| |
Spencer took Mercy to a car rental business, they parted ways, and she returned to the motel to change clothes before driving back to Gertie’s house.
“What’s wrong?” she asked when Ida Belle met her at the door with a forbidding expression.
Ida Belle pointed to a chair in the living room, and Mercy sat and waited. Ten minutes later Ida Belle opened the door for Spence and did the same thing.
“Gertie, get in here and stop fussing in the kitchen,” Ida Belle hollered.
“Don’t tell me how to treat my guests,” Gertie protested when she entered the living room. “Do you realize we missed lunch?” Ignoring the derisive grunt, Gertie asked Mercy to stand so she could see her clothes. “I like those jeans.”
“Well, I wanted pink, but they were out of my size, so I settled for the lavender pair,” Mercy explained.
“Do they have those pink ones in my size?” Gertie asked her while a dumbfounded Spence turned to Ida Belle.
“Is she serious?” he asked.
“Unfortunately, she doesn’t realize women our age shouldn’t wear pink jeans. Gertie, stop trying to dress like you’re twenty,” Ida Belle advised.
“I’d rather dress like I’m twenty than have no style whatsoever. Athletic pants and jackets don’t make a positive fashion statement, Ida Belle.”
“Yes, they do. You just can’t see it because your clothes scream ‘See, I can dress as ugly as I want.’ Athletic suits are timeless and classic. Not to mention low key,” Ida Belle said.
Spencer stood. “This is one discussion you can have without me,” he declared and Ida Belle told him to sit down and shut up. He reluctantly obeyed. “Is there a reason I’m here?”
“Yes. Gertie, quit gabbing and pay attention.” Ida Belle caught Mercy off guard when she turned on her. “Are you stupid, playing the diminished capacity card, or hoping the feds will cut you a deal if you help them rope in more people?”
“Huh?” Mercy leaned forward in confusion. “I don’t know what you mean.” At the look on Ida Belle’s face, her eyes got huge. “We aren’t taking another drive, are we?”
“Quit bullying her,” Gertie said. “She’s not trying to implicate anyone.”
Spencer rubbed a tiny circle on his forehead. “What’s going on?”
Ida Belle motioned for him to remain silent. “Gertie, show them what you found on your car.”
Gertie handed them her phone with a picture of a GPS tracker stuck to the bottom of her car.
“That’s not all,” Ida Belle said. “Her house is bugged. So is mine. Spence, be careful what you say and do when you get home.”
“If this house is bugged, why are we having this conversation here?” Spence asked.
“I have a friend who can jam the signal and make it appear to be random interference. But he can’t jam it permanently without waving a red flag, so you’ve got one day, Mercy, before I flush them. This has gone too far for comfort. Gertie, shut up. You know what I mean. It’s one thing for us to help Mercy, but another for the FBI to suspect we’re in cahoots with her cousin.”
Mercy chewed a hangnail and paid no mind to the rest of the conversation. Then she became aware of the silence as the others watched her. With a guilt-ridden smile, she stood.
“I think it’s best I leave and don’t have any more contact with you, for your sakes. But I really do appreciate all you’ve done for me, especially considering the circumstances. Also, I understand if you need to remove the listening devices before tomorrow. It’s not like I didn’t know there was a chance this might go bad, and I don’t want you to be dragged into my family’s problems.” It was quiet as she crossed the living room and left Gertie’s house.
On the short drive back to the motel she mentally slapped herself silly. Of course, when she started it seemed like a simple errand because it wasn’t supposed to involve anyone else. Just a quick meeting with her cousin and it would be over.
Now she wondered if Grammy and Loyal had a backup plan they didn’t share with her. It made sense they’d need one if Mercy was tailed by the feds, which Grammy confirmed when they talked. That meant her cousin would have to retrieve his package on the sly, and he wouldn’t meet her publicly. She didn’t consider that when she called Grandma Joy to tell her about the car and to change the meeting place. If she was thinking straight, she’d have known it was out of the question.
She sat in the rental car and stewed for nearly fifteen minutes after coming to the conclusion that Loyal hacked her GPS and directed her to a small town, expecting everything he needed to be in the trunk. If Mercy had put the cash and ID in the trunk like Grammy suggested, this would never have happened. But when Loyal discovered the money wasn’t there, he stole her car, then stripped and abandoned it, forcing her to stay in Sinful without raising undue suspicion. Meanwhile, he’d have the opportunity to plan how to get the cash she carried. But at least Loyal had the ID, which meant Mercy didn’t have to worry about it.
