Chapter 19
We returned to the bar and I told the men I was going to head straight upstairs so I could shower and change my clothes. Tyrese said he’d fill the others in on our visit to TJ and he went upstairs to the Capone Club room. Mal said he wanted to shower also, and that maybe he should head home, but I suggested he join me upstairs and use my father’s shower.
“Are you sure?” he asked. “I don’t want to impose.”
“It’s no imposition,” I insisted.
“Okay, then.”
I led him upstairs and once we were in the apartment, I dug out a towel and washcloth for him to use. “Do you have another change of clothes?” I asked him. “If not, I have a few of my father’s clothes packed away that I couldn’t bear to get rid of. You’re close to his size, so I imagine they’d fit you.”
“I have another set of clothes left in my go bag, but thanks.”
“When we’re done with the showers, give me your clothes and I’ll toss them in the washer with mine.”
“That would be great. Thanks.” I started to turn away but he touched my arm and stopped me. “One more thing,” he said. “I planned on staying here again tonight if you’re going to be alone. Is Duncan going to come by?”
“No,” I said, trying to mask my disappointment. “But I don’t think you have to stay. I’m pretty secure up here, between the alarms on the bar doors and the lock on my apartment door.”
Mal shook his head. “I promised Duncan I’d look out for you, and that’s what I’m going to do.”
“Okay,” I said with a shrug. To be honest, I didn’t mind the idea of him staying over again, though it wasn’t just because I was concerned about my safety. I also enjoyed his company.
“This time, I really am going to sleep on the couch,” he said.
I felt myself blush, and wondered why he hadn’t said anything about our sharing a bed last night. Did he even know? Or had he slept so soundly that he was unaware of my presence beside him?
“You can sleep wherever you want,” I said.
His eyebrows arched and he sucked in a little breath.
“The couch or my father’s bed,” I clarified quickly. Then I turned and nearly ran into my bathroom to escape the awkward moment.
Half an hour later, I came back out into the living room and found Mal seated at the dining room table, writing something down on some paper. His hair was damp from his shower, and as I approached him, the clean smell of him triggered a sensation like a light breeze on my face.
“What do you want to do with the rest of the evening?” I asked him. “I need to go downstairs and see to the bar, do the closing and such. You’re welcome to stay here or to come with me, whatever you want.”
“I feel like someone needs to keep a close eye on you, particularly when you’re in the bar. You’re open to the public and while having a crowd around you offers some sense of protection, it can also make you more vulnerable. I noticed that big hulk of a guy you have behind the bar and at the door at times. Is he trustworthy?”
“You mean Gary. Yeah, I’d say he’s trustworthy. He took a bullet for me a couple of months ago.”
His eyebrows shot up at that, and I quickly filled him in on the story of my father’s murder and that of his girlfriend, Ginny, nine months later.
“I feel a little better knowing you have someone like Gary around, especially since Duncan and I can’t be here all the time,” he said when I was done. “But you still need to be careful until we find out who’s behind these letters. If this Apostle Mike is the culprit, it sounds like he has plenty of yahoos who will blindly do his bidding. Not to mention that there might be some fanatics in the group who would take it upon themselves to do something even without Apostle Mike’s direction. And that means that being in a public place around a lot of other people may not be much in the way of protection. Maybe we should clue Gary in to what’s going on so he can keep a closer eye on you.”
I frowned at that. Bringing in additional people made it more likely that word would spread, and I didn’t want anyone else’s death on my hands. Yet Mal had a point. He and Duncan couldn’t be around all the time and I didn’t want to have to hide in my apartment or office all the time, either. But something told me that whoever was behind those letters was more interested in playing with me than killing me, like a cat toying with a mouse . . . taunting, teasing, hurting, but not killing. At least not yet.
“Let me think about it, okay?” I said.
Mal scowled, making it clear he didn’t want to agree, but eventually he nodded.
We headed down to the bar and checked in with the group, updating them on the interviews we’d done earlier, though Tyrese had already filled them in on most of it. After that, Mal and I headed back downstairs to the main level, where I chipped in to help wait the tables in Linda’s section. She still wasn’t very fast, nor did she have many of the drink names down pat. But she was making an honest and earnest effort, and I felt that with a little more time and training, she would turn out okay. While we worked, I found myself constantly looking over my shoulder, staring at unknown customers, wondering if I was being watched, stalked, and hunted.
Mal positioned himself on a stool and spent the time surveying the crowd, both directly and by using the mirror at the back of the bar. I checked in with him periodically, and clued him in when I saw Clay Sanders come in and take a seat at one end of the bar. Clay stayed until closing, so Mal and I put on a good show for him. A couple times Mal put his arm around my waist and pulled me close when I came up to the bar to fill drink orders. Later on, as I was standing at the end of the bar opposite Clay, Mal came out of the restroom. When he saw me, he came up behind me, wrapped me in a bear hug from behind, and kissed me on my neck. Clay definitely got an eyeful, so if he was coming to spy on me, I felt our mission was accomplished.
