"Nina." Ohmygod.
My head snapped to the doorway. I covered the mouthpiece. "Kev!" I called out in a loud whisper.
"Nate?" I said, really loud. I heard the cowbell jingle. Jumping up, I went after Kevin, only to trip on the umbrella. Holding in a groan, I covered the phone again. "Kevin!" I yelled. A second later he filled the doorway.
I scrambled to my feet while motioning to the phone. "Nate? Where are you?" I said. Kevin was mouthing "speakerphone."
I didn't know if I had it on my cell phone. I shook my head and held the phone out so both of us could listen with our heads pressed together.
Now wasn't the time to notice how soft his hair was, or how good he smelled, but apparently I couldn't help myself.
A long breathy sigh came across the line. "Hurt," Nate said. Oh God, oh God.
Empty static echoed on the line. "Nate," I said, my throat clogged. "Are you still there? Nate!"
"Maria." The word seemed ripped from his soul, each syllable sounding like it took such effort to say. "Love," he said.
"I'll tell her," I said. "Where are you?"
"Nate," Kevin said, his voice forceful. "It's Kevin. Where are you, man? We can help."
The line went dead.
Kevin said a word that would have had my mother washing his mouth out.
"He's alive," I said.
"Not for long by the sounds of him."
"What do we do?" I asked.
He stared at me, his green eyes hard as stone.
" 'We' do nothing. I've got to make some calls."
"What about Maria?" I asked.
He dragged a hand over his face. "You decide," he said. "You know best how she'd react."
How would she react? I wondered. Images of Maria out on a ledge somewhere came to me. "Think I'll wait on the phone call." But I had to tell her about the car. I didn't want her hearing it on the news.
"I'm okay with keeping her in the dark for now," he said. "I've got to go." He took me by the shoulders and stared down at me. My traitorous knees shook slightly. After a second he let me go, turned and walked out. A moment later the cowbell jingled.
I was not disappointed he didn't kiss me. Not at all.
I slumped in my chair. That was twice today I'd broken a cardinal commandment. The same one too.
Tam came rushing in, her hair bobbing, her smile wide, her face flushed. "Was that Kevin pulling out?" I nodded.
Tam shook her head as if trying to clear it. "I want to know, but I have to share first."
Excited, she was talking so fast her words slurred.
"Share what?"
"I found it!"
"What?"
She set a paper on my desk. "The proof I need to show that Leo is a phony!"
Picking up the paper, I scanned it. "What is this?"
"An obituary. For the real Leo Barker."
Twenty
I should stay out of it.
I knew I should. This whole Nate/Claire mess was best left to the police, the FBI, heck, even Mr. Cabrera. I had no desire to cross paths with any homicidal maniacs running around out there.
I'd had my fill of those this year, thankyouverymuch.
So what was I doing driving down Leo Barker's driveway? Good question. One I couldn't quite answer, so I avoided it. Hey, avoidance wasn't one of my commandments—yet. Leo wasn't Leo. Tam had explained to me the whole identity theft process over a doughnut. Tam was convinced Leo was wanted by the FBI, and her saying that had my mind veering left of center.
I'd have confronted Leo at work, except—surprise surprise—he'd called in sick.
I turned up the driveway of the small farm Leo had given as an address on his application form. Who knew if it was even his?
There were no cars parked in front of the quaint twostory farmhouse, but the front door was open beyond a screen door.
Once again the thought that I shouldn't be there flitted through my head and flitted out just as fast. If my hunch was correct, I had nothing to fear.
If.
Using one of Maria's tricks, I lifted my chin, pulled my shoulders back, and walked toward the house.
Out of nowhere a pack of dogs came galloping around the corner of the house, toward me.
At least I thought they were dogs. They kind of looked like horses.
"Eeeee!" I screamed, breaking into a run.
Leo bolted out the front door, a dish towel slung over his shoulder. "Nina?"
"Eeee!" The dogs were gaining fast.
Leo let out a shrill whistle just before I hurtled his front steps and leapt into his arms. The dogs stopped immediately, huge tongues lolling out the sides of their mouths. I squirmed out of Leo's arms, pushed a lock of hair behind my ear. "I wasn't really scared," I said.
"Of course not." He frowned. "What are you doing here?"
"I—" I struggled with how to phrase what I wanted to say. "I mean—" I bit my lip. "I came to ask . . . Are you . . ." He motioned to the top step. We both sat. The dogs pranced around.
Pulling the towel off his shoulder, he said, "When did you figure it out?"
I let out a deep breath. "I didn't. Not really. I knew something was up, since Ana hadn't sent you to me, but I never had the chance to ask you about it. But really, with Tam's reaction, I was thinking more along the lines of felon rather than FBI."
"I must be getting sloppy," he said.
"Tam found out the real Leo Barker died twenty years ago."
"She's good. Real good. The Bureau should give her a job."
