Old Growth & Ivy (The Spook Hills Trilogy Book 1) (24 page)

"I should have expected that --
you two will forever be FBI agents," Ivy said, shaking her head and
chuckling at the same time.  "But when did the bad guys do it?"

"Were there times when you left
things in your room?  Like when you went out for a walk or to go
shopping?"

“Wouldn't Brian have seen the guys go
in to the hotel room or apartment or wherever?"

"Not if he was out following
you."

"Damn."

  "I'm surprised that
security software on your PC didn't detect it."

"Is that detection software on my
iPhone or iPad?

"Likely not -- I'll check. 
Those devices would be more suspect.  If they are on, they are
connected."

"But I have passwords on
them."

"Certain devices can pick up what
you key -- typically through a window.  Do you store the passwords
anywhere?"

"Not those.  Numerics. 
In my head."

"Common numbers?"

"My Dad's Birth Month and
Day."

Mathew looked at her
questioningly. 

"Damn again.  It should have
been a random number."

"Some agents do the same
thing.  I don't.  Steve doesn't.  We should have told you. 
I'll verify the tracking software, but that's likely how they knew when you
would arrive at Spook Hills.  We'll make sure it gets removed. "

Steve spoke up then.  "The
other possibility is that they were tracking you by the new credit cards as you
used them.  Looking back on it, someone at the Bureau could have known
about that ID I kept and when it went active, he or she put a trace on the
money I transferred to pay your bills.”

“You mean the mole?  Mathew told
me your theory.”

“Yeah.  As at the Portland house,
this shooting was like a vendetta.  I think El Zorro Astuto wants to make
me suffer.  The bastard wanted me to see you die.  He wanted me to have
to bury you.  Then some other time, he would have me and Mathew finished
off too.  We must have killed a key person in his ring during the raid in
Mexico."

Ivy adjusted her sling, and then did
her best to square her shoulders and appear capable.  "What do we do
now?  Go after him?"

Mathew regarded her with surprise,
glad to see she had the spunk to fight.  "First you two heal. 
Let the Bureau go after him and give us all protection."

"And if they don't conclusively
get him?" Ivy asked.  She could only put one hand on her hip, but she
still stood in the aggressive posture she used when riled.

Steve got a stubborn look on his
face.  "Then we activate the Spook Hills Gang."

"That the one you have to either
limp, or have the use of only one arm, or both to get into?"  Mathew
asked, glancing pointedly from his own bad leg, to Ivy's shoulder, to Steve
still in the hospital bed.

"The very one -- luckily brains
count the most in any operation."

The next day Mathew wheeled Steve out
to the Suburban, settled him into the back seat with Ivy and headed for the
vineyard, deciding that despite everything, they should be there, continuing
their work on the house, the vines and the fields.  Brian rode shotgun and
Moll crammed himself into the way-back, gun drawn, but on the floor next to
him.  When they stopped at Spook Hills, Ivy immediately struggled out of
the SUV to go around and help Steve.  Not only was Steve wearing a brace
for his pinned collarbone, but he had his arm in a sling and he limped painfully
along on a cane.  Still he managed his big grin when the corgis ran to
greet them.  Fred came out of the new house with an equally wide smile on
his face and lugging the cat, Druid.  Despite feeling drained by the trip
to Spook Hills, Steve wanted to give Ivy a tour of the house.  He leaned
heavily on his three-footed cane, trying to limp around the pain in his
backside. 

As Mathew surveyed the area around the
house, he realized that Fred had continued working on it, interfacing with the
contractor and laborers.  What a godsend that young man turned out to
be!  Beds were dug for the landscaping and footings were ready for the
planned serpentines of rock walls.  A curving front sidewalk had been
painstakingly laid out and dug down the required 14 inches, with first gravel
and then sand put in place.  Aware of how particular Steve was, Fred left
an area exposed so the depth of the base layers could be checked. 
Cobblestone pavers were stacked nearby on pallets, used by the workers as they
paved their way up the walk.  Steve had picked the pavers out, going for
natural split-granite in shades of blue-gray to make a pleasing combination
with the stone for the garden walls.

Out in the vineyard, the vines had
grown since Mathew saw them the previous Monday during his quick trip back to
the trailer for a supply of clothes.  From behind the house, he could hear
the sounds of drills and screwdrivers as work continued on the long roof deck over
part of the lower level.  This will be Steve and Ivy's home, Mathew
thought smiling to himself, and it will be mine as well for a time.  His
eyes shifted over to the site that would be his house one day.  A couple
of carpenters were restoring the old barns.  While he was eager to see the
work completed, he was all too aware that they still had to contend with El
Zorro Astuto.

