Tahoe Ghost Boat (An Owen McKenna Mystery Thriller) (8 page)

“Besides the insurance, what are you left with?”

“Just my car and the house, and that’s about it. I could always sell the house. It’s small, but it’s still worth about two million, so I could move to a nice apartment and still be okay.”

“You said Ian was prosecuted? For what?”

“I don’t know the details. But one of the companies Ian sued some time back counter-sued a few years later. Something about discovery and whether or not Ian or his lawyers had been forthcoming during the first lawsuit. So the next thing Ian knew, the District Attorney came calling. It took a couple of years for the lawyers to do their dance. That’s what Ian calls it. Lawyers dancing. In the end, they made a deal. Ian paid a fine to the government and pleaded guilty to some minor thing, and he also paid a giant settlement to this other company on some civil case. He said it cost him about twenty million, which was all he had including all his property.”

“Tell me about his insurance.”

“I don’t really know anything about it. I just went through the file about a week ago after I got over the shock of Ian dying. There was a form that I found. I filled it out and sent it in along with a certified death certificate. Now I just wait.”

“Was Ian worried about dying?” I asked.

“I doubt it. He was too cocky for that. He probably thought he was going to live forever. I think that the only reason he even had insurance was that some salesman sold him on the concept. Probably, there was something else that Ian got out of the deal.”

“Like what? A bribe from the agent?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. But I don’t think that Ian would have bought the policy out of the goodness of his heart.”

“Do you inherit his entire estate?”

“I guess so. As far as I know, he didn’t have a will. But the Santa Clara house was in both our names, so now it’s mine.”

“Most people like Ian have some other investments, even if small. Stocks, bonds, that sort of thing.”

“He never mentioned anything to me.”

“This all must be quite the shock,” I said, thinking that it didn’t seem like much of a shock to her at all.

“I wasn’t prepared,” Nadia said, a serious understatement. “Ian was only forty-two. I never imagined that he would die. Probably people think about that sort of thing when they get into their sixties or seventies. The news knocked me down for the first few days. Then I got the email from the blackmailer. So I looked you up and put your number in my purse. I hoped they might think I’ve been out of town and haven’t gotten their email.”

“Nadia, the fact that the email self-deleted tells us that they know how to do fancy stuff. There are companies that specialize in vanishing emails. I’m pretty sure they can embed code in it that tells them it’s been opened.”

Nadia looked sick, but it had a feigned quality to it.

“How did the woman following you find you?” I asked. “Did she wait outside your house?”

“I don’t know. I just noticed her SUV on the highway. Following me forever. It was relentless. So scary.”

“Have you had your car looked at for a GPS device?”

“I don’t need to. My car came with GPS.” She paused. “You mean they could use that to track my location?”

“Sort of. But to use the built-in system, they’d have to hack into the network your car uses. That would require serious expertise. Much easier just to attach a separate GPS unit. Something they could put under your car.”

“Oh, my God. That would explain how the woman found me. They could find me again. I might be in danger. What should I do?” Her forehead was a network of worry lines.

“I can solve the problem.”

“How? Can you inspect my car for the GPS and remove it?”

“No. Those things can be very small. It could take a long time to find. There is an easier way.”

“What’s that?”

“We switch cars.”

TEN

Nadia stared at me.

I waited.

“That car is my baby,” she said, as if it were much more dear to her than her daughter Gertie.

I didn’t comment.

“But I can see that it would make me safer,” she said.

I nodded. “Where are you staying?”

“I got a room at the Marriott.”

“What was your plan when you drove up here?”

“I was coming up to visit the new shops at Heavenly and Northstar when I saw that person following me.”

 It was dark when we walked down to the office entrance. We traded keys. In the dim light spilling over from a neighboring building, I saw her scowl as she turned my key over in her hand.

“I have to put the key in the lock to unlock it,” she said.

“Right. Old vehicle. You’ve never unlocked a car with a key?”

“I’ve seen it done. But I didn’t get my driver’s license until I got married the second time. Ian’s cars just use key fobs.”

She put the key in, turned it both ways several times until it finally turned.

“It’s a bit sticky,” I said.

“I see.” She opened up the car door. “It smells of dog.”

