Chapter Ten

 

On the morning of Halloween, Tori slipped across the truck yard with Sherlock, resisting the urge to adjust her blonde wig. On her way to Grady’s law office, she dressed as Miss Piggy in case Shane answered the door. Even if he did, she couldn’t stay long. Her day involved trick or treating out on the ocean.

She hunched her shoulders under the strain of a backpack full of water bottles, sandwiches, two sets of black sweats, one for her and one for Vivienne. A few beanie babies sunk to the bottom. In one hand, she held the leash, and in the other, she hauled a tote bag containing homemade chili, cornbread, and salad. The kid and his dad needed to eat something besides candy.

At the curb, she opened the door to her pickup, and without a command Sherlock leaped into the seat.

“There’s Little Dog,” she said, naming the toy. “Just where we left him.”

Sherlock sniffed the miniature plush bloodhound next to him.

She closed the door and veered around. On the driver’s side, she flipped up the seat, stowed her supplies behind it, and sunk next to Sherlock. She’d become accustomed to the bloodhound riding shotgun. She ruffled his ears, and he snorted in response. As she drove, she stared straight ahead, willing the red light to change to green. She sneaked a glance at him, and he held the toy bloodhound in his mouth.

The light changed, and she lurched into the intersection. The sudden movement slammed Sherlock against the dashboard and bounced him onto the floorboard where he crashed into the empty plastic water bottles she’d meant to recycle.

“Sorry! Next time I’ll use the seat belt.”

Sherlock looked at her with his soulful eyes, no worse for the wear, but stayed on the floor with his chin on the seat.

With her hands on the wheel, she didn’t answer her ringing cellphone. After pulling in front of Grady’s building, she fished it out and read the ID. Ebony was going to kill her.

Friends kept in touch. Tori hadn’t. Her cell rang again. She wanted to live and answered the Facetime call, but balanced the cell between her neck and ear. “Go ahead, Ebony. Go ape-shit on me.” She deserved it.

“What the hell?” Pissed off, Ebony said, “I should clock you.”

“I’m truly sorry.” Multitasking, Tori stepped out of her pickup with her tote full of food. She scrambled around and opened the passenger door. Sherlock, with his toy in his mouth, bolted and settled on the soft grass. With her cell flat against her ear, she heard Ebony’s shaky exhale.

“I’m scared out of my wits.” Ebony sucked in a sharp breath. In the background where she was, cars whooshed by on the street.

“What’s going on?” Tori asked while Sherlock sniffed around a bush.

“Seamus McGinn was here yesterday.” Ebony spoke in a whisper. “He has a cocaine ring going. Can you believe he wants to expand here?”

“Of course, I can believe it.” Tori was pretty sure her jaw dropped. “I’m officially offering you a position on my food truck.” She could use Ebony’s help. “It’s perfect timing with my food truck overhaul.” She didn’t go into details. Sherlock barked, maybe showing his agreement, but she grabbed the leash in case he took off for squirrels.

“Thanks. I’ll put in my two-week notice. Whatever you can pay me is fine. Before you go, check out my haircut.”

“Huh?”

“This is a Facetime call. You can see me.”

Tori stared at her cell. “You shaved half your head. So punky.” The other half fell to her chin, flat-ironed. She squinted. “Is your hair blue?”

“Iridescent.”

“I admire your bold style, Ebony.” She shouldn’t have giggled, but her cellmate was just the mood-lift she needed.

“Before I forget, the minister who officiated at funeral services left.”

“Pastor Fred? Where did he go?” Tori asked.

“The Waterfront Community Church. Later.” Ebony clicked off.

Tori patted Sherlock and picked up the toy. As they pushed their way along, happy voices shrieked from the house next-door. Converted into a preschool, a couple of small ghosts, a pirate, a tot wearing a cape, and a tiny princess pedaled assorted tricycles around a fenced driveway. Other kids wore seen-better-days costumes, but they didn’t seem to care with a Halloween party in progress.

Sherlock growled into weedy shrubs. A black cat swiped at him, and a spooked Sherlock backed away.

“Smart dog,” she said. “Only take chances worth the risk.” Her oilrig-island invasion sent tingles along her spine, but Vivienne’s safety lacked top priority with the FBI. Tori cared about Dr. Winter and his laptop, too, but her cousin’s danger burned in her heart. Not acting now could mean holding the ashes of collateral damage.

