Helen Hanson - Dark Pool (12 page)

“Maggie, honey, are you alright?”

Her father stood over her, his pale blue eyes cloudy with concern. His lucidity startled her to a lull.

“Daddy.” She reached out a hand to him. “I’m fine.” He helped her to her feet. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, honey. But, I worry about you. I know I’m not much help to you these days. So much on your small shoulders.” He hugged her. “You manage everything for Travis and me. I’m so proud of you.” He kissed her cheek and wandered off down the hall. “I’ve saved it for you both. He’ll help you find it.”

The moment ended like most of their recent encounters. Confused. But he was her father, and he loved her and appreciated her. In spite of his wretched disease, he saw she was doing whatever she could to keep the family together, for him, for Trisha, for Travis.

Remorse weighed on Maggie for taking her frustration out on Travis. Again. She had to fix that one.

He wasn’t on the porch, and she couldn’t see him from the sliding door. She doubted he’d gone too far. This thing between them needed resolving. He usually saw it before she did. She snapped the leashes on The Firm and trotted them outside.

There he was, about 200 yards down the beach, poking at something in the sand with a stick. “Let’s go pups.” She took a starter skip to get Bailey and Belli moving then settled into a steady run toward Travis.

As they pounded down the beach, the sun was already blinking behind the clouds at the horizon. Travis’ back was to them. With only tens yards to go, she dropped the leashes and slowed to a jog. Each dog scrambled to reach him before the other. They skidded up to him, sand splaying at their feet.

He rumpled their heads and scrubbed their coats with the same enthusiasm they showed him. His smile stiffened when he saw Maggie.

“I’m sorry, Trav. I’ve been too busy feeling sorry for myself to listen. You know?”

He dropped down to sit on the sand. “How about now?”

“Now’s good.” She settled into the sand next to him. “What’s going on?”

He sat lotus-style and moved in close to her, so one knee touched her hip. “Maggie. I want to say everything I have to say before you say anything. Promise?”

Sheesh. Fifteen. She forgot what a kid he was. She batted her eyes and held up her hand like a scout. “Yes, I pro—”

“Don’t joke about it, Maggie. I’m serious.”

He barked with such force, it scared her. He wasn’t the kind who raised his voice. Only she was.

“You want to hear me, then let me talk and don’t interrupt until I’m done. Promise me or forget it.”

She huddled closer to him. Bailey and Belli stretched out next to them. “I do want to hear you, Trav. I really do. I won’t interrupt. You let me know when you’re done. I promise.”

He nodded at her, lips pursed. A long breath stuttered out of his mouth. “Okay. I did not hack into the computers at The Rockstag Group on my own. Well, I did, but I was asked to by someone who worked there.” He inhaled. “I know you’ve heard all this, but it’s true. I was on one of the forums and someone named Kingphisher wanted a pen test of their computers. He was trolling for somebody who could do a serious prodding of their security defenses.”

He waited as if she should respond, but she bit her tongue and let him continue.

“Anyway, he was supposed to pay me a thousand dollars for this job. I know. Looking back, I should have seen it was a set-up. But I wanted to surprise you.” He looked away from her.

He’d surprised her alright. So did the visit from the sheriff. As Travis said, she’d heard all this. Only now, she operated under a promise. Trisha always insisted they honor a promise.

“I got a message to a friend of mine and—”

“What kind of—” She clapped a hand over her mouth.

“He knew the trouble I got in and did some checking. The computer that Kingphisher used to contact me tracked back to The Rockstag Group. Kingphisher was pretty good. He made it look like it was from a Yahoo account. But my friend said it came from The Rockstag Group. And if he says it did, it did.”

Her blood pressure climbed. He was online. That was the only way he could contact his buddies on the forums. Damn it. He was busting his parole, and now she was an accessory. The computer must be at Javier’s. She’d call Mrs. Modesto just as soon— But wait, she promised. Maggie’s heart thumped. This was why he made her promise. She must have looked ready to bust.

“Stay with me. Why else would this Carter guy come here? If The Rockstag Group really was an innocent victim in all this, why come after me, or Dad?”

Maggie picked up a handful of sand, let it run through her fingers. That did make some sense. Why would they?

