The Caspian Wine Mystery/Suspense/Thriller Series

by Maggie Thom

  Trust. Where does that come from? What makes one person trust another? Is it the way they talk? The things they do? Who they help? She wasn’t any good at any of that. Her mom had taught her well, never to trust anyone. I’m alone. Damn you. I’m alone.

  Leaning her arms against the wall, she let the water pound her as the tears flowed. She didn’t know what to do now. Should she run or stand and fight? She wasn’t even sure what she was fighting for anymore; too much didn’t make sense. She wondered just how much of what her mom had told her was a lie. I’m not who you told me I am. The question is did you steal me? The tears flowed unheeded down her cheeks.

  Thirty minutes later, absolutely drained of energy, she dressed and returned to the room. Guy was sitting at the table by the window reading the morning paper, drinking from a mug.

  “I made some coffee. Help yourself.”

  Grabbing a cup and filling it gave her the moment she needed to clear her mind. She sat opposite him. “I’m sorry.”

  He carefully closed the newspaper and set it down before meeting her gaze. She tried not to flinch nor look away but the compelling blue of his eyes offered her something she’d never experienced before: understanding. “Tell me about your job.”

  “I...” Sipping her coffee, she sat back. “I’ve been offered a job as an interior decorator. It’s what I’ve been doing for a while. It’s really all I know. I accepted the job. It’s good money. I said no a few years ago and that almost killed me.” She waved her hand at the inquiring expression in his eyes. “Long story. Anyway I almost declined again for the same reason. But I couldn’t this time. I want it but...”

  She stared out the window. But life has a funny way of happening.

  “But?”

  She shrugged. “I guess I won’t take it now.”

  “Why not? You just said you wanted it.” He leaned forward.

  No one had ever asked her what she wanted or why. She’d always been told what she needed or didn’t need.

  “My mom.” He sat there looking as though he was genuinely interested, and that was all she needed to talk. “She had this weird set of rules. Don’t lean on anyone. Don’t expect others to do for you. Don’t get your picture in the media. Don’t talk to strangers. Don’t move east. Clean up after yourself, you’re not a princess.” Heat crawled up her face as she realized all that had spilled out of her mouth. “She didn’t want me to take this job.”

  “Why not move east?”

  She shrugged.

  “We need to talk about everything. Are you ready to hear all that I have to tell you? And to answer some questions?”

  She wasn’t sure. She knew she was tired, tired of running, of being alone, of having nothing that was truly hers. She needed to know who she was. Am I ready? No.

  “Yeah. Where do you want to start?”

  “Tell me about your mom.”

  “I thought you said she wasn’t my mom?”

  He sighed heavily.

  “All right. My mom, or should I say, the woman I thought was my mother.”

  His steady gaze never wavered.

  “I don’t know what to say. She was the constant in my life. We moved a lot. She was paranoid about everything. I assumed for a long time that it was just being a parent. But other parents weren’t like her. She’d pick me up at school in the middle of the day and I’d never see it again. Sometimes we’d leave in the middle of the night.” She stood and went over to her bed, flipped back the covers and pulled out the tattered Miss Piggy.

  “I cried for a month when I thought I’d lost her. My mom told me to get used to it. I’d lose lots in my life. Why? Why did I have to give up everything?” Her voice became thick with emotion. She hugged the doll to her chest. “There were only two things I ever asked for in my life—this,” she held up her doll, “and a home. You know I was such a good kid. I did everything she ever asked of me. I was loyal to a fault. I worked every scheme. Everything she wanted. And what the hell did I get in return?” She started to pace.

  “What do you mean by schemes?”

  “Oh my god. My mom was a master at getting what she wanted from people. I’d play nice to old men and they’d give me money.”

  His hand fisted around the cup. “What does ‘playing nice’ mean?”

  She waved it off but wouldn’t look at him. Some things weren’t meant for sharing. “Nothing. Enough that they’d smile at me and give me money. I was darn cute ya know.” She knew that joke had fallen short when he didn’t even blink.