Had it been anyone other than Mal acting out these moves on me, I suspect I would have stiffened up and looked uncomfortable. But I felt no discomfort with Mal; in fact, I felt we fit together quite nicely.
The forecasted snow started coming down around one. It started with flat, fluffy flakes that drifted down from the cloud cover, but half an hour later they were coming down faster and straighter. By closing time a bitter wind put in an appearance, so I sent my staff home and did the cleanup and closing tasks myself, though I did put Mal to work washing glasses and dishes. We finished up a little before three and by then the wind had sculpted much of the snow into mini peaks and drifts, making the street look like the top of a lemon meringue pie. It gave me a sense of relief, not only because it meant Mal would likely not have to work in the morning, but because heavy snowfalls tend to bring peace, at least temporarily, to the city. No one, not even the most hardened of criminals, was likely to go out and do anything in the midst of a blizzard. Still, I was relieved to be safe behind my locked doors. The emotional tension I’d felt all night had left me exhausted. Mal and I headed upstairs once we were done and, after giving him some sheets and blankets for the couch, I headed for my own bed. My head barely hit the pillow before I was asleep.
As I slowly surfaced from a deep and restful slumber the next morning, I knew the snowfall during the night had been significant. My first clue was the smell of the air, the second was the deep and distant rumble of the plows outside, and the third was the brightness of the light streaming in my window around the edges of the curtains. The light that comes from daylight reflecting off snow has its own unique feel for me.
I sat up and peered out the window. A good foot of snow had fallen and it was still coming down. The plows had been busy during the night clearing the streets, but there was a good two or three inches of newly fallen stuff in many places, waiting for the plows to make their next round. I smelled fresh coffee, and the lure of it pulled me out of bed and out to the kitchen.
Mal was sitting at the dining room table sipping a cup of coffee. “I made a pot. I hope that’s okay.”
“It’s not only okay, it’s wonderful,” I said. “It’s nice to be on the receiving end for a change.”
“Well, then, you’re going to love it when I cook you breakfast. I hope you don’t mind that I snooped in your fridge to make sure you had what I need and that you like French toast.”
“I like anything anyone else cooks for me,” I said, using his own line on him.
Mal pulled a chair out from the table and waved a hand over it. “Have a seat. How do you take your coffee?”
“A dab of cream.”
He returned a moment later carrying a steaming mug of perfection. My laptop was on the table and I dragged it over and checked out the morning news while Mal occupied the kitchen. I thought he might ask me where certain items were, but he seemed content to hunt and peck and make do on his own. Before long, the wonderful aromas of vanilla, cinnamon, and maple filled the air, and my stomach began to growl. Mal kept sneaking into the room to drop items off at the table: butter, plates, napkins, and two sets of silverware.
I got a text from Cora asking if she was needed for the trip to the brewery and I messaged her back to let her know that Mal was able to go, and to let the brothers know.
As soon as I hit send, Mal appeared at my side and set a full champagne glass beside my laptop.
“What is this?” I asked, eyeing the bubbly drink.
“My personal spin on the classic mimosa,” he said. “I make it with peach juice and put half a canned peach in the bottom of the glass as an extra treat.”
I took a sip, savoring the flavors of orange juice and peach syrup mixed together with the champagne. “Yummy,” I said.
Mal grabbed my plate and retreated back into the kitchen, returning a moment later. On my plate were three pieces of perfectly browned French toast, delicately dusted with powdered sugar. With his other hand, he set down a small gravy boat with warmed maple syrup in it. “There you go, Mademoiselle,” he said with one of the worst French accents I’d ever heard. “Your morning treat.” He scuttled back in to the kitchen and returned with a second plate of French toast, which he carried over to the seat across the table from me. “Dig in. Eez best while it’s fresh and hot, which is how I like my women.”
I laughed, and did as he said. We ate in companionable silence and I scarfed my food down. The tastes in my mouth created a heady combination of sensations that left me feeling warm, safe, secure, and relaxed. When I was done, I set my fork down and ran a finger through a bit of remaining butter and syrup. When I popped the finger in my mouth to lick it off, I caught Mal watching me with an odd intensity. It took him a second to realize I was looking at him, because his eyes were fixed on my mouth. When he did realize it, he blushed and hurriedly looked back down at his plate.
It was a strained moment, and it became only more so when my cell phone rang and I saw it was Duncan calling.
I answered with a cheerful “Good morning!”
