by Jana DeLeon
“I appreciate it,” Larry said. “Deputy LeBlanc said he called the emergency contact in Katia’s phone, but it was a coworker so I doubt he’ll be taking charge of things. Natalia and I haven’t discussed it yet but I’m sure she’ll want to make the arrangements. If you could provide me with some names and phone numbers for the businesses we’ll need, that would be a big help.”
“Of course,” Ida Belle said. “I can email them if you’d like. I have your address from the charity auction last year.”
“Thank you,” he said, and rose. “I’m sorry, but if you’ll excuse me, I need to check on my wife.”
We stood and headed to the front door.
“Please let us know if we can help in any other way,” Gertie said.
He gave us a nod and we headed down the sidewalk and climbed into Ida Belle’s SUV.
“Well, that was weird,” I said as Ida Belle pulled away.
“You think?” Gertie said. “I was looking for a hidden camera thinking we’d crossed over into the Twilight Zone.”
“I will admit, I almost feel like we left knowing less than we went in with even though that’s not exactly true,” Ida Belle said.
“In a way it is,” I said. “We got information, but that information created more holes so net, we’re in the negative.”
“So what now?” Gertie asked. “We don’t even know Katia’s last name, so it will be hard to track down any information on her until we can manage that much, at least.”
“But we do have Natalia’s last name,” I said. “And that mugging happened in New Orleans so we might be able to find something on that.”
“‘Might’ is the optimal word,” Ida Belle said. “A mugging in New Orleans isn’t exactly front-page news.”
“But this one resulted in a death,” Gertie said. “Surely that rates at least an online write-up.”
“Maybe,” Ida Belle agreed. “But even if we had a police report, what would it tell us? That two women were attacked and one of them died? What does it matter? Katia wasn’t there.”
“But Katia might not have been the target, remember?” I said. “If the attack in New Orleans wasn’t random, then Natalia might have been the intended and her sister got it instead.”
“If the killer is really after Natalia, he’s either incompetent or she has nine lives,” Gertie said. “If I had blond hair, I wouldn’t want to hang out with her. You might want to keep your distance.”
“I’m going to hazard a guess that Natalia and I have little in common,” I said. “The old dude for a husband and the little kid sort of clinch it. And while I do share their aversion to casual mingling, I’m not about do-it-lousy-yourself in order to save money.”
“If Natalia is the target, their aversion to mingling might explain why it’s been three years between attempts,” Gertie said. “If you don’t make friends, there’s no one to leave a forwarding address with. And knowing Larry, he took his time changing it over because of the fees required.”
“Except that they didn’t live in New Orleans,” Ida Belle said. “That much, I do know. They moved here from up north—Virginia, I think.”
I smiled at the thought of Virginia being “up north,” but Louisiana residents had strict opinions about the definition of Yankees, so I wasn’t about to disagree.
“So why were the sisters in New Orleans?” Gertie asked.
“Girls’ trip?” I said. “But if that’s the case, it complicates our theory. Why would someone go to the trouble to follow Natalia to another state when they could have mugged her in her hometown? Seems like a lot of unnecessary effort.”
“The whole thing is a mangled mess,” Ida Belle said. “We don’t have enough information. Not on Larry, Natalia, her sister, or Katia.”
“And given Mannie’s information about Larry working government intel,” I said, “I don’t think information on him or his family is going to be easy to come by. There’s a reason he has them all on lockdown.”
“Do you think Natalia knows what he does?” Gertie asked.
I shrugged. “Hard to say. She might just think he’s a private person or a bit odd. For all we know, she might be just as happy with the silent, no-close-friends arrangement as he is.”
“That’s true,” Ida Belle said. “Women who look like Natalia don’t usually marry men like Larry without a good reason. And it usually has nothing to do with love. But without knowing her background, it’s impossible to say what that reason was. Maybe her past in Russia was bad and she fled and latched onto the first man who could take care of her. The fact that he prefers them keeping to themselves was probably all the more attractive to her, assuming she didn’t want to constantly address her past.”