  “Look, I’ve come to realize my childhood was maybe not the norm but it really wasn’t that bad.” Unaware of what she was doing, she started slamming her right fist into her left hand as she paced. “My mom fed me. Clothed me. Housed me. Okay not always but...”

  “If she’s not my mom, how did I end up with her? Where would she have gotten me? It’s not like you can pull off the side of the road and dial a baby.” Her eyes narrowed as she considered the possibilities. “I don’t even know where to start. I know nothing about my mom—not where she was born. Grew up. Relations. Nothing. So how...?”

  “Your mom came into existence in 1983.”

  She whirled around to stare at Guy. “She was born in 1952.”

  “That may be true but we can’t find any information on a Donna Saunders prior to July 1983.”

  “And you think that has something to do with me, right? But how could you make that leap? If I disappeared in February, what happened until July? And how did I end up with her? In Alberta? You want me to go along with your half-baked ideas. What else do you need to share with me?”

  It was his turn to look away. He seemed awfully focused on the view outside the hotel. Slowly he turned to face her. “Sit down.”

  She pursed her lips.

  “Please.”

  Detecting his serious tone tinged with reluctant displeasure and genuine sadness, she complied. He reached into his pocket and with his hand closed, he extended his arm across the table.

  “I think this is yours.”

  She placed her palm under his. He dropped something into hers. She knew even before she looked what he’d given her. “How the hell did you get this? You stole it out of my pants. What do you think you’re doing snooping through my stuff? Dammit. I knew I couldn’t trust you. My mother was right, don’t put faith in anyone.” She stood and was about to storm off when he spoke.

  Very quietly he said, “You left the flash drive at the library last night when you were supposed to be in this hot tub relaxing.”

  She dropped into her seat, heat flooding her neck and face. “I...”

  He put up his hand. “Don’t. Just let me tell you what I found on it.”

  “I checked it out but it was all in a foreign language or something. Or it’s wrecked, I think.”

  “No, it’s encrypted.”

  “Spy stuff?”

  He shrugged. “Encryption is pretty common, actually. And I was able to crack the code.”

  A tingling sensation cruised through her body. “Oh my God. Really? This is so cool. Like you really had to figure out the code and then apply it to get it to unscramble.”

  “Yeah, more or less. Look, here’s what I found. Your friend Mr. Lund was into a lot of illegal activities.”

  “What?”

  “We’ll discuss the details later when we have more time. He has files on anyone he was in contact with. And it seems he collected dirt on a lot of important people as well. There are quite a few he could have had locked away.”

  “My mom. What did he have on my mom?”

  “That’s the funny thing. There was nothing on a Donna Saunders but—”

  She sat forward in her chair. “But...” She gestured for more information.

  “But there was information regarding a Donna Zajic.”

  “I saw that but I’ve never heard of her.”

  “She was born January 5th, 1952.”

  Bailey gasped. “No. No.” Jesus, she even used a fake name. So who the HELL a
m I?

  Jumping out of her chair, she sailed to the door but before she could open it, a tanned, nicely muscled forearm inserted itself under her nose and Guy’s hand landed beside hers, effectively keeping her from opening it.

  She held herself rigid for several seconds but when he made no move, no sound, she gave in. It was like pulling the plug on the tub; all the energy was sucked out of her. Lethargy invaded her body and her mind. She just didn’t give a damn anymore. Couldn’t take anymore. Giving in, she rested her forehead on his arm. Taking several deep breaths, she let go. She tried to tell herself the emotions rolling over her were nothing more than a fresh, clean scent akin to aromatherapy, but she knew in her heart of hearts it was the healthy male redolence that confidently surrounded her without smothering. She tried to tamp down the feelings but she was powerless to stop the sentimental, secure warmth that enveloped her as two strong arms wrapped around her.

  For the first time in her life, she knew she was safe.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  “What do you have for me, Graham?” Guy shoved his hand through his hair as he watched the sun wink at him over the top of the high rises. A cool wind whipped around him as he made his way around Churchill Square, careful to ensure no one was within listening range of him.

