Against the Tide (13 page)

“Good idea.” She studied the grassy area near the porch as he hit the speed dial.

“It's ringing,” he said.

“I can't hear it.” She strained her ears as she poked around in the tall grass. It was in need of mowing. Something her dad liked to do on Saturdays...like today.

“It only rang twice then stopped.” Garret turned to her. “Like someone answered and then hung up.”

“So they have my phone.” Megan let out a long sigh as she stood up straight. “Everything is in that phone, too. I can't believe I was so careless.”

“People tend to get careless when running for their lives.” He reached over to pat her shoulder. “Don't worry, we'll get it back somehow.”

Although she doubted this, she nodded, bracing herself as Garret opened the front door. Was she ready to go in there—to see what those creeps had done to Dad's house?

SIXTEEN

D
espite Scott's reassurance that the house was empty, Megan still felt uneasy as she and Garret worked their way through the rooms and closets. They had decided to work as teams. Scott and his buddy working upstairs, she and Garret down below.

Together they searched the living room and kitchen and laundry room. All to no avail. Eventually, they found themselves standing in the center of the attached garage. It, too, had been turned upside down.

“What a mess.” Garret shook his head.

“Oh, look at that,” Megan said with disgust. “They even went through Dad's chest freezer.” She knelt down to gather up some frozen packages still on the floor, putting them back into the old appliance. Fortunately, they still felt fairly firm. “Hopefully, they're okay.” She tossed what looked like a whole salmon back into the deep freeze, sad to think how her dad had probably been looking forward to putting this on his barbecue grill this summer.

“I can't believe they bothered with the freezer,” Garret said. “Or maybe they're just a bunch of vandals.”

“I'm not sure they know it or not, but it actually makes sense they looked in here.” Megan bent over to rearrange the paper-wrapped packages.

“How's that?” Garret knelt down to pick up a few bundles, loading them into his arms.

“When I was a girl, Dad was working on a suspense novel. As usual, he wrote it on his typewriter. And he hadn't made a copy. So when we were gone for a few days, he put his manuscript in the freezer.”

“What for?”

“His theory was that if the house burned down, his manuscript would survive in the freezer.” She continued looking at each package, hoping to discover the yellow envelope tucked amidst them.

Garret chuckled. “Makes sense.” He read the names of the contents as he handed her the packages. “Steelhead. Halibut. Coho. Bait
.
”
He chuckled. “Reminds me of your idea for trapping the crooks.”

“Yeah, it's kind of a fisherman idea, isn't it?”

“The more I think about it, the more I think we should keep it in mind.”

“Me, too.”

They left the garage and reentered the house. Garret and Megan made good progress putting the place together, but no progress in locating the yellow envelope. Scott and Derrick weren't faring any better, and they'd even searched things like the toilets' water tanks, behind the fireplace's closed flue and some other interesting places.

While Garret and Megan were going through her dad's office one last time, Megan pulled out a bundle of yellow envelopes. “I'm guessing Dad probably used one of these.” She waved them at Garret.

“Yep.” Garret nodded.

Megan removed an envelope then began to stuff it with a couple of fishing magazines and a folded up old newspaper. She fastened it closed, roughed it up a bit then held it up. “How's this look?”

Garret came over to examine her handiwork. “Not bad. But the original one had some writing on it.”

“Do you remember what it said?”

He frowned. “The name of the reservation and the date and then his name. And it might've said
investigation
or
evidence
or something. Because I remember looking at it and immediately feeling intrigued.”

“Was the writing just on the envelope? Or a label?”

“It was written right on the envelope in black felt pen. Not in the center, though. More in this corner.” He pointed to the left-hand upper portion. “Fairly big lettering, though. Like he wanted it to be easy to read.” He held up his fingers to show her. “Neat penmanship, too.”

“Yes. Dad had very neat penmanship.” She dug around his desk to find a black Sharpie. “He took some drafting in college and liked to write like an architect. I'm pretty good at imitating it.” She leaned down, writing the reservation's name on top then a date from last week beneath it as well as her dad's name. Finally, she wrote Investigative Evidence beneath it. “How's this?”

Garret blinked. “That looks strikingly similar.”

“Think anyone would fall for it?”

