Red Tide (Siren Publishing Classic) (27 page)

He sat her down on the bed. “Look, you’ve been through a rough time. You can’t just bury it and expect it to go away. Sam will figure out whoever did it, and they’ll go to trial. You’ve still got a lot ahead of you, and I’ll be there beside you every step of the way. But you have to let go of it. Don’t keep putting on a tough face and pretending it doesn’t bother you. You’ll be back at work soon enough. Why don’t you just relax and enjoy the day off. Go back to bed for a little while. Maybe we’ll move your computer over here this afternoon.”

Mitch smiled. “Sounds like you’re trying to move me in.”

He smiled back. “I can think of worse things.”

The phone rang. Ed ignored it until Sam’s voice spoke up on the answering machine. Ed caught him in mid-sentence.

“Sam, what’s up?”

“Hi, Ed. Wanted to warn you that John and his girlfriend are coming over today to give us statements. Just in the unlikely event he should want to drop by and say hi to Mitch.”

“Working on a Sunday? Seems like my tax dollars are finally being put to good use.”

“Fuck you, Ed. You live in Hernando County anyway.” He laughed before his tone turned serious again. “I want to get him in here. I would have preferred yesterday, but hopefully, since it is the weekend, if we approach this the right way, he won’t feel defensive, won’t lawyer up on us. He should be here in a couple of hours.”

Ed glanced at Mitch. She stood in the bedroom doorway and intently watched. “Okay, Sam. Thanks for the info. Talk to you later.”

When he hung up, Mitch asked, “What did he want?”

“Oh, not much. They’re going to question John and his girlfriend I guess, but so far, no new leads.”

“Oh, okay. When?”

“Today.”

“Where?”

“I guess they’re driving here. He wanted to warn us in case John should stop by.”

“I doubt that’ll happen.”

“So do I, but I’m not taking any chances.” She followed him back into the bedroom where he finished dressing. “You know,” he said, “get dressed. We won’t stay here today. We’ll run an errand.”

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“Car shopping.”

She groaned. “I think I’d rather take my chances with John.”

* * * *

Ed called Dan to tell him he wouldn’t be in after all. Dan told him to go have fun, that he could handle everything by himself. Then they stopped by Mitch’s place to check on it and clear her answering machine.

Ed was right. Her answering machine had reached its limit. She grabbed a notepad and pen and started weeding out customers from reporters. Toward the end of the messages, a woman’s voice spoke up. “Hello, Ms. Jackson? You don’t know me, but my name’s Jenna Stephens. This is really awkward, but I wanted to talk with you about John. John Tyne. He doesn’t know I’m calling, and I’d rather he didn’t know. My cell number is 407-555-6824.”

Ed and Mitch exchanged glances while she stopped the machine and replayed the message. On an impulse, Mitch flipped the tape over after clearing the other messages, saving the message from Jenna and its date-time stamp.

They were walking out the door when the phone rang again. Mitch wasn’t going to answer it until she heard Sami’s voice.

“Hey, pick up the damn phone. It’s us. Will someone please—”

She grabbed it, laughing. “What do you want?”

“Glad we caught you. What are you doing for dinner tonight?”

Mitch looked at Ed. “Any plans for dinner tonight?” she asked him. He shook his head.

“Nothing planned. Why?”

“Well, you’ve got plans now. The two of you and Ron and Jack, if they want to come, here, dinner, five-ish. Okay?”

“Sounds good to me. Can we bring anything?”

“Just yourselves.”

After bidding good-bye, Mitch looked up at Ed. “Guess we’re going to Brooksville for dinner.”

* * * *

They called Ron, who could make it, and Jack, who couldn’t, before leaving Aripeka. They checked out five dealerships on the way south. Then they stopped and lunched in Tarpon Springs, at a small family cafe on the Sponge Docks. Two large Greek salads with potato salad filled them to near bursting. They worked off some of their meal strolling down to the far end of the Sponge Docks and back again, taking their time looking in shops and exploring the rejuvenated Sponge Exchange shopping complex. Halfway through their wanderings, Mitch finally spoke up about something that had been on Ed’s mind, too.