“Up we go.” Tori urged Sherlock up the steps to the front door. Balancing the tote and wearing her Miss Piggy mask, she pressed the doorbell. While waiting, she turned and stuck Halloween pinwheels in the soil of the window boxes. Behind her, the front door creaked on its hinges.

Maeve stretched her neck out. “Name?” she asked in her slow, measured voice.

“Miss Piggy and her dog, Sherlock.” Tori pulled off her mask.

“Hello, you. Finally, I get to meet Sherlock.” Maeve smiled and took hold of the leash, but the hound wiggled inside without a fuss. “You just missed Shane and Grady. They’re making a candy run.”

“That’s fine. I can’t stay.” Tori tossed the toy to Sherlock and handed Maeve the tote bag.

“Good dog, Sherlock.” Tori knelt on her knees and placed her forehead against her dog’s furry head.

Sherlock made a soft groan.

“I love you, too, Sherlock.” She unlatched the leash, wound it, and placed it on the plaid dog bed.

Sherlock shook the plush toy in his mouth, and Tori grabbed it. They played tug-of-war, which was her way of having a heart-to-heart with the cutie. Finally, the bloodhound won, content with sniffing the toy.

Maeve did her own sniffing inside the tote bag. “Hmm, chili. Aren’t you a dear!” She took hold of the handles and walked toward the kitchen. “I’ll pop this in the fridge.” Dishes rattled as she shifted items to make room.

Idly, Tori scanned paperwork on the detective’s desk and looked over a real estate brochure featuring Grady’s rented building. Her breathing kicked into gear at the exact moment her heart hammered in her rib cage. Grady’s office, listed for sale through Commercial Properties of Long Beach, was vital to his professional identity. She gazed around it as if she were seeing a secret side of him. What if he lost this location? What if time lapsed with his search for another space and interrupted his appeals? Grady’s clients faced capital punishment, and he worked for free. Without capital, his clients got the punishment. She pulled a pen and paper from her backpack, and took down the number. Maeve shuffled in, and she sprung upright.

“Going to a party, Miss Piggy?” the PI asked.

“Afraid not. I wore this, thinking I’d see Shane.” Her words were polite, but she doubted they’d make up for the impatience in her tone. Some people believed patience to be a virtue. She believed arriving in time to save Vivienne was a bigger virtue. “Sherlock is here for a Halloween field trip. With Shane,” she added.

“You’ll be back, I hope.”

“Maybe tomorrow.”

“In that case, may I borrow your costume?” Maeve asked. “I don’t need the wig.”

“The mask is enough, right?” It had Miss Piggy’s face and blonde curls around it. Tori shed the costume and handed it to her. Underneath, she wore capris, a long-sleeved jersey, and sneakers. She wouldn’t have given up the wig, similar to Vivienne’s ashy tone, even if asked.

“Now we’re talkin’.” Maeve held the one-size-fits-all close to her body. “Will you stay out of trouble?”

“I’ll stay under the wire.” Tori shifted her body, lying about being under the wire the whole time. Wasn’t Halloween about mistaken identity?

Maeve harrumphed and stamped her foot. “Tell me. Where exactly are you going?”

Tori didn’t answer for a second. “Well, I’m renting a sailboat. A regatta is going on.”

“With all those sailboats, you’ll blend in. You have a destination.” Maeve tended to know more than she let on.

“Yes,” she admitted, “an artificial island. Petroleum companies use them for drilling. Four are still producing.”

“I know all about THUMS islands. They’re named for Texaco, Humble, Unocal, Mobil and Shell.” Maeve beamed with pride over her knowledge. “An architect turned ugly oil platforms into pretty islands.” She took a minute to explain. “The platforms rest a few feet above the water line. Waterfalls, palm trees, and other structures hide drilling equipment. Clever, huh?”

“Very clever,” she said with a nervous laugh, knowing her eyes were likely wide. “The petroleum companies abandoned two islands.”

“Grady updated me on your spy expedition. You overheard McGinn. He mentioned an island. You’ll sail near the non-working platforms.”

Tori swallowed hard while her plan buzzed in her head. “Exactly. There are tall structures that hide big drilling equipment.” Hidden behind them, she’d dock the sailboat. The mast would be out of view from the vantage point of anyone on the island. Tori watched the lines on Maeve’s forehead crease as she figured things out.

“Holy shit. It’d make a perfect hideout.” Maeve scratched her head.

