Uncommon Grounds (23 page)

Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea. In fact, maybe this was really stupid.

But something was going on down here and whatever it was, I knew David had participated last Thursday because his car had passed my house. Of course, it also could have been Sam driving the Mercedes since, according to Eric, he had spent quality time at Poplar Creek, too.

But somehow I doubted kids carpooled to makeout spots. Then again, these days...

I heard a noise downstream. The wind carried the sound of underbrush crackling, of people walking towards me. Having seen enough TV shoot-em-ups to know that the good guy should never stick his head up or somebody will try to blow it off, I tried to peer through the shrub. Since the honeysuckle hadn’t leafed out yet, it was fairly easy to see through. That might work both ways, I supposed.

I could barely make out several small spots of light. Flashlights, maybe. And voices. Henry was right. They were awfully noisy. Either they didn’t realize their voices carried, or they didn’t care. I thought I recognized a couple of them—maybe Rudy’s or Way’s—but that was likely wishful thinking. The sounds just seemed to tumble over each other on the wind.

When the lights stopped moving, I crept out from behind the honeysuckle and made for a tree, ten yards ahead. From there, I crawled forward on my belly until I was less than a half a football field away from the group.

I had to admit I was feeling pretty cool. Like when I played Army in the backyard with Danny Danielli when we were eight. I could still only see an occasional figure in the moonlight, and I strained to see what they were wearing.

After all, militias wear fatigues right? Teenagers wear...just about anything. I crept a little closer into the moon shadow of another tree. Something about the way the figures were moving made me think they were adults—and older adults at that.

Yeah, Maggy. Brookhills’ senior community was out for maneuvers. Still I was certain now that these weren’t kids, but men, and that they were carrying—

Pop! A splinter of wood exploded from the tree trunk next to me. Had that been a gunshot? In Danny Danielli’s backyard, the guns went “bang” not—

Pop!

Still, “pop” worked just fine.

Damn, someone was shooting at me. I attempted to become one with the earth—but not in the Zen kind of way— and scutter away like a crab. A hand grabbed my leg.

I almost peed in my pants. I turned and another hand went over my mouth and a body covered mine, flattening me even further into the grass and mud. I pulled at the thumb of the hand over my mouth like Gary had shown me in self-defense class, trying to break the hold. I wasn’t having much success, so I sunk my nails in and tried again.

Bingo—the hand loosened and I sucked in air to scream.

My attacker shoved my face into the mud to stop me and that was when I smelled it. Mint Crest. And the arm holding me down was encased in what had been buttery leather, but was now buttery leather covered in mud.

“Will you shut up?” Pavlik snarled in my ear. I nodded the best I could and he let go of the back of my head. He didn’t get off me, though.

“What the—” I started.

“Not a word,” he said, and a finger waved in front of my face. I nodded again. “Just follow me. You got it?”

His face was next to mine, but I couldn’t see his eyes in the dark. I was kind of glad about that.

Pavlik slid off my back and slipped behind the trunk of the tree. I followed, trying not to get panicky just because I couldn’t get a lungful of air into my squished chest.

Another “pop!” or maybe it was a ping. Either way, I looked at Pavlik. Maybe he wasn’t going to hurt me, except for my feelings, but the fact remained that somebody was shooting at us.

A ping, a definite ping, closely followed by a pop. I dove onto Pavlik, practically climbing him. Could a bullet go through both of us?

“They’re going to kill us,” I whimpered from somewhere in his jacket. I felt rather than saw him shake his head.

No? They weren’t going to kill us? Then why bother shooting at us? Seemed sort of silly, didn’t it?

I pulled back and looked at him and his eyes shifted to the tree in front of us. There was a round cardboard disk on the side away from us, the side closest to the shooters.

“What...” Pop! and the disk spun wildly. It was a target. I’d stumbled into a firing range.

Pavlik crooked his finger at me and crawled away.

I followed. When we got to the fence, he separated the strands of wire and let me crawl through first, then he followed.

When he straightened up on the other side, he was pretty ticked. “What the hell did you think you were doing out there? I knew you were up to something when I saw that stupid ski mask.”

He walked as he ranted. “Silly me, I hoped, I hoped that it was something as simple as a train heist. But noooo...”

