Bess couldn't think of any response because she didn’t know enough. What was a standover merchant? A gangster of some sort, she thought.
“Our Geoffrey has fingers in many pies,” Ida continued. “He’s worth a bundle, which is something else I’ll bet you didn’t know, and wouldn’t care if you did.”
Maybe that's why he never talks about his business, Bess thought. Maybe he doesn't want me to know he's worth a bundle. Hell, I'd already guessed that from my airline ticket. Maybe his ex-wife took him for a bundle.
“And where there’s money,” Ida said, “there’s somebody out to relocate it, or steal it, or launder it. Come to think of it, Geoffrey did mention something about a proposed take-over bid he was fighting. Some American asset-stripper that got on Geoffrey’s case in a big way and really put his nose out of joint. Yes, that might account for it, assuming what we see on the telly is true and American business tycoons all use hit-men to solve their problems.”
Again, Bess said nothing. But her thoughts returned to her father, then, logically, to Tom Rossiter’s presence here in Tasmania. Not to mention the presence of Gerald Coolidge, a man without any morals or scruples. Bess gave her head a mental shake. The men who'd followed the car already knew where Geoff lived, so why trail her?
“Well, whatever’s going on, Geoffrey has to be told,” Ida said. “When we get you home, I’ll come in for a few minutes if he’s there and see what he thinks about it all. That,” she added with a huge grin, “will give you a chance to get out of your chase-me-catch me-root-me gear before the poor man realizes you’re serious.”
Bess opened her mouth, then shut it again. Protestations wouldn't help, would in fact only energize the locomotive that propelled Ida's one-track mind.
Accept her friendship and ignore her pandering, Bess told herself. And whatever you do, don't stir the cauldron by asking Ida why she's playing matchmaker. Obviously, she has demons too.
When they got back to the house, Bess saw Geoff’s eyes widen as they strode side-by-side toward him across the expanse of living room carpet.
“My very word,” he said. “What have you two been up to, or is it anything I want to know about?” And his eyes flickered like lightning over Bess's camisole. Perversely, she now carried her Dodger's jacket.
“Women’s business, darling,” Ida replied. “You wouldn’t understand, so I won’t give you the relative pleasure of failing. Now, take me into the sanctity of your office because I desperately need to talk to you.”
Bess changed back into her cut-offs and Broncos tee-shirt, then entered the office just as Ida was finishing her description of the day’s events. Geoff looked serious but didn’t seem overly alarmed.
“Following your car doesn’t make sense to me,” he said. “But you’re spot-on, I think. They might have followed Bess to get to me. The question is, why? I'm easy enough to find. Are you positive it isn’t one of your operations that’s behind it all?”
“As positive as I can be, but rest assured I’ll be checking that out. And watching my own back. Still, it doesn’t feel right to have it aimed at me. I’m certain those blokes picked us up here, or near here, and even though they didn’t try anything, or do anything but follow us, it gives me bad vibes. Very bad vibes.”
“Me too,” Bess chipped in. “I didn’t get a good look at them, Geoff, but seeing them standing there with that cop...er, copper...I had a feeling one of them might have been the guy who spooked Lady, the man we saw down by the river. Except, that really makes no sense either.”
“None of it makes sense,” Geoff said, “but it will, sooner or later. I guess it means all of us will have to be a little more careful. Rocky, watch how you go. I know your style, and having you involved in something like this worries me.”
“Worry about yourself, darling. I have my bloody cell phone, and I'm a big girl. Come to think of it, Colorado should carry a cell phone.”
“Good idea.”
“Now, I’ll be off. Please, you two, be careful and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” She looked pointedly at Bess's cut-offs, then made a pinching gesture with her fingers. “Remember what I told you, Colorado, and watch your butt as well as your back.”
Flashing Geoff a smile, Ida departed. Disappearing, Bess thought, like a bloody Cheshire Cat.
~~~
Many aspects of Ida and Geoff's conversation were being repeated, almost word for word, in Gerald Coolidge’s suite at the Casino. The major difference was that almost everybody involved in the discussion was either angry or extremely angry.
