Feta Attraction (15 page)

SIXTEEN

I hightailed it back to my room and grabbed the folder, sticking it under one arm. I brought the table out and set it in the hallway, locking my door behind me. My arms ached and the bundle shifted precariously several times as I carried it down the stairs. I almost dropped the folder more than once on the way down and around the spiral to the main floor.

I set everything down for a moment to catch my breath, then continued on to my office where I grabbed my purse and carried everything out to my car. The wrapped bundle, with some careful maneuvering, just barely fit into my trunk. I tossed my purse onto the passenger's seat along with the folder, which I'd meant to drop off at my office but had neglected to do in the excitement of getting the hell out of that house. I got into the driver's seat and willed myself to relax. Had I just heard a ghost? I'd heard something, all right. Once this was all over I'd have to call in a priest or an exorcist or something. It didn't seem likely there'd be one in the Bay. Maybe those ghost hunters had a connection they could set me up with.

What now? I had several hours to kill—I winced at my own choice of words—before I could attempt to transfer the table to Liza's boat and motor out to the Devil's Oven. I didn't want to wait until it was full dark, but needed the cover of twilight to minimize the chances of my being spotted. The docks were only a hundred yards or so from the Bonaparte House, but it was simply inconceivable that I could carry a shower-curtain-wrapped table through downtown without having to stop and answer a thousand questions. I'd drive down to the Lady Liberty Boat Tours parking lot and leave the car there at dusk, then unload the table onto the boat. There was still a chance I'd be recognized, but it was a risk I'd have to take.

I started up the engine and pulled out of the employee parking lot, turning away from the shops and restaurants to head out of town. I drove inland toward Redwood, a couple of villages over, and stopped at a little mom-and-pop convenience store. I bought a Diet Coke and a bag of chips. On a whim I turned down Hubbard Street, where Russ lived next door to Dolly and her common-law husband, Harold. I pulled up on the other side of the street and put the car in park. I twisted off the cap and took a big glug of the icy cold soda. This seemed as safe a place as any to pass some time, and if anybody questioned me I could say that I'd come to check on Russ.

Dolly had decorated her front yard with a menagerie of lawn animals watched over by a pair of garish, amateurishly repainted gnomes. Her porch was hung with twirling and jingling wind ornaments. She had lots of neon-colored zinnias in a rubber tire planter, and a morning glory with brilliant blue flowers twining up the flagpole. A Virgin Mary statue stood serenely, arms outspread, safe inside the protective shrine of an upended, half-buried cast-iron bathtub, claw feet still attached. Maybe she was Catholic after all. Her house was so cheerful, I had to smile. Her car was gone, so she must be out.

I opened the bag of salt and vinegar chips with a crinkly little pop and crunched absentmindedly on one, which turned out to be one of those extra delicious anomalies both folded over and imbued with an extra dose of the vinegar flavoring. I looked past Dolly's place one door down. A strand of colored lights hung loose from Russ's front porch railing, and the desiccated rusty brown remains of a Christmas tree, tarnished tinsel waving in the afternoon breeze, graced the left side of the front door, which was open to the interior and unprotected by a screen door. That didn't necessarily mean anybody was home, though.

Something looked different about the place—I couldn't quite put my finger on it. Then I realized with a mental slap of the head that there was now a garage at the end of Russ's gravel driveway. It was huge, at least two or three times the square footage of his makeshift double-wide mobile home, and could hold at least three cars or trucks in addition to ATVs and other motorized toys. The building was unfinished, with just a skin of Tyvek insulation flapping loose in several places from the chipboard underneath. A big rack of deer antlers, at least ten points though I couldn't count them clearly from this distance, hung over one of the bay doors. He'd never mentioned that he was building a garage. Knowing Russ, this was as finished as the structure would ever get. It was unknown how many winters it could survive in this condition, but you'd be surprised how long it takes a building to fall down around you, based on some of the farmhouses and barns I've seen in the Northern New York countryside. I'd bet anything if I looked inside, there would be a row of heavy-duty hooks attached to the rafters for hanging deer in the fall, or any other time of the year he happened to have a hankering for venison.

I was munching on another chip and was leaned over feeling around with a rather greasy hand in the glove compartment for a napkin, when a figure filled my driver's side window. I righted myself and looked out the window, right into a shiny belt buckle emblazoned with “USCG.” I looked up as the owner of the belt buckle bent down so I could see his face. He rapped on the window and made a roll-down-the-window gesture, though of course the days of crank windows were long gone. My heart leapt into my throat and I couldn't swallow the potato chip, which was now stuck and dissolving back there. Damn! It was that Captain Jack, if that was his real name. How the hell had he found me here? My gut clenched as I realized he must have followed me. I turned down the radio and cracked the window. Thank goodness my doors were locked.

“Yes?” I squeaked out.

“Georgie, I'm Jack, remember? We spoke a couple of days ago? I've been trying to get in touch with you.”

“What do you want?” I tried to calm myself and put my hand surreptitiously on the ignition key so I could make a fast getaway if I needed to.

“Georgie, can I talk to you? I'm not an ax murderer.” He grinned at me with his movie-star smile. Damn! There were those cute little crinkles around his eyes again.