No wonder Tam hadn't liked him. Tam and law enforcement didn't get along. Deep down she must have sensed he carried a badge. "I couldn't do without her. Actually it was her comment about you probably being an FBI fugitive that made the pieces finally fall into place. You're working Nate's case, right?"
"Nina, I really can't—"
"Can't or won't, Le—" I broke off, realizing that Leo wasn't his name. Not anymore.
"Ian," he said. "Ian Phillips."
"Ian," I said, testing it out. "Well, Ian, I didn't come all this way to get the shaft. I turned in the pictures, I've reported the phone calls, my office has been broken into— twice. By you, I assume?"
He nodded. "Sorry about that. Just part of the job."
Hmmph. "I'd really like to know what's going on and why."
He twisted the dish towel. "We'd like to figure the why too."
"Huh?"
"We don't know, Nina. We don't know why all this is happening. Nate does, but as you know, he's missing."
"So you don't think he has anything to do with Claire Battiste's murder?"
"Personally, I don't think so, but I have no evidence to back that up."
I rubbed my temples. "Nate must have contacted you, right?"
He sighed, long and heavy. "I shouldn't be telling you anything."
I fluttered my eyelashes. "Please?"
Groaning, he said, "Only since you've been so cooperative, I'll tell you what I can."
Meaning, not everything. Damn.
"Nate called the Bureau about a week ago. The minute he mentioned the Kalypso, he was transferred to Fran Cooper. She's the go-to person for the casinos." The blue-haired lady.
"He said he had evidence we would be very interested in involving the Kalypso, but he wouldn't say what. He was scared, though, and thought he might be in danger. Fran agreed to meet him that afternoon, but he never showed, and from what we learned, no one has seen him since."
"Is this where you come in? You obviously found out he'd sent a package to me, so the FBI planted you in my office—to what? Intercept it?"
"Yeah, but I was foiled by Tam. Unbeknownst to us, she took the package home."
"You searched the office that night," I said, vowing silently to never doubt Tam again.
He nodded. "I can't believe Tam noticed. I had to be very careful after that. I didn't want her to blow my cover."
"I didn't connect you to being an agent until I realized you saw me put the package in my backp
ack that day in my office. I was wondering how the blue-haired lady knew I had it."
The sun dipped behind a puffy white cloud as he stared out across the yard. "I called Fran to tell her you were on your way to the Kalypso. That was the last time anyone from the Bureau talked to her."
His somber tone told me what he thought had become of her.
"I don't understand any of this," I said. "Why would Claire kill Brian Thatcher? And who killed Claire?" A lump formed in my throat when I thought of Nate, of how he'd sounded on the phone that morning.
Looking like he was debating telling me anything more, he paused for a moment. Finally, he said, "It all ties in with Phineus Frye and the Kalypso, that's obvious. But how, we haven't figured out."
"Do you know if Claire Battiste was sleeping with Colin Frye? Her sister's husband?"
He shrugged.
"Does that mean you don't know, or you won't tell me?" He shrugged again.
Try, try again. "Do you know why Nate sent the gala guest list in the package?" I asked. "Have you figured that out yet?"
"We're working on it, Nina. This case is priority one in the office, especially since Nate's father got involved."
"Then why call in sick today?" I asked. "And why are you home and not out there looking for Nate?"
"I realized I forgot to reset the alarm last night. My supervisor thought it best for me to lay low today, but stay here in case you called to check on me. Knowing Tam's suspicious mind, I thought it best to show up to work as though nothing unusual had happened, but I was overruled." I watched the dogs, five of them, race across the yard. And was glad I was up here, safe and sound. I thought about Verona and Claire. About Verona's hatred. Because Claire was sleeping with Colin? Or for another reason? When her father died, had he favored Claire more than Verona in the will?
Did killing Claire alter his will somehow? I ran that by Ian along with my ideas about Verona and Roz.
"His will is airtight. Phineus was an intelligent man who definitely knew what he wanted. When he was diagnosed with cancer, he sold off his lesser holdings and kept only the two biggest moneymakers: the PR firm, and his holdings in the Kalypso. He then established a trust that oversees several charities he created. He put the trust in Verona's charge. When he died, all his money and his stakes in the Kalypso were given to the trust to continue his philanthropy."
"And the PR firm?" I asked, trying to absorb everything Leo, er, Ian was telling me.
"Phineus willed the PR firm to Verona."
"Verona? But she doesn't know anything about PR!"
"Exactly why Phineus gave Colin Frye creative control so long as he's married to Verona. And, Phineus added that Roz be appointed co-CEO so she could make a living." I let his words sink in.
"Wow. So, essentially, except for the PR firm, no one got anything."
"Except," he said, "for the—"
"Charities," I finished. "He's very generous."
"He came from nothing to become something. He was a big believer in giving back."
It was all very interesting in a Dynasty kind of way, with lots of motive for murdering Alfred Phineus but not each other. Certainly not Brian Thatcher. Or Claire. Or Nate. Sighing, I asked, "What now? I've got the Frye job lined up for tomorrow. Do I cancel?"
