Beverly awoke to the sound of her cellphone ringing. She fumbled around on the nightstand and grabbed the phone as the adrenaline rush made her pulse race. Early morning calls were never good.
But Mr. X greeted her with, “Beverly, I thought you would like to know that Redbeard has been arrested.”
“How? When?”
“Yesterday evening. As I understand it, when he tried to kill Detective Dutton by luring him to an abandoned warehouse.”
Beverly’s brain was now wide awake as she processed that information. But it was the latter part that had her pulse pegging the stratosphere. “Is Adam okay?”
“He is fine, love.”
She breathed a huge sigh of relief and immediately wanted to head over to the mini-fridge to pour herself a glass of bubbly. “Thank god for that. And thank god Redbeard is behind bars. Again.”
“I have the distinct feeling he won’t be let out on bail this time.”
Beverly slid out of bed and headed straight for the fridge. Screw the early hour. She was definitely going to have that champagne. “You’re a doll for keeping me in the loop. I wouldn’t expect Adam to call me about this.”
Or would she? After what she’d been through at the hands of Forsythe and Redbeard, didn’t Adam owe her that?
After she hung up with the gleeful Xenakis—well, she thought he was gleeful since his voice always had the same emotionless timbre—she pondered what to do next. Hallelujah for Redbeard being in jail, but the story wasn’t over, not by a long shot.
There was Ivon Kozak. And Sergeant Moody. Especially after everything she and Mr. X had learned from Gorrie Sidman about Moody’s explosives past and his being in debt to Forsythe and Kozak. Being Mayor Lehmann’s cousin wasn’t exactly a point in his favor, either. Did black-sheep genes run amok in that family?
Beverly tapped on her computer as she sipped on the champagne. Maybe she should start with Mike Moody. Mr. X had let it slip the other day where Moody lived, and Beverly looked up the address in the county tax records. The homeowner was listed as a Donella Seagraves. So the house belonged to her, not Moody? A sister, perhaps, or a cousin or a girlfriend.
It wouldn’t hurt just to take a little peep at the house, would it? After throwing on a pair of skinny jeans, a yak-wool cable knit sweater—Mr. X would be so proud—and her favorite Chelsea boots, she made her way to her car and entered the address into the GPS.
As she drew nearer, she looked for places to park where she could observe the house and not be seen acting suspiciously. A holly bush poked out into the street between her target house and its neighbor, so she cut the engine and went into surveillance mode.
She didn’t have to wait long and was surprised when Sergeant Mike Moody himself opened the front door of the house. He kissed an attractive red-haired woman who waved after him as he got into a car and headed off.
Beverly called Mr. X on her cellphone. “Do you know anything about a woman named Donella Seagraves?”
“The name sounds vaguely familiar. Let me check for a moment.”
She waited as she heard rustling and tapping in the background, and then Mr. X returned. “Donella Seagraves is Redbeard’s maternal-side cousin.”
Beverly said, “Now isn’t that convenient? I just saw Sergeant Mike Moody kissing her as he left Ms. Seagraves’s house. Well, technically, the house is listed in her name, so I assume it’s hers.”
Mr. X said, “Beverly, I applaud your initiative on the one hand. But I urge caution. You wouldn’t want to jeopardize any work Adam Dutton and his colleagues are doing.”
“I’ll be careful. Aren’t I always?”
That elicited something that sounded like a bemused chuckle, but he didn’t comment on the fact she hadn’t exactly promised not to proceed with her plan. After she hung up, she hopped out of the car to rescue some items from her effects-kit in the trunk. Nothing too fancy, since women were more perceptive than men when it came to other women. She didn’t want to seem too “fake.” Her brown, curly wig and headband, along with fake square-frame eyeglasses, should suffice. And the clipboard, of course.
She knocked on the door and waited.
Donella Seagraves hesitated when she saw the clipboard, so Beverly hurried to say, “Good morning, my name is Barbara Beale. I represent the FEP, an organization that lobbies for firefighters, police officers, and other emergency responders. We’re raising money and awareness and helping to support state legislation to expand services and compensation.”
The other woman’s expression relaxed into a smile, and she showed Beverly to the front seating area, which was furnished with antiques. If you counted second-hand used furniture as “antiques.” The sofa was threadbare, the coffee table was an old footlocker, and the bookshelves were boards propped on top of concrete blocks.
Donella said, “I’m all for helping out first responders. My boyfriend is a police officer, so you can imagine.”
“I have a boyfriend who’s also an officer,” Beverly lied. “But he’s in Alaska right now. He grew up in Vermont.”