“No, you absolutely cannot get any closer,” I said through the slit between the window and doorframe. For all I knew, this guy was an assassin hired by the SODs to kill Big Dom. Or kidnap people. My eyes narrowed as I grew braver. “And where's my husband's cell phone? I know you took it from my desk that day you were in my office.”

He looked genuinely confused, or he was a very good actor. “What do you mean? I didn't take a cell phone or anything else away from your office, other than a good opinion of you. Which I might have to consider revising,” he said. There was that grin again.

It was kind of cute, but I didn't bite. “All I know is that I found it missing after you left.”

“What would I want with your husband's cell phone? Look, Georgie, if you don't want to talk to me here, why don't we go someplace public? There's a diner up the road where there will be lots of people and you won't have to worry about my abducting you.” He was referring to Jo-Jo's, the home-cooking place up the road. I considered. If he had been going to abduct me or kill me, he wouldn't be standing around here talking about it, would he? I'd already be shot dead, bleeding all over the Honda's upholstery, or bound and gagged in the trunk of his car.

“What do you want to talk about?”

“I know Spiro is missing, Georgie.”

I was momentarily speechless. “He's gone out of town for a few days,” I bluffed. “Lots of people know he's gone.”

“I'm pretty sure he didn't leave town voluntarily.”

I didn't know what to say to that, so I said nothing.

“Come on, let's go to the diner and talk. I'll follow you.” I glanced in my rearview mirror and saw a Jeep Rubicon parked behind me, its green metallic paint sparkling in the afternoon sun. The top was off.

I still had no reason to trust him, but if he was on the level he might have some information I could use to get Spiro back. There would be enough people at Jo-Jo's that he'd be a fool to try anything with me. I nodded, and said, “No, I'll follow you.” That way he couldn't run me off the road. I started my ignition.

“Fine,” he said. “I'll see you there.”

I watched in the side mirror as he swung his long legs up into the Jeep and drove past me into Russ's driveway to turn around. The doors were off as well. It sure looked like a fun ride, though it would be a wet ride if he got caught in a sudden shower. Jack came back past me and waved. I turned around in Dolly's driveway, just so it wouldn't look like I was imitating him, and followed him up to the stop sign and back out onto the main road.

He put on his blinker and I followed suit, turning in to the parking lot. I shouldered my purse and put my hand inside. All I found in the way of potential weapons was a pen with a sharp point. It wouldn't kill him, but it would hurt if I stabbed him hard enough with it and it might buy me some time to get away. I flipped the cap off and kept my hand on the pen. My suspicions were on high alert with this guy. Keith had said that nobody at the Coast Guard station knew why Jack Conway was in town. Conway was asking a lot of questions about things he shouldn't have had an interest in. He might have taken Spiro's cell phone from my office though I couldn't see how he'd done it. And he was a stranger to Bonaparte Bay. I almost laughed. Bonaparte Bay's entire economy was built on strangers. But this guy was no ordinary tourist. Given everything that was happening around me, it paid to be cautious.

He waited for me at the door of the restaurant, then gallantly held it open for me. I made sure I waved conspicuously at Brianne Bowers behind the counter, and she waved back. There were four or five booths occupied as well as three of the counter stools. This was a seat-yourself place, so I headed to the booth in the back corner. I parked myself on the cracked pleather with my back to the wall, facing the exit and next to the big plate-glass window so I could see if some henchman or accomplice came in to get me. I shifted position so that my bare legs were not directly on top of the sticky duct tape that was holding the upholstery together. Jack sat down opposite me.

Patty came out from behind the counter with two menus, each page encased in maroon-edged plastic folders with gold-colored tips on each of the corners. You could get breakfast anytime of day or night here. She handed one to Jack and looked at him appreciatively, then back at me with a smile and a raise of her penciled-on eyebrows. “What can I get you?” she asked Jack flirtatiously. Her polyester uniform matched the menus.

“Large Coke, extra ice, and another one of your smiles,” he flirted back.

I mentally rolled my eyes. “Diet Coke with a slice of lemon,” I piped up. She wrote it down without looking at me, continuing to smile at Jack. I scanned the specials and ordered a cheeseburger with pickles and grilled onions and a basket of fries. He ordered a prime rib sandwich and onion rings. He handed his menu back to Patty, who held on to it as though it were some magical link to his hand. Or other parts. She continued to stare into his eyes. “This'll be done in no time.” She smiled at him again. I poked her with my menu and she grabbed it, still without looking at me, as she left to put in our orders.

“So.” He sat back and took a sip of his ice water.

“So, what?” I could wait him out. For a while anyway.

“Have you heard from Spiro?” Nothing like getting right to the point.

I hesitated. “No, but I'm expecting him back tomorrow.”

He leaned toward me interestedly. “Really? If you haven't heard from him, how do you know he's coming back tomorrow?” Damn, he had me there.

“Look, why do you care?” I figured my best escape was to turn his question back on him.

“Georgie, have you heard of the Sunshine Acres commune?”

My heart started to race.

“Yes. My restaurant buys its produce and dairy there.”

“Well, I think something fishy is going on out there and I'm trying to find out what it is.”

“What does that have to do with me?” At that moment my cell phone rang, saving me from having to go any further with this. I pulled it out of my purse and saw Keith's name flashing on the screen. “Excuse me, I have to take this.” Jack nodded and started fiddling with his straw wrapper, twisting it into a rope and then untwisting it again. “Hello?” I said.