Hide & Find (Mayfield Cozy Mystery Book 3) (14 page)

“That’ll take some planning,” I replied.

“This will all take planning,” Tarq muttered. “Las Vegas? Just trying to nail down the geography here.”

Josh nodded. “The higher you get in the hierarchy of organized crime, the more territory you control. You could almost think of it like franchises or satellite offices. Lutsenko runs the Bay Area, Reno and Las Vegas. Frankly, Vegas is where the bulk of the money is because it draws from the surrounding states — the whole country plus a load of international business, really. He’s also made inroads into the southern California syndicates. Rumor has it he’s greedy and poaching people from the other organizations. He’s making enemies left and right in his hunger for expansion.”

“So he poached this guy, Ziggy?” Loretta asked the question, but I was glad she had because my head was spinning too.

“Looks like it. And if Ziggy just happened to be at the house when the paintings were stolen, then we might be able to involve him in the sting as well. Since Lutsenko hasn’t contacted Nora yet, I’m guessing that he still doesn’t know exactly who stole the objects of his affection. He has enough enemies that the suspicion must be a mile thick over all of them.” Josh finally unzipped his coat and draped it over the back of his chair as though he’d just reached a comfortable temperature after his long trek from wherever he’d hidden his car.

Loretta piled up our plates. Her hands were shaking. I suddenly realized how shocking all this matter-of-fact discussion of her son’s associations must be. There’s a big difference between knowing something generally and knowing it in all its sordid details. But her steps to the sink were steady, and she returned with the coffee pot.

“Why is it important to pair these two — Lutsenko and Ziggy?” Tarq asked. He was rubbing his forefingers and thumbs together as though he was itching to take notes. Probably a deep-seated lawyerly instinct.

“Because that’s what I think Skip was trying to do.” Josh nodded thanks to Loretta for refilling his mug. “I keep wondering why he set Chet up for the theft. I think it was more than just an opportunistic endeavor. Skip wasn’t haphazard; he was a planner.” Josh tipped his head toward me. “You know that.”

I nodded. If I hadn’t know it before — which I had — then the files and audio recording I found in the safe deposit box had absolutely confirmed Skip’s meticulousness.

“Lutsenko has the connections to drive the human trafficking business,” Josh continued, “but it would take someone like Ziggy to put the illegal immigrants to work and therefore provide profit for the mob. There’s demand in all the larger cities, but Vegas is definitely the biggest market on this side of the country for that kind of thing. Lutsenko will be getting a bigger slice of the commission, or finder’s fee, if Ziggy’s working directly for him now.”

“Chet said his uncle is working to pay off the broker fees for his whole family,” I said.

Josh frowned. “That’s what they’re told, but it never works that way. A nice term for this is indentured servitude, but in reality it’s flat-out slavery. They won’t be released until they’re too sick to keep working or they die on the job. They’re terrified because they’re illegal. They have no one to ask for help for fear they’ll be deported. They’re isolated. They don’t have the resources to run away. They’re beaten, deprived of food.”

Little beads of perspiration dotted his hairline and sideburns. He had to clear his throat before he could continue. “I was on a raid once, at a compound where about twenty smuggled illegals were being held. We took a few of them out in body bags. The rest could hardly walk.”

I traced the wood grain in the tabletop with the handle of my spoon. My brain was balking at the monstrosity of what Chet’s family had been seduced into.

Loretta’s voice wobbled. “This Laotian girl, she’s not washing dishes in some back-alley restaurant, is she?”

“Probably not,” Josh admitted. “Especially not if she’s young and pretty.”

“Then I know why he did it,” Loretta whispered. “Why Skip would do this—” she spread her hands wide, “all of this tracking and planning and involvement with these evil men.”

My head popped up, and I joined Josh and Tarq in staring at her.

Loretta wavered at the intensity of our interest, but she continued. “For a couple years, we lived in a gated apartment complex in San Leandro. It was the nicest place we ever lived, and Skip — he was eleven, twelve, thirteen — was finally able to relax, be a kid, go to the same school, develop friendships. There was a girl a few years younger than Skip who lived with her mom kitty-corner from us, one floor down. They became fast friends, swam in the pool on the weekends, hung out together. She was like his little sister. Smart but timid. But she always seemed to have bruises. I wondered, but I didn’t say anything.”

