A Quarter for a Kiss (9 page)

“He sounds very determined,” Tom said, turning the page.

“That’s Eli,” I replied. “Like a bulldog when he gets started on something. You have no idea.”

Before we could go on, the waitress showed up with our food. She set it down in front of us, asked if we needed anything else, and then left us to our papers. Tom reached for his hamburger and took a bite. I was too excited to eat, but I stabbed at my chef salad anyway, spearing a chunk of ham and a little lettuce before sliding the plate away and returning my attentions to the papers.

3/2 9
A.M.
—Back on the beach
.

1:30
P.M
.—At last, some activity!!! Delivery car from Island Foods, bringing groceries
.

1:45
P.M
.—
Delivery car exits. Decide to follow and perhaps engage in conversation. Long trip back to town; two more deliveries are made on the way. Finally, over mountain and into Cruz Bay, pull into Island Foods lot; make note of delivery man
.

Pick up a few things in the store. Delivery man is stocking shelves, his name tag says Gerald. I complain about how much I hate shopping, wonder aloud if the store has delivery. He says with a fee. Where is my house? I say East End, he says $50 del. fee plus tip. (Wish I could shrink myself down into a box of macaroni and have myself delivered there.)

3/3—All day surveillance. No activity
.

3/4—All day surv. No activity. Go through photos—some good shots. This woman just has to be Nadine. I bring the best pics to Z. at the deli in Coral Bay since he knows almost everyone on the entire island. Does he recognize her? He says, yes, that’s Dianne Streep. She lives out on the East End. Keeps to herself. Married? Yes, her husband is Earl. Know anything about them? Just that they don’t really mingle with the community. Been living out on Turtle Point for a long time. Big estate. Nice little beach around back
.

3/5
—
Need new approach. Call P. in Seattle for satellite photos of the area. He e-mails them; I download and study. Big estate. Tennis court. Pool. Walls. No other houses in vicinity. No vantage point for better look. Too old to climb mountain on foot! Would probably be caught anyway. Am ready to give up search. Call A. and get reference for local PI out of St. Thomas. For $200 they’ll do some research into the estate’s security. Costs are mounting, but I give the go-ahead. They will have report by the end of the week. Get tips from them on purchase location for certain items. Do some shopping and then organize h.c. with new tools
.

In the meantime, call around to see if T. is still in the area, still has that sailboat
.

“What’s with the initials?” Tom asked. “Who is ‘P’? Who is ‘T’?”

“Eli always did that to protect his sources—though we’ll probably be able to figure out who’s who since we have his address book.”

“Oh yeah,” he said, glancing toward the envelope.

“I have a feeling ‘P. in Seattle’ is probably Paul Tyson,” I said, “a guy I use sometimes too. A real computer genius. Not always operating on the right side of the law, you understand.”

“Nothing illegal about getting satellite photos. You can get them off the internet.”

“Maybe. But if I know Paul, his photos were downloaded straight from the CIA’s satellites or something. He’s a real hacker, and he has a way of going places most people don’t see.”

“You sure keep some interesting company, Callie.”

“I learned at the hand of the master,” I replied, gesturing toward Eli’s notes.

“What’s ‘h.c.’?”

“No idea,” I said, rereading the sentence: “‘Do some shopping and then organize h.c. with new tools.’ Some kind of storage area? Maybe a special carrying case? Those would be my best guesses.”

We continued.

3/6 8:30
A.M
.—Out on T.’s sailboat with telescope in hand. Have a good glimpse of the main gate, though house is obscured by trees. No activity
.

We sail around back side. I’m pleased to see a private road from estate down to small beach. Activity on beach, though not her. Three dogs and a native. Anchor boat and swim over. Though the beach is public, there are “No Trespassing” signs about every 10 feet along brush line. I try to look nonthreatening, say I’m a little seasick & need to stretch my legs. He is responsive but not overly friendly
.

Conversation tough, don’t want to be overeager. Says he works for the Streeps and points up the hill. Brings dogs down twice a day for run on beach. Apparently the dogs are Mrs. Streep’s pride and joy. I say it’s a swanky place, curious what they do for a living. He says Mr. Streep is retired, Mrs. Streep is an art dealer. She works from home as a consultant. I don’t let anything show on my face, but I can’t believe it. Nadine Peters minored in art history in college! If she’s living here in a new life, art consultant is perfect fit
.

Time’s up. He yells for Bob, Eve, and Alice. I’m expecting three people to appear, but it turns out he’s calling for the dogs. We shake hands; he is William
.

“Dianne Streep,” I said. “An art dealer.”

Tom didn’t reply. We kept reading.