I trailed after him. “I heard that people were hanging out at the creek on Thursday nights,” I tried to explain, “and last week I saw a bunch of cars heading in this direction. What with all the militia talk...”

He turned and I nearly ran into him. “Didn’t we just talk about this? Didn’t I just tell you to let me handle it? If you had an idea, scatterbrained though it might be, you should have—”

Scatterbrained, huh? “Why would I ever tell you anything, when I know you’re going to make me feel like a fool?”

Pavlik looked hurt. “I listened to your traffic light thing. And even about the possibility of Groschek sabotaging the espresso machine.”

“Sure,” I said as we reached my car. Pavlik’s Harley was parked next to it. “But only after I had the facts to back them up. Look at the sugar packets. You said Gary and I should have told you, but you know,” I poked him in the chest, “you would have pooh-poohed it.”

He looked at his coat and then at my finger. “ ‘Poohpoohed it?’ ”

“Of course. Gary’s a good cop, but you even have him spooked.”

Maybe poking Pavlik hadn’t been such a good idea. He’d noticed the mud that caked his sleeves. Lucky for him, my body had protected the rest of him.

He brushed at the mud. “Listen, I’m not going to discuss this with you. Donovan’s a big boy, he doesn’t need someone to protect him. As for you, I’m starting to wonder.”

I had pulled open my car door and was searching under the mat for my ignition key. “Wonder about what?”

“About whether you should be put away for your own protection. One minute you’re a ditz, the next minute you’re coming up with something that actually makes sense.”

Ditz? I was a ditz? I opened my mouth and then slapped it shut. Maybe he had a point. I had to admit I certainly wasn’t operating on all cylinders these days.

“You could have been killed out there,” Pavlik was saying. “These people are dangerous.”

“Then why don’t you arrest them?” One of my rare moments of lucidity, apparently. “They’re shooting guns out there and you’re the sheriff.”

And they almost shot the sheriff. But they did not shoot the deputy. I giggled to myself. So much for lucidity.

Pavlik reached under the mat and came up with the key. “There’s an on-going federal investigation.”

I moved to take the key, but he didn’t let go. “I’m not involved in it, and you’re not involved in it, so let’s say we just let the Feds do their jobs.”

“So they must be after them for something more than gun charges, right?”

“That’s all I’m going to say,” Pavlik said flatly. “And truthfully, I don’t know much more.”

“Not that you would tell me if you did,” I said, plucking my key out of his hand.

“You’re damn right about that,” he said, pulling on his helmet and straddling his bike. “But what I will tell you is not to say a word about this.”

He shook that finger in my face again. “Not what you saw tonight, not what I told you about the investigation. Nothing. Or I will not hesitate to tell the Feds you need to be put in

protective custody. And then where will your business be?” Good question. “One other thing,” he said as he started his bike. “Next

time you try to disguise yourself, you might want to change clothes. You smell like a coffee pot.” Oh.

Chapter Twenty-One

The next morning, Sarah called me at the store in a panic. “Langdon says we can’t bury David in hallowed ground, because everyone thinks it’s a suicide.” The Brookhills Observer had come out yesterday, making it exceedingly clear in its convoluted way that the authorities were considering David’s death a suicide.

“But if Langdon is so sure David didn’t—”

Sarah cut me off. “The man doesn’t have any balls. He won’t stand up to the elders. Maggy, you have to do something!”

I had to do something. I told her about my first conversation with Pavlik about Ed Groschek. I didn’t tell her about my midnight foray into the world of espionage, marksmanship and stupidity. I didn’t want to jeopardize a federal investigation or my own freedom, and I wouldn’t put it past Pavlik to mess with the second if I messed with the first.

“Would it be so horrible for David to be buried somewhere else?” I asked Sarah. “After all, it looks like he was a murderer.”

The sounds from the other end of the phone made it clear that it would be. I promised her I would do my best and hung up.

Pavlik notwithstanding, the first thing I had wanted to do today was to confirm my suspicions about Ed Groschek being involved in Patricia’s death. Unfortunately, it was Friday and the dental office was closed, so talking to Tony Bruno about exactly when and where he had seen Ed would have to wait until Monday. I’d seen Pavlik’s deputies pass by our windows earlier en route to Tony’s darkened office, so I figured they had been stymied on that front, too.