“Yeah. It’s Spot’s car, too. You’ll get more of his hair on you.”

“That means that his hair will get in my car, too.”

“The price of safety,” I said. “But he will enjoy it.”

Nadia hesitated but didn’t protest. She got into the Jeep, and reached down and found the seat lever to move the seat. It lurched all the way forward with a screech of old metal. I showed her the headlight switch, how to work the parking brake, and I made certain that she understood where to smack the dash when the defroster fan tried to die.

“We’ll talk late tomorrow morning,” I said.

“I always get up early,” she said.

“I don’t. I’ll call you after I’ve had my coffee.”

She nodded. She started the Jeep, got the lights on, shifted, and drove off very slowly.

It was possible that an observer could have seen her get into my car in the dark, but I hoped that the blackmailer was relying on GPS in her car, if, in fact, he was tracking her at all.

Spot was excited when I opened the back door of the BMW. He stuck his head into the leather-lined space, taking deep breaths, wagging his tail. He’d never ridden in such a fancy car, especially one permeated by fancy woman scents.

“Get in, boy,” I said.

He turned and looked at me, wondering if I was serious.

“It’s our new ride. For a bit, anyway.” I pointed into the car. “Climb aboard.”

Spot jumped in. Sniffed the seats. Turned around, excited.

I got in front. Leather aroma mixed with perfume and soap, essence of pampered woman.

I started the engine. It was smooth and muted but with a hint of growl. Music came on. Mexican. I found the headlight switch and turned it on. There were as many lights on the Beemer’s dash as in Reno on a busy night. I took some time to familiarize myself with the knobs and switches.

Switching from my old Jeep to a modern German luxury sedan was like trading up from talking through cups-and-string to talking on an iPhone. There were obvious advantages, but the learning curve was steep. It would take a ride-along tutor weeks to teach me how to work all the BMW systems.

I spun the radio dial looking for something more muscular than Mariachi, but the music didn’t change. Maybe the music was on an unseen CD, or a satellite subscription, or an iPod hidden in the glove box.

I couldn’t figure out how to change the music, so I hit the power-off button.

I heard Spot nose-bumping the rear passenger window.

“Sorry, largeness. We’re in stealth mode. Can’t have you flopping your tongue out an open window. We want them to think that Nadia is in this ride.”

I pulled out and found that you have to go easy on the gas. At the first touch, the Beemer made me think of a horse rearing before it leaped ahead with instant acceleration. I felt like the horse whisperer communicating without touching the reins. In a moment, I was going 50 in a 30 zone, and I couldn’t remember how it happened. I braked to a more reasonable speed. It seemed to take only a few minutes to get to my turnoff north of Cave Rock.

Nadia’s BMW powered 1000 vertical feet up the private, winding mountain road that I share with my far-flung vacation home neighbors as if the road were level. Its power and cornering were more like a big motorcycle than a four-wheeled vehicle.

When I pulled onto the parking pad of my little cabin and got out, I had a vague sense that I should get out the towel and curry comb to calm and reassure the high-strung Beemer’s nerves after our trail ride. Spot pushed out as I cracked the back door. He ran a large circle around the BMW. Probably ravenous for fresh air after Nadia’s pineapple-disinfectant perfume.

After a short walk with Spot out in the cold breeze, I said, “C’mon, largeness. Let’s fire up the wood stove.”

I popped a Sierra Nevada Pale Ale when I realized that I hadn’t locked Nadia’s Beemer. I never locked my Jeep, but then no one would want to steal it. A BMW was a different matter. Not many people drove up the road. But leaving a $70,000 car unlocked was not wise.

I reached to open my cabin door. Remembered the key fob. Cool. I wouldn’t even have to go outside.

I moved to the big window, pushed aside the blinds, pointed the key fob and hit the lock button.

There was a blinding flash of light and a sharp, muffled snap like a breaking tree as the BMW exploded.

ELEVEN

I spun around, my back to the wall next to the window. Spot had been in the kitchen at his water bowl, so I knew he would be protected.

The explosion was loud, but it didn’t blow out my front window. I waited a moment to be sure no shock wave or second explosion would follow. Then I looked back out. I could see nothing in the dark. I realized that the flash had given me night blindness.