He thought for a second. "No," he said. "It might be the perfect time for me to get into the Frye house, snoop around."
"Don't you need a warrant for that?"
"Officially."
Oh-kay. I'd leave that one alone.
"What's with the dogs?" I asked. "And what're you feeding them?"
"They're English mastiffs. They're naturally that big. I breed them." He pointed. "Those three are actually puppies."
"Shut up!"
"I'm serious. They're almost ready to go."
I looked up at him, an idea forming. "How ready?"
* * *
I tried Maria on her cell phone, but her voice mail kept picking up. It was just past four and my living room was filling with neighborhood watchers.
After seeing Leo, er, Ian this morning, I'd spent most of the day at the office, getting things together for tomorrow's job.
Kit and I had made several runs to the garden center. I'd decided on a greenish flagstone for the Frye's little nook, and found just the right plants for the pond. Deanna, working with Jean-Claude, had found a lovely old iron lounging chair at an antique mart near the Tri-County Mall. She was still at TBS working the rust off and touching it up with paint.
I'd left Kit in charge of the little odds and ends that still needed to be done while I took off for home. There was nothing to worry about.
Nothing at all.
So why was I worried?
I attempted to push the image of Leo/Ian sneaking into the Fryes' house out of my head. If he got caught, my reputation would be shredded, even if he was FBI.
I felt a headache coming on as I tried calling the vet's office, but it had closed for the day at four. I didn't want to call the emergency number so I hung up, not sure what to do next.
Where had Maria and Gracie disappeared to?
Dragging his feet, Riley came into the kitchen. He looked so . . . forlorn. It was pitiful.
He caught me staring at him and batted his long lashes. "Couldn't you just let her come over?" he asked.
"If her father says it's okay."
He muttered something under his breath that sounded like a curse word, so I let it be. I figured he was suffering enough. He didn't need me grounding him on top of everything else.
"Miz Quinn." Mr. Cabrera hurried into the kitchen. "Everyone's here."
He'd gotten here twenty minutes ago carrying a large whiteboard with a fancy graph of schedules drawn on it. I looked at Riley. "You ready?"
Briefly, his eyes lit. I'd roped him into helping me out with my little entrapment. Not very motherly of me, but I hadn't given birth to him, so I figured it wouldn't hurt all that much. Maybe.
I tried not to think about it as I loaded glasses onto a tray. No paper cups today.
As Mr. Cabrera droned on and on about beefing up patrols, I kept a close eye on those glasses.
Flash had barely touched his—only to put it down on the table after Riley handed it to him.
The Colonel had yet to let his go, and I began to think that maybe he was planning on taking it home with him "by accident."
Mr. Weatherbee had frowned at his as soon as Riley gave it to him, and I swear I saw him check the bottom of it, looking for a marking. Not likely to find one since I'd gotten them on sale at Target. He'd also put a folded paper towel under his to catch the condensation.
He glanced up, looked right at me. With the amount of disappointment I saw in his eyes, I felt like I'd failed some sort of test.
Almost made me want to run out and pick up some Waterford tumblers.
Almost.
Where was Maria? As hard as I tried to focus on the meeting, I couldn't. I shouldn't have made her take Gracie to the vet. I should have done it myself. Then, at least, I'd know where she was. I glanced at the clock. Yep. Oprah was on, and ordinarily Maria would be camped on the couch watching her. Something drastic must have happened for Maria to be missing Oprah.
Forcing myself not to think about guns and bloodstained cars, I watched Mr. and Mrs. Mustard.
Outwardly, they seemed like a happy old couple. But looking closer, I noticed they never touched, not even a sleeve, even though they were sharing the love seat. And I swear I caught the Colonel ogling Mrs. Johanssen. Odd.
Even odder was that Mrs. Mustard kept ogling me. I looked away when she caught me staring. Again. I turned my gaze to Mr. Weatherbee. He kept looking at the clock as if wishing he didn't have to be here. I knew that feeling.
He was barely paying attention to Mr. Cabrera, and I think I heard him groan when Mr. Cabrera launched into his buddying up program.
And Flash? Well, he was staring at my legs again. Maybe it hadn't been such a good idea to change into shorts when I got home
.
But I'd been hot and sweaty and covered with dust. I smiled, quite pleased with my crew and the work they'd done today. Criminal backgrounds or not, they were the best.
I just hoped and prayed Tam would still be working for me tomorrow once she found out about Leo Barker and who he really was. I hadn't told her about Ian—by his request. I hated keeping secrets from her, and I know she hated not knowing everything going on.
She was going to hold this against me for a long time to come.
I snapped to attention when a round of hearty applause broke out. I clapped too, unsure why until I saw people standing to leave.
Riley quickly collected Flash's and Mr. Weatherbee's glass. I lunged for the Colonel's. Mrs. Mustard grabbed it before me. "I'll set this in the kitchen," she said. "No, really. No need. I'll get it," I said, playing tug-of-war. I was holding on tight, hoping she wasn't smudging any prints.