Cross Roads (22 page)

“W
hy are you looking at me like that, Jack? You didn't have to agree to make the trip. You could have said no,” Ted said over his shoulder as he loped behind Espinosa to the private plane sitting on the tarmac.

Bert weighed in. “Why does Maggie think it is going to take five people, I repeat, five people to traipse around some damn town in Idaho to try and get fifty-year-old information? Isn't that why we have all those state-of-the-art computer systems?”

Harry sprinted ahead, his sandals making slapping sounds on the tarmac. He zeroed in on Espinosa, who was known to never put up an argument. “Well?” he said menacingly.

Espinosa raised an eyebrow. “Did any of you think for even a minute that the girls want us out of their hair. Idaho is about as far away as you can get, if you are asking my opinion.”

Ted whirled around as he walked backward. “First, it was just Espinosa and me going. Then the flights were so screwed up we wouldn't have gotten there till tomorrow with all the stops and layovers and the last-minute ticketing, not to mention the cost. Yeah, I know, the private jet costs more, but Maggie said time was the issue, so here we are, gentlemen, so suck it up and enjoy the flight. It's not snowing there. Yet.”

“What the hell are you talking about? It's just the beginning of August. It doesn't snow in August!” Jack said.

Ted laughed. “You ever been to Idaho, Jack? I didn't think so. I rest my case. I do know that we will be served filet mignon and lobster aboard this flight. And Boston cream pie.”

“And that's supposed to make me feel better. I can cook that myself,” Jack grumbled.

Ted came to a stop at the portable stairway that led to the open plane door, where the pilot and hostess were waiting, welcoming smiles on their faces. “Last chance, Jack. Back out now or shut up.”

Harry moved a step forward and sent Ted spiraling up the stairs at the speed of light. The others followed. “That was so rude, Harry. Now the pilot and hostess are going to think we're a bunch of ill-mannered thugs.” He stepped backward the moment he saw Harry wiggle his foot. “Move! What are you guys waiting for, a bus? The sooner we get airborne, the sooner we'll get back here. Probably with a ton of potatoes in the cargo hold. You can keep potatoes in a cool, dry place for almost a year, did you know that, Harry?”

“Yeah, Jack, I do know that. Like you can keep pumpkins…you know, those orange things you love so much, till Easter. Don't talk to me, Jack. I hate you right now.”

“Damn, Harry, you're nasty this afternoon. Why can't you be like the rest of us and be happy that we're going to Idaho? How many people get to go to Idaho on a nice August day in the middle of summer where it might or might not be snowing? Not many, that's how many. Think of all those russet potatoes, and they have some newfangled potato called a fingerling or something like that, tiny little morsels of goodness that will light up any dinner table. Different colors, too.”

Harry looked like he wanted to cry when he took his seat and buckled up per the hostess's instructions. The moment she was out of earshot, Harry shot Jack a withering look, and said, “Fuck you, Jack.”

“Potty mouth.” Jack sniffed as the hostess appeared with a bottle of champagne.

“Does anyone want information on Idaho to broaden his mind?” Ted asked. “I am a virtual encyclopedia of information. Espinosa can do a color show on his phone, if you like.”

“Will you please shut up, or I will see to it that you sleep for the entire trip to wherever it is we're going, Ted,” Harry said as he shook his head, declining the champagne. He held up a little bag of ground tea and instructed, “Let it steep for ten minutes. I prefer a cup with no handles.”

“Of course, sir,” the hostess said sweetly. So sweetly, Jack thought he was going to gag.

“Not that I care, Ted, but why was it so difficult to get tickets to Idaho? I thought no one went there,” Jack commented.

“Some potato festival, Maggie said. Gourmet cooks from all over the country are making the trip. Everyone wants to win a gold potato on a pedestal. And it was a last-minute booking. You complaining, Jack?”

“Nah, just making conversation. I have to admit I am a little perturbed that the girls don't want us around. What's up with that?”

“They always have a reason for what they do,” Espinosa said, authority ringing in his voice.”

“Yeah, and you know this…how?” Jack said sourly as he finished off the champagne in his glass.