Briefly, Mercy wondered where her watch dogs were when Loyal swiped her vehicle. Wait—that car parked down the street in Asphalt when she came out of the gas station? It was the same one she’d seen parked at the Sinful Inn and learned belonged to the feds. Obviously, they arrived in Asphalt after Loyal took her car.
She finally got out of her vehicle and entered her motel room, unsure of her next move. Wait for Loyal to contact her? Wait for Loyal to steal the money she carried? Was it even possible now that her room had a listening device? Hmm. Where did they hide it? She hoped it wasn’t in the bathroom, or they’d think she wasn’t a nice woman after they heard her trying to comb her hair.
She poked around and discovered a device attached to a bedside lamp. With a grin she checked the one on the other side. Yep, it had one as well. Two bugs, so close together? For what purpose? Maybe in case one failed.
Mercy, you have GOT to get out of here! You can’t even think straight. Those listening devices are obviously different. You have two parties monitoring your every move. If the FBI placed one of them, who left the other? Probably your loving cousin. The jerk!
She flopped onto the squeaky bed, her mind spinning. Then her stomach growled, reminding her she missed lunch, and breakfast didn’t qualify as a meal that morning. So dinner at Francine’s was on the agenda even though she felt conspicuous. But the feds expected her to be there and if she didn’t go, they might decide to bring her in for questioning, along with the people in Sinful who helped her. That wouldn’t do.
She drove to the café and parked on the street. Inside, it was surprisingly busy for such a small place. She found an empty table next to a wall near the back and sat facing the door. The black FBI car was parked down the street, and she waited for the agents to appear.
“Is this seat taken?”
Mercy nearly dropped her water glass at the unexpected question, and she set her drink down quickly. “What are you doing?” she hissed to the man waiting for her reply. “Get out of here!”
Instead of leaving, Spence pulled out the chair and settled his tall frame on the other side of the table. Mercy grabbed the menu left by the waitress and hid behind it, hoping he’d take the hint and leave. He lifted the menu from her hands and set it out of her reach.
“Just order the special,” he suggested. “Otherwise, you’ll be here a long time.”
She stared with her mouth half open, not sure what to make of the situation. The waitress didn’t even reach their table when he called out for two specials. With a nod, the woman returned to the kitchen, and Mercy’s leery gaze drifted back to her uninvited dinner companion.
“Why are you here?” she asked insistently.
“Did you already forget you promised to buy me dinner?” he asked, managing to look surprised while she eyed him warily.
For the sake of the curious onlookers at the next table she said, “Did you forget I already bought your dinner? Yesterday, right after we arrived.” Under her breath she added, “Will you please get out of here? I’ve got enough to handle without worrying about you.”
“Well, if it isn’t Mercy. How are you, dear? I hope your shopping trip was a success.”
Mercy closed her eyes and mouthed a few silent words. Spence kicked her ankle, so she opened her eyes and pasted on a smile. “Hello, Ms. Gertie, Ms. Ida Belle. How nice of you to ask about my well being. Of course, it’s not a surprise coming from you good Samaritans. The way you reached out to help a stranger in need is an inspiration.”
Ida Belle scoffed, “I told you they had their own church, Gertie!”
“Er, yes.” Gertie seemed briefly taken aback and then she smiled at Spence. “Do you mind if we join you?”
The question was moot since Ida Belle had two chairs waiting, and she shoved them toward the table. “Why didn’t you get them a table in the middle of the room?” she asked Gertie. “There’s not enough room to move it away from the wall, and I’m sure as hell not eating at the children’s table, where there’s two kids crammed into one spot.”
When Mercy attempted to speak up, Gertie simply took over, and she found herself at the “children’s” table, crowded next to Spence. Under different circumstances she would have enjoyed the seating arrangement. But these weren’t normal circumstances. Then two men entered, causing everyone to stare, and Mercy knew it was because they were strangers—and her FBI tail. Through her teeth she hissed at the others and rolled her eyes when they ignored her.
To make matters worse, the couple sitting at the next table left and the two FBI agents took their place. Mercy shredded her napkin and started in surprise when Spence reached around her shoulder and took it from her.
From the cover of his arm she glared. “Are you trying to get arrested? Stay away from me!”
He didn’t reply but smiled as though they shared a joke, and Mercy froze. What on earth was he doing? And Gertie and Ida Belle? They acted like good friends enjoying a meal with her.