“Hey.” Scott's eyes lit up when he came into the room to see her holding the envelope up. “You found it?”

Megan explained her faux envelope. “I thought if we exchanged it in a public place—sort of like bait—with some undercover cops around...well, we might just catch ourselves a fish.”

“Or a rat,” Garret added. “Hopefully, several rats.”

“Interesting idea.” Scott frowned slightly. “But I'm not sure you should be involved in baiting anyone connected to the mob. It could be dangerous for Megan.”

“More dangerous than being randomly mugged or shot at?” Megan asked him.

“Good point.” Scott picked up the thick envelope, studying it more closely. “I just wish this was the real thing. That would help a lot.”

“Well, I haven't given up yet,” Megan assured him. “No stone unturned, right?”

“Right,” Garret agreed.

* * *

It was after six when they finally finished searching and straightening the house, and now she and Garret were standing in the front yard discussing the case with Scott and Derrick. To Megan's relief both cops seemed determined to resolve it. Mostly because they were upset over fellow cop Michael Conrad being shot.

“At least his surgery went well,” Scott told them. “I talked to Mrs. Conrad a little while ago and he's in really good spirits.”

“I plan to visit him in the morning,” Garret said.

“Me, too,” Megan agreed. “But right now I'm starving. Hey, I have an idea. Let's all go to Marco's.”

Garret's brows arched.
“
Marco's? Are you serious, Megan?”

“Yeah, I'm craving Italian.”

“Is this about food or are you planning to go fishing?” Scott's dark eyes twinkled with interest.

“Fishing?” Derrick looked confused.

Megan patted her oversize bag, where the envelope was safely zipped inside. “The bait's right here.”

Garret quickly explained her plan to Derrick. “But we need someone to hand it off to,” he said to Scott. “And we need to make it look like we're being tricky. Can't be obvious, you know?”

“Well, Derrick and I have finished our shift,” Scott said. “But I suppose we could get into plain clothes and give you some assistance with it. I wouldn't mind.”

“Yeah,” Derrick eagerly agreed. “I'm down with that.”

“But I'll have to get approval from Detective Greene,” Scott said as he reached for his phone. “Want me to ask?”

“Yes.” Megan nodded with enthusiasm. And they all waited for Scott to explain the fishing plan to Detective Greene. To everyone's relief, Greene liked the idea and asked to be put on speakerphone. For several minutes he acted like he was in charge, and they all cooperated with him to concoct a basic plan.

Garret and Megan would appear to be going to dinner, but they would make the yellow envelope visible—not obvious, but tempting. Just like bait. The two officers, in their plain clothes, would show up about a half hour later, positioning themselves in the lounge as if to have drinks, but where they could keep an eye on things. The two parties would stay in touch via texting and if no one had tried to snag the envelope by the time Megan and Garret were having their dessert and coffee, the policemen—who would be recognizable due to the small town—would show up at their table and take the envelope from them in a visible way—a way to convince the crooks that it was too late.

“What if no one in the mob is around to see it?” Scott asked.

“That would be unusual,” Garret told them. “Every time I've gone there, I've seen at least one of the Marcos hanging around. Maybe not working, but they are there. It's a family business, after all.”

“But what if they don't take the bait?” Derrick asked. “What good will it do to just pass a fake envelope around?”

“At the least, it should get the mob off Megan's back,” Garret declared. “What would be the point if they think the police have the evidence?”

“That's right,” Greene agreed. “Make sure you guys have concealed weapons on you.”

“I'll be armed, too,” Garret told them.

* * *

As Garret drove them into town, Megan looked down at her denim jacket and jeans. “I hope I'm not too grubby for Marco's,” she said with concern.

“Remember where you are,” Garret told her. “This is Cape Perpetua, not Seattle. It's pretty casual here. And the tourists sure don't dress for dinner.”

“Yeah, you're probably right.”

“I just hope we can get a table.” Garret tapped the clock on the dashboard. “It's dinnertime on a Saturday night.”

“Oh, yeah—and a holiday weekend, too.” She frowned. “And I was really starting to crave Italian.”

“I was craving an end to all this madness.”

