3 Lies (20 page)

Maxine wrung her hands. “What if there are more cameras?”

“Then we’re screwed.”

“How do I know which plate to hide it in?”

“All of them are the same. Slip it in one of them, and then help yourself to the others.”

“I’m not very good at intrigue.”

“You’ll be fine.” Vonda patted her knee. “We’re all going to be fine.”

Beth held her hands out, and the other women helped her upright. “Yes we are.”

The familiar jostling at the door gave them a start.

Vonda whispered, “Places.”

She moved over to the ottoman. Maxine stayed within easy reach of the table. Beth groaned.

Blue-Mask entered with a tray full of sandwiches and bags of chips. Beth’s stomach wouldn’t allow it. He set the tray on the table.

“What is her status?”

Vonda stepped past him and up on the ottoman. “Ask her yourself.”

He looked toward Vonda and stepped over to Beth’s side.

“Can you tell me what happened with my machine?” She spoke as softly as she could.

He leaned in to hear as she spoke. His Adam’s apple bobbed along his throat. The rancid sweat from his ski mask sent her stomach muscles into seizure, starting a painful chain of dry heaves. His eyes snapped open in panic.

He grabbed for the bucket and positioned it in front of her. She leaned forward and clasped his shoulder with her hand, pulling him in as she lurched. They stayed in this position until Red-Mask opened the door.

“What the hell is going on?”

Blue-Mask pushed Beth back onto the bed and stood. “She was sick.”

“You are not her damn nursemaid.”

Blue-Mask got the food tray and left the room behind Red-Mask. They argued outside the door, but the words weren’t intelligible.

“I did it.” Maxine fist-pumped the air. “I did it. I got it in there.”

“Way to go, girl. Beth, are you alright?”

“Beth?”

“I’m—” She coughed several times before her throat quit jumping. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound fine. That wasn’t an act then.” Vonda said.

“He showed up so quickly. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do to distract him. I’m not that good an actress.” She tried to smile for them. “Good work, comrades.”

Beth pushed herself upright. She tried to swing her feet over the edge, but they didn’t respond. As if the connection from her brain were offline. The urgency of her situation strained her. “It’s up to you now, Vonda. See if we’ve got some help on board.” The words came out with more confidence than she felt. She didn’t want her roommates to know how desperately she needed that help.

Clint drove home with the news from the PIs rumbling his thoughts. The motive for Abe’s manic behavior became clear. Unless he perverted justice—justice he swore to uphold—a loved one would die. Then again, many of his decisions bore that particular weight to someone. Clint wondered if Beth’s parents knew the game Abe played with her life.

The Supreme Court caseload shifted like a sandbar. If they chose a case, the petitioner’s hope continued to sail. If not, hope ran aground on the rocks. They decided only a few hundred cases of the thousands petitioned each year. A single spit into the ocean.

If her abductors wanted a case decision, Clint could research the active ones, the ones closest to the court, the ones recently granted
certiorari
—the privilege of a hearing by the Supreme Court. It may help him find her. Maybe Abe did have the FBI working on this. If so, they might be doing the same thing. They didn’t have all the facts though, like the Arabic note. Then again, if the FBI were on the case they would have found the damn note.

He caught himself mouthing words in a self-argument. Not that the other drivers would find that strange. But the facts seemed fantastic.

Beth.

In the hands of terrorists.

Clint didn’t trust Abe to save her. Hell, he couldn’t even speak to Hizzoner without risking arrest. He’d have to get through to them once he had some facts, but he needed help.

His thoughts landed on Merlin for two reasons. Merlin had the intelligence to cull through the dross, and he knew how to keep his mouth shut.

~

Back home, Clint drove through the Clement Marina parking lot to check for the white van. Instead, he found a Bugatti Veyron in gunmetal grey—no less than seven people stood and gawked. Todd Westerfield undoubtedly left his chauffeur at home. Several people snapped pictures of the car with their cell phones. The man enjoyed his entrances. Clint parked his pickup and hustled to the dock.

He caught the custom cologne on a breeze before he saw Todd playing tug-of-war with Louie over a knotted rope. Todd let the dog win as Clint came up the dock. Louie also lost interest in the game when he saw Clint approach.