  “Not as much as I’d like.” There was the sound of clicking keys on a keyboard. “Donna Zajic married to Doug Zajic, disappeared June 30th, 1983. Never heard from or seen again. There was speculation that her husband killed her but it was never proven because they never found her body. There were allegations of abuse but all charges were dropped. Another thought is someone helped her vanish. I talked with the police chief who was in charge back then; he said they had a hunch someone hid her and then set her up with a new life, but they could never prove it. He said Doug Zajic was a politician through and through. He was as plastic and authentic as a Ken doll.”

  Guy chuckled. “Police Chief, a good guy?”

  “Yeah. Dedicated and a straight shooter. Liked him. Retired now. Enjoying the simple life. At least so he said but he sure was willing to do some leg work for me, if I need it. He was mad as hell the case had never been solved. He was sure Zajic was dirty but could never make anything stick. He’s says it’s not too late to take him down. I didn’t have the heart to tell him Doug Zajic died several years ago in a hit and run.”

  “So we’ve got birthdates that match. First names that match. There’s a good chance our Donna Saunders was Donna Zajic. And it looks like Mr. Lund, an esteemed lawyer with some very dark secrets of his own, might have been her accomplice.”

  “Yeah. I went through some of his files.” He whistled, long and low. “Looks like he was blackmailing a good number of people. He was blackmailing Doug Zajic and maybe Donna as well. I haven’t gotten through them all. I’ll let you know what I find.”

  Guy shook his head as he listened.

  “The guy is as dishonest as the devil’s disciple. Oh crap! Guy, that Mr. Lund is in the hospital.”

  “Did someone he screwed over exact revenge?”

  “No, hang on. It sounds like natural causes, heart attack. I was just googling his name to see what I could find and here is an article written... just a sec... Sunday, April 26th.”

  “That’s the same day that Bailey was there. Shit.”

  “Are you saying she might have had something to do with it?”

  “You do the math. He goes into cardiac arrest some time either while she’s been there or sometime after. She just happens to have some confidential information that I’m sure he would have gone to his grave protecting.” He placed his left hand over his stomach as acid poured into his gut. He sat on the cement bleachers and hung his head. “Now what?”

  “Don’t know, man. Buddy, this is the biggest doo-doo you’ve ever landed in, eh? ‘Ol boy, you sure know how to pick ‘em,” Graham said, in his charming but imperfect old-boy English accent.

  Guy smiled. “Thanks, man. Can always count on you to find the good in it. How about my sketch guy? Any leads? I’m getting nervous.”

  “Check your email. Stanson sent you three revised sketches. I’ve already got them running through the police files of known criminals. Hoping we’ll get a hit. Detective Bean was more than happy to take this on. He wants that mug shot as soon as we get it done.”

  “You want to know who it was before you hand it over to him. Right?”

  “Of course. Bean wouldn’t have any problem using you as bait to catch this guy. And we’ll assume he’s not a very nice man, so I’d rather you knew who was chasing you before I give Bean the opportunity to nail him.”

  Several people were crowding the Square. Most seemed to be cutting across the cement park, while others had come to loiter. A few appeared a little too interested in what he was doing. “Gotta go, Graham. Keep me in the loop.”

  “You keep your neck out of the noose.”

  “Gotcha.” Guy strode down the street when less than a block from the hotel the hair on the back of his neck suddenly bristled. He thrust his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket and hunched his shoulders while he casually looked around. The streets were busier now that it was afternoon. He’d been there longer than he’d planned. Walking past the Westin Hotel, he headed west along Jasper Avenue. There didn’t seem to be anyone following him but he couldn’t shake that sense of unease.

  Turning down 101st, he followed it to 102 Ave. When he got to 100th Street he raced across the middle of the road, ignoring cars honking and tires screeching. When he reached the opposite side, he noticed someone retreating into the shadows of the other building. It couldn’t have been a coincidence. Not waiting to see who it was, he raced down the street, turning before the hotel and coming in from the other side. As he entered the lobby he headed for the escalator, taking it up one flight. Then he climbed the stairs another two flights. Once he was on the fourth floor he took the elevator to the 20th. He knocked gently before putting his card in and opened it.

  “Bailey, it’s me.”

