Back flat against the building, Quint eased toward the opened door. He peeked inside. It took a second for his gaze to adjust to the dark cabin after walking in the bright Texas sun.
No one was in sight in the open living space, but he heard the sound of the hallway door being opened. The washer opened and closed. Then, the dryer. Someone was rooting around in their cabin. Did Charley catch on? Bald Guy? Ruddy Complexion?
With light steps, Quint moved into the main living room. He reached for his ankle holster, and then retrieved his SIG Sauer. Whoever was snooping around was moving through in a hurry. The medicine cabinet in the bathroom opened next.
Quint checked his laptop and saw an unfamiliar thumb drive. There were protocols in place to block any attempt to steal information. But he didn’t like this one bit.
Keeping his attention on the bathroom, he moved over to his laptop and pocketed the memory stick. As he moved to the mouth of the hallway, an older woman stepped out of the bathroom.
She let out a yelp as she clutched her heart. “Sorry. You scared me.”
She was short, five feet two inches if he had to guess. She had a round middle, timeworn skin and gray eyes. Her hair was piled on top of her head and she looked like the kind of person who would always have candy tucked inside her apron pocket. Not exactly what he expected to come across and definitely not a skilled thief, but she could have been paid to snoop. Based on her reaction, he figured that was the case.
“My wife and I will be staying here for a long time,” he started, playing the part of a newlywed and hoping she didn’t see the boot he should be wearing that was propped up against the chair in the living room or the weapon he hid behind his leg. If she just got there, he should be fine. “There’s no need for cleaning this cabin during our stay.”
“I thought this cabin was going to turn over today. Let me see.” She put on reading glasses that were on a string around her neck and then pulled a small notepad out of her pocket. Her hands were empty save for her cell. She didn’t appear to have taken anything, so she might have been snapping pics. “This is number eight, right?”
“Number three.” He took a couple of steps back and then pointed to the open front door, and the number on it.
“Oh, really?” She seemed genuinely shocked, which meant she was a good actress. “I’m new. I must have read the number wrong. Serves me right for not putting on my glasses. I’ll just get out of your way.” She started scurrying around, gathering the supplies she’d set out on the kitchen counter.
“No rush.” He walked over to the chair and sat down. Without being obvious, he scooted the boot out of her sight and out of the line of sight of the door.
While she was distracted, he slipped off his walking boot and tucked his foot inside the apparatus.
“Please don’t tell the office about the mix-up, sir.” She spun around as he reached for his laptop.
“Honest mistake,” he said with a shrug and a smile. “They won’t hear it from me.”
“Thank you, sir.” Her face dropped for just a second when she glanced at the spot where the thumb drive had been.
“Do you mind locking the door on your way out?” he asked, motioning toward his foot, making certain she noted he was injured.
“Oh, no, not at all. I don’t mind at all,” she stammered as she moved toward the door like a swirling dust cloud. She peeked her head back in before closing the door. “Thank you for understanding, sir.”
“Not a problem,” he said. “We all make mistakes. You barely set foot inside here. No harm, no foul.”
“You’re very kind,” she said.
“I didn’t catch your name,” he said.
“Patricia,” she said before closing the door and getting out of there as fast as she could.
The snick of a lock came a few seconds later. Quint bolted toward the window and watched as the older woman waddled away. Then, just to be one hundred percent certain, he swept the place for bugs.
Once he was assured the cabin was clear, he retrieved his cell phone and called Agent Grappell, who picked up on the first ring.
“I walked in on a cleaning lady in the cabin who was going through our stuff,” Quint said after perfunctory greetings. “She tried to use a thumb drive on my laptop.”
“Give me a description and a name,” Grappell said, as the click-click of his fingers on a keyboard came through the line.
“All I got out of her was Patricia,” Quint said. He made a fresh cup of coffee before returning to his chair. “She exited darn fast once I caught her in the act.”
He sent over pictures of several license plates from last night. He’d homed in on lone male drivers. He kept a couple of photos of the parking lot when it was full, for a comparison. In his experience, repeat customers tended to park in the same spot every time if it was available. People who were comfortable at a place had a tendency to repeat their patterns, including ordering the same meal.
Give him a week and he’d have better data. One night wouldn’t be enough unless he got lucky, in which case he needed to use that luck to buy a lottery ticket. The front and side parking lots were interesting, but he planned to target most of his attention on what happened in back. The liquor truck from last night interested him, but in his experience criminals weren’t usually so obvious. At least, not the good ones. Those would use a meat supplier truck or dairy. Something people wouldn’t think twice about if they were pulled alongside it on the roadway, not giving it a second glance.
“I’ll do a little digging,” Grappell said. “See what I can come up with.”
“My gut feeling is someone paid her to do it,” he stated. “She was an amateur.”