“Maybe he didn’t like Katia because she reminded Natalia of that past,” Gertie said.
“Could be,” Ida Belle said as she pulled into my driveway. “Especially since Katia still had ties with Russia through her job.”
We headed inside to the kitchen on autopilot. Gertie sliced pie and started heating it up. Ida Belle filled glasses with ice and pulled sweet tea out of the refrigerator. I headed to my office to grab my laptop. Minutes later, we were all in our designated spots at my kitchen table, but no one had even lifted a fork.
I opened the laptop and did a search for Natalia and New Orleans and located a few sentences in a news report.
“It’s not much,” I said as I repeated the basics. “New Orleans Detective Sean Reynolds, spokesperson for the police department, reports two women were mugged in the French Quarter Saturday night. Annika Baskin, a visitor from Moscow, died at the scene. Her sister, Natalia Guillory, is in critical condition. The police have no leads and are asking anyone with information to contact them.”
I did more searches for Annika Baskin, Natalia Guillory, Natalia Baskin, and Larry Guillory but came up empty. It wasn’t really surprising. Larry being intel, and thereby suspicious full time, meant he would attempt to keep his and his family’s presence off the internet. Social media would be out of the question.
I slumped back in my chair and blew out a breath. “So where do we go to get more information on a couple who doesn’t talk on a social basis?”
Gertie shrugged. “Seems like the only place to get information is from the source.”
“We were just at the source,” I said. “Now we have more questions than before we went in. And I don’t think Larry is going to be forthcoming if we just show up and launch the Spanish Inquisition. He’s government intel, not a fisherman. He’d know in a second what we were doing.”
“So we don’t talk,” Gertie said. “We listen.”
“I am so confused,” I said.
“Don’t look at me,” Ida Belle said. “I don’t understand half of what she says.”
“You two are a disgrace to women everywhere,” Gertie said. “What’s the oldest method of getting information?”
“Torture?” I asked.
Gertie sighed. “Eavesdropping. Women throughout history have kept themselves safe and in control by eavesdropping. Remember how Larry and Natalia were arguing when we walked up to the front door? I seriously doubt that’s the last time that’s going to happen, and I doubt it was over redecorating that hideous kitchen, although it should have been. So all we need to do is listen to their private conversations.”
“I think people might notice if we’re standing on the front porch leaned against the door,” I said. “Besides, we couldn’t make out anything anyway and I don’t think we can request they only argue in the living room.”
“Sometimes, I can’t believe you were CIA,” Gertie said. “You people are supposed to be the underhanded, sneaky ones. You’re called spooks, for Christ’s sake. All that illegal wiretapping and bugging hotels and such.”
“That’s political stuff,” I said. “My missions involved less unsavory targets.”
Ida Belle snorted.
“I assume you’re suggesting we bug their house?” I asked.
“Of course,” Gertie said
. “What did you think I was suggesting—that we hide behind their sofa? This isn’t Cold War Russia.”
“It’s Sinful, so I’m never sure what’s appropriate,” I said.
“Lurking behind sofas is only acceptable if you’re playing hide-and-seek or spying on your teen daughter and her boyfriend,” Gertie said.
“Well, since we don’t have any kids and we’re too old for hide-and-seek, I guess those options are out,” I said.
“Speak for yourself on the hide-and-seek thing,” Gertie said.
Ida Belle waved her hand. “We’re off topic. Exactly how is it you think we can bug their house? It’s not like we can masquerade as the cable guy. And if Larry even smells a hint of a service charge, anyone we put up to it won’t make it through the front door.”
“Couldn’t we ask Mannie to do it?” Gertie asked. “He could claim he’s with the gas company and there’s a leak. Mannie has the expertise to get the equipment set up and the sneakiness to do it without anyone noticing.”
