Blind Trust (3 page)

The onlookers gasped.

Herbert spun around, his look of surprise instantly transforming to pleasure. He poised his pencil over his pad. “Yes, yes. Go ahead.”

“Several of our residents have been victims of an unknown counterfeiter and may have inadvertently passed phony bills on to others. The police are asking anyone with information, or anyone who has received suspicious bills, to please contact us.”

A round-faced woman he didn't recognize spoke up. “I heard Kate Adams tried to pass a phony hundred at the grocery store.”

“And you are?”

The woman shrank back.

Typical.
“The fact is, Miss Adams attempted to pay for a small amount of groceries with several
ten
-dollar bills. We investigated and are convinced that she too was a victim of this counterfeiter.”

A flat-nosed soldier-type snorted. “Probably helps that she's dating a cop.”

Yeah, I wish.
Tom clenched his teeth and managed to refrain from glaring at the guy.

“Nonsense,” blurted Mrs. C, the one woman present who could silence the crowd with a single word, having taught grade school to the majority of them in her forty-year career. If only she could convince Kate such talk was nonsense. Then maybe she
would
date him. “I'm the treasurer for the Women's Missionary Circle at my church. Even we've had a couple of phony bills in our donation basket in the last month or so.”

“Doesn't Adams go to your church?” the cynic countered.

“She does, but not the mission meetings. They're during the day, when she's working.”

But Verna Nagy attended those meetings.
Tom bit back the urge to confirm as much in front of everyone. His more immediate concern was why the guy with the brush cut had it in
for Kate. His whiny voice didn't match the rasp of her caller, but Tom didn't recognize him from church either.

His stomach pinched. So how'd the guy know Kate attended church, or that they might be dating?

Tom scanned the rest of the shop and noted a vaguely familiar farmer-type guy—plaid shirt, leathered face, diesel-stained fingers—reading a paper by the stone fireplace in the corner. When their eyes met, the man immediately raised his newspaper, hiding his face from view.

Tom's internal radar spiked. The guy didn't fit Kate's businessman description of the caller, but he wasn't a regular either. Tom moved to the counter. “You know the guy in the corner by the fireplace?” he whispered to the owner.

Beth glanced briefly at the man. “He's been in here a few times. Drinks his coffee black and likes my blueberry muffins.”

“A fairly new customer then?”

“He's been around a few weeks, maybe more.”

Tom discreetly hitched his thumb toward the cynic. “What about the other guy?”

“Vic Lawton? He's harmless. His wife took the receptionist job at the newspaper when he lost his. I think seeing her boss here got him kind of riled.” Beth shrugged. “You know how hard it can be on a guy's ego when his wife makes the money.”

Yeah, but Tom didn't appreciate Vic taking out his frustration by badmouthing Kate. “One more thing. Has anyone tried passing off phony bills in here?”

“Not that I've noticed. Thank goodness!”

A Latina woman approached the counter. “Mr. Nagy sent me to pick up Verna's special tea. He said you'd have it ready.”

At the mention of the Nagys, Tom gave the petite woman a discreet once over. She wore a pale blue, uniform-style dress
and carried a fabric shopping bag. Her dark hair was pinned into a bun that made her look older than the faint lines on her face would suggest.

Beth leaned down and retrieved a small paper bag from beneath the counter. “Right here. That'll be four dollars.”

As the woman pulled out a bill, she nervously glanced his way. “Oh, wait.” She stuffed the ten back in her purse and laid a five on the counter instead.

Coincidence? Or had she been about to pay for her package with a phony ten-dollar bill?

She grabbed the bag and hurried out. The plaid-shirt guy left right behind her.

Beth's chuckle drew Tom's attention back to the counter. “What?”

Beth pointed to his weapon, visible beneath his open sport coat. “I think you scared her.”

Yeah, he'd noticed. He fastened his button.

“Where she comes from, the police can't be trusted any more than the criminals. Maybe less.”

“Who is she?” And why was that guy following her?

“Lucetta. She's Verna Nagy's housekeeper.”

Tom's interest piqued even more at the direct connection to Kate's neighbor. “And she does Verna's shopping?” He angled his body to keep Lucetta and plaid guy in view through the large front windows.