  Silence. The table was still covered with the morning paper he’d been reading. The hot tub was drained. He peeked into the bathroom; Bailey’s dirty clothes, still scattered on the floor, were the only sign of her. His gut tightened. He checked out the room more closely, hoping for a note or a clue as to where she’d gone. On the pillow of his unmade bed as they’d asked for no housekeeping, there was a folded piece of paper which blended with the white pillowcase.

  Opening it he read, ‘Some things, I have to figure out on my own. Bailey’.

  Swearing, he crumpled the paper in his hand and threw it. It landed gently against the other bed, right beside Miss Piggy. Reaching down, he picked up the ugly toy. Her hair was tangled and twisted so badly, she looked as if she had a nest on her head. He touched the deformed nose that resembled a bird’s beak. Smiling, he clutched it between his hands. He pressed more firmly. There was something inside her. She was lumpy and misshapen but when he pressed hard enough, he could feel a long, hard object. Flipping her over, he dug his fingers along the seam in the back of her head and pulled. The old tattered material ripped, not as neatly along the seam as he would have hoped but across the back. After rooting around for a few seconds, he grabbed onto something. It took only a moment to identify it even before he saw it. The hum of excitement started to course through him.

  His eyes widened as they lit upon the cassette. If it had survived the intervening years, he knew it had to hold valuable information. He called Graham.

  “You won’t believe what I found. A cassette tape.”

  “Jolly happy for you, ‘ol boy.”

  Guy rolled his eyes. “I mean I found a tape that I think is related to this whole shmoz.” He filled Graham in on where he’d discovered it. “So my question now is where do I find a cassette player? Do they even make them anymore?”

  “Hmmm, good question. I think so but they’re not very popular. Find a second-hand store or go to a garage sale.”

  “Right! Like I’ve go
t time to hunt down garage sales. Any news on your end?”

  “No, ran into a bit of a glitch with my computer. I think someone almost detected me accessing the police files. I must have been sloppy. Won’t happen again. I should have something for you by early tomorrow. What are you up to now? How’s your roomy?”

  Guy looked around the messy but empty room. “Gone. I’m not sure where. Oh, and I think our guy has found me. I’d appreciate it if you could send Bean in this direction.”

  “Got ya. No problem. Now get out of there.”

  Guy didn’t need to be told twice. A chill pressed itself between his shoulder blades. He opened the door and peered in both directions. Just as he took a step, a man got off the elevator. Their eyes connected. It was unmistakably the man who had played smash up derby with them the day before. Guy didn’t wait but dashed the other way, heading for the exit. With his hand on the railing, he was able to slide down, barely touching any steps. The door echoed above him. His assailant was coming after him. Ripping down five flights, he opened the door and ran the long hallway to the other end. He raced down several more flights. At ground level he headed out the door to the parking garage. The SUV stood out like a train wreck with its bashed-in side. Digging in his pocket, he pulled out the keys. But he couldn’t leave Bailey to deal with this nut by herself. He headed back into the hotel, carefully scouting the area. There was no sign of his follower. He dashed to the desk.

  A young, smartly dressed man smiled at him as though it was perfectly ordinary to see a mad man run across the lobby. Guy described Bailey to him and asked if he’d seen her. No; but he’d check to see if anyone ordered a cab. Guy was breathing hard, his nerves on fire by the time he returned. Yes, she’d ordered a Yellow Cab. No, he didn’t know where she was going. Guy spun around intent on leaving, only to stop suddenly. His ‘friend’ was standing at the elevators. The way his eyes opened wide, Guy was sure he’d recognized him at the same time. He ran for the front door and shot onto the street. He had no real plan; he just knew he didn’t want to get any innocent people in the crosshairs. And there was no way he could fill out a police report, accusing this man of attempted murder. Did he have proof? No. He ran south. Half a block later he was at Jasper, a main avenue. He headed east. When he could, he entered stores through one door and then zipped out through another, onto an adjacent or parallel street. He took side streets and back alleys. Twenty-five minutes later, he made his way back to the parking garage at the Westin Hotel but not before he’d hidden in doorways, peeked around structures and then snuck his way back to get his vehicle.