“Maybe regular people,” I said. “But Larry is intel. He’s automatically suspicious. Trust me on that one. They don’t get into that line of work and then become all paranoid. They’re already paranoid, which is what attracts them to that line of work. It wouldn’t surprise me if he does a regular sweep of his house for bugs.”
Ida Belle frowned. “She’s right. We’ve known some of those type. Larry would be on alert on a normal basis but now he’s going to be at DEFCON 1.”
I nodded. “And it’s not like the paranoia is without merit. Intel employees have to be very careful.”
“I get it, but why at home?” Gertie asked. “It’s not like he’d be talking shop with his wife. What does the enemy think they’re going to overhear? A discussion about what’s for dinner?”
“Oh, I didn’t say the enemy would be the one listening,” I said. “It would be far more likely that his employer was keeping tabs on him.”
Gertie shook her head. “There is so much wrong with that statement. So if bugging his house is out, maybe we should just lurk around the bedroom window tonight.”
“That’s a good way to get arrested,” Ida Belle said. “Or shot.”
I looked at Gertie, a bit surprised. “Did you not notice the camera on his front porch? It was tracking us the whole time we approached. Cheap Larry didn’t scrimp on his security system inside either, and I doubt all that expense is to protect that 1970s glassware.”
Ida Belle nodded. “He’s either paranoid or he knows something people would like to have.”
Gertie threw her hands in the air. “Then you two come up with something. Since you think all my ideas are bad.”
“Don’t you think if I had an idea I would have stopped you already?” Ida Belle asked.
Gertie’s eyes widened and she clapped. “I’ve got it! What about one of those listening antennas? You know, the kind with that umbrella thingie that you can hear from far away.”
“A parabolic microphone?” I asked.
“If that’s the umbrella thing, then yes,” Gertie said.
“Because that wouldn’t be noticeable at all,” Ida Belle said. “Us standing in the yard holding a satellite dish. Between the neighbors and Larry’s camera, we might as well go for hiding behind the couch. We’d have a better chance of not being discovered.”
“I’m not suggesting we stand on the sidewalk,” Gertie said. “We could use it in their backyard.”
“You mean the yard that Phyllis LaFont is monitoring?” I asked.
“And probably another camera,” Ida Belle said.
“We can disable the camera,” Gertie said.
“Can’t disable Phyllis,” Ida Belle said.
“Sure we can,” Gertie said.
I wasn’t about to ask her what she had in store for the nosy and unfortunate Phyllis. And ultimately, it didn’t matter.
“That won’t work anyway. A parabolic microphone can’t listen through walls,” I said.
Gertie slumped, her excitement replaced with disappointment. “You know, our government should really spend some money developing better surveillance equipment.”
“The government spends quite enough and they already have more information than they can handle,” Ida Belle said.
I drummed my fingers on the table.
“What?” Gertie asked me. “You have that look.”
“What look?” I asked.
“That look where you have an idea but haven’t quite figured out how to make it happen,” Gertie said.
Ida Belle nodded. “Lay it on us. Maybe we can help.”
“I was just thinking that we might be able to hear some conversations with a long-range laser,” I said. “I’ve had some success directing them at a window and hearing what’s going on inside even when I didn’t have line of sight to the speakers.”
“Awesome!” Gertie said. “Problem solved.”
“Except for one small thing,” I said.
“The camera?”
“Phyllis?”
“The lasers start at thirty thousand dollars,” I said.
Gertie spit her sweet tea all over Ida Belle and Merlin, who’d been lounging in the corner. Both of them gave her the stink eye, but only one of them would be paying me back for it later tonight.
“Good Lord!” Gertie said. “I could buy a new Caddy for that. New to me, anyway.”
“I could put turbos on my SUV,” Ida Belle said.
“You two are missing the important part of this discussion,” I said.
“What’s that?” Gertie asked.
“Is it tax-deductible if it’s illegal to use?” I asked.