So what did I do now? I didn’t know, so I occupied myself with alternately serving coffee and drinking enough of it to keep me awake. I hadn’t gotten much sleep last night again.

At about 11:00, Mary came in waving my tax papers. “Okay, they’re done. Sign and send these in. Keep this set for your records. And if you ever wait this long again, I’ll let you swing in the wind.”

Her voice dropped. “Can you believe it? First Patricia, then David? Who would have thought it?”

Not me, that’s for sure.

“And all over that jerk Roger?” She lowered her voice even further when she saw Caron. “Honestly, the man can’t keep it in his pants?”

I didn’t want to think about what was in Roger’s pants, but Mary saved me from answering by asking three more questions in quick succession, ending with an “I’m late—gotta run?” before rushing out the door. I hadn’t had a chance to utter a single word.

Whether it was because of all the coffee I served or all the coffee I drank, by noon I felt like I was going to crawl out of my skin. Fresh air seemed to be in order, so I asked Caron to mind the store and walked toward Town Hall.

Gary was getting into a squad car in the parking lot. “I’m going over to Harpers’—want to ride along?”

I said sure and hopped in. I could walk back from the house if I needed to. I’d done it before. “Going to see the kids?”

Gary turned red. “Taking Sarah the phone number for Pa-tricia’s mother.”

I guess calling her with the number wasn’t an option. “Maybe you should treat her to lunch as long as you’re there.”

Gary gave me a sidelong look, and then grinned. “Okay, it’s just an excuse. So?”

I settled back into the seat happily. “So, nothing. I think it’s great. Sarah’s great.”

“Yeah, well, don’t start getting ideas.”

“Who, me?” I shut up though. Gary and Sarah both struck me as the skittish type and I sure didn’t want to spook them. We were passing Christ Christian and I occupied myself with this week’s laundry list of activities on their signboard.

That’s when it struck me: Christ Christian’s Men’s Bible Study met on Thursday night—last night—and Langdon had said that David was in charge. Could the Men’s Bible Study be a cover for the group at Poplar Creek?

That sure would explain the 11:00 p.m. caravan. Church from 7:30 to 8:30. Bible Study following, probably from 9:00 until 10:30 or so. By the time you organized who was riding with who, got the name badges and the guns...Yup, it would all add up.

I looked over at Gary as he pulled into the Harper driveway and turned off the ignition. “I saw Pavlik on the news about the First National robbery,” I said. “They’ve linked it to an anti-government group?” Pavlik couldn’t fault me for that perfectly innocent question, could he?

Gary sighed and went to get out of the car. “Pastorini’s not saying much. I probably pushed him too far when I asked him about the money.”

“What money? From the last robbery?” I was starting to use The Mary the Librarian Method of Conversation and Interrogation. “Wasn’t it destroyed in the explosion?”

“Paper usually blows all over in an explosion. It doesn’t just vaporize.”

Good point, I thought, getting out of the car, too. “So what do you think happened to it?”

Gary slammed the car door. “What do I think? I think there was an accomplice they’re not telling us about. I think he or she has the money and is still out there someplace.”

Or maybe there was a whole churchful of accomplices. Gary started for the front door. “Hey listen,” I called to his back, “I think I’ll leave you to your lunch and walk back. Tell Sarah I said hello.”

Gary grinned. “You’re transparent, Maggy, you know that?”

“Actually, I think of myself as ‘opaque’—lends just a touch of mystery. Have a good lunch.” I waved goodbye and headed back down the driveway.

As I walked, I wondered whether we would ever know who had been at the creek last night or who Groschek’s accomplice might be. Rudy? Langdon? Way? Roger? Would Pavlik and his “Feds” find out?

I wasn’t sure I could live among these people without knowing for sure.

Chapter Twenty-Two

It was Saturday night when Pavlik next appeared at my door. I’d just stepped out of the shower after a run when he rang my bell. Feeling fairly mellow thanks to the run, I threw on a pair of sweats and opened the door.

He was looking official in his gray car, gray suit and gray eyes. I peered past him towards the street. “What, no Harley?”

He sniffed. “What, no coffee?”