Even in casual clothes, Todd stood ready for a magazine shoot: air-blown hair, knife-edge pleats, an I’m-here-to-thrill-you smile. In high school he was voted most likely to marry for money.

“Stopping traffic again, eh?” Clint unleashed Louie and nuzzled his soft black face.

“Got it last week. I wanted to bring it when we met the other day, take you for a spin, but the jail thing threw off my timing. Haven’t you and the good justice kissed and made up?”

“Yeah, with a restraining order.”

“Ouch. Talk about no sense of humor.”

Clint nodded.

“Speaking of which, I heard from Paige. You did the deed.” Todd snickered. “I guess you weren’t using ‘The Brain’ three months ago.”

“Mr. Flash is a very funny man.”

“Clock’s ticking, papa.”

“I’ve got another clock ticking. C’mon.”

They climbed topside and down into the galley. Louie found the food bowl while Clint tended bar.

“What can I get you?”

“Beer. Frosty mug if you’ve got it.”

Clint poured a couple of ambers and took a seat on the settee. Louie settled next to Clint for some therapeutic petting before nodding off to sleep.

“I checked out Beth’s place. I’m in it. Ass-deep. Especially with the justice.” Clint took a big gulp. “He’s the reason Beth is missing.”

Todd’s dimples receded as Clint told him about the note in Arabic, the white van, the restraining order, the update from the private investigators.

“You are so far out of your league, junior.”

“I know. But no one else is doing a damn thing.”

“So you assume.” Todd’s elbows claimed the cushion tops to his side. His hands kept talking. “Lookit, the guys on the Supreme Court aren’t going to sit around getting blackmailed by a bunch of terrorists. They’re going to call the FBI.”

Todd made some sense. But Abe told Beth’s parents that the kidnappers wanted ransom money, millions. At least three other members of the court also had a loved one in jeopardy. If money were the true motive, the kidnappers would take industrialists, celebrities, or the justices directly. They wouldn’t target their obscure relations. Abe knew the truth, but he didn’t want those outside the court in on his secret.

Clint threaded his arms across his chest. “No. Abe hasn’t called the FBI.”

“You want to get killed? The note you found was written in Arabic. You think it’s a recipe for baba ganoush?”

“If the FBI were involved, they would have found the note. I need to find the case.”

“You need some sleep. You look like hell.”

A common refrain. “It doesn’t make me wrong.”

“They decide, what, thousands—”

“Hundreds.”

“—hundreds of cases each year. What if this is some vendetta against a prior decision?”

“I’ve got to start where I can,” Clint said.

“You’re serious?”

“It’s all I’ve got to go on.”

Todd finished his beer and licked at his foam mustache. His weight shifted on the cushion as he unclipped his phone. “Let the guys from legal help. They can assemble a profile on the active Supreme Court cases, anything that involves terrorists, the Middle East, Islamic issues, or persons of Arabic descent.” He made an entry on his phone. “I’ll have it sent over by messenger early tomorrow.” Todd stood.

Clint’s aversion to attorneys showed. Between Paige and the divorce jackals, he hadn’t considered having the team at CatSat help him. He hit Todd on the chest with the back of his hand. “Thanks. If I’m not here, leave it at the marina.” Then he remembered. “Hey I got a phone.” Clint pushed a button to call up his number and held it out to Todd.

“Gilligan finally left the island.” Todd took down the number. “I better go. I’ve got a hot date.”

They walked toward the hatch in the galley.

“The actress?”

Todd headed up the stairs. “No, her red-headed co-star. Marisa something. I’m flying her out for the night.” He checked the time. “But first I’ve got a conference call with the Supreme Commander of Sweden. Do me a favor. Get some sleep.”

“I will if you will.”

The smile that was Todd disappeared onto the outer deck.

Todd was unchanged since their earliest years. Each skirt offered willing flesh, adventure, and occasionally, challenge. The challenge component diminished to imperceptibility with the coming of his wealth. Clint experienced that. Women got stupid over money.

Paige thought Todd would eventually marry. Clint was less convinced. Todd had exacting tastes, but he craved companionship. Nubile companionship. Paige said he had to find that ruby-rare woman who uniquely surprised him before he would settle down. If so, Todd was far from unearthing that particular little gem.