“Verna's son usually picks up the tea blend.”

“What's in it?”

Her gaze darted to the crowd still hovering around the newspaper editor. “I probably shouldn't say.”

Tom didn't like the way she hesitated. “It's important.”

She leaned over the counter and lowered her voice. “It has
herbs that enhance mental acuity. Brian's concerned his mother's succumbing to dementia.”

Huh.
Nagy's efforts to help his mother were impressive.

Lucetta entered the shop across the street.

“I've got to go.” Given the woman's change of heart on paying with a ten-dollar bill, Tom wasn't ready to let her out of his sight.

Outside, Tom squinted under the late afternoon sun, looking for plaid guy. Keeping the door Lucetta went through in his peripheral, Tom glanced in the neighboring stores and down side streets, but the guy had disappeared.

Tom's cell phone beeped. He checked caller ID.
The chief.

Letting out a groan, Tom leaned against a nearby lamppost to wait for Lucetta and hit the Talk button. “Yeah.”

“You got any leads?”

“A few.”

“And?”

“And I'll let you know if any of them pan out.”

“If?”
The distinct sound of a desktop being slapped punctuated the question. “The mayor is breathing down my neck on this. Bad press could change GPC's mind about expanding to Port Aster.”

“More likely he's worried about jinxing the healthy raise he's counting on if the town doubles its tax base.”

Lucetta exited the specialty shop and, with a furtive glance over her shoulder, hurried down the sidewalk away from him.

“I gotta go,” he said, cutting off whatever the chief had been saying, and trailed her at an inconspicuous distance.

“Don't let that woman affect your judgment again. We can't afford any insinuation she's getting special treatment from the police.”

“Understood.” Tom disconnected before he said something he'd regret. One date.
One!
That could hardly be construed as special treatment. But it was too easy to treat Hank like his former school chum instead of his boss. A boss who could crush his career like a coffee cup.

His cell phone rang again—the bell drop ringtone reserved for his sister. “Tess, I'm kind of busy.” He jogged across the street to catch up to Lucetta. “What's up?”

“I heard about Kate's run-in with the law.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

Lucetta stopped to examine a rack of blouses outside a dress shop.

Phone pressed to his ear, Tom stepped to the edge of the sidewalk as if the call required his full attention.

“Yeah, I guess the Franklin sisters figured I should know what kind of woman my brother's been seen fraternizing with,” Tess teased.

He groaned. “I trust you set them straight.” To the old spinsters, Tom and Kate sitting together in church a few Sundays in a row no doubt meant they were practically engaged.

She laughed. “About the fraternizing? Or Kate's trustworthiness?”

“Tess, I don't have time for this. Is there a point to your call?”

A beat-up pickup pulled to the curb, blocking his view of Lucetta.

“Yes. After the Franklin sisters left, I did an inventory of the bills in my cash register and found a phony ten-dollar bill.”

Tom pulled a notebook and pen from his pocket as he maneuvered to get a view of Lucetta. “Any idea which customer paid with it?”

“Yes, sort of. He didn't pay exactly. A teenage boy, Pedro,
brought in his aunt's antique tea set. He said she was interested in selling it and wanted to know what I'd pay.”

“Weren't you suspicious that the set might be stolen?”

“Sure. He gave me her number to confirm. Which”—she continued before Tom could point out that the boy could have given her an accomplice's phone number—“I did a reverse look up on, on the pretense of looking up the item on the computer in my office. The number belonged to her landlady, who also happens to be a friend of mine. She confirmed Pedro's story, so I made him an offer.”

“You paid
him
. So how'd you wind up with phony cash?”

“I didn't have the exact amount. I gave him three twenties, and he gave me a ten-dollar bill as change.”

“How can you be sure that the bill in your register came from the kid?”

“That was the only cash transaction I'd done in the last couple of days, and the bill was on top of the pile.”

Lucetta climbed into the pickup.

Tom quickly jotted down the license plate number, then, phone still to his ear, jogged the block back toward his car. “I don't suppose you happened to catch the boy's last name?”

