entire floor area in here and look for irregularities.”
“I don’t want to burst your bubble here, sweetie, but this floor is firmly attached travertine. It’s like a fortress. How do you expect to find a loose tile or something?”
“Since it’s that well built, finding the flaw should be easy,” Missy shrugged. “Help me move these lounges off to the side, and we’ll start right here, then spread out. If Detective Nosypants Solinsky comes over to check on us, we can say that we’re rearranging the furniture to accommodate more people.”
“I like it,” Echo agreed. “Okay, magnifying glasses out, we’re on a hunt.”
The two women started out from the center of the room, feeling a bit ridiculous, and made several passes from one end of the large cabana to the other without finding anything remotely suspicious-looking.
“I hate to say it, but this floor looks rock solid to me. If there’s anything beneath it, it looks like it’s going to stay there,” Echo mused, fanning herself with her hands.
“Let’s split up, you take the left side, I’ll take the right side. I just have this gut feeling,” Missy murmured, distracted by the task at hand.
Echo knew her friend well enough to know that if she didn’t help her, Missy would scour the room from corner to corner, end to end, all by herself. She figured that, at least if she pitched in, they’d see much sooner that there was nothing wrong with the floor, and nothing hidden beneath the structure, so she kept on looking, despite her profound doubts.
“What happens when we don’t find anything?” she asked casually.
“Then we check the walls and the roof,” Missy replied, staring at a spot on the floor.
“How did I know?” Echo grumbled, shuffling along, her eyes glued to the floor.
“Hey! Did you hear that?” Missy whispered urgently, standing stock-still.
Only Echo’s eyes moved as she froze in place, listening. “No, I don’t hear anything. What did you hear?”
Missy shook her head. “I don’t know. Plants rustling or something,” she bit her lip.
“Probably the wind,” Echo shrugged and resumed looking.
“Hopefully.” Missy gave one last look around, rubbed the goosebumps from her upper arms and starting searching again.
“Hmm…” Echo stared down into the far corner of the cabana.
“What?” Missy hurried over.
“Look at that,” Echo moved the toe of her sandal over to a hairline crack in the grout where the travertine met the wall.
“It’s tiny. Probably just from settling.”
“Hang on, let me see something.”
Echo moved closer, and tapped on the corner near the wall with the toe of her shoe. The travertine depressed slightly, then sprang back up, popping the stone square above those surrounding it by more than a quarter of an inch.
“I think this may be what we’ve been looking for,” she breathed, turning wide eyes to her friend.
The two women looked around the cabana to make sure they weren’t being observed, then both of them knelt facing the corner. Missy pried the large stone square up and set it to the side, wincing at the scraping noise that it made.
“Here, let me drag some of the potted palms over here to screen us a bit. If anyone comes in, we can pretend that we’re repotting them or something,” Echo suggested.
“Great idea,” Missy nodded. “It looks like more of these squares come up, so hurry,” she shooed Echo away, while exploring the surrounding stone.
When the potted palms had been subtly placed as a screen, Missy and Echo took up three more tiles, opening up a hole that was roughly four feet by four feet. In the darkness beneath, the only thing that they could make out was a surprisingly clean concrete stairway.
“Let’s go,” Missy grabbed Echo’s arm.
“No way. That looks too much like a trap to me,” Echo shook her head.
“Seriously? A trap? For what? Alligators?” Missy teased.
“No, for humans. Uh-uh, no way,” Echo crossed her arms and set her jaw.
“Oh for goodness sake! My hunch was proved correct and now you’re not even going to come down here with me and see what’s under here?” Missy challenged.
“There’s never anything good underground.”
“Honey, you’re vegan. Most of what you eat starts underground,” Missy observed dryly.
“That’s different. That’s a natural occurrence. This is most definitely not natural.”
“There’s a floor built over it, what could possibly be down there that would hurt you?”
“Booby traps.”
“Booby traps? Really? Darlin’, you gotta stop watching late night TV. Now stop being silly and come on. I’ll make you a dozen cupcakes of your choice when we get done here, I promise,” Missy wheedled.
“Vanilla bean?” Echo muttered.
“With extra frosting.”
“Fine,” she sighed, beaten. “Let me switch on the flashlight on my phone though. I’m not stepping down into darkness.”
