Tara Holloway 03 - Death, Taxes, and Extra-Hold Hairspray (24 page)

I must’ve hesitated just a second too long because Eddie turned to me, put his hands to his head, and hollered, “Don’t shoot anybody!”

“I’m not shooting anybody! Sheez!” Not that the thought hadn’t crossed my mind. “Who wants to hear Vi complain about the paperwork?”

Nick and I headed on to my office. I plopped into my desk chair while he took a spot at the window, looking out on the late-afternoon traffic downtown.

“What now?” I asked.

“I don’t know about you,” Nick said, “but I could go for a beer or two. Or ten.”

“Did I hear you say you’re going out for drinks?” Josh appeared in my doorway, his expression hopeful.

Nick looked from Josh to me then back to Josh again. “Yeah. And you’re the designated driver.”

Despite the fact that he’d have to refrain from alcohol, Josh’s face lit up. “Really?”

“Bring all your gadgets,” Nick instructed him. “We may do some spying later.”

“Cool!” Josh scurried off to gather his stuff.

“You sure you want him tagging along?” I asked Nick. The last thing I wanted to do on a Friday night was spend time with Josh. Sure, the guy’s technical skills came in handy now and then, but overall he was still an annoying little twerp who never offered to share his Twinkies. He seemed to think Nick hung the moon, though, like a kid brother who looked up to an older sibling.

Nick shrugged. “Josh is harmless. Besides, we might need him for tech support.”

Our coworker returned with his keys and a box full of spy equipment.

“Don’t you have some work of your own to do?” I asked Josh, making a last-ditch effort to exclude him.

“Nothing I can’t work on later at home.” As the office’s reigning computer geek, Josh was primarily assigned technical tasks, such as decrypting files, which could be done after hours and gave his schedule some flexibility.

Looked like I was stuck with the guy for the time being.

We bade Viola and Eddie good-bye and made our way out to the parking lot. After Josh bleeped the door locks, I climbed into the back of his tiny silver Honda. Good thing I was short. The backseat had little leg room.

Josh thrust the box at me. I took it and set it on the seat next to me, sorting through it. The box contained the minibinoculars he’d used to zero in on the protesters, a sporty black wristwatch with a built-in camera for still shots, and a writing pen equipped with a video camera and audio recorder. I also found a small GPS tracking device that was less than an inch square, a body wire, and a micro ear device that, according to the box, would allow the wearer to clearly hear conversations taking place in a whisper up to thirty feet away.

None of the equipment was government issued. Then again, we weren’t exactly on an official government mission anymore, were we? Nope. We were like the Blues Brothers. On a mission from God.

After everyone was settled, Josh asked, “Where to?”

Nick glanced back at me. “What do you say we see the women of the Ark off for their weekend retreat?”

I shrugged. “Why not?” It might be overstepping after our loss in court today, but what the hell. With Brett in Atlanta, it wasn’t like I had anything better to do tonight.

We swung by a convenience store, where Nick picked up a six-pack of Shiner Bock for himself and a four-pack of wine coolers for me. Josh settled for a root beer.

Nick gave Josh directions to the Ark. Half an hour later, we were sitting in the lot, strategically parked between two other cars a few rows back where we wouldn’t be as noticeable. I’d removed my scarf and blazer and put on my sunglasses and the shredded blond wig. Nick, too, had donned sunglasses and removed his jacket. He’d also slipped on his white cowboy hat.

Three charter buses lined the front curb. Dozens of women milled about with their suitcases and overnight bags, looking for seatmates, their excited chatter carrying across the lot. I recognized a few of them from the courtroom. The bus drivers helped the women load their bags into the cargo bays on the sides of the buses. I envied them, going away for a relaxing weekend. I could hardly remember the last time I’d had the chance to unwind.

We saw Amber Hansen among the throng, her fair-haired son in the arms of an older woman with auburn hair the same color as Amber’s, presumably her mother. Amber gave the woman a kiss on the cheek, her son a dozen smooches all over his face. He squirmed and giggled. Whether or not he was Noah Fischer’s son, I had to admit the kid was adorable.

Judy Jolly had the megaphone in her hand again, calling out instructions to the crowd. “Get your luggage stowed, ladies, so we can be on our way!”