“It don’t wash,” the larger of the two Sydney crims was saying. “There was no reason for that copper to pull us over. None. I wasn’t speeding and I wasn’t driving recklessly.”
“And all he did was check your identification?” Coolidge asked. “He didn’t breathalyse you, didn’t check over the car for defects?”
“I’ve already told you we weren't drinking. And why the bloody hell would he check over the car? It was a hire car, bloody near brand new. There’d be no reason to check it over.”
“You must have done something to make him suspicious. Cops here don’t go pulling over hire cars in the middle of the day without some sort of reason. Maybe he didn’t like your looks. Maybe he thought he recognized you from some crime file. Maybe he’s an ex-Sydney copper.”
“And maybe you’re full of crap.” The Sydney standover merchant, not at all intimidated by Gerald Coolidge, was fast losing patience with the discussion.
“The first thing we did was trade in the hire car,” said the other man, nervously shuffling his feet. “Which isn’t going to help the coppers because we also used phony I.D. when we checked into the motel. So they’re gonna have a bugger of a time finding us. I mean, if they really do want to find us. I mean...” His voice trailed off, obstructed by his fingernails, inserted between his teeth.
“But you used proper identification to hire the original car and for your plane tickets,” said Tom Rossiter, speaking up for the first time. “If they go chasing along those lines it won’t take them long to figure out who you are, then wonder what the hell you’re doing here in Tasmania.” Rossiter turned to Coolidge. “I don’t like it. The thing’s jinxed.”
“Don’t be stupid, Tom. It's not anything to worry about. And the lads here handled it perfectly, as far as I’m concerned.”
“'Course we did,” growled the leader from Sydney. “Just give us a few days to let the smoke clear and we’ll take another run at the redhead. And her blonde friend too, if it comes to it. I wouldn’t mind cutting me a slice off either one.”
“There’ll be none of that!” Rossiter’s voice held the ring of authority left over from his days on the New York City police force. Now he looked at each of the Sydney men in turn, and made sure they both saw the message in his eyes as well as his voice.
“Yeah, sure,” was the grudging reply. “I didn’t say I would do it, just that I wouldn’t mind.”
“Don’t even think about it,” Rossiter said, his body language making the simple statement into a brutal threat.
“Are you going soft on the old man’s daughter, Tom?” Coolidge asked, once the Sydney crew had left the suite.
“Not soft, no. But Elizabeth's always been good to me, and I’ll admit I don’t much like this business of dealing with her the way you’re going about it. You let scum like that get her someplace where there’s no control and you’ve practically guaranteed rape, or worse.” Rossiter’s eyes grew bleak. “Using her as a lever against Barrett is one thing, but this is something else again. Also, don’t forget, I’m the one who has to deliver her back in New York, and the old man'll be livid if she’s returned to him in less than perfect condition.”
“She will be, at least on the surface.”
“No, Gerry. She will be...period. I want you to pay off those thugs and bring in someone who can do this job the way we first agreed.”
“And if I don’t?”
Rossiter shrugged, the gesture
hardly showing against his rumpled suit. “Far as I’m concerned, you’re responsible. You don’t want to piss me off, Gerry. I know too much. So just do it, okay?”
“Tom... Tom...”
“I mean it, Gerry. There are better ways to handle your first phase.”
Coolidge met Rossiter’s eyes directly, then was forced to look away. He hated to admit, even to himself, that the expression in those eyes frightened him.
“All right, Tom, I’ll get rid of them first thing in the morning. We can use some of my own people. I have total control over them, and I can assure you there will be no violence, no sex, just a nice tidy nab. And we’ll take her someplace she can be detained in comfort. Okay with you?”
“Sure, because I plan to be there. It shouldn’t be too hard to arrange it so she doesn’t see me or recognize me.”
“Dangerous move, old friend.”
“Yup, but I guess that’s the way it’s going to be, so get used to the idea. Nothing bad will happen to Elizabeth, and I’m going to make damn sure of that.”
“Whatever you say. Now, how about you get on with your side of things while I set this up the way you want? It will take until day after tomorrow to bring in my own people because I can't use anybody from Tasmania. This place is too small and word would leak, sure as God made little green apples.”