Loretta pressed her knuckles to her trembling lips, and a tear leaked down her cheek. Tarq laid a heavy hand on her shoulder.

“Her name was Alison — Allie. One day she went missing. Skip was the one who pressed the issue because her mother didn’t seem too concerned. Said Allie had gone to visit her grandparents. But Skip knew Allie would have told him if that was the case.”

Loretta was crying hard now, her words choked out from between her fingers. “They found her body two weeks later in an empty lot about a block away. She’d been raped and strangled. The police came and arrested the mother. She’d been selling Allie to men by the hour, and one time it went too far. She’d helped the guy hide the body.” Loretta gulped and shuddered. “That’s when I really started drinking. I could have — should have done something for Allie. And I hated that the only places I could afford to raise my child exposed him to that. A child should never have to know about that — that degree of evil.”

I ran to the bathroom for a box of tissues because I needed them as badly as Loretta did. When I returned, Tarq had scooted closer to Loretta and had both arms wrapped around her shoulders.

“Skip would never speak about it later. He just bottled up.” Loretta shook her head and wadded up another tissue. “That’s when my boy changed, and I felt like I didn’t know him anymore. I never really saw him happy again until he met you.” She directed a wobbly smile at me.

“Poetic justice on a grand scale.” Josh’s voice was barely audible, but the words dropped like lead weights into my heart. “Sounds like the Skip I know.”

He held my gaze for a long minute, his brown eyes solemn, then nodded. “Let’s do this.”

I nodded back.

CHAPTER 15

I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath until I parked and turned off the ignition outside the mansion’s kitchen door. Which was wide open. As were the windows. But there were no signs of pot-bellied pigs or a furious Clarice.

I gulped another deep breath and held that one low in my lungs while I slid out of the truck and stepped cautiously toward the cracked concrete patio and the opening beyond, steeling myself for entering a potential maelstrom. It was so quiet that my footfalls seemed to echo between my ears. Which was a relief? Or ominous. I couldn’t decide which.

Clarice flashed into the doorway, bracing one hand on the frame while holding a small black object aloft. “You could have told me,” she barked. “Let me rephrase that. You absolutely should have woken me up and told me. Girl, what you must have been going through!” Then she cinched me with both arms in a vice grip that was guaranteed to give me an hourglass figure.

I exhaled before I popped. “Uh,” I wheezed into her spiky hair, “I brought bleach.” Although I now doubted its effectiveness as a peace offering.

She pushed me away and scowled. “You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?”

At my blank look, she waggled the black thing under my nose. “Big, nasty mobsters threatening your dad?”

“Oh, that.” I squinted at the still moving blob in her hand. “Is that my phone?”

“Found it stuffed in a closet. Ringing. So I answered it. For Pete’s sake, girl, what’s gotten into you? Are you trying to drive me batty? Some weird scavenger hunt mental competency test?”

“Not exactly.” I grabbed her arm and pulled, hand over hand, until I had the phone in my grasp.

I dashed into the kitchen, looked around desperately, then yanked open the freezer door and tossed the phone inside. The door sealed closed with a gentle whoosh. I spun around to find Clarice staring at me, her face now indicating she thought I should be the one committed to a loony bin.

“We need to talk,” I said.

“No duh.”

“Did you know the FBI can turn a cell phone into a listening device even when it’s off?” I said.

The wrinkles around Clarice’s mouth smoothed then realigned themselves in the opposite direction. She hooked an arm through mine and dragged me outside. “You and I are going to take in an entire atmosphere of fresh air while you spill your guts. All of them.”

It was a good idea. We crunched through the icy layer of mud along the track where our only eavesdroppers were towering fir trees with raggedy ferns at their bases. The breeze crinkled through their frozen limbs, making them sound like ancient giants with arthritic joints. 

“You first — please,” I finally said. “I’m super sorry for leaving you with such a mess.”

Clarice snorted, but filled me in. Emmie had orchestrated a pig exodus with a bunch of the boys before Clarice had had a chance to head to the kitchen for her first cup of coffee. Clarice reported this with immense satisfaction, as though the girl had inherited her organizational skills by osmosis. Then Emmie had returned to help Clarice scrub the linoleum tile floor.

I apologized profusely all over again.

“I’ve seen worse,” Clarice grunted.