The Ark’s limo rolled up then, the women turning and applauding as Pastor Fischer and his wife stepped out. He raised a hand. “Now, now,” he scolded playfully. “I’m just a mortal man. Let’s save our praise for God.”

What a bunch of hooey. The guy clearly loved the attention.

The limo driver removed two Louis Vuitton suitcases from the trunk and loaded them onto the first bus. Pastor Fischer gave his wife a hug and a quick kiss before holding out a hand to help her climb into the bus. No easy feat in her four-inch Prada peep-toe pumps.

Thou shalt not covet,
I reminded myself yet again.

“Do you think we should be doing this?” I asked. “We haven’t been authorized to continue the case.”

“We haven’t been told not to, either,” Nick replied.

“True. But I’m sure Eddie and Lu assumed that the case was over once we lost in court today.”

Nick shot me a pointed look. “Since when did you become so concerned about following the rules?”

Okay, I admit. I haven’t always followed the letter of the law. Such as when I’d smuggled Nick, who at the time was a wanted fugitive, into the U.S. Still, I only went rogue when the situation demanded it. Nick had been the key to bringing a murderer to justice. I’d had to bring him back across the border to prevent the deaths of more innocent people. The ends justified the means.

But Fischer? He wasn’t a murderer. He was greedy, sure. An egotist with a strong sense of entitlement. Maybe even a con artist. But it was only money at stake here, not lives. And given that he’d apparently complied with current law, screwed up though it was, I wasn’t entirely sure I was comfortable following him around like this.

“I’m just wondering if we’re taking this too far,” I said. “Maybe taking it too personally, too.”

Nick frowned. “You wimping out on me?”

“No!” Tara Holloway never wimps out.

Finally, the buses were loaded. The limo pulled away, turning down the long drive to the parsonage, while the buses eased away from the curb and headed toward the freeway entrance ramp.

“That was a waste of time,” I said, downing the remains of my second wine cooler.

“I think it’s too soon to tell,” Nick said. He held Josh’s miniature binoculars to his eyes, watching the parsonage. “While the cat’s away, our little church mouse may decide to play.”

“His plaything is on the bus with the cat,” I reminded Nick. “We saw Amber get on.”

Nick removed the binoculars and glanced back at me. “Maybe he’s got more than one toy.”

Josh looked from me to Nick. “What are y’all talking about?”

Nick voiced his suspicions about Amber Hansen’s son.

“Really?” Josh said, his blue eyes wide. “You think Fischer cheated on his wife?”

“We may never know for sure,” Nick said, “but it’s worth keeping an eye on him, for a little while longer at least. If he does something stupid, we may be able to use it to our advantage.” Nick put the binoculars back to his eyes and aimed them again at the parsonage. “Bingo. The garage door is opening. Looks like our tomcat is going on the prowl.”

In the distance, Fischer’s white Infiniti M56 coupe eased through the tall iron gates that surrounded the parsonage. The car continued on, pulling down the long drive and onto the street.

“Follow him,” Nick told Josh, “but hang back a bit so he doesn’t catch on.”

Josh pulled onto the street, following Fischer at a distance as he eased onto the highway. Fischer continued on, eventually merging onto Interstate 20, heading east. We kept after him, even when he left the city limits, passed the extensive suburbs, and kept right on going.

“Where do you think he’s headed?” Josh asked.

Nick shrugged. “We’ll just have to wait and see. How are we on gas?”

Josh glanced down at the gauge. “Half a tank.”

I knew this stretch of highway well. This was the very road I took when I went back home to Nacogdoches to visit my mom and dad. Several towns lay ahead, mostly small ones. But a few larger ones sat out this way, too. Tyler. Longview. Shreveport, Louisiana.

I couldn’t think of any obvious reason Fischer would be heading in this direction. It was possible he was planning to spend the weekend at one of the lakes in east Texas. They were popular vacation spots for fishermen and families looking for an inexpensive getaway. Some of the smaller towns out this way were known for their antiques shops. Shreveport offered several casinos and drew a sizable number of Texans across the border into Louisiana every weekend.

I began to squirm in my seat. The two wine coolers had filled my bladder to capacity. But I knew we couldn’t stop or we’d risk losing Fischer’s trail. I crossed my legs tight and tried to think dry thoughts.

