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“The kid’s good at a lot of things, but driving isn’t one of them,” Em told Robin when they stopped to eat the next afternoon. “I told him: if at first you don’t succeed, maybe failure is your thing.” She spun her coffee cup a quarter turn. “Hua behind a steering wheel makes me more nervous than you the day before a caper.”
“Tell him you want reports on the arrests of Luther and company. He can’t drive and stare at his phone.”
“Good one!” Em patted Robin’s arm. “How’s the patient?”
“He’s okay unless the driver ahead of me forgets what a turn signal’s for and I have to brake suddenly.”
“Cracked ribs make you wish you’d died, at least for the first few days.” It sounded as if Em spoke from experience. “We’ll make him comfortable when we get home.”
“We haven’t even got beds for Mai and Jai yet. Where can we put an injured man so he’ll be comfortable?”
Em made a tsk of irritation. “We’ll figure it out, Robin. Worry never changed a single thing.”
When they arrived at the house around four in the morning on Monday, Robin helped Tom up the front steps and into the empty room at the front of the house. Cam and Hua moved Em’s futon there while Jai and Mai collected sheets, pillows, and blankets. As they stood expectantly around him, Tom claimed his temporary bed was perfectly comfortable and he intended to get some real sleep. There was a flurry of activity as one or another of his hosts thought of something he might need. Soon he had within reach a glass of water, a box of tissues, a can of mixed nuts (for protein), a magazine (for gamers, but ‘really cool,’ according to Cam), and Em’s extra cane, in case he needed to make a trip to the bathroom. When he’d assured them several times that he could think of nothing more he might need, they retreated to their own rooms to rest or sleep, as individual personalities allowed.
Robin rested but didn’t sleep. As usual, her mind went over and over things. She was relieved she’d had no fainting spell after the events at the storage lot, but negatives nagged at her anyway.
We ruined that storage unit. Need to pay for repairs.
The police think Tom’s been murdered. How will we explain it when he’s alive and well?
What are we going to do with the twins?
Luther and the others must have told the police something. What was it?
And the most pressing question of all as she touched her bruised face: Should we give up KNPs before we all get killed?
Don’t think about that right now. Think of peanut butter cups and snowmen.
Despite snowmen and Reese’s, the questions circled endlessly in her head. The answers eluded her.
***
The next council meeting was held in Tom’s room, in deference to his injuries. He looked a little like the king of Siam, with his subjects seated on the floor around him. Cam brought in a kitchen chair for Em, who sat next to Tom, her posture as erect as always.
They began working on solutions to the questions that had kept Robin awake. Em suggested Mink could arrange an anonymous payment for repairs to the hole in the unit wall. As the listed renter, Robin had been informed of a break-in by email that morning. She’d written back expressing dismay at the crime, relief that nothing was missing, and her intent to move her things to a more secure facility.
Next was a discussion of who needed to know what. “Luther and the others claim they were attacked by unknown assailants for unknown reasons,” Hua reported.
“They’ll take their medicine and keep their mouths shut,” Em predicted. “Anything they admit makes them look incompetent, and in their line of work, incompetence isn’t tolerated.”
The next step was to let the police know Thomas Wyman, Private Investigator, was still among the living. Tom called the sheriff’s department in Florida, gave his name, and said he had information for the person in charge of investigating Cynthia Tinker’s death. It took a couple of transfers, but he finally heard, “Edgars, homicide.”
“Detective Edgars. My name is Thomas Wyman.”
There was a pause. “We’ve been looking for you, Mr. Wyman.”
“I’m aware of that.” Tom gave the account they’d prepared, claiming his partner, Cynthia Tinker, had learned of slaves being held in Florida. Though he’d tried to talk her out of it, she’d gone to investigate. “We had already ended our partnership,” he explained, “since I’m moving out of state. I’m not sure what happened, but I was loading some stuff in a friend’s storage unit when someone attacked me. Three men wanted to know how Cynthia had found out about the operation.” He paused. “I didn’t know the answer, which made things uncomfortable.”
“How did you escape?”
“A woman came to store stuff in a unit down the row. She was a talker, and while my guard was distracted, I used some tinsnips I found in the unit to cut my way out. I circled the building and begged the woman to help me get out of there.” He chuckled. “One look at me and she knew I wasn’t kidding about the danger.”
“But one of them came after you.”
“In my own car, which I would guess is totaled.”
“It is. Where are you now, sir?”
“A hospital in Frankfort, Kentucky. Mrs. Cabot brought me here.”
“That’s the woman who rescued you?”
“Yes. I can give you her phone number, and she’ll verify what I’ve said.”
Edgars wrote it down. “I’ll give her a call. What we’d really like to know, Mr. Wyman, is who beat the heck out of those traffickers sometime around midnight that same night and then called the police to come and collect them.”
Tom grinned at Robin. “I guess it’s your job to figure that out, Detective. I was long gone by then.”
“Let us know when you’re well enough to make the trip down here, Mr. Wyman. We’ll need a deposition.”
“Sure thing. I’m just sorry I can’t tell you anything more about what happened.”
When he hung up Robin asked, “Wasn’t that a bit much?”
“I am sorry I can’t tell them more,” Tom said. “I’d love to brag to the whole world about my inventive vigilante friends.”
“But you won’t, will you?” Cam asked. “Robin says we have to keep it a secret, and Robin’s usually right.”
***
Cedar County Commissioner Barney Abrams was nervous. His morning newspaper reported the body of a private detective had been found in the Gulf of Mexico north of Tampa, Florida. Scanning the article, he found her name, Cynthia Tinker.
Damn!
Just after nine, his cell phone vibrated. Abrams set aside the doughnut he was eating, licking jelly off his thumb as he answered.
“Abrams.”
“Commissioner, it’s Thomas Wyman. I have new information on your case.”
“I was under the impression you’d given up on it.”
“We never like to give up, sir. It makes us look bad.”
“What have you found, son?”
“I picked up the trail of a woman who befriended Carter Halkias. I think she knows where Halkias is.”
There was a long pause. “If you get me that information, I’ll double what we agreed on originally.”
When Tom ended the call, he turned to Hua. “Do your magic. We need to hear Abrams’ next call.”
In seconds they heard Abrams’ voice. “I have a job for you.”
With grim expressions, they listened as Barney Abrams negotiated a deal with an unknown man for the murders of two people, a man and a woman. “I’ll get you the details later. Just be ready to travel when I call.”
“No problem.”
“I want it to look like a mugging. Can you do that?”
The reply was a humorless chuckle. “Let’s just say it wouldn’t be the first time.”
“I can’t believe it,” Robin said when the call ended.
Folding her ever-present knitting in her lap, Em rested her hands on the soft yarn. “Most of the time, the leopard doesn’t change his spots.”
Cam asked, “What do we do now, Robin?”
“We get him,” Em replied for her. “We make your recording of Honest Abrams’ confession public.”
“Is that enough?” Robin asked. “He’ll say the confession was forced and he lied to save his life.”
Hua raised a finger. “But how will he explain the recording I just made of him hiring a hit man?”