Quint went on to explain the pair from the bar last night. “I’d like to work with Aaron to come up with a sketch of these two if he’s available. Run it past Lionel to see if we can get anything out of him.”
More clicks came through the line.
“I’ll have Aaron call,” Grappell said. “Lionel has gotten quiet on us.”
“He’s scared,” Quint said. “Romanian gangs are lethal, and they have long fingers.”
“Which is why the boss has requested he be placed in the infirmary until this case is over,” Grappell said. “He’ll get twenty-four-hour security there.”
“We might get more out of him that way,” Quint agreed. He also realized this case had bigger implications if the boss employed a tactic like that. “How do you want the thumb drive?”
“Any chance you can overnight it?” Grappell said. “It’s too dangerous to risk a drop.”
“I can do that. I’m driving into town today anyway under the guise of running errands and meeting people,” he said. “It’s probably too late to get a print. Patricia had on plastic cleaning gloves.”
“Convenient,” Grappell said.
“Isn’t it,” Quint stated, thinking the same thing.
“We’ll dust anyway, see what we can find,” Grappell said. “I’ll run employment records with the rental agency for the cabin to see if we come up with a match.”
“Good.” Quint figured it couldn’t hurt. “What did you find out about Sheriff Rice?”
“I sent an email half an hour ago, but there haven’t been any investigations or blemishes. His record is clean so far.”
“Maybe he’s a good guy after all,” Quint said before ending the call. Charley could be the bad seed, running weapons right underneath the nose of his squeaky-clean cousin. Interesting. Wouldn’t be the first time Quint had witnessed a similar scenario. This news, in many ways, made his and Ree’s job easier. Dirty law enforcement officers had been rare in his professional career and the few he’d come across infuriated him. They were usually hard to catch and deadly if they figured an agent out. There was no worse crime than someone who’d sworn to uphold the law turning on the people he or she was supposed to protect.
He had no patience for people who made it harder to do his job or caused the public to lose respect for his profession—a profession he loved even if he could admit the job was losing some of its spark lately. But then, since losing Tessa, he could say the same thing about life.
Rather than go down that path again, he decided to get out of the cabin and do a little digging around in town. In his experience, investigations only took one spark to get off the ground. Quint wanted to get a sense of Charley’s reputation while in town.
He also wanted to stop at the hardware store and buy a new lock.
GOING IN EARLY had been a bust. The second day of work was much like the first, a whirlwind. Lunch came and went in a blur. Ree’s feet felt like they might literally fall off by the time the dinner rush started. She’d failed miserably at getting to know the kitchen staff so far, and the earlier text from Preston was a distraction she couldn’t afford while she was undercover.
The band was setting up over in one corner of the bar on a small triangle-shaped stage. Ree was busy with her station when she noticed a couple of waitresses she hadn’t met yet coming in through the back door.
“Do the white-boot waitresses only work the bar? No food shifts?” Ree looked to Adrian, who rolled her eyes.
“Those are the barmaids,” Adrian said. She motioned toward her chest area. “Notice a difference between them and us?”
Before Ree could respond, Adrian added, “Well, maybe not you but definitely me and Zoey. There are a couple other waitresses you haven’t met yet who work the dining room and they look more like me in that department.”
“Come on, you’re beautiful,” Ree pointed out.
“I do all right,” Adrian said, swatting her hand at Ree. “But those barmaids are stacked.” Adrian made eyes at Ree and Ree laughed. “You could be one of them, but you have to work here for at least six months before you can even be considered. Then I hear Charley is the one who asks.”
“Sounds like the A-team,” Ree said before realizing she might have insulted Adrian. “Not that you aren’t.”
“I’ve only been here four months and Zoey has been here a month less than me,” Adrian said on a shrug. “Neither of us have put in enough time but I can only imagine the tips they make. They work Thursday through Sunday night, when the bar picks up.”
“We do all right,” Ree stated. “I’ve never made more money working at a restaurant.”
The best way to describe the trio of waitresses was extra. Their lashes had to be fake. Good, but fake. There was no way natural lashes were long enough to see from this distance. Their uniforms had sparkles on them and their white boots had been polished and spit shined. Ree glanced down at her shirt that was in okay shape. She probably should have ironed it after it came out of the dryer. Her brown boots were her own but they didn’t nearly stand out in the way the trio’s white ones did.
No one on the dining room floor had on expensive boots.
Ree figured there was no way she was going to be here long enough to make six months on the job. She would never be part of the special group of waitresses and it might not be a big deal. Could she befriend one? Get information? Looking at the way they sashayed their hips after they high-fived and started toward the dining area, Ree wondered if all they did was waitress. Grappell had run a list of names of the staff. It appeared to be outdated considering the head count on waitresses was off, but then there was probably a lot of turnover in this industry. She needed to put her head together with Quint and figure out if these ladies were paid under the table. It would be an easy way to hide a person.