“And Dad.” His arms reached over his knees, pulling them close to his chest. “I don’t know. It’s like he knows something.”

“Knows what?” She covered her mouth again. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” His smile arched in stages. “You can talk now.”

“What do you think he knows?”

“I don’t know if it’s nothing or something, but he keeps saying things like ‘It’s mine.’ Or, ‘They can’t find it, but you can.’ You know. Weird stuff.”

His words made her shudder. “He’s said the same things to me. But only since you’ve been back.” She crossed her arms, clutching her biceps with her fingers.

“I’ve even been looking around the house. I don’t know.” He shook his head as it lowered. “Even during the trial, he’d say things that made me wonder. I just wrote it off to the Alzheimer’s.”

“You think he knew you were innocent?”

Travis’ head snapped up. “I told him I was. That was enough for him.”

Another direct hit. But she deserved this one. She’d never known Travis to lie. Why didn’t she believe him when he needed it most?

“Maybe he has something for us to see. I can’t imagine what it could be, but it can’t hurt to look. You know, together.” She grabbed his knee. “What d’ya say?”

His mossy-green eyes looked moist. “Thanks.”

He was sinking. The kid needed her to throw him a line. “I got a bill in the mail for a safe deposit box at a bank. I’m not really sure Dad has one, but we can start with that tomorrow.”

 

 

Chapter Nineteen

 

 

With all the excitement from the day before, Maggie woke up late. She rushed out to buy two pair of nude pantyhose. Given their finances, buying two pair was an extravagance. But being the sole breadwinner of the family entitled her to emergency backup hosiery. Or maybe she needed to control her temper, quit decking punks, and stop grappling on the lawn with strangers.

 

Not that she cared, but her bio-mother would have been aghast. A young lady did not—blah, blah, blah. This was the same woman who had slept with several of her father’s friends. While Trisha might have censured Maggie over the methods, she would have delighted in the swift nature of the justice.

Travis said he’d take care of Dad and look around for a key to the safe deposit box, so she could concentrate on getting a job. If he’d been on the computer, there wasn’t much she could do about it. Maybe the key thing would keep him out of trouble.

She pulled in to her driveway and fished around the side seat for her purse. When she opened the car door, her breath seized.

“Fyodor.” Her hand slapped against her chest. “You scared me.”

“I am so sorry. I thought you saw me approach.”

After yesterday, he probably wanted to tell her that the neighborhood took a vote, and she was out. But his gleaming smile more than made up for her climbing heart rate. In fact, it may have been the cause.

She swung her sweat-panted legs out the side. They weren’t even stylish sweats. Why couldn’t he have seen her an hour from now? She planned to look stunning.

He held a hand out for her. “Allow me.”

His hand was firm, cool, smooth, steady. A girl could get used to this. Must be a catch somewhere. He probably has nine cats. Or eats with his mouth open. Maybe he’s a stoplight nose-picker.

“Maggie. Would you have dinner with me tonight? I could pick you up at seven-thirty.”

She flipped her hair behind a shoulder. “Yes, I’d love to.”

“We’ll head somewhere on the coast.” He squeezed her hand before letting it go. “I’ll see you then.”

She didn’t care if he did have nine cats.

Maggie fell back on the car as she watched him leave. Time-to-get-a-grip. And a job. She hustled into the house and dressed quickly for what she hoped would be some interviews.

True to his word, Travis had the house under control when she started to leave. She peeked through the front window to see if Fyodor was about. While she looked good enough now, she just wanted to get on with the job hunt. He was a distinct distraction and fortunately, nowhere in sight. She blasted out the door and zoomed miles down the road in search of meaningful employment.

Denesha told Maggie about a seafood restaurant fifteen minutes south on Highway 1 that might be hiring. The Happy Pearl. A silly name, considering there weren’t any oysters to be found on this stretch of beach. Maybe that’s why the pearls were happy. She’d be a happy pearl if they offered her a job.

Her car rumbled into a parking spot at the rear of the restaurant. Denesha said the hourly pay was typical, but as wait staff everywhere, Maggie was mainly interested in tips. Tips to a waitress were like spinach to Popeye. Right now, she could use all the cans she could get.

She slid out of the car. Looking for a job sucked. The effort seemed like a supreme waste of time. Either they had an opening, or they didn’t.