Coolidge waited until Rossiter had left the room, then picked up the phone and dialed the number of the motel where the Sydney men were staying, assuming correctly that they had returned there directly after their meeting with him.
“Rossiter is going to be a problem,” he said when the leader answered. “I think it might be a good idea to remove him from this game.”
“Rossiter is tough. It’s going to cost you.”
“That’s all right. I've got a company checkbook with room for lots of zeros. Just make sure he’s out of the way before you collect the girl, or he’ll be more of a problem than he is now.”
The voice at the end of the phone didn’t hesitate. “Consider it done.”
“Hold on.” Coolidge's computer-like brain whirred and hissed. If there was the slightest possibility that Rossiter could turn the tables on the standover merchants before the nab, the bloody jig would be up. And hadn't Tom said something about knowing too much? Did too much include useful, perhaps profitable information about the British chap Cornwall wanted to procure for his daughter?
“Don't do anything yet, mate,” Coolidge said into the phone. “I've got an even better idea.”
CHAPTER TEN
When the front door closed, Bess didn't immediately react. Her head was filled with the theme music from Rocky and, for no discernible reason, she pictured the sensual scene in Rocky's run-down apartment, where Stallone had kissed Talia Shire for the first time. No naked bodies, no artistic camera angles, just enough tenderness to make every girl, young and old, breathe a universal sigh, followed by a universal purr.
Finally, something clicked. “Why do you call her Rocky?” Bess asked Geoff. “Has Ida been a prize fighter, too?”
“I don’t know, but it wouldn’t surprise me. Very little about Ida would surprise me. The nickname is simply my personal acceptance of Ida’s own view of herself… Ida, woman of stone. She’s had more men than you’ve had hot dinners, and by her own admission is a user and abuser par excellence. Thrives on it, I think, although you’d wonder if she doesn’t get awful lonely sometimes in the process.”
“A user and abuser? She doesn’t strike me as the type, somehow, although I realize she’s been around a bit.”
“More than a bit. She probably qualifies for a circumnavigation award when it comes to the world of the male species. And yet a better person you’d be hard put to find, when she’s in the mood.”
He shrugged, as if to flick away some insect of memory. “I have to go out for a while, Bess. I’ll bring back something for tea, and don’t forget we have to make an early night of it because we’ll be up before sparrow-fart if we’re to get to the trial tomorrow in time for check-in.”
Despite helping Geoff train Lady for her competition in the novice section of the Tassie Cup, Bess had forgotten all about it. And nowhere, thus far, had Geoff made any mention of her accompanying him to the dog trials, which were being held somewhere in the region around Ross, about an hour’s drive to the south.
“You mean I get to go too?” And her face must have revealed her excitement at the prospect, because Geoff grinned hugely before he answered her.
“You think I’d dare leave you behind? Lady would piddle on my boots in retribution, not that she mightn’t anyway. Of course you’re coming. After all, you’ve been helping with the training ever since you arrived. Just don’t expect too much. One of the laws of retrieving trials is that a dog can do everything right in training, then go to a trial and forget what he or she has learned in a matter of seconds.”
“Oh, surely not.”
“Oh, surely yes. Scientific studies have proven it takes forty-two consecutive correct applications of a specific exercise before you can be certain the dog knows what you want. But I’ll guarantee you this, darling, if it’s something you don’t want a dog to learn, they only have to see or do it once and it becomes embedded in their tiny brains forevermore.”
Bess found sleep difficult that night. Part of the reason, she knew, was her propensity for childish reactions to upcoming treats. She had never enjoyed a decent sleep on Christmas Eve, or the night before her birthday. But now there was worse to consider…the way her tummy had done a contented little flip-flop just because Geoff called her darling.
Which was ridiculous in the extreme. He hadn’t meant anything by it, anymore than most Aussies meant anything when they called total strangers “love” or “mate.” It was simply part of the national speech pattern. And yet...
What had Ida said? That Geoff was smitten? What an amazingly old-fashioned and yet somehow comforting, descriptive word. Ida had also said something about how the poor bugger was going round with his tongue hanging out and how Bess couldn't even see it.