“I have this hunch. It won’t let go. Maybe it’s nothing.” Tori took a breath and combed her fingers through the tangled hair of her wig.

“Don’t go dark on me.” Maeve grimaced. “Work with me, okay? Call me,” she demanded, all business. “Tell me what you see, and I’ll forward to Guhleman.” Maeve took care of things when danger arose.

“I promise. I’ll be in touch.” Tori figured Maeve to be the most reliable. Guhleman had bigger fish to fry.

“Just so you know,” Maeve said, “Guhleman has the cop, Montgomery, under surveillance. His son, Zeb, is a Ph.D. candidate. Can you guess his mentor?”

“Dr. Winter.” Tori shook her head. “The FBI connected the dots. Zeb told his dad.” Within minutes Tori processed the information. “I see where you’re heading. Gordon Montgomery shared Winter’s failed experiment with McGinn.”

“You’ve got it.” Maeve thought for a minute and then snapped her fingers. “That laptop is a mass murderer’s wet dream. Grady texted about the bread manufacturer from Nebraska.” She held up a hand for a slap five.

Tori slapped her palm against hers. “Things are coming together.” Relief spread through her. She might not always fire on all cylinders, but her hunches were rational.

“It’s my job to dig deeper.” Maeve’s eyes bore straight through her. “Step over here. Look at this.” The PI turned her computer toward Tori and scrolled down on a page. “I trolled the internet for information on Alfonse Powers. His baking company is struggling, but he inherited land and sold two farms.”

“Powers didn’t sell his business. He wants to boost it. The best form of advertising is bad news—”

“—about the competition killing people,” Maeve said. “That’d be beef producers.”

“That’s an interesting hit of research.” Tori swept past her, blew her a kiss, and headed through the door.

On the porch, she texted Finn Donahue, asked him to contact the realtor, Commercial Properties. “Please buy Grady’s building on my behalf.” Finn had power of attorney over her trust fund. She texted him the realtor’s phone number. “Finn, in case anything happens to me, transfer ownership to Grady. No one does the work he does.” She added, “Happy Halloween to you, Amy, and the kids.”

Knowing Finn’s busy schedule, she didn’t expect he’d see her message until Monday.

The last hours crystallized. Her face flushed and her mouth dried like a desert. She reached into her backpack for a sports drink. She couldn’t stand the stuff, but potassium and electrolytes might do her good. The enormity of Vivienne’s situation hit her. Today was the day she’d find her cousin.

* * *

Fletcher pushed open the front door and belted out, “We’ve got candy!”

“You’re being loud, Dad.” Under his arm, Shane scampered through and practically ran into Miss Piggy on his way to Sherlock.

“Miss Piggy?” Grady asked, but in another instant he recognized the matronly form behind the mask and costume. “What are you up to, Miss Piggy?” He guessed Tori lent her the costume. Tori had stopped by. He’d have to wait to give her the gift, an attempt to repair screw-ups.

Maeve snagged off the mask. “I plan to write a book but have a problem. I don’t have appropriate writing attire and a color-coordinated pen.”

He chuckled. “Wasn’t that a Miss Piggy quote?”

Maeve nodded. “Oh, before I forget, Danker Donahue phoned. He readied his fishing boat for tomorrow. I scribbled down his number.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got his number.” His cousin loomed into his mind. Ex-military, Danker had been a taxi driver, lounge singer, furniture mover, lifeguard, and gym teacher. Having failed to distinguish himself in any of those professions and his basic laziness notwithstanding, he’d created the Danker Donahue Security Firm and enjoyed considerable success. Grady wanted to go if he could bring Shane, and took a minute to text him.

“Yes or no?” Maeve asked.

“Yes. If Danker’s good with Shane going, I’m all in.” He paced his office, wishing Tori would text. “What else is going on?”

“Tori just left. I borrowed her costume.” Her excited voice carried across the room.

“I’m sorry I missed her.” He set down the bags of candy and the jewelry box he’d just purchased.

“Is that an antique?” Maeve asked.

“Looks like one, doesn’t it?” He turned it halfway around so that she could see the mirror, a drawer, and handles. “It’s a spa bath set.” He’d chosen the French vanilla body spray, lotion, and bubble bath for Tori.

Shane ran his hands along the ribbon. “Is it her birthday, Dad?”

“No, son. Just a present.” He wound his watch.

“Tori brought us a food present. Chili and cornbread,” Maeve said in a casual tone. “Did you see the flowers in the window boxes and the orange and black pinwheels?”