Philanderer or not, his promises meant something in a world where a handshake was no longer iron clad. His friends counted among the most powerful on every continent. He said the court case notes would be over by early morning. Clint could make book they would be there before seven.

Still, he couldn’t sit around waiting. Not with Beth missing. He would get familiar with the cases tonight.

He downed the last of his beer and made a call to Merlin. The caramel finish of the amber still played on his tongue when his phone rang. Caller ID told him it was the local PI.

“Sorry, we had a tail on a white van, but we lost it.”

“Damn. Where was it?”

“Near Scituate. It sounded like the engine you described, but we couldn’t confirm the Australian shape you saw on the rear door. The plates were useless, stolen in New Hampshire. He may have new ones by now. I’ll let you know as soon as we pick it up again. And we will.”

“I’m counting on it.”

Clint ended the call in time to hear his phone chime again. This time it was the Los Angeles PI.

“We have a confirmed hit on Justice Talbot.”

Clint tried to listen to the details, but it didn’t matter. He had facts now, not mere suspicions.

Cecelia and Blake deserved some notice of Clint’s impending visit, but that only gave them time to think up more lame stories. And lately, he’d heard more than enough of their crap. Clint planned to hit the Boston Public Library again to research the cases. His stop at the Sutton’s wouldn’t take much time. But they deserved to know the truth.

Blake answered the door, unshaven and with none of his usual attention to grooming. It almost opened it before Clint knocked as if Blake were waiting. Another house of unrest.

Blake didn’t open the door fully but enough so he didn’t appear to be hiding behind it.

“Blake, we need to talk. Is Cecelia here?”

“Considering the situation with Abe, she’s not prepared to talk with you right now.”

Yesterday Blake had asked Clint for twenty million dollars. A little consistency was in order.

“I’m not leaving until I talk to you both.”

Blake’s attention turned to a noise deeper in the house, not a voice, maybe fingers snapping. “Wait here.” He closed the door.

Clint cooled on the porch for several minutes. Blake reappeared and opened the door wide. “Come in.” His arm extended toward the living room.

Clint was hopeful. He hadn’t made it out of the foyer on his last visit.

Cecelia sat in the middle of the sofa with her skirt fanned around her like Scarlet O’Hara. Candles scented the room a mix of rose and vanilla. The last few days exacted a heavy toll on her usual attractiveness. Her complexion harbored new shades of worry.

“Whatever you have to say, please make it quick. I have a bridge party I’m due to attend this evening.”

Clint caught the slight roll of Blake’s eyes.

Cecelia adjusted the large bow at her collar with agitated hands. And something else. Always an elegant, articulate woman, tonight her words slurred, her vertical posture defying gravity. She must've sipped or popped something to take away the edge.

“Why haven’t you called in the FBI to find Beth?” He spoke directly to Cecelia.

She struggled to meet his gaze. The green of her eyes resembled olives too long in the martini. “I’m sorry if she hasn’t contacted you, but you’ll have to take that up with her when she returns—” She cleared her throat. “—from San Diego.”

Clint looked to Blake for support. Someone to reason with her. Blake slouched in a chair like a giant plush bear, adding nothing to the conversation. Clint’s outrage acquiesced to pity. He sat next to Cecelia and took her dry hand in his. “I love your daughter.”

Moisture weighed her eyes.

“I’ve never told her that because I’ve only recently admitted it to myself.” The words made swallowing difficult. “I also know if we don’t start facing the truth, she’s going to die.”

She leaned toward him. “What truth?”

“I know she’s been kidnapped, and she doesn’t have a machine. Abe told you the kidnappers want money, but I think they have other plans.”

“Such as?”

“Think about it. If the kidnappers wanted money, why didn’t they come to you? Or me? Why Abe?”

Her fingers curled around his.

“There are nine men and women on the Supreme Court. At least five of them have a loved one missing. They don’t want money. They want—”

“I think you’ve said enough.” Abe strode into the room.

Clint squeezed her hand and laid it on her lap. “Which is it, sir? Revenge for an old court decision? Or does someone want a piece of an upcoming vote?”

“Revenge?” Abe squinted.