“No, but his aunt's name is Lucetta.”

Tom came to an abrupt halt.

“I remember her name because it's so pretty. Don't you think?”

Tom squinted at the pickup pulling away from the curb and the teen behind the wheel. “Was the kid Latino?”

“I assumed Mexican, but yeah, from somewhere in South or Central America would be my guess.”

“And this happened today?”

“Yesterday afternoon.”

Tom unlocked his car and tossed his notepad onto the passenger seat. “Thanks, Tess, you've been a big help.” A note flapped against his windshield, anchored under his wiper.

He snatched it up and slid behind the wheel. He skimmed the words:

Are you reading your Bible? “The accomplice of a thief is his own enemy; he is put under oath and dare not testify.” You can't protect her forever.

Tom's gaze shot to the street, the sidewalks, store windows. No one appeared to be watching him. The pickup had disappeared. Tom headed straight for Kate's, his mind racing. What did this guy want? Did he intend to hurt her? Tom caught sight of the pickup turning the opposite direction.
Forget it.
There'd be time enough to follow up on Verna's housekeeper and her supposed nephew later.

Five minutes later, he rapped on Kate's door.

She didn't answer.

But her car was in the driveway. She couldn't be far. With the way rumors were flying, maybe she didn't want to face anyone. Or maybe she was working out back in the garden.

He rounded the side of the house. The backyard was empty, but the patio door sat halfway open. Inside, the kettle whistled.

He jogged to the door, expecting to find her grabbing the kettle. “Kate?” he called through the opening.

No answer.

He stepped into the kitchen and snapped off the stove. Again he called. But still no answer.

No sound at all beyond the hammering in his chest.

You
can
'
t
protect
her
forever
.
The words roared through Tom's head as he raced from bathroom to bedrooms to basement in search of Kate. Bracing himself in the center of the basement, he sucked in a calming breath and slowly turned, scanning every detail, doing his best to think like an objective cop. To stay detached.

It wasn't working.

He pounded up the basement stairs.
Her cell phone.
He pulled out his own and dialed her number.
Please, Lord, let her pick
up.

A ring sounded from the living room.
Argh!
Why
can't anything be easy with this woman?

He found her cell phone on an end table being charged.

He returned to the kitchen. “She probably popped over to one of the neighbors,” he said aloud, as if hearing it might make him believe it. Only . . . Kate wouldn't have left the kettle on the stove and the door gaped open.

He willed his heart to slow, forced himself to focus on the clues to where she might be.

An herb jar sat open on the counter next to a teacup and half-filled tea ball. From that position, Kate would've been able to see out the kitchen window. If she saw someone coming, she might have made a run for it.

Tom slipped out the patio door and scanned the neighboring yards.

Mrs. C waved to him from her garden.

He jogged over to the white picket fence separating the yards. “Have you seen Kate?”

Mrs. C tipped back her floppy hat. “Verna's grandson hollered for her as I pulled up.”

Tom's fingers bit into the fence board. If Verna's grandson was connected to the counterfeiting, fear of being found out might make him do something
really
stupid. “Did you see which way they went?”

“No, I'd just gotten back from town and was head—”

Tom cut her off with a terse “Thanks” and headed for Verna's house. Peering through the side window, he debated the wisdom of knocking. He spotted Kate helping the older woman to a chair. No sign of distress.

But no sign of the teen either.

Tom tapped on the window. When Kate turned at the sound with nothing more than curiosity in her gaze, he took his first full breath since finding her house abandoned. He pointed to the front door.

A moment later Kate pushed it open. “Tom? What are you doing back here?”

You can'
t protect her forever.
His adrenaline resurged. “You left a kettle screaming on your stove and your door standing open. I thought—” He pressed his lips into a grim line. She didn't need to know what he thought.

“Oh.” Her cheeks flushed. “I rushed over here so quickly I—”

“Why?” He peered over her shoulder into the house. “What's going on?” The question came out more tersely than he'd intended.

Kate shifted as if she might block his entrance. “Why are you here, Tom? Verna's not in any condition to answer more questions right now.”