As they walked into the house, the
Director of the Bureau called Steve on his cell phone, asking how he and Ivy
were.  When he said he would check back in a week, Steve wondered what he
had in mind.  Maybe he wanted only to see how their recovery was
progressing.  After all, he had long been one of Steve's supporters. 
Somehow Steve doubted it would be that simple. 

The day was warm and the air smelled
of summer.  Mathew noticed that both Ivy and Steve were taking in big
lungfuls of the fresh country air, as if trying to get the hospital smells out
of their nostrils.  Ivy found it unbelievable how the house had taken shape
in the weeks she had been away.  The wood siding was on, the rock facing
was in place on the front of the house and on the chimneys, the roof was on and
the windows and doors were in.  What had been an empty shell was starting
to look like a home.  She reached over and kissed Steve on the cheek as
they moved through the house, gingerly stepping along the temporary boards that
made a path out to the roof deck where Steve proudly showed off the
ivy-patterned railing, which both surprised and delighted her.

Steve and Mathew were hard drivers
about having the house built and the vineyards planted.  Ivy was glad to
be back for the remaining work on their Spook Hills house.  Without her,
Steve might have never stopped adding security gadgets, balconies, patios,
crown moldings, wainscoting, cornices and other architectural gewgaws. 
His thoughtfulness was touching, even though he verged on overdoing it.

The owners of a neighboring vineyard
stopped by to check on their personal progress, the construction of the house,
and the growth of the vines.  When they asked about the shooting, Mathew
explained that he and Steve were formerly with the FBI and they believed that
the shooting was a vengeance move by a suspected drug lord.  Their
neighbors nodded and apparently spread the word to the other vineyard owners,
as they found they were regarded warily yet sympathetically, with a couple of
neighbors stopping by with casseroles and soups. 

Following the shooting, Ivy could face
the devil that was after her. What kind of cowardly act was it to shoot two
people in the back?  Now she carried her gun with more
determination.  That shooting removed any lingering conflicts she had
about harming the perpetrators.  She had been fortunate that Steve was
there to shield her with his big body or those next two shots would have killed
her.   As it was, his act of love could have cost him his life.

Ivy realized during her recovery that
she had loved Steve for herself far more than for him.  She had loved as a
selfish woman who needed her life to change.  Now she could love him
because he deserved it so very much.  She resolved to cast aside centering
on herself and reach outward to him, although hurt as they both were,
expressing how they felt physically would be limited in the near term.

***

The rest of July and August were
devoted to healing and working on the house as best they could.   The
second week of September, Ivy, Steve and Mathew spent a couple of days in
Portland, picking out smooth Brazilian cherry flooring, dense golden tan
travertine from Peru, sedate slabs of granite in shades of brown with a little
gold coloring running through, paint colors in moody hues, as well as sinks,
commodes and appliances.  With those essentials ordered, Mathew went back
to Spook Hills. 

Steve and Ivy stayed on to select
furniture and carpeting.  They would need area rugs to create warmth on
the hardwoods and tile throughout the house.  First they did a
walk-through of the Portland house, with Steve making a list on his laptop of
what Ivy wanted moved down to Spook Hills.  A few pieces of furniture,
some of the art, four rugs, kitchen things, china, pottery, holiday
decorations, her clothing and her personal things would be moved.  After
they were finished, they took Brian and Moll out to lunch to talk about their
startup enterprise.  That afternoon, Steve took a set of plans for the new
house that he had automated on his laptop and created a layout for the
furniture so they could see what they were missing.

A small table, an antique sea chest,
and a big painted hutch from Steve's mother would go into the new house, along
with pieces of her Nordic pottery and a few other ethnic pieces from
Norway.  The furniture was decorated in the patterns and colors of the
traditional Norwegian rosemaling style, which would add points of
interest.  Ivy planned to use old photos from Steve's family and hers to
create a collage on one wall, leaving space to add their own memories. 
Her challenge was to blend the styles to be part of a whole, rather than an
eclectic muddle.  As she discussed these ideas with Steve, he added them
to the layout.

Ivy decided that the new furniture
would be her contribution to Spook Hills.  She began to wonder what she
should do with the Portland house.  As long as Brian and Moll wanted to
stay there, she would leave the rest of the furnishings.  At some point,
the two men would want to get on with their own lives by moving back East and
she would likely put the house on the market.  For now they were
concentrating getting the software, practices manual and marketing materials
ready to start their new business, as well as consulting back to the FBI.