“But is it illegal to just listen or only to record?” Ida Belle asked.
“That’s an interesting point,” I said. “I’m not sure.”
“Why the heck not?” Gertie asked. “You were CIA. They specialize in listening.”
“But we didn’t care about the whole legal or not legal part,” I said.
“Should have seen that one coming,” Gertie said.
“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Ida Belle said. “We don’t have thirty grand to buy a fancy laser.”
“I do,” I said. “I mean, if they make me pay back the life insurance for my not-so-dead father, things could get tight since I’ve paid cash for everything here. But my expenses are low—Merlin doesn’t eat much and Gertie, Ally, and Carter keep me in food a lot. Francine’s and microwave dinners aren’t expensive, so alcohol is probably my biggest outlay. As it stands right now, I have some money to invest in the business and nothing else I need to buy.”
Gertie gave me a sad shake of her head. “Where did I go wrong with you? There’s not a stitch of furniture in this house that’s not older than you are. Your entire wardrobe came from Amazon and you have fewer pairs of shoes than Francis.”
“Why does Francis have— You know what, never mind.” I looked at Ida Belle. “Do you have any thoughts on how I should be spending my money?”
“Well, there’s always engine upgrades,” Ida Belle said. “But you can’t get much out of that Jeep so I don’t see the point. And since you can’t wear more than one outfit or pair of shoes at a time and you have a perfectly good washer and dryer, I don’t see the urgency there, either. Furniture is stuff you sit on or sit things on. Unless it collapses, it’s good.”
“You and Larry have more in common than you think,” Gertie said.
“Heck, buy the darn thing,” Ida Belle said.
“Really?” I said. “You think I should?”
“Why not?” Ida Belle said. “Like you said, it’s a tax deduction. And it gives Gertie a reason to lurk around someone’s backyard uninvited, so everyone wins.”
“What do you get out of it?” I asked.
Ida Belle grinned. “I’m the getaway driver. The payoff is always the same for me.”
“I wonder if they’ll confiscate the equipment if we get caught,” I said.
“When have we ever gotten caught?” Ida Belle said. “I
mean, yeah, Carter might know stuff, but knowing and proving are two different things.”
“We still have logistics to work out,” Gertie said. “We can’t stand in the front yard pointing a laser at a window, and if we’re standing in the backyard then there’s Phyllis and the potential camera to consider.”
“The camera is easy enough,” I said. “I simply walk into the backyard wearing black hoodie and ski mask and disable it. Unless Larry’s watching a screen 24-7, he won’t know it’s down until he goes to check.”
“And Phyllis?” Gertie asked. “Unfortunately, she doesn’t have wires you can cut.”
“You said her first husband took off,” I said. “Is the second one still in residence.”
“Gone as well,” Ida Belle said.
“Then I have an idea,” I said.
“Sleeping pills? Brownies with Ex-Lax?” Gertie asked.
“That’s just mean,” I said. “Mean is plan B.”
“So what’s plan A?” Gertie asked.
I grinned. “Letting her help.”
Chapter Nine
Gertie looked at Ida Belle and shook her head. “She’s lost the plot.”
“Maybe not,” Ida Belle said. “Phyllis already suspects Larry is up to no good. If we pitch it as someone else has suspicions and has hired us to check up on him, then she’d be more than willing to prove to everyone that she’s not the crazy one.”
“But she is the crazy one,” Gertie said.
“Which is why she’ll help us,” I said. “And she’ll keep her mouth shut until we have enough evidence to out Larry as the cheater he is.”
A slow smile spread across Gertie’s face. “That’s kinda genius,” she said.
“I think so,” I said. “But before we get Phyllis all excited, I have to acquire the laser, and that’s going to take more than an Amazon delivery.”
“Can Morrow help you?” Ida Belle asked.
“Sure, but he won’t,” I said. “Not as long as he’s still getting paychecks for the CIA and wants to draw his pension. But I know someone who can probably get what I need.”