3/7
—
Report from Windward Investigations. Security on estate is extreme!!! Protective barriers include
:

1. Three watchdogs

2. One night security guard

3. Alarm system on doors and windows

4. Biometric entry system on all doors

5. Internal and external motion sensors

6. Internal thermal sensors

7. Internal and external cameras

8. Acoustic/electromagnetic shielding for secure room

9. Backup generator for electronic security devices

10. Closed computer network

Protective measures are far above and beyond the norm. This more than anything convinces me that Dianne Streep and Nadine Peters are one and the same. Bigger question: Is the art dealer thing really her job now or is it a cover? Is she still an active agent?????

3/8
—
Windward calls to tell me that subject has gained knowledge of their security inquiry. Not good. Surveillance will have to wait for now. Must convince Stella we’ve got to go back to States a week early. Risk factor high. Need to approach from different direction
.

3/9
—
Home in Florida; book morning flight to Baltimore without Stella
.

3/10
—
Flight to Baltimore. Meet with R., now docent at the museum. Confirms Nadine’s death as eyewitness. Says imagination plays tricks, forget it
.

3/11
—
Under Freedom of Information Act read all declassified info on Nadine. Learn nothing new. Sold secrets to Russians during CMC, worked as mathematician for NSA
.

“What does that mean?” I asked. “What’s ‘CMC’? What’s ‘NSA’?”

Tom didn’t reply, but I could feel his arm muscles stiffening as he sat there next to me.

“Tom?” I asked.

He simply shook his head and pointed at the next paragraph of the report.

“Looks like Eli and this woman were a couple,” he said.

File contains full reports of her relationship with me! Including photos of us together at cabin. Partial report of discovery of her betrayal; my interrogation; her escape and subsequent death at cabin. File closed with “Deceased.” Autopsy report included. Photo of body
.

Compare to current photos I took. Bring photos back to R. He says he will look into it and get back to me. Could take weeks—he says to be patient
.

3/12
—
Return to Florida and wait. Put file into highest security storage until I hear back from R
.

CODE YELLOW
.

“That’s it,” I said. “That’s his last entry. The twelfth of last month.”

Tom and I looked at each other and then back down at the stacks of photos, reports, and documents.

“What’s code yellow?” Tom asked.

“Like a traffic light,” I replied. “It means ‘slow down and wait.’”

Tom nodded.

“I guess while he waited, somebody decided to shoot him.”

Nine

“We have to go back to square one,” Tom said as we pulled onto the interstate. “Recap the whole thing again.”

We had finished our lunch while looking through the stack of photographs, reports, and computer printouts that had been included with the file. As always, Eli’s records had been thorough. This case was too complicated to take it all in at once.

“Okay,” I said, holding the case notes in front of me and turning in my seat a bit to get comfortable. We had an hour’s drive back to Stella’s place. Though I would have preferred to spend the time sleeping, I knew Tom was as exhausted as I was, and I needed to stay alert in order to keep him from falling asleep at the wheel. Before I went over everything, I reached out and took his hand.

“Are you all right?” I asked. “At some point we both need to lie down and take a nap.”

“Maybe when we get back to Stella’s,” he said. “Right now, my mind is racing too much to sleep anyway.”

“Good. Then you drive while I go it through again.”

“Go for it.”

“The short version is that Eli saw a woman from his past he thought he recognized, a woman he had had a relationship with and then apparently shot and killed. He investigated to find out if it was really her, and then he ended up getting shot by a sniper.”

“Take me through the long version,” Tom said grimly.

I paged through everything and then began.

“A few months ago, right after Christmas, Eli and Stella went down to their vacation house in the Virgin Islands to stay for a while. They flew into St. Thomas first and then they took a ferry from St. Thomas over to St. John, which is where their house is. While they were on the ferry, Eli thought he recognized one of the passengers, an older woman who reminded him of someone named Nadine Peters. He kept looking at her, trying to decide if it was her when he saw a nasty scar on her leg—a scar in the very spot where apparently he shot this woman Nadine years before. That more or less confirmed it for him.”

“Except that Nadine was supposed to be dead.”

“Exactly.”

I dug through the papers until I came to the computer printout from the St. John police, showing the name and address registered to the woman’s license plate number.

“Anyway,” I said, “Eli stewed on it for a few days before finally taking the plate number from the woman’s car down to someone named ‘A.’ The plate checked out for an address on the East End of the island under a completely different name. Eli went over there and looked for her house, but all he found was just a long driveway up a mountain with a ‘No Trespassing’ sign. He decided it was too much trouble, just coincidence. He let it go.”