So had I. I’d visited orphanages in places where most of the populace lived in pigsty conditions and were grateful for the few amenities they did have. Which reminded me of Josh’s recounting of rescuing the illegal slave laborers — here, in the United States. And then I thought about Chet and his family hiding in our basement.

“Where’s Emmie now?” I asked.

“Working with Eli and Dill and the Clayborne boys to build a sheltered pen for the pigs near the bunkhouse. Walt seemed to know about the need for this before I did.” She scowled at me again.

“And you found my phone,” I prompted.

“On which Arleta was calling to let you know the FBI swooped in early this morning. Of course, I had to ask her why such a thing would be necessary.” Clarice shot another withering glance my direction. “She’s amazed by the clout you carry in federal circles.” Clarice snorted. “And she happened to mention that one of the agents is cute in a burly, handsome, chocolaty-skinned sort of way.”

I chuckled. “Arleta needs a good man. Did she say if any of the hubbub bothered my dad?”

“Said he ate scrambled eggs and four slices of bacon for breakfast, and buttered his own toast.”

“Then he’s okay,” I sighed. “This is hitting too close to home.”

“Is that the best belated newsflash you can come up with?” Clarice growled. She elbowed me in the side. “Your turn.”

I told her about the new houseguest at Tarq’s and gave her a bare-bones outline of his plan. Because that was all I had too. If Skip had been organizing this operation, there would have been a thirty-slide PowerPoint presentation, but Josh and I had only one option — winging it. At least we had the benefit of his experience as an FBI agent.

Clarice halted, stock still in the middle of the track, and bunched her fists on her hips. A breath steam cloud settled over her head, replacing the massive bouffant wig she used to wear, back in the days of steady employment and drive-thru lattes and manicures. Her lips worked silently, and I could tell she was about to light into me, but she was prearranging her words — a rare occurrence.

I tested the slushy center of a puddle with my boot toe.

“First,” Clarice said, her tone surprisingly measured, “this Lutsenko brute. He’s not just going to want his paintings back. He’s going to want revenge. He’s lost face, and he will try to do worse to you to make up for it.”

I nodded. There was no getting around the risks we’d be taking.

“Second,” Clarice continued, “I’m in. Don’t you dare assume I’m not.” She waited for my next nod of ascent before expanding her list. “Third, I know how we can get Chet and Josh together for a debriefing.”

“Now?” I blurted.

“Of course now. We have things to do, girl.” Clarice executed an about-face, and I trotted along behind her on the way back to the mansion.

oOo

An hour later, Clarice and Emmie and I were lined up on Lentil’s bench seat, rumbling out onto the county road. Emmie’s eyes were still shining from her exceptionally fine morning. If quality of life can be measured in the thickness of mud caked on a little girl’s body and clothing, then she had riches galore. And she’d thoroughly earned the bath Clarice had insisted upon.

Emmie was actually chattering — about her friends, Eli and Odell, and how hard it was to set posts into frozen ground and how Wilbur had squealed and squealed until he saw that his slop bucket was inside the small enclosure. Then he’d cantered straight in with his curly tail lifted in the air.

I glanced down at the top of her head, her dark hair still damp but carefully combed. And something just opened up inside me. My heart swelled until it almost hurt. I’d been sheltering her too much. She was ready. My sweet girl.

Clarice caught me contemplating and uttered a soft “Huh” with a slight nod.

I drove carefully on the slick pavement and pulled into the potholed lot next to Gus’s service station-slash-post office. Clarice’s Subaru sat forlornly behind the building, and I eased Lentil in beside the station wagon.

I whistled softly at the mangled fender, crumpled hood, and empty headlight socket on Clarice’s formerly pristine car.

“Don’t say it,” Clarice mumbled, jerking her door open. “Not one word.” She slid out of the truck and banged on the back door of the service bay.

Immediately, the door swung wide, with Gus filling the opening. “Ladies, good to see you,” he said. “Fine day for a drive.”

I took one more quick look around the rest of the empty parking lot and the trees crowding in. No traffic in any of the four directions approaching the intersection. Then I slung my arm over the back of the seat and tapped Chet on the shoulder.

He skittered out of the truck and through the narrow gap Gus created by moving to the side so fast he was only a dark shadow, a flicker of movement.