“Good job today, Red,” Chef shouted from behind the counter dividing his space and hers.
“Thank you,” she said, realizing this was the first time he’d complimented her.
“Fender should have a good report for the boss.” Chef was short, in his late forties, with thick wiry hair that was slicked back and graying at the temples.
“That’s a relief,” she said. Fender and Charley met at the end of the shift outside in the back while Fender had a cigarette. With the meeting being held behind the restaurant, there was no guarantee the two only discussed work. Ree had been told they discussed the waitstaff, but they could be talking about any number of things. Speaking of which, Charley’s cousin was in the bar tonight having a social drink with one of his deputies. It would be nice if Quint was here, too, but being overly eager could cast suspicion and that would defeat the whole purpose.
She also wished she could stick around and have a drink so she could get to know the barmaids better, but Charley had been clear about leaving when her shift was done. She’d put in a food order for her “injured” husband a few minutes ago, figuring it would give her an excuse to hang around a bit after her shift.
“My husband got hurt on the job and I need this job while he finishes his certification,” she continued, picking up the conversation thread with Chef.
“Oh yeah? Sorry to hear it. What did your husband use to do?” Chef asked, leaning toward her. Another sign he was interested in what she had to say.
She realized a few ears had perked up near where they were standing. No one looked over at them and she figured Chef had all their respect.
“Owned a moving company,” she said. “He stopped by yesterday. Sat over there.” She motioned toward the counter.
“Oh, right. I remember him. Big guy,” he said. “Wore a boot.”
“That’s the one.” She had no idea where this conversation was going. Interesting to note that Chef remembered Quint. Although, to be fair, his stature and good looks made an impression. She didn’t want to think about how convenient his physical attributes were when trying to get information from the opposite sex.
“What happened to him? If you don’t mind my asking,” Chef continued, grabbing the towel off his shoulder before wetting it in the sink.
“I don’t.” She shrugged. “He hit it on a curb while carrying a piano. It came down hard, he landed funny, and shattered his ankle. We got sued and that’s when we found out the partner handling the books let our liability insurance lapse. Basically, we lost everything and that was a month into our marriage. So, here we are.”
She threw her hands in the air, praying that she hadn’t just given too much detail, the hallmark of a lie.
Chef winced at the part about the piano going down on Quint’s ankle and she figured that was a good sign her story was believable. She needed to update Quint so he wasn’t caught off guard with any of these details the next time he showed up here.
“That’s too bad,” he said, squirting cleaner on the metal prep surface before wiping with the wet towel.
“He’s learning how to program computers now, though,” she said.
“A desk job.” Chef put a hand on his lower back and stretched. “Can’t work on your feet for ten to twelve hours a day forever without breaking your back.”
“I just hope he can do it,” she admitted. “He’s used to being active all day. But he says he’s not twenty any longer.”
“Amen to that,” Chef agreed.
“He always liked tinkering around with computers. Said he might as well figure out how to work ’em,” she said.
“When he does, maybe he can take a look at the one I have at home.” Chef shook his head. “It stopped turning on last week and I have my life on that thing. Can’t even pay my bills in two weeks if I can’t get it up and running.” He put his hands up, wrists together. “It’s got me handcuffed.”
“I won’t make any promises but Quint sure could use the practice,” she said, figuring this was a start to gaining her coworker’s trust.
“Maybe you could give me his number and I could give him a call,” he said.
“Absolutely,” she said. “Let me go get my cell. I haven’t memorized anyone’s number since high school, not even my husband’s.”
Chef laughed. “I don’t know my own mother’s number. I just push the contact and, bam, there she is on the line.”
“Same.” Ree disappeared into the breakroom, grabbed her purse and returned.
Chef stood on her side of the counter with a to-go bag in one hand and his cell in the other. “Dinner is ready. I threw in a few extra rolls and doubled the portion. You barely ate your dinner.”
“Thank you. That’s really kind of you,” she said, holding her phone out with Quint’s information.
“I’ll give him a call tomorrow,” Chef said.
“I hope he can figure it out. The practice sure will be good for him.” She hoped this wasn’t getting too off track with the investigation. Chef seemed about as honest and hardworking as they came. But then, this job had taught her looks could be deceiving, and everyone was a suspect until ruled out based on fact.
She held up the bag. “Thanks again for this.”
Chef nodded but his warm smile touched her. Was it wrong to wish he wasn’t involved? It wouldn’t change her investigation but she would be disappointed in humanity if he was implicated.
What better cover for an operation than to have genuinely good people in place and a cousin for a sheriff? Ree had a lot to share with Quint and couldn’t wait to get home to talk to him.