“Must be hard being that far away from him.”
“You go where the jobs are. But he hopes to move back here soon.” Beverly added, “He’s a former enlisted man. He had some kind of dangerous job in the Army. It’s classified, so he doesn’t talk about it much.”
Donella settled into the chair cushions and grabbed a bright purple one with fringe she picked at. “Mike used to be in the Army, too. He worked with explosives, so he knows all about dangerous jobs.”
“I’ve met so many Army types who’ve returned from combat with PTSD and were wrecks.” Beverly felt a little guilty about using that sympathy ploy since she had read about military vets committing suicide in way too large a number. She made a silent vow then and there to make a real contribution to a veterans’ group after this charade was over.
Donella replied, “Fortunately, Mike managed to avoid combat. He wasn’t in for long.”
“You must be lucky your boyfriend didn’t have all that baggage.”
Donella lifted an arm to run through her hair, and Beverly spied bruises on her wrist. Bruises with finger-like tendrils, as if someone had grabbed her. Hard.
Beverly pasted on a smile. “He must be doing very well to buy you this home.”
This time, Donella didn’t hesitate and jut her jaw out defiantly. “It’s my house. He moved in with me.”
Beverly said soothingly, “I understand all too well how police officers aren’t paid enough. Which is why our lobbying is so important.”
“Yes, they’re underpaid, but it’s not that.” Donella sighed. “To be honest, Mike isn’t very good with money. He’s also a clutterbug. Into video games and has all this paraphernalia lying around. Steampunk gear, consoles, controls of all kinds, goggles.” Her cellphone chirped, and she excused herself to take the call.
Donella headed toward the kitchen and closed the swinging door behind her, but Beverly got snippets of the conversation after it appeared to get heated. She tiptoed to the door to eavesdrop.
Donella said, “Look, he’ll get the cash. You just got to give him a little more time.”
The other woman’s voice dipped low again until she uttered a name that made Beverly’s blood run cold . . . Forsythe. When she heard Donella ending the conversation, Beverly hurried to her seat and pretended to be checking her notes as the woman returned. She looked up to see a mixed expression of fear and anger on Donella’s face.
Beverly asked, “I do hope everything’s all right. You look like you’ve had a spot of bad news.”
“It’s nothing. Just those credit card people. You know how they are.” Her laugh rang hollow, and she didn’t sit down, rubbing the arm with the bruises.
“It’s probably not as bad as you think. And we should all count our blessings considering the horrible stories on the news every day. Like those arsons recently and that poor man they found dead inside one of the buildings. How tragic.”
Donella only seemed to half-hear what Beverly had said. The woman was still visibly upset, and Beverly wasn’t sure if it was the phone call or her questions, so opted to leave and apologized for getting Donella at a bad time.
Should she call Mr. X or not? She’d promised Adam she wouldn’t do this sort of thing, and Mr. X had warned her against it. What to do? But the mention of Forsythe was too great.
She slid into her car and called Xenakis to tell her what she’d been up to.
He sighed. “Oh, Beverly. That is most distressing.” He also sounded a little amused until she told him about the Forsythe reference, and he sobered up instantly. “You didn’t get any more details from her end?”
“No, and I barely missed her catching me snooping.”
“That is still quite interesting. It would certainly seem Sergeant Moody owes money to people he should not. Gorrie Sidman was correct.”
“Maybe I needed to bring you along again. Although I suppose you’re too recognizable, especially to Moody. Donella might have let Moody know your description, and that would have tipped him off.”
Beverly paused for a moment and then sucked air through her teeth when a car drove up to Donella’s house. “Speak of the devil,” Beverly said. “Guess who just returned home? I got out in the nick of time.”
“That was a short trip for him.”
“Perhaps he forgot something.” But this new development was making her nervous. Even though she had on a disguise, she didn’t want Moody to see her, so she ducked down on the passenger seat as she wrapped up her phone call with Mr. X. “I’d better go before he sees me.”
She peered over the dashboard and waited until Moody had disappeared inside the house. Then she cranked up the engine and turned around in the direction she’d originally come. She really hoped he hadn’t seen her. And maybe Donella would be too upset to tell him about Beverly and her imaginary FEP.
She just hoped she hadn’t unintentionally made things much more difficult for Adam. She hadn’t, had she? Surely, not. Then why was her stomach churning?
Beverly’s foot gunned the accelerator pedal as she hurried to the resort and her waiting computer. With a sigh, she resigned herself to creating yet another fake website. And with any luck, she could do it before Sergeant Moody or Donella tried to look it up.