I pulled a mint tin out of my glove box. Inside was a tracking device I'd been playing with that looked like a wad of chewed-up gum. It was an old piece of technology from my CIA days. Back then, we didn't disguise them because they resembled a bit of wire that, when attached, looked like it belonged on the underside of the car.
Since I had some time on my hands, I'd played around with some of my own spy toys. After finding a wad of chewing gum under my breakfast bar, it gave me an idea.
By the way, I never did find out who did that. The girls strenuously objected when I accused them. Betty even volunteered to do a DNA swab. But in the end, Kelly suggested that, with my lack of diligence in cleaning, it could've been left there by the previous owner, and I dropped it.
I wasn't sure what Mordecai's car looked like, but there was only one vehicle in his parking lot—a very expensive, shiny, tricked-out black pickup. For a moment, I thought that maybe a wad of chewing gum would be noticed by someone who was so fastidious about his vehicle. Then again, it was only for one day. Maybe he wouldn't notice.
The trick was to cross the street and place it without being noticed. In broad daylight. I exited the van and backtracked down the alley behind the bars, diner, and tattoo shop. Turning left, I crossed the street and walked a block down.
I figured I could follow the alley to the lot and the truck. But I remembered that Elrond had a security camera. Did I waste time, and possibly miss Mordecai leaving, by disabling the camera?
Screw it. It was go time. I walked confidently down the alley as if I belonged there. The truck was actually closer to The Opera House, facing the Pump & Pawn, so I had a little cover as I crouched down and crept to the back of the truck.
The gum-like substance was sticky enough, so it wasn't hard to reach under the flatbed and place the tracker. I slipped back to The Opera House and turned the corner, only to run smack into Harold.
"What are you doing?" Harold asked.
"Nothing," I said as I went past him.
"Merry, you're up to something," Harold warned.
I backtracked. "Yes, Harold. I'm up to something."
We stared at each other for a long minute.
Harold broke into a grin and clapped his hands together. "Is it a surprise for me?"
I wasn't sure whether it was better to smack him in the face or agree. I opted for the safest bet.
"Why yes, Harold. It's a surprise for you. You've really helped Stewie become a better…um…gladiator. And I thought I'd thank you for that."
"I knew it!" Harold squealed. "What is it? Is it money? An award? A case of petrified duck heads?"
That gave me pause, but I recovered quickly. "I can't say right now. Just wait. You'll see." And without another word, I fled.
A case of petrified duck heads? I climbed into my van and closed the door. At least I hadn't told Harold when he could expect…whatever I was going to give him. The important thing was that I got away quickly so I could be ready whenever Mordecai left the shop.
I was afraid it was going to be a long wait…which it ended up being. That's the problem with surveillance. You never knew what the person you were following was going to do. And never, ever, in my history with the CIA, did a stakeout last less than three hours.
I passed the time checking the news on my phone, listening to a couple of true crime podcasts, and staring at the building in hopes of sprouting Jedi powers to tell the man to leave. It didn't work.
It was just after dark when Mordecai locked up. I ducked down behind the steering wheel, waiting to follow him.
I wasn't really sure what this was going to prove. Maybe nothing. It just felt like I needed to do something. Confronting the man would be my next plan. I just didn't want to jump straight to that.
There's a lot to be said for taking things one step at a time. I once built a rock-solid case against a Latvian wrestler named Pavlis the Marauder, who was passing state secrets to his contact at wrestling meets. He would do it by signals and codes. So if he broke a chair over his opponent's head, it meant he had technology intel. A chokeslam meant military secrets. And a Boston Crab, I later found out, meant absolutely nothing.
I had to attend twenty-three matches just to pin down who he was signaling and about what. And then it took ten more matches for me to get the goods on him. That was a very long November in Latvia.
Acting like you aren't following someone when you are the only two cars on the road in a small town is tricky on the best day. So I pulled over as he was leaving the city limits and turned on my tablet to track him.
I was holding my breath and crossing my fingers in hopes this little device would work. Once he was about a mile ahead of me, I started the car and headed his way.
I know every gravel road around Who's There. And the roads surrounding Bladdersly weren't too much different. Walls of corn hid you and those you were seeking. When I noticed he'd stopped, I turned off my headlights and proceeded with care.
He was at a house in the middle of nowhere. I drove past quietly and backed into a cornfield. Then I hiked back, keeping just inside the perimeter of the cornfield. It was a good thing I was wearing dark green today. That was a stroke of luck that I didn't always have. It's the reason I never wear neon colors if I can help it. You really stand out in a wheatfield in Russia when you are wearing an electric yellow hazmat suit, believe me.
The house was simple, a one-story frame house. It wasn't fancy like the big black truck. Maybe Mordecai wasn't flashy about his house. It made sense in a way. Iowans aren't big on having a house that's more than they need.
The curtains were closed, but I knew he was there. Were the curtains drawn because he was hiding something? Was it stolen merchandise? Was he playing host to Pastor Malone? I remained frozen in place and strained to listen.
It was quiet. Too quiet. In my experience, that implied that there was a trap. In fact, I had no idea if this was Mordecai's primary address or not. If it was, was there any point in spying on him? If it wasn't, what had I stumbled on?
Headlights flickered through the corn, and I melted farther back into it, out of sight. It was a police cruiser, and it pulled into the driveway. The sedan parked, and Vanderzee got out. He looked around very carefully. And for just a fleeting moment, I thought we had locked eyes.
I held my breath and didn't move, hoping I'd imagined it. The police chief finding me here was the last thing I needed. After a few moments, Vanderzee locked the cruiser with a beep and went inside.