“We’ll have the special, Francine,” Gertie said.
Mercy looked up and saw the waitress at their table. She refilled glasses, poured coffee, and nodded to Ida Belle, confirming their order. Then she moved to the next table where the FBI men sat. She stacked the dirty dessert plates and wiped the table, promising to return shortly.
“We’ll just have the special,” one of them said.
The woman’s gaze turned glacial. “We’re short staffed and all out of the special. You’ll have to order off the menu. Excuse me.” She picked up the dishes and sailed to the kitchen while the feds appeared bewildered.
“Now aren’t you glad you ordered it?” Spence asked Mercy.
“I didn’t order it; you did,” she protested. Turning to the older women, she feigned a smile and asked, “What are you doing here?”
Gertie blinked innocently. “We missed lunch, remember?”
Dinner arrived, all four orders at the same time, and Mercy shot a curious look at the smirking blonde waitress. It was like a dinner theater, complete with entertainment. The FBI men attempted to waylay Francine on her way to the kitchen, but she evaded them, only appearing with menus and tableware when Mercy’s group was nearly finished.
Mercy paused with her fork halfway to her mouth, watching Francine impatiently sigh and do all but tap her foot as she waited for the men to order- without giving them time to look over the menu. Once they decided, she ripped the menus from them and stalked to the kitchen while they waited with empty water glasses.
When Mercy’s table finished, Francine returned, slamming two plates on the next table and Mercy tried to figure out what she was serving them. It smelled like SOS and looked like boiled casserole, but the men had ordered fried chicken and fried catfish, along with potatoes and a vegetable.
“Francine, I’d like an order of the special to go,” Ida Belle requested.
“No problem.” The waitress smiled as she moved to their table, pulling the order pad from her pocket. Mercy couldn’t control the tiny giggle that escaped when she saw the look of confusion at the next table. Francine set the check down, then assured Ida Belle she would be back with her takeout order. Finally, she stopped at the next table to pour water and coffee.
“Well, I guess we’re done.”
Mercy couldn’t figure out how Spencer extracted himself from the tight spot without upsetting the table. Not only that, but he pulled her chair out, and she found herself on her feet and moving to the front door. Over her shoulder she heard Gertie, Ida Belle, and Francine talking at once and drowning out the noise from the feds.
“Keys,” Spence requested outside, and she handed him the fob, watching curiously. Instead of walking to her car, he flipped them to a man standing nearby.
“Where’s he going?” she asked. “In my rental car!”
“I’ll explain. But for now, just get in.” He pointed to a black SUV. When she hesitated, he laughed. “Now you’re afraid to ride with me?”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” She stomped to the passenger door and climbed in, then admitted, “Although I felt a lot better when I had my gun.”
“You won’t need your gun tonight,” he replied. “At least I hope not.”
“Well, you’re a tower of confidence,” she mocked. “Now why did you give my keys to that guy, and where are we going?”
“He’s driving your car to Mudbug, and we’re playing poker.” He glanced at her bag and added, “We’re playing poker if you have the money for the buy in.”
“What’s a buy in? Why are you laughing?”
“You don’t know the first thing about poker, do you?” he asked.
“Well, you’re wrong. It’s played with cards and poker chips,” she sniffed. “And I wasn’t going to play. I just wanted in so I could look for Loyal.”
“For crying out loud,” he murmured to himself.
“Hold on just a minute! I want answers before we go any further.” She folded her arms stubbornly and refused to speak until he pulled off the road and parked in the lot of a busy roadside pub. “That’s better. Now why were you three at the café with me while the feds were at the next table?”
“After you left, we discussed the very likely possibility that you’ll end up in the clink and we’ll be right behind you. Our future plans don’t include prison, and helping you seemed like the best way for us to help ourselves.”
She huffed indignantly, and he reminded her about the stolen car, her stay at the Sinful Inn, her clothing debacle, and how Carter still had her gun.
“I’m not an airhead,” she complained.
“We’d rather not risk our futures on a woman who gets combs stuck in her hair. And since we’ve already attracted the attention of the feds, a little more time won’t really make a difference.”
“What are you planning to do?”
“We’ve already started. Distract your watch dogs, see that you contact your cousin to give him the money, and send you packing!” He chuckled at her offended expression. “Unless you want to do all that by yourself—I didn’t think so. Right now we need to get inside to the poker game. Come on.” He headed for the front door of the pub and Mercy ran to keep up.