I reached over and flipped on the outdoor light. It was hard to see with my eyes shut down, but I could tell that the Beemer was a mess, its windows shattered, roof bulged up a few inches, gray-black smoke billowing from the interior. No flames, no sparks.

I dialed Diamond’s cell.

“Sí?” he answered.

“You remember Nadia Lassitor, the woman I told you and Street about over lunch?”

“The woman being tailed and blackmailed?” he said. “Yes.”

“We worried about her Beemer having a GPS unit and making it easy for someone to follow her. So we switched cars.”

“She took your Jeep without protest?”

“No. There was protest. Anyway, I’m at my cabin. I went to lock her wheels with the key fob, and the windows blew out,” I said. “I’m guessing a stun grenade.”

“Hold on.”

I waited. I looked toward Spot. He watched me from over in the kitchen nook. His ears were up, focused. Tiny flickers came from the faux diamond that Street got him after a previous explosion had pierced his ear with a splinter of wood. As a veteran of explosions, he was somewhat traumatized by loud noises. As long as he could see me from the kitchen, he didn’t feel the need to come forward until I gave him the okay.

Diamond came back on the phone. “I turned around. I’ll be up your mountain in fifteen minutes. You okay?”

“Yeah.” I hung up.

Spot and I went outside. Spot approached the BMW with tentative steps. He held his nose up high, pointing toward the BMW. He kept his distance as he sniffed. No doubt the acrid smoke was wicked to a dog’s sensitive nose.

A short time later, Diamond pulled up and got out of his patrol unit. Spot was relieved to have him there. In times of stress, the familiar is reassuring. He poked his nose at Diamond’s abdomen and wagged. Diamond put him in a headlock and growled in Spot’s ear. Spot wagged harder.

Diamond said, “You think someone hoped to fry you? Or just scare you?”

“The flash and bang were impressive and might have killed anyone in the car. But anyone a few feet away would probably live.”

“The distance most people are when they press their key fob button,” Diamond said.

“Right. So it was probably a warning. They just wanted to show Nadia that they are serious and capable.”

“Or show you,” Diamond said.

“Maybe. They could have programmed the explosive package in advance. Set it to go off the third or fifth or tenth time she hit the key fob. That way she’d be multiple steps removed from them when it went off. They could have attached it to her car at any time. All it would take is a half a minute to run up and stick it under the floor panel.”

“And when it went off,” Diamond said, “she would be rattled and perhaps more eager to pay the blackmailer’s demands.” Diamond shined his flashlight into the blown-out windows. Smoke made the beam an undulating column of light. “Hard to see anything in here. I’ll get a team up here and see what we can find.”

He called the sheriff’s office and explained the situation.

Most of the smoke was gone when two other sheriff’s vehicles arrived. Four deputies got out and began their work, collecting evidence, taking photographs. Diamond and I went inside.

 “Seems like the first of these incidents was the husband of Nadia Lassitor dying in Hurricane Bay, right?” Diamond said.

“Yeah. Ian Lassitor,” I said.

“Hurricane Bay is Placer County, and Santiago’s still their sergeant at the lake. He probably handled the drowning.”

I nodded. “I worked with him on the Neo-Nazi case last fall. Seemed like a good guy.”

“I’ll give him a call in the morning,” Diamond said.

I stepped outside with Diamond. It was two in the morning. Heavy clouds, back-lit by the moon, raced across the sky. The deputies had set up some lights and were bagging evidence.

“The woman has your wheels,” Diamond said as he stared at the BMW wreckage. “Maybe I could loan you my pickup.”

“I’ll promise to baby it,” I said.

Diamond nodded. “Especially important not to slam the doors too hard.”

“Why?”

“Each vibration shakes off more rust. Pretty soon, there won’t be any rust left.”

“And with the entire body being rust, that would be bad,” I said.

“Yeah, the doors would fall off. And you can only use so much duct tape to hold a windshield in place. Gotta have the rust to tape it to.”

“Should I come with you now?” I asked.

“I’ll bring it by in the morning. I’m showing our new deputy the ropes. Guy named Denell. He should know where you live, anyway.”