“Good thought, I’ll do the same,” Missy smiled, relieved that Echo would be coming with her. Truth was, she didn’t want to go underground either, but her curiosity was killing her.
The two women switched on their cellphone lights and cautiously made their way down a wide set of polished concrete steps. Echo counted twenty-four steps on their way down, tucking that knowledge away in case it might become important later. The flooring at the bottom of the steps was a shiny, composite surface that looked eerily new. Stepping out onto the floor, Missy and Echo shone their flashlights all around, searching for a light switch, but not finding one.
“What is this place?” Echo whispered.
“Looks like a storage facility. Or maybe a bomb shelter like they used to have back in the fifties,” Missy mused, excited that they’d actually found something.
“Look at those things over there,” Echo trained her phone on what looked like a bank of lockers. “I wonder what’s in there?”
“One way to find out,” Missy grinned, heading to the opposite side of the room where the lockers were located.
She touched the spinner lock on one of the tall, narrow doors, and suddenly bright lights flashed on in the room, blinding them. There was a dull, metallic thud and a clanging of metal that sounded like a hatch being secured. The lights went off as soon as they’d come on, leaving the pair stunned, and when they were only illuminated by the light of their cellphones once more, Missy and Echo stared at each other, scared.
“You were right,” Missy whispered tremulously.
“About what?”
“It’s a trap.”
The hole in the floor at the top of the stairs no longer existed, and the silence within the concrete structure was deafening. Both women checked their cells; neither had bars. The giant facility seemed to close in on them, and they clung to each other, not knowing what to do next.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
* * *
“Britannia Steenburgen?” Spencer inquired, when Roger Demmers’s thirty-something girlfriend opened the door.
Ringo had found the address, and the Marine had just arrived at the rather pricey condominium to speak with her.
“Well, hello handsome,” she purred, unconsciously primping her hair. “Whatever charity you’re collecting for, I’d love to make a donation.”
Spencer paused a beat before responding. This was not the reception he’d anticipated.
“Uh, hello. I’m not here to collect donations, I’d just like to talk to you for a few minutes, if you don’t mind.”
“My day is getting better and better. Come on in, you sweet young thing. Let me get you something cool to drink,” Britannia beckoned him to follow her into the pastel-colored, air-conditioned confines of the luxurious condo. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I wanted to talk to you about Roger,” Spencer watched her carefully, waiting for a reaction.
A raised eyebrow was as dramatic a
s it got. Apparently Britannia was as cool as a cucumber when it came to masking her feelings.
“Really? Are you a friend of his?” she held up a bottle of expensive gin, and Spencer declined, so she put a splash of club soda over the rocks and garnished it with lime.
“No, actually. It’s kind of complicated, but I think Roger may have gotten involved with something that could put him in danger, and I’d like to keep that from happening.”
“You’re not his friend, but you want to keep him out of danger. Interesting,” the tawny-haired socialite regarded Spencer coolly. “So what’s your name and game, pretty boy?”
“I’m Adam. Adam Phillips.” The lie came out of Spencer so naturally that it was as if he’d never stepped away from his government position. Once a spook, always a spook.
“And why do you care so much about Roger?” he could tell from her tone that she hadn’t bought the fake name for an instant.
“I’m looking to buy what he’s looking to sell, and I like to eliminate my competition,” Spencer shrugged.
She appraised him from head to toe. “Okay, I can respect that. What do you want from me?”
“A name.”
“I have lots of names… Kitten, Lady, Ginger…. Take your pick, handsome.”
“That’s not what I’m looking for,” was the quiet reply.
Britannia’s expression turned cold, and, as if a switch had been flipped, she was entirely uninterested in helping the Marine.
“Britty, I wanna get some ice cream!” a child proclaimed at the top of his voice, dashing into the room and skittering to a halt in front of Spencer.
“Hi,” he greeted him loudly. “Who are you?”
Before Spencer could reply, Britannia intervened.
“Jaxon, go play,” she scolded, no longer the cool, collected woman of the world.
“I want ice cream,” he yelled, then turned his gaze back to Spencer. “Are you my uncle?”
“Go in the kitchen and get yourself an ice cream,” Britannia commanded with a tight smile.
“I can’t reach ’em.”
“Then have Maria get one for you.”
“Maria is at the market and she didn’t let me go with her,” Jaxon pouted.
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