“It’ll be a few days yet before the last part I need comes in, Clarice,” Gus announced in a sonorous voice. Anyone within fifty yards would have heard him. “Your repair is my number one priority, but you’re just gonna have to be patient.”

“Don’t I know that,” Clarice shouted. “I’m not paying you by the hour.” She climbed back into the cab and slammed her door.

“I hope Gus realizes that was just for show,” I said once we were safely on the road again. “It might be a good idea to be nice to him, since he’s sweet on you and all.”

Emmie giggled and pressed her sandwiched hands between her knees. Her sneakered feet stuck out beyond the edge of the seat and bobbed in rhythm with Lentil’s rough engine.

“Huh,” Clarice grumped. “He is not.”

Emmie and I rolled our eyes at each other.

“Okay, maybe you’re the only one who’s getting flustered, but I was pretty sure the admiration was mutual the other night,” I added. “And maybe you concocted this perfect rendezvous for Josh and Chet just so you could see Gus again.”

“Phooey!” Clarice barked. “Baloney! Rubbish!” But her efforts only set Emmie and me off again into peals of laughter.

The Six Shooter Storage Solutions lot was still the drab, uninspiring place it had been the last time I’d visited. I dropped Clarice off at the rental office in front and continued on to the aisle where our unit 236 sat in identical anonymity with all the others.

I noticed for the first time that the lanes were actually flagged with little street signs. We were on Wild Bill Hickok Way. Some things you just can’t make up. I wondered what good ol’ Wild Bill would think of my gold stash.

The long row of dingy garage doors on the other side of Wild Bill Hickok Way looked exactly the same but were labeled with odd numbers.

I called Clarice. “How about 241?”

I heard murmuring in the background. “Occupied,” she replied.

“239?”

“Ditto.”

“Good grief,” I muttered. “We can’t be directly across. How about 231? But ask if the ones in between are full too.”

More shuffling and low voices. “This is one storage-happy town,” Clarice announced. “But bingo on 231.” She hung up.

“How are your muscles, Emmie?” I asked as I backed into 236. “We have some heavy lifting to do.”

Clarice banged on the door several minutes later with the signed rental agreement and keys for the new unit.

I rolled the door up far enough to let her edge inside while bent in half then quickly closed it behind her.

“Got a new brother-in-law who has more junk than he knows what to do with, therefore necessitating the rental of a storage unit in advance of his cross-country move with his extensive family,” Clarice said. “Wilbur Chops. In honor of one of our overnight guests. I wanted to get Orville in the name as well, but the clerk didn’t look quite dumb enough to buy that one too.”

“Therefore no ID available,” I panted. “Brilliant.” I clunked a crate onto Lentil’s tailgate.

“It required a level of finesse not consistent with a flustered, starry-eyed woman, I’ll have you know.” Clarice lifted another crate with a grunt and waddled over to dump it beside mine. “Seems we lucked out and got one of the last remaining empty units in the place. The rest of the row opposite is full.”

“I sure hope all the renters carry insurance,” I muttered.

“Except us,” Clarice noted. Which she really didn’t need to point out. No insurance agency in its right might would come anywhere near guaranteeing the contents of the unit. But since my handling of the paintings was negligence removed to the third degree, I wasn’t sure I could be held liable for it. If I was caught with them in my possession, though, I’d be looking at the inside of a jail cell for a long time.

Emmie tugged and shoved the crates into a raft in the middle of the truck bed. Eleven. One short because of the gold bar Tarq had absconded with, at my request. Soon to be converted into cash, I hoped, especially considering the progress being made on the conversion of the mechanics’ garage. At the rate they were going, the contractors would be earning a bonus for early completion too.

We left the paintings wrapped in an old blanket — a bundle on the concrete floor. Not that the blanket was effective protection, but it seemed vulgar to leave them lying there without any sort of covering, shivering in the dark — especially the naked ladies.

I pulled Lentil out of unit 236 and drove the few yards across the aisle to unit 231, where we reversed the loading process and made a neat pile of crates against the back wall of the new unit.

“A good day’s work.” Clarice brushed her hands together and flicked a few specks off her jacket.

“Separation is the name of the game,” I agreed.

“You’re both silly,” Emmie said.

I was just starting to nod when Clarice shouted, “Objection!” and playfully swatted Emmie’s leg as she climbed into the cab. “Watch your mouth, young lady.”