“I did.” He locked his arms across his chest. “Halloween décor means we’re giving out candy.”

“I brought a battery-operated pumpkin,” she added.

“That’s great.” He scratched his chin and worried over the most determined woman he’d ever known. As stubborn as she was, she didn’t deserve what she’d been handed. “Tori’s out there alone.”

“Relax. Tori sails like most people ride bicycles. Let’s eat.” Maeve motioned them toward the kitchen. “Table is set. Food is warmed up.”

Grady’s cellphone pinged with a message. Danker wanted to meet for breakfast at the Starbucks across from Pugh’s Marina, and he texted him back, “That’s a plan.”

“I’m starving.” Shane left Sherlock on the dog bed and scooted onto a chair. He took a bite of cornbread and chased it with a gulp of milk.

“What do you think, Shane, good?” Maeve ladled chili into his bowl.

“Yup.” Shane finished in a matter of minutes. “Can Sherlock and I go back outside, Dad?”

Grady couldn’t remember Shane having such a congenial friend. “Playing hide-and-seek with Abdul?”

“That’s right.”

“What a hoot!” Maeve slapped her knee. “The boys use their dogs to track each other.”

“How do you do it, Shane?” He raked a napkin over Shane’s mouth.

“We use our socks.” Shane eased off his chair. “Socks give our dogs the scent.”

“I’m beginning to think Sherlock is like an appendage of your body.” Grady looked at him, studied his intense expression. “Go ahead. As soon as it’s dark, we’ll get into our costumes.” He watched boy and dog burst out the screen door.

Maeve said something about staying to answer the door for trick or treaters when his cell jingled. “It’s Guhleman,” he said to Maeve. “I’ll put his call on speaker.” He pushed the answer button. “I’m listening, Guhleman.”

“Another shipment of fertilizer was delivered to the garden store. Nassar phoned our guy, Jamal.” The utter lack of warmth in the agent’s voice irritated him. Guhlemann dispensed facts without much compassion. He tracked activity.

Maeve curled her lip as if she had a question.

Grady spoke to Guhleman. “Maeve’s here and wants to ask you something.”

She leaned toward his cell. “Where’s the first shipment?”

“McGinn’s crew brought the supply to a warehouse. Jamal heard rumors. You know how Gordon Montgomery loves to talk. When the sale goes through, the buyer will have the bags repackaged. He’ll hire McGinn’s crew for distribution.”

Grady’s gut clenched. “McGinn has his hands in many cookie jars.”

“Yeah, a mobster’s trifecta. Extortion, running drugs, and kidnapping for ransom are keeping him busy,” Guhleman said with a nervous wobble to his words. “Your girl, Tori, is a fine asset. We’ll keep an eye on her. Don’t worry.”

Grady didn’t miss Guhleman’s nervous tone. “I do worry.”

“We have a dedicated computer,” Guhleman said, “with her on the grid.”

“Where is she?”

“Driving in the marina neighborhood. Chances are she’ll head out to that tiny island.” The fed let out a slow breath. “We’ll keep the coastguard informed of her whereabouts.”

“And you?” Grady’s temper was getting the better of him. When hotheaded, violence went hand in hand.

“We’re keeping the heat on Mr. Alfonse Powers and his fertilizer soon to be repackaged. Have to stop there. Can’t delve into classified aspects.”

“How about getting to the island platform before she does?” Grady stood up from the kitchen table, stared at the front door, and willed it to open.

“We’ll be in touch.” Guhleman ended the call.

Grady plopped down again and hunched forward. He crossed a leg over a knee, jiggling and bouncing a foot. “I’m a jerk.”

“You’re headstrong. Tori’s strong-willed,” Maeve said. “Each with your own agendas and conflicting boundaries.” Her lips tightened with compassion. “Tori won’t sail through that door today.”

Maeve’s words startled him, yet they shouldn’t have. Holy hell, the afternoon light wouldn’t last long. Tori would be heading out to sea. Part of him hadn’t come to grips with her iron will. That part was due to being the damned king of restraint. The other part respected her for it, and alarm trickled down his spine. Many things about Tori made him want to forgo control, to forget the hazards of thinking with emotion, not to mention his dick. Tomorrow, in Danker’s boat, they’d make their way to the island. Through his veins the hum of desire ran parallel to his failure to protect, and he couldn’t master the outrage.