“Good morning, Sunshine. You sound like you’re in good spirits.”
“I am. How was your night?”
“Long, but I’m heading home to bed. And I have some good news. At least I think it’s good. One of the other detectives is bringing Apostle Mike in later this afternoon for a little chat about an assault that took place two nights ago. And I think I figured out how we can bring you in to the station without anyone being the wiser so you can listen in and observe.”
“How?”
“I know someone who does theatrical makeup. She trained out in Hollywood with some of the best, but then she abandoned the bright lights so she could move to Wisconsin to be with a man she met. Ten years and three kids later she’s still here, and she does cast makeup for theater groups in the area, and for the occasional movie set when Hollywood comes to town. She can fix you up so that no one will recognize you.”
“So basically you’re suggesting I adopt a disguise and come down to the station?”
“You got it.”
I looked over at Mal, who was watching me, his brows drawn down to a worried V. “When?” I asked Duncan.
“Is Mal there? Are you two going to do the Miller tour today?”
“Yes, and yes,” I said. Mal and I hadn’t discussed it, but given the hour and the weather outside, I assumed he wasn’t going into work, and that meant our plan to do the tour was on.
“What time?” Duncan asked.
“I don’t know. We haven’t discussed the specifics yet. We were just finishing breakfast. Let me ask Mal. I’m going to put you on speaker.”
I switched the phone to speaker mode and set it on the table between Mal and me. “Duncan wants to know what time we’re going to do the Miller tour. He wants me to come down to the station later and listen in on a chat with Apostle Mike.”
Mal shrugged. “We can do the tour anytime.” He glanced at his watch, making me do the same. It was after ten already. “I don’t think we can make the ten-thirty tour, especially given the conditions outside, but we should be able to do the eleven o’clock tour.”
“That will work fine,” Duncan said. “We arranged to have Apostle Mike come in at three-thirty, so I’ll send Isabel to the bar around two. That should give you two plenty of time to do the tour and get back. Let Isabel work her magic on you, Mack, and when she’s done, come on down to the station.”
“How should I get there?” I asked. “If I’m being watched and Mal takes me, someone might recognize his car. They might also recognize my car.” The idea that the person writing the letters might have police connections had occurred to me, though I hadn’t verbalized that thought to anyone yet. If it was true, they might have the ability to run a license plate. “I’m thinking I should take the bus, or a cab,” I concluded.
“Whatever you feel the most comfortable with,” Duncan said.
Mal said, “I’m not comfortable with her taking some form of public transit alone. She’s exposed enough already.”
“She’ll be perfectly safe because no one will know it’s her,” Duncan said. “Trust me on this. I’ve seen what Isabel can do. She’s very good.”
“Is she someone we can trust?” Mal asked.
“Absolutely,” Duncan said. “My mother has been involved with theater groups both here and in Chicago most of her life. That’s how I met Isabel. She’s a longtime family friend.”
“Okay, then,” I said, smiling at Mal with more reassurance than I felt. “Our plans are set. And if we’re going to make that eleven o’clock tour, I best get dressed.”
“If it’s any consolation,” Duncan said, “after you get here and listen in on our talk with Apostle Mike, I’ll be free to take you anywhere you want. And tonight I’ll be able to stay at your place. Mal, that means you’re off the hook.”
Mal frowned, but said, “Great,” and sounded as if he meant it.
I disconnected the call feeling quite chipper after Duncan said, “See you soon, Sunshine. Can’t wait.”
I dashed off to dress, leaving Mal to his own devices. My spirits were definitely buoyed by the prospect of finally getting some time alone with Duncan, but I was also a little skeptical. I couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something would happen to once again quash our plans.
Fifteen minutes later I was ready to go and Mal and I headed downstairs, where my day staff was already on duty, busy prepping for our eleven o’clock opening.
After making sure everything and everyone was on track, Mal and I headed out for the Miller plant, once again taking his car. It was a quiet drive and I felt an odd level of tension in the air, but said nothing. The drive took a little over twenty minutes thanks to the snowy streets and the morning traffic, and when we pulled into the lot of the Miller plant, it was after eleven. We walked inside the tourist area and gift shop, and headed for the podium to register for the next tour. There was a signup sheet, and after a moment’s hesitation, I went ahead and put down my real name. I had no way of knowing if a picture had been provided for this latest rendezvous. If someone here was going to find me, having my name on the list would help.
Once we were signed up, we wandered around the gift shop waiting for the tour to start. Mal was quiet and seemed a little sullen, and I wondered why. But I didn’t want to be distracted from our goal, so I said nothing. Finally, a young fellow with an acne-stricken face announced to all that the next tour was about to start. We lined up with about fifteen other people—it takes more than a major snowstorm to shut down anything in Milwaukee—and after a brief introduction, we were all ushered into a theater.