“I know because Alexis talks to me. We discuss
everything.
That's what couples do. I probably know more than all of you put together. Just because I don't blab my business to you…because none of you can be trusted to keep a secret, doesn't mean I don't know what's going on.”

They were on him like fleas on a dog. Alarmed, the hostess backed away with her champagne bottle, muttering something about dinner at thirty thousand feet.

Espinosa clamped his lips shut, his signal that he wouldn't be parting with any information anytime soon. Even Harry's threat—“Don't worry, when we land, I'll kill him. I'd do it now, but I don't want to be the first man to kill someone in midair on a private plane”—kept Espinosa's lips clamped shut.

Bert, who had been quiet throughout the exchange, sat upright. “You know, Espinosa, if you know something we should know, it's not going to do you a bit of good to withhold that information. We're brothers under the skin. A team, I thought. If I had information, you guys would be the first ones I would share it with.”

Espinosa thought about it for a moment, then said, “The girls don't know what to do.”

“That's it! The girls don't know what to do!” Jack said in disbelief.

“Yeah. They signed on, Lizzie did it all, and she's on her way, or will be shortly, to London. Elias says the CIA and DHS say nothing is going on on our turf. Of course, Elias did not let on that the big shots in the foreign intelligence and law-enforcement worlds contacted the girls. But our side is saying there is no threat to the administration, nothing covert is going on or has been going on, which brings it all back to Hank Jellicoe, who started the whole thing in the first place. That's why we're going to Idaho, back to
his
beginning. The girls are waiting and depending on us to come up with some workable information.”

Harry stirred, which was never a good sign. “Then why didn't you say that in the first place? Then I wouldn't have had to issue my threat to kill you,” he complained, one eye open and one eye closed.

“Because I don't take kindly to threats. Alexis wouldn't let you go free if you killed me. She loves me.”

“Oh, yeah, well, she's no match for Yoko,” Harry blustered.

“Enough with the pissing match, boys. We now have the information we need, which is, the girls
need
us. ‘Need' is the operative word here. Are you all following me? In addition, I think we should all thank Espinosa for clueing us in.”

Before anyone could comment either way, the hostess appeared carrying dinner trays. They managed to use up an hour cutting, chewing, and mumbling about the gourmet dinner. When coffee was poured, they went back at it, but not with any real intensity. Smarting from their lack of knowledge, Ted zeroed in on Espinosa. “And why were you picked to get this information and not us?”

“Maybe because your phones were off? Well, I
was
supposed to share it with you, but you were all so belligerent, I just didn't feel like it. You know now, so just shut up. I have nothing more to say.”

“I'll pray for you,” Jack said solemnly. Bert and Ted agreed to do the same. Harry slept.

Three hours later the plane landed in Boise, Idaho. Ted spoke at length to the pilot, tapped some numbers into his phone, and was the last off the plane. “We have a rental car waiting. We have a two-hour drive ahead of us, so who wants to take the wheel?” Jack volunteered, and they were on the road in less than twenty minutes.

“Okay, Bert, you're my navigator. Type in the address and let the GPS do our work.”

“Where are we going, Ted?”

“The only address I have is Emma Doty's.” He rattled it off. “I guess we should start there. How big can a town with a population of thirty-six hundred be?”

“I thought you said the population was two thousand,” Harry said. “I hate falsehoods. And the people who tell them.”

“It's two thousand if you don't count the people who live outside the town limits. Do we really care what the hell the population is?” Not bothering to wait for a response, Jack answered the question. “No, we do not care. Let's all just kick back and think about our mission here and how the girls are depending on us to come through for them. Now, sit back and think pleasant thoughts.”