Now that was interesting. What were these two doing here together? It was possible that they were just hanging out in the middle of nowhere. However, since both of these guys were suspects in my book, it wouldn't hurt to take another look.
But first, I needed to test something. Vanderzee hadn't tripped any motion-sensitive security measures, but maybe he'd turned them on once he was inside. There were two fixtures on the outside of the house that looked like possible security.
I picked up a rock and tossed it into range.
Bright light flooded the yard, and Vanderzee and Mordecai dashed out onto the front porch.
"Who is it?" Mordecai shouted.
A squirrel chattered at the men before running up a tree.
"It's a damn squirrel!" Vanderzee said. "You're too paranoid. Running out here like an idiot looks suspicious."
"To who? The squirrel?" Mordecai groused.
Then the two men went inside.
My cell buzzed, and I retreated farther into the field. Rex wanted to know where I was and when I'd be back. Kurt had called for the millionth time to ask if I was on the run, and if so, could I please tell him where I was so that he could hunt me down and bring me in?
I wasn't going to learn any more here today. I texted back that I'd be home soon and headed to the van. I just needed to make one stop first.
"I need to know who owns this property." I handed Riley an address.
"Why?" He took the address from me.
Was he joking? "Why? Because I've paid you a retainer to work for me."
He waved me off. "Sorry, I meant why as in, what's the story here?"
I filled him in on my visit to Ella's and following Mordecai home. I mentioned the security measures he had in place on the house.
"That tracker worked?" Riley pulled out his cell and scowled. "I've never had any luck with that. It craps out on me at the worst times."
I put my feet up on his desk. "You need the upgrade." I looked around. "Why are you here so late?"
Riley relaxed back into his chair. "I'm working."
"Where's Claire?" I asked.
"Look for yourself." He pointed at her desk.
I walked over and noticed that the usually minimalist desk had a skull on it. The business card clenched between its teeth was from the Chapel of Despair.
"She's gone druid?" I ran my fingers over the skull. "I thought she was smarter than that."
Riley shrugged. "She went over yesterday and came back with that. She's back there again today."
I needed to ask Stewie what was going on. Claire was a catch that group didn't really deserve.
Riley began typing away. I took a granola bar from his desk and began munching. Ugh. How did he eat this cardboard stuff? I was starting to regret not taking the risk of having the cheesecake at Ella's.
"I don't know why you eat this boring, flavorless food."
"Because it's healthy," Riley answered without taking his eyes off the screen.
"I know it's healthy." I smoothed out the wrapper. I could actually pronounce the ingredients, which was depressing. "I just asked why it tastes so bad. You'd think they'd throw in some sugar or something…"
"That would defeat the whole purpose of it being healthy," Riley said. "Sugar is way more addictive than nicotine or alcohol. Did you know that?"
I tossed the wrapper into the garbage can. "Because sugar is awesome!" Sugar was my favorite food group.
"Okay, it looks like it is owned by Mordecai Brown." He squinted at the monitor. "I can't tell if it's his primary address or not though."
"That's all I needed to know. Maybe it was a dead end."
"It's something. As you well know, all these little bits of information can come together in the end to form a big picture."
I glared at him. "Yes. I know that. You and I were both trained by the same agency."
Riley ignored my jibe. "I did find out that the laptops are stolen. Kind of."
"Kind of? How do you kind of steal a laptop?" I asked.
He pulled out the box from under his desk and pointed at the label. "That serial number is listed as being currently in the inventory at Best Bye. They don't know it's missing, so they haven't reported it stolen."
"But it is. I mean, it's not in their inventory, unless by their inventory you mean a dead employee's basement."
Riley steepled his fingers. "It could mean that Neil is in on it. Maybe he killed Tyson so that he wouldn't have to share the profits?"
Argh! "We have a lot of suspects and motives, but we still don't know for sure what happened."
Riley cocked his head to one side. "Well, officially, you murdered Tyson for unknown reasons. And then you kidnapped Malone so that he couldn't testify." He smiled. "But that's just conjecture from the Bladdersly PD."
I got up and started to pace. "So here's what we have. Tyson could have been murdered by Mordecai because Mordecai wrote Boats of the Midwest, Tyson knew that and blackmailed him. It's also possible that Vanderzee helped Mordecai kill Tyson. Vanderzee and someone were spotted in the alley at the time of the murder."
"Or." Riley held a finger up. "Neil killed Tyson over the laptop heist."
"Or"—I paused—"Tyson wrote Boats and was killed for that by anyone in the town who recognized themselves in it."
"Maybe this wasn't connected to the book?" Riley wondered.
"It's possible." I shrugged. "I do think that the pastor's kidnapping was connected to Tyson's murder, which makes Vanderzee the most likely suspect. He either coerced Malone to make a false statement…"
"Or," Riley interjected, "Vanderzee invented the false statement and Malone found out."
"But Mordecai could still be in on the whole thing." I sat back down. "But if Neil killed Tyson, why would Mordecai and Vanderzee pin this on me—someone they don't even know?"
Riley shook his head. "Not a clue. There are too many variables involved." He stood up and stretched. "I think I'll need to sleep on it."
"Riley, we don't have much time. Vanderzee could bring me in at any moment."
"Then I suggest." Riley put his hands on my shoulders. "That you keep thinking." He shut off the computer and ushered me toward the door. "I've got a hot date tonight."
"I thought you said you needed to sleep on it," I complained as he pushed me out the door.
"Yes." He grinned as he locked up. "But I didn't say I'd be doing that alone."