Bad attitude. Not a good start. Time to jettison the surliness.

For practice, she smiled at a seagull windsurfing overhead. That wasn’t so hard. The gull squawked. Something white splattered on her purse. Apparently, her smile needed work. She found a tissue in a side pocket on the purse and wiped off the seagull’s insult.

She followed a saltillo-tiled pathway lined with heavenly bamboo, bougainvillea, and hummingbird sage around the corner of the building to the entrance. She pushed through heavy, wooden doors to reach the foyer.

“Welcome to The Happy Pearl.”

Maggie turned to meet a dark woman about her age with a smile that put hers to shame.

“How many in your party today?”

Maggie shook off the bad vibes. “Hi. I’m Maggie Fender. I’d like to speak with the manager if that’s possible. I’m here to apply for a job.”

The greeter’s 1000-watt smile dimmed. “I’ll see if she’s busy.”

“Thank you.”

Maggie peeked in the main part of the restaurant to enjoy the view. With the ocean as a backdrop, it was tough to compete, but The Happy Pearl made a decent run at it. The ceilings arched to a center, reaching nearly twenty feet. Murals graced the walls with brilliant depictions of coastal sea life—brown pelicans overhead, otters in the kelp bed, and starfish basking in the tide pools.

A woman with short gray hair entered the foyer. “Hi. I’m the manager. May I help you?”

“Yes. Maggie Fender.” She shook the manager’s hand. “I’m an experienced waitress, and I’m looking for work.”

“Great.” The manager didn’t bother to hide her enthusiasm. One of our waiters just quit. How soon—” The manager shook her head as if she had water in her ears. “I’m sorry. What did you say your name was?”

Why would her name matter? “Maggie Fender.”

“Excuse me a moment.”

Maggie’s confidence vanished before the woman returned.

“I’m sorry. My partner is out of town until the end of next week. Why don’t you leave your résumé?”

Both of them feigned continued interest, but clearly Maggie’s name was a problem for the woman. The kiss-off wasn’t even polite.

Maggie shuffled back toward her car. The old beater better start this time. All the way out here, she didn’t know how she’d get back if—

“Maggie.” A voice called from the screen door.

She walked closer to peer inside. “Benito?”

He called to someone in the kitchen, “Uno momento,” and stepped out with a bag of trash.

“Wow. I’m glad to see you got a job so quickly. I was trying to get one myself.”

“Peter. He’s the reason she won’t hire you.”

“What’s Peter got to do with it?”

Benito motioned her to follow. “My cousin is a waiter. He overheard a phone call to the manager warning about you. It was Peter.” He tossed the bag in the dumpster. “I’m sorry, Maggie. He told her you are trouble.”

 

 

Chapter Twenty

 

 

It was widely known that SEC prosecutor Samantha Merrick chose the members of her investigative team for their technical expertise, candor, and relentless pursuit of the truth. She didn’t care if ivy clung to the hallowed walls of their alma mater, whether their family tree sprouted any distinguished branches, or which horse’s ass they supported come November. The job was her priority.

 

Samantha had shared an apartment with Kurt Meyers’ sister when she attended Vassar. After graduation, Samantha earned the reputation of a Wall Street prophetess before joining the SEC. The sudden death of a colleague landed her the job, and ultimately, the Patty O’Mara case. She and Kurt had dated but never shared a zip code long enough for anything serious. Now they shared a serious interest in O’Mara. After Kurt’s message to Samantha the day before, she promised to call him.

Kurt read the latest documents in the perpetual stack on his desk. He insisted upon reviewing every unique page. His staff culled the redundant information—such as the 500th copy of O’Mara’s bogus prospectus—and highlighted anything they thought would interest him. If a white truffle hid within the pile, he didn’t want it dismissed as fungus.

The investigation weighed little on what he obtained from O’Mara’s clients. O’Mara revealed only what he wanted them to see. Like a proficient Las Vegas magician, misdirection decoyed the real action.

Kurt managed Spencer Thornton the same way. He kept Thornton informed enough to give him talking points for the press—Thornton loved the microphone. Kurt never revealed all his sources for an investigation because useful information often came from people who preferred to remain anonymous. Kurt’s job was to find the money. Holding Thornton’s hand was an obligatory nuisance.