Well, sorry Ida, but I can’t, she thought, and wished she could see it, even though she knew it was the last thing she should want to see. No good could come of it; Paul had seen to that. Elizabeth Carson Bradley wasn’t worth any man’s serious attention, and certainly not the attention of someone she truly cared about.
Still, it didn’t hurt to dream a little.
Bess didn’t dream that night, although she slept so poorly it was hardly surprising. At four a.m., she was gulping down her second cup of coffee, dressed in her Navy-issue sailor pants and cotton camisole. When Geoff wandered into the kitchen, he looked as if he hadn’t slept well either.
“Ah... coffee,” he sighed, and mixed himself a cup before sitting across the table from her. Eyes half-shut, he slowly sipped at the brew. Then he said, “I thought you were coming to the trial with me.”
It was the most surprising remark she might have anticipated, but she quickly replied, “I am. Or at least I am if you still want me to come.”
“Then you’d better change into sensible clothes. Those white trousers would be filthy before you'd taken two steps, and that...” He gestured toward her top.
“Camisole, Geoff. Surely you know what a camisole is. You've dressed Kate in one often enough.”
“I only meant there’ll be frost on the ground when we get there, I can almost guarantee it. You get about like that and I’ll be bringing home an icicle.”
His smile softened his rebuke, but Bess was nonetheless feeling more than a trifle embarrassed as she donned her denim cut-offs, then struggled into an old pair of jeans over the shorts. Her Broncos sweatshirt hid her camisole. When she returned to the kitchen, Geoff, who was dressed comfortably in moleskin trousers and a thick flannel shirt, nodded in what seemed to be approval, and handed her a bulky polo-fleece jacket.
“You’ll need this too, I reckon, at least at first. By noon, your camisole might have proven a wise choice, but dog trial
s aren’t fashion shows at the best of times, which is just as well.”
“I wasn't making a fashion statement. I just...” Bess paused, all too aware that she'd chosen her outfit because Ida had admired it. “I just wanted to be comfortable, that's all.”
Lady was her usual rambunctious self, and seemed to know they were going somewhere special. She did her little dervish performance, but cut it short the instant Geoff opened the back of his Land Cruiser.
There was a last-minute check…whistle, dummies, gumboots…then Geoff looked at Bess and shook his head. “Damn, I forgot about buying a hat for you.”
“I don’t much like hats,” she replied. “And my hair is long enough that I shouldn’t need one. Or should I?”
“You damned well should. You’ve no idea how powerful the Tasmanian sun can be, especially when you’re out all day with no shade. Ah well, nothing to be done about it unless somebody’s got an extra one we can borrow.”
They talked little on the way south, except for Geoff pointing out the few landmarks the Midlands Highway had to offer. When they reached the site of the Tassie Cup, Bess realized that he hadn’t exaggerated when he’d said this would be no fashion show. Dressed in the shabbiest clothing imaginable, most of the people there would have looked right at home outside an American soup kitchen.
But it was the dogs that captured Bess’s attention, and held it. All breeds of gundog – Labradors, Chesapeake Bay retrievers, German shorthaired pointers, Weimaraners, Springer spaniels like Lady, and some she couldn’t even identify – yodeled and barked and stared from a variety of crates and travel kennels and trailers.
Geoff was greeted by almost everyone they met, and although he politely introduced Bess as his American visitor, she quickly realized she was of no importance or interest to this group of enthusiasts. All around her the talk was of only one thing…their dogs, or somebody else’s, and what might be expected from the mainland judge who was in charge of the event.
Yet even without introductions, everyone, it seemed, knew who she was, which Bess found somewhat amazing. People she hadn’t been introduced to came up to say things like, “You’re Geoff’s American lady, eh?” then stayed to talk about “that mad bloody dog, Lady” or about someone else’s equally mad dog. After scrutinizing Bess's pale complexion, a woman managed to procure a hat, a floppy monstrosity with an equally floppy brim that hid one's eyes. Although she'd never thought of herself as vain or pretentious, Bess stuffed the shapeless headgear into her jacket pocket as soon as the woman was safely out of sight.
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