While still not 100%, each week found
Ivy and Steve stronger and able to take on more tasks.  Luckily Steve was
more patient about the shopping process than Ivy had expected he would
be.  As long as they stopped for coffee or tea breaks and tried a new spot
for lunch each day, he was happy to be out with her, updating their
computerized room layout after each purchase.  Their evenings were spent either
at one of the Portland restaurants or with Ivy preparing a simple meal at the
Portland house.  Either way, they kept evenings as their time to talk and
to be together.  While Ivy was sorry that Steve now had scars that marred
the sinuous flow of his shoulder and chest muscles, she saw them a mark of his
love that he had shielded her with his body. 

On Friday, they headed in separate
directions, each with an agent tailing them.  Ivy went to shop for dresses
for the party after their planned wedding -- not classically bridal, but
something long, striking and flattering.  She found a dress in a moody
emerald satin with shadowy tones that could be special ordered in her
size.  While the back was high, the neckline in front was so décolleté
that Ivy was glad it came with a matching wrap.  She thought that the
ensemble would be becoming, while avoiding the younger person's bridal
image.  

Mathew returned to Portland that
evening to bring them up-to-date on the house and vineyard over dinner while at
the same time Brian and Moll flew back to New York to prepare for a meeting
with a prospect bank on Monday.  Ivy chose the long-standing, but
periodically re-invented Genoa Restaurant where its quietude would be perfect
for conversation.   They ate their first course slowly, listening to
Mathew talk about progress at the house that week, most notably the front
walkway and the curved patio off the conservatory by the kitchen that dropped
down to a lower-level walled garden, as well as the remaining wallboard and
some of the trim. 

Their server brought their pasta
course while Mathew gabbed away enthusiastically about the vineyards and how
the vines became appreciably bigger each week, with larger leaves, longer
branches and stouter bases.  Earlier in the year, the few grape clusters
that appeared had been removed to encourage growth in the young vines. 
Mathew was filled with amazement at how hardy the vines were and how
tenaciously they clung to the hillsides.  Over salads, the conversation
drifted to El Zorro Astuto and their concerns about when he would have his
gunmen attack next. 

"What if he is a
twin?"  Mathew asked.  He glanced a little guiltily over at
Steve.  "While I was waiting in the hospital, I got access to
Sentinel and read through your case notes."

Steve regarded him with surprise for a
moment and then nodded.  "Not impossible.  Odd that twins in
business would operate as if they are one person in two bodies."

"Fungible," Mathew said
almost to himself.  "Not a word you usually apply to people, but they
could have developed a relationship so tight that it works for them and they
have become almost interchangeable or fungible."

Ivy noticed that Mathew had such a
fascination with words, seeking the
mot
juste
. 
His affinity for Latin and Greek words came from his private school
background.  Sometimes along with his fussiness, it made him seem a little
effete, although no one would question his masculinity.  Steve and the FBI
had kept Mathew grounded, pulling him away from his wealthy background into
reality.

"I remember you saying that
Astuto named his companies after animals, plants and insects native to
Colombia.  Correct?" she asked a bit tentatively, as if to talk about
the perps was to invite trouble.

"That's right and the fictitious
officers had Spanish names taken methodically from lists of common
names."  Mathew said.

"How very peculiar. 
Something childish about it all.  Clever, but childish," Ivy
ventured.

Steve's eyebrows lifted. 
"Say more."  He put his fork down with a morsel of golden beet,
a sprig of arugula and toasted pine nuts still on it, giving Ivy his full
attention.

"Think about it -- the names of
the companies and officers, the fascination with yachts, the use of the actors
and the copycat strategy with the money laundering.  It almost sounds like
a made-for-TV movie.  You know how they are often rather obvious."

"The guy is clearly smart. 
Brilliant even."  Mathew said frowning.  He was having trouble
fitting childish approaches with a successful and deadly drug lord.

"Maybe it's a case of arrested
development," Ivy commented speculatively.  She had been conjecturing
about Astuto in the back of her mind.

The two men went back to eating, but
Ivy could see they were mulling over what she said.

"Could be a post-traumatic stress
disorder," Mathew said after he finished his
insalata
with
asiago
and lightly grilled prosciutto.

"What if?"  Ivy stopped
and looked down.  "No, maybe I've watched too much TV."

"Say it," Steve commanded.

“You said there were three different
sets of handwriting on the signature specimens you found, right?”

Mathew nodded.

“But only two faces, very similar
faces, appeared on the passports?”

“Yeah.”

"What if three of these guys
exist-- a set of twins who do the field work, oversee the operations, buy the
yachts, hire the actors, whatever, and a third one, another brother?"

"Keep going," Steve leaned
forward, listening intently.

"Let's say they all grew up in a
rough environment, where something dreadfully shocking happened to one of
them.  What if he then became reclusive, making his own world where he
could control everything?"