By the time they reached the restaurant, it was seven. And Marco's was crowded—with a waiting list and numerous parties already ahead of them. Garret gave the hostess his name then tossed an uneasy glance at Megan.

“It'll be at least thirty, maybe forty minutes,” the hostess informed them. “But you might find room to wait in the lounge.”

“Hey...” Garret's tone grew intimate as he leaned toward her like they were old friends. “How about getting us a table on the deck?” He nodded toward the windows that overlooked the river. A couple groups of diners were out there. “That doesn't look too busy.”

“We're supposed to stop seating out there at seven. It's getting chilly.”

Garret's smile warmed. “But it's barely past seven now. I'm sure you could sneak us out there if you really wanted to. You look like a girl with clout.”

Her dark eyes twinkled. “Well, okay. You'll be the last ones out there tonight. But you better promise me you won't complain if it gets cold.”

“You won't hear a peep out of us,” he assured her. “Thanks.”

The hostess tossed an interested look at Megan as she led them outside. Perhaps she wondered what their relationship was, if Garret was available. She led them to a table for two. Next to the railing, it overlooked the river and bridge, with a stainless-steel propane heater right next to it. The hostess laid down two oversize leather-covered menus and then turned on the propane heater. “Here you go.”

“This is lovely,” Megan told the hostess as she sat down. “If it wasn't foggy, we could probably see the sunset from here.” After the hostess left, Megan started to question herself. Was it really a good idea to be here tonight? Wasn't it a little like dining in the lion's den?

“Are you okay?” Garret had what seemed a forced smile.

“Just wondering if this was a smart move.” She glanced around uneasily.

“I actually think it was. Honestly, I can't imagine the Marcos doing anything crazy on their own property. Not with all their valued customers around to witness it.”

She slowly nodded. “I guess that makes sense. They wouldn't want to mess this pretty place up.” She glanced around the impressive deck. From its marble-topped teak tables and comfortable padded teak chairs to the attractive potted plants and trees set prettily about, and then the stone fireplace that the two other groups of diners were seated near, it all looked lovely—and expensive. “This place is really uptown for little old Cape Perpetua,” she observed.

“And this is the
casual
part of the restaurant,” he told her.

“I can see why Dad got suspicious of the Marcos. Restaurants in this town usually struggle to stay afloat. It really does look like they were skimming from the tribe. I'm surprised others weren't suspicious.”

He nodded. “Yeah, it's kind of in-your-face opulence. There was some talk at first, but eventually people got used to it. A lot of locals are proud to have such a fancy waterfront restaurant.”

“I'm guessing it's been hard on the Bridgeview.”

“That's an understatement. I was talking to Marty Stephens last week. If they don't start doing better this season, he said he'll be shut down by winter.”

“That's so sad. Bridgeview was where Dad always took me for special occasions—birthdays, graduation, holidays. I have happy memories there.”

“You and most everyone else in town...although they seem to have forgotten them.”

“Well, I'd feel more comfortable at Bridgeview than—” She stopped talking as a young man brought them their hot drinks. But as he set the cups and saucers on the table, he suddenly jerked—as if something had startled him—slopping a bit of Garret's coffee onto the marble.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, using Garret's linen napkin to blot the spill before he quickly hurried away, leaving the soiled napkin splayed on the table.

“Kind of a rude waiter,” Megan said. “I'm surprised they—”

“There was a reason for that.” Garret used an even tone, keeping a pleasant expression as he picked up his cup.

“What?”

“That man was my employee. Kent Jones. I hired him as a mechanic a couple weeks ago. To be honest, his mechanic work was no better than his waiting skills. But then he disappeared.” He narrowed his eyes slightly. “And now he's working here.”

“Sounds like you're better off without him.” She picked up her menu, perusing the tempting entrées.

“That's true.”

“So do you think he was embarrassed to see you?” She laid down her menu.

“I think it's more than that. But maybe having him here will help our fishing plan. In fact, I'm guessing he's talking to one of the Marcos right now. Informing someone that we're out here.”

Megan glanced nervously at her bag, still right where she'd put it under the table, next to her feet. The yellow envelope was still barely sticking out, but visible for anyone looking for it. She'd removed her personal items from the bag—in case someone nabbed it—dumping everything into Garret's glove box for safekeeping.