For the next twenty minutes we watched a film about Frederick Miller, the story of the girl in the moon, and the history of the Miller Company. When it was done, we were directed to head out a door on the opposite side of the theater. Our guide led us out of the building we were in and into another—the packaging plant. There we were treated to a mesmerizing display of high-speed, modern mechanization. As our guide explained the process and boggled our minds with numbers, we watched from a glassed-in catwalk above the huge warehouse floor as thousands of bottles of beer a minute were labeled and packaged for shipping.
Our next stop was several levels up, where the giant tuns used for fermenting are kept. We learned about malting and mashing, the difference between ales and lagers, variations in the fermenting process, and more. Next we headed out to the street, where the guide gave us a brief history lesson on the architecture of some of the buildings that make up the brewery. From there we entered the underground caves that Frederick Miller used decades ago to store the beer. The last stop on the tour was a Bavarian-style inn where we were seated and given samples of three different beers to taste.
Mal was fascinated by the tour, and his mood had improved remarkably by the time we reached the inn. Because I’d done the tour before, I’d spent most of my time studying the people around us—the others in our group, the guides, the employees, people on the street—wondering if we were being watched, or if we’d be approached. As we sat sipping our beers, Mal was chatting away about what we’d just seen, happy and excited. I, on the other hand, sat disappointed, wondering if we’d made a mistake in our interpretation of the last letter.
As I brooded and Mal chatted on, our acne-scarred tour guide approached the table. “Miss Dalton?”
“Yes,” I said, suddenly breathless with anticipation.
“I have something I’m supposed to give you.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a folded, plain white envelope, and handed it to me.
I saw Mal wince and shake his head, no doubt because any evidence that might have been on that envelope—though if history was any indication there wasn’t any—was now thoroughly contaminated.
“Thank you,” I said, taking the envelope.
He turned to leave, but I called him back. “Wait, I have some questions for you.”
He turned back and stood there, shifting nervously from one foot to another.
“How did you get this?”
“It was in a big envelope that was left here at the desk with my name on it.”
Clever, I thought. The mode of delivery changed each time. “Was there money in the envelope?”
He nodded, looking about nervously.
“Mind if I ask how much?”
“That’s kind of personal,” he said in a low voice.
“I know, and I’m sorry to ask. It’s just that I’m new to this scavenger hunt game and I’m worried that I’m not paying enough to the people I use to deliver clues. I don’t want to look cheap.”
He blinked rapidly several times, staring at me with a confused expression. “Scavenger hunt?” he said.
I explained further, using the same story I’d used on the others. When I was done, his confused expression had been replaced by one of dawning understanding.
“It’s a game,” he said, looking relieved. I wondered what he thought he was getting into. Did he think it was something illegal, like money for a drug trade or something? “That’s totally ridic. How did you get into it?”
“It’s something my friends and I do for entertainment. So can you tell me how much you were paid?”
“I guess,” he said with another lopsided shrug. “There was a hundred bucks in the envelope. But please don’t tell anyone, okay? I need this job and I’m not sure they’d like me doing this.”
“I won’t tell a soul,” I promised, thinking, a hundred dollars for each delivery. Whoever was sending the letters definitely wasn’t hurting financially. Someone like Apostle Mike fits that bill. “And were you instructed to do something to communicate that this delivery was successful?” I asked the guide.
He nodded and flashed a crooked smile. “I’m supposed to post an ad on Craigslist in the lost and found section that says I lost a cell phone with a zebra striped case at the zoo.”
“What number are you supposed to list with the ad?” Mal asked.
“Mine.” He shrugged again and smiled. “I don’t imagine I’ll get any calls.”
“And what if I hadn’t shown up?” I asked.
“If you didn’t come in by five o’clock on Tuesday, I was supposed to rip the smaller envelope into pieces and flush it down a toilet along with its contents. Then I was supposed to post the ad on Craigslist but list the phone with a leopard patterned case.”
“Do you still have the envelope this one came in?”
He shook his head. “I tossed it in the gift shop trash and the cleaning people came through a little later.”
He was starting to look spooked, so I put on my best friendly smile and said, “You did great, uh . . . what’s your name?”
“Brad.”
“Well, thanks for all your help, Brad. I appreciate it.”
He accepted my gratitude with a spastic nod and then hurried off.
I glanced at my watch and then looked over at Mal. “It’s almost twelve-thirty, so I suppose we should head back so I can meet with Isabel. Do you think I’d look better as a blonde or a brunette?”
“I think you’d look great as either,” Mal said with a warm smile.
And with that, the awkwardness returned.