“Dammit, I want to call that woman back.”

“Jenna Stephens, was it?”

“Yes. The one who left a message on my recorder.”

Ed frowned. “She may not want to talk to you now that the police are involved. She left that message last night. Besides, you won’t be able to reach her until late today. She’s over here with John, remember?”

“Yeah I know. But she said it was her cell number. I’m dying of curiosity to talk to her. She sounded pretty serious. She may know something that she doesn’t want to tell the police because it might not be enough for them to act on, or that she doesn’t want John to find out about.”

“Well, you can call tomorrow. And you need to see if she’ll let you tape the conversation. I don’t want accusations flying later on. I don’t trust that bastard.”

* * * *

It was almost five when they arrived at the main gate to the Croom motorcycle park outside Brooksville. Sami and Matt had no close neighbors in the bike park, but they enjoyed the privacy.

The ranger’s shack was deserted that late in the day, but Ed still slowed the truck to a crawl as they bumped over the old cattle guard at the gate. He downshifted and switched to four-wheel drive to make the steep climb up the first hill. The hot, dry sunny day, combined with hundreds of vehicles and bikes over the weekend, had turned the graded clay road into a deep, soft loam. The only way to climb it without getting stuck was with four-wheel drive or a high-speed, banzai attack that didn’t leave time to get stuck. Due to the number of kids and bikes still flying up and down the road, Ed selected the more prudent option.

The road smoothed out after the first hill, bordered on the east by I-75, and on the west by dense, trail-striped scrub pine woods. Only their familiarity with the park kept them from missing the turnoff masquerading as the Barrys’ driveway. It wound through dense woods where late-afternoon shadows created a startling contrast to the bright, open main road, throwing them into a virtual twilight. Mitch suppressed a shudder, thinking back to Sami’s ordeal.

Sami’s first husband, Steven Corey, went insane. Totally, utterly, completely, homicidally. Weeks of deteriorating behavior culminated in Sami desperately fleeing from him one afternoon during a tropical storm after Steve attacked her, Matt, and another woman. Thinking Matt was dead, Sami ran north, trying to reach the ranger’s station. Steve caught up with her at the old mining pit lake. At the top of a hundred-foot drop she leapt, grabbing a sapling to stop her fall. Steve, not realizing the steepness of the drop, plummeted down the embankment, landing in the lake and drowning.

Ed and Mitch were called in to head the dive team recovery efforts and retrieved his body the next afternoon.

Ron, true to form, was already there when they emerged from the dense woods into the Barry’s yard. Sami had set up a table on their new screened porch, with citronella candles burning and ceiling fans turning to help chase away any stubborn mosquitoes or no-see-ums. They climbed the wooden steps to the porch.

“Well, company’s finally here!” Sami laughed, throwing her arms around Mitch before she had barely made it through the door. They hugged for a moment before Sami released her and looked her over. “What, no more new bruises?” she joked.

As close as sisters, the two had become fast friends. Mitch eased herself into a nearby chair. “No, thank goodness. I don’t think I can handle anything else right now.”

Matt carried a platter of steaks out from the kitchen. “Someone want to get the porch door for me?” Ed and Ron, following the food, not only escorted him outside to the grill, but helped him put the steaks on. Sami handed Mitch a soda and sat down across from her.

“Well, tell me what’s going on, girl.” Mitch knew from the twinkle in her eye that Ron had already filled in a few details.

Mitch feigned innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, cut the ‘who, moi?’ act and give me the dirt.” She grinned. “When’s the wedding?”

“Good grief, we’ve only been a couple for a couple of days. Give us a chance to get properly engaged, first.”

Sami laughed, shaking her head. “I suggest you have him down at the county clerk’s office first thing tomorrow.”

“Can’t. Got a little matter of a divorce to settle first.”