By local time, it was the dinner hour when Jack drove the rental car down Main Street. “Here we are, boys, Mayberry, USA, or Prairie City, Idaho, which is also in the good old U. S. of A. There's the town square to the left. That's town hall next to it. I know this because there's a sign on the lawn. To the right is St. Albans Church—not sure what the denomination is. Let's just go with religious and be done with it. That brick building is the post office. There's a sign on the door saying
UNITED STATES POST OFFICE
. Ah, here's a hardware store, a drugstore, and Miss Eva's café. To the right of Miss Eva's is Waddell's Emporium. The sign says they sell everything. I guess that means a toaster or a pair of socks. Looky there, on my left is the police station. Hiram Sherman sells all kinds of insurance to fit your needs right next door. Cody's Beauty Shop does discreet waxing in a back room if you're interested,” Jack said, enjoying his witty monologue. “Farm Bureau is coming up on the left, right alongside McBride's one-stop shopping. Groceries,” Jack clarified.

“In case none of you noticed, there are no traffic lights. Ah, here's a stop sign, so I am stopping. You know what, I like this little town. Look at all these trees, and the sidewalks with benches. All the stores have flowers, probably donated by the Garden Club. Make a note, Harry, so you can tell Yoko. Better yet, take some pictures and send them to her. She loves flowers.”

Two ladies in flowered dresses carrying string bags stopped in the middle of the road to stare at them before they moved on.

“Oh, shit, they made us. Strangers from out of town. Now the cops will be trailing us, and before you know it, we'll be locked up. I saw that in a movie once,” Espinosa said in a jittery-sounding voice. “Nobody came for them. They were rotting away before they were found, and none of them were ever the same again.”

“Relax, we're going to see Emma Doty, and she won't let anything happen to us,” Ted said.

“Hold on, Jack. Look, there's a funeral home. James Dial and Sons. What better place to start than there. We can go to Emma's after we pay a visit. Looks quiet, so probably no customers. It's worth a shot,” Bert said, excitement ringing in his voice.

“Yeah, let's see what they can tell us, if anything.” Jack made a right turn and parked behind a shiny black hearse. “You can do the honors, Bert, since this was your idea.”

Inside the mortuary, it was dim and cool. The decor was burgundy walls, dark blue carpeting, and cherrywood. The sickening smell of flowers was everywhere. Somber music played in the background. There was no one behind the shiny cherrywood desk, so Bert rang the little bell sitting on a pedestal. A door opened; the scent of flowers grew stronger. A balding youngish man in a three-piece suit, who looked more like one of his customers, extended a snow-white hand. He had polish on his nails. “Marshall Kelly. How can I be of service to you and your loved ones?”

Bert debated just a second before he reached for his wallet, flashed his retirement badge, and hoped Kelly didn't look too close. He didn't. “We're working a cold case, and our leads have brought us to this beautiful little town of yours. We need some information on a couple who used to live here a long time ago. I'm sure before your time, but you must keep records.”

Marshall Kelly's Adam's apple bobbed up and down. He would have so much to talk about at the next Rotary meeting if he could last that long. The FBI right here in his mortuary in Prairie City. “We have records dating back to the day my grandfather opened this mortuary. I'm sure they're somewhere. To be honest, I couldn't say where they are at this precise minute. Tell me who it is, and possibly my father might know, and we won't have to go through all that digging. No pun intended. It's rare that I get to use mortuary witticisms.” He laughed.

Bert winced. “Madeline and Gerald Graverson.”

“I've heard the names. Dad's napping in the back. Let me fetch him and see what he has to say.”

“
Napping in the back,
” Ted hissed. “You don't think he naps in a…”

“Do not go there, Ted,” Jack hissed in return.

Five minutes went by, then another five minutes. Finally, Marshall Kelly and a white-haired, suited-up senior came through a burgundy leather door that didn't make a sound. Introductions were made all around. Tea or coffee was offered and declined.

Marshall Kelly Senior motioned the men to sit in a row of dark burgundy leather chairs. “It was sad; Gerald passed first, then Madeline six months later. They both looked lovely. We get so many compliments on our work, that's why people elect to come to James Dial and Sons, opposed to going out of town. There's the travel, the caskets are discounted, the satin is tacky.” He shuddered to show what he thought of such places.

“How was the turnout?” Harry asked bluntly.

Both Senior and Junior Kelly looked at Harry as though they'd never seen a live Oriental. And they probably hadn't if they'd never left Prairie City. “And you are?”