We continued on for three long hours and drove past the tourist information center that sat on the other side of the highway, welcoming visitors from Louisiana into the Lone Star State. A quarter mile later, we passed the sign that read
WELCOME TO LOUISIANA
, the sentiment expressed a second time just below in French.
BIENVENUE EN LOUISIANE.

“How far does I-20 go?” Josh asked.

“South Carolina,” I replied, praying Fischer would stop before then. If he didn’t, I just might have to throw myself from the car.

I was in luck. Shortly after we reached the Shreveport-Bossier city limits, he took an exit. We followed him more closely now, not daring to risk losing him after coming so far. It was after eight o’clock now, dusk setting in. Josh kept his car lights off as long as he dared, but finally had to switch them on.

Fischer continued down a major north-south thoroughfare. He slowed as he drove past a construction site where an older building had apparently been razed, then turned down a side street that flanked the fenced-in building zone. He pulled to a stop just after he turned. Nick and I ducked down in our seats as Josh drove past him.

Josh pulled into the parking lot of a doughnut shop a block down and cut his lights and engine. Nick and I sat up and looked back at Fischer’s car. The interior light came on as he opened the door and stepped out. He walked over to the construction site and stopped, looking in the fence.

“What’s he doing?” Nick asked.

“Heck if I know,” I said.

Josh shrugged.

Fischer continued walking along the fence, eventually disappearing from our sight when he rounded the corner. I debated running inside to use the restroom, but I was afraid Fischer might return quickly and I’d be left behind. I crossed my legs in the other direction to see if that would help. It didn’t.

A few minutes later Fischer came back around the corner and returned to his vehicle. Josh started his car and we eased onto the road, following Fischer again. We passed the construction site.

A large white sign was posted on the fence.
FUTURE HOME OF THE ARK TEMPLE OF WORSHIP—SHREVEPORT.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Checking In

“Another Ark?” Nick spat. “What’s Fischer doing, selling franchises?”

So the Ark planned to further expand its reach and potential resources. Noah Fischer was building himself quite an empire, his own earthly kingdom. The sky was the limit.

Fischer returned to I-20, heading east again, though he drove only a couple of miles before exiting again. We followed him as he turned into the front drive of the luxurious Horseshoe Hotel and Casino.

“A casino?” I asked. “Isn’t gambling supposed to be a sin?” In fact, greed was one of the seven deadly sins, the focus of Fischer’s current sermon series. Yet here he was at a casino. Then again, the Horseshoe boasted one of the nicest hotels in town. Maybe he planned to use the hotel facilities only and forgo the gambling.

We held back and watched as Fischer pulled into the valet area. The car’s trunk popped open like a gaping maw, revealing a Gucci overnight bag. A uniformed valet opened the driver’s door and took Fischer’s keys, while a bellhop removed his luggage from the trunk. The pastor headed inside. The bellhop followed with his bag. Poor guy. Given the expensive luggage, he’d probably be expecting Fischer to bless him with a generous tip. He was in for a rude surprise.

“What should I do?” Josh asked.

“Grab your spy gear,” Nick said, “and follow him.”

I handed Josh the wristwatch and writing pen, but left the remaining items in the box. The micro ear would be too obvious and, since Josh wouldn’t try to engage the man in conversation, there was no need for him to strap on the wire.

Josh slid the pen into his breast pocket, clipping it in place, checking to make sure the tiny camera lens was facing outward. He fastened the watch on his wrist. “Ready.”

“We’ll park in the garage,” Nick told Josh. “Call or text us and let us know what’s going on.”

Josh hopped out of the car and headed down the sidewalk and into the building. Nick climbed out of the passenger seat, circled around the back of the car, and slid into the driver’s seat.

“You okay to drive?” I asked him.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ve only had half a beer. Once Fischer was on the go, I figured it was best for me to stay sober.” He’d been much smarter than I had.

Nick pulled into the parking garage, circling up and then back down until we had a choice spot near the exit where we could see the main doors into the lobby and also leave quickly in case we needed to follow Fischer again.

“I’ve got to run to the ladies’ room,” I told Nick. My bladder had reached critical mass.

“Make it quick,” he said, “and make sure Fischer doesn’t see you.”