“Damn. Details, details. Maybe John’ll do you a favor and jump off a bridge or something.”

“We’re not that lucky,” Ed called from the yard, his gaze clearly fixed on Mitch.

Mitch felt her heart skip. She’d never felt the feelings for John that she felt for Ed. Mitch returned Ed’s smile, throwing in a wink for good measure.

* * * *

Ed always joked that Sami set a mean table. For appetizers, they had cold boiled shrimp, guacamole and chips, fried cheese, and salad.

“Geez, Sami. It’s gonna be hard to save room for dinner,” Ron joked.

“Haven’t you heard of leftovers?”

“No, bachelors like me don’t do leftovers very often.”

“Bachelors like you don’t cook very often, period,” Mitch quipped. “The Sahara desert has more stuff in it than your fridge.”

“Hey, now wait a minute,” he defended himself. “I’ve got that head of lettuce in there.”

“That’s not lettuce.” Ed slapped him on the back. “I’ve seen it. That’s a leftover round of gouda from last New Year’s.”

“Just doin’ my share for the scientific community.”

Matt took up the game. “You mean for the zoological community, don’tcha, Ron? I swear I think that thing winked at me last time I was over at your house.”

Ron was spared further teasing when Matt declared the steaks perfectly done. Not much more was said until everyone stuffed themselves and their plates and chairs were pushed back, and a few belts loosened a notch or two.

Mitch immediately pitched in to help clear the table. The women shooed the men out of the kitchen so they could do dishes. Alone together, Sami’s expression turned serious. “Are you okay? Really?”

Mitch nodded. “Have to take the good with the bad, right?”

“Yeah, but nearly getting blown up is way beyond bad. Do you want to talk?”

Actually, she didn’t want to talk about it at all. “I’m okay. I’m pissed off more than anything. I loved my Bronco. It was old, but it ran great, it was in great shape, it was paid for, and Daddy helped me pick it out.” That last thought nearly started her crying again.

“Well, don’t keep it bottled up,” she advised. “I tried that. It worked for a while, but not real long. I’m here if you need me.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.” She glanced out the window to where the men were gathered on the porch and talking. “I’m just going to try to focus on more positive things for now.”

John made a journal update before taking a shower and lying down for a short nap. His alarm went off an hour later. He quickly dressed and met Jenna. Despite the bright, sunny, Sunday morning, the radio promised more late-afternoon thunderstorms. His body still tingled from the night before, power surging through his veins as he confidently negotiated Orlando’s streets. They stopped for breakfast at a Denny’s near the Florida Turnpike junction on State Road 50. Jenna seemed unusually quiet.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Nothing. Just not looking forward to wasting our day together like this.”

A good night’s sleep had rejuvenated her, turning her almost certain convictions of John’s guilt into fading thoughts. Surely he couldn’t be involved in something that outlandish. Not John. It didn’t make sense. Even he admitted Mitch was being more than fair in the divorce. He seemed happy it was going to happen.

And she took that as a good omen for where their relationship might be heading.

He smiled, taking her hands in his and kissing them. “I’m sorry you’re wrapped up in this. I’m sure we’ll straighten it all out.” Their order arrived and they quickly ate. A few minutes later, they stopped at a filling station, and John patted Jenna on the thigh before getting out to pump gas.

While waiting for him, she checked her makeup. She opened her purse and fished out her lipstick, but fumbled the tube and dropped it on the floor where it rolled under the seat.

“Damn,” she swore, reaching under the seat.

Her hand encountered a hard, small, flat plastic card. She withdrew it to find a student ID card from the University of Central Florida. It was a couple of years old and expired. Melody Matthews. She was a pretty girl with auburn hair. She would be twenty-one now, from the date of birth listed.

Jenna was shocked. He couldn’t claim it was from a past driver. She had helped him check the loaner car before driving it off the lot. Part of his neatness habit. She didn’t know whether to confront John or hide it for later. John emerged from the store. Jenna tucked the ID card inside her purse and quickly retrieved her lipstick.