Great, now he had her worried he was after Verna. “There's been another counterfeiting incident,” he improvised. No reason to upset her with the note. “I need to talk to her.”

Kate wavered a moment, then stepped aside. She lowered her voice as he joined her in the entranceway. “I'm not sure how much help she'll be. She's acting odd. Her grandson was here and didn't know what to do, so he asked for my help.”

“How do you mean, odd?”

“Kind of giddy. Euphoric even.”

“That's a bad thing? Maybe she'd just heard from an old friend.”

“No, Tom. She's not just happy. She's seeing ‘pretty' colors. Is surprised I can't see them.”

He moved toward the living room where Verna sat smiling inanely at the air three feet below the ceiling. “It sounds like we need to get her to a doctor.”

Kate halted him with a hand to his chest. “But if he sends her to the hospital, her son will use the incident as an excuse to have her removed from her home.”

Tom covered Kate's hand still resting against his chest. “Kate, you
do not
want to come between this woman and her family.” Especially when the woman's family might be counterfeiters.

Kate slipped her hand from beneath his and fussed with her necklace. “She doesn't seem to be in any physical distress.”

“Yet.” Tom steered Kate toward the kitchen to avoid being seen by Verna for a while longer. The room was bright and cheerful with white cupboards and two sunny windows, the exact opposite of his current mood. He needed to interview Verna about the tea set sold to his sister, to make sure ten-dollar bills weren't the only counterfeits being passed off at Verna's expense, but he didn't like the coincidental timing of this sudden downturn. “Have you checked her prescriptions for potential interactions, maybe with some of those herbal teas she likes so much?”

“I checked the kitchen cupboards, her bedside table, the bathroom cabinet. She doesn't seem to have any prescriptions. Her grandson said he'd never seen her take any meds.”

Tom gave the room a cursory glance. “Where is he?”

“I told him I'd stay with his grandmother until I was sure she's okay.”

“So he just left?”

“He's a kid. He was freaked.”

Tom took a closer look at a plant on the kitchen windowsill. Beside it sat a dish with partially dried leaves. “What are these?”

“Catnip.”

“Do you think she drinks catnip tea? That would explain her odd behavior.”

“Actually, it doesn't affect people the same way as cats. Besides, I think she uses it as a hair rinse, not a tea.”

“A hair rinse?” He couldn't help the you're-kidding-me tone that crept into his voice.

“Don't laugh. It works really well.”

“I'll take your word for it.” He tapped the canisters lining the counter. “What about these teas? Her housekeeper was just in A Cup or Two buying a special mix for her.”

“I don't know about that, but none of what's here would explain the change either.”

Tom shook his head. “I don't like it. For all we know, she could have a tumor pushing on her brain.”

“I know, but . . .” Kate bit her lower lip. “She is so afraid her son will put her in a home.”

“It might be for the best. She'd be safe from whoever's preying on her declining faculties.”

“So you finally believe me that she wasn't faking about not knowing where the money came from?”

He shoved his hand in his pocket, feeling the paper he'd stuffed inside. Finding that note on his car had turned his priorities on their ear. “I don't know yet.”

Kate's concerned gaze darted to the living room where Verna was now humming a ditty. “But you just said—?”

“Just because someone is taking advantage of her doesn't mean she's unaware of it. Does Verna have an antique tea set?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“A teenage boy sold one to my sister yesterday. Gave her a phony bill as change.”

“You think it was Verna's set?” Kate skirted past him into the dining room and stopped in front of a curio cabinet. “It's gone.”

Now he was getting somewhere. And if Verna didn't give her housekeeper permission to sell the tea set, he could add theft to the counterfeit charges. He met Kate's reflected gaze in the mirror behind the empty shelf. Her anguished expression said she didn't share his enthusiasm for the break in the case. “I'm sorry.”

She let out a sigh that seemed to drain the last of her fight. “I can't believe Verna's grandson would do this to her.”

“He didn't. A Latino teen named Pedro sold the tea set. Said he was Lucetta's nephew.”

Kate gasped.

“I take it you know him . . . and can't believe he'd do such a thing?”

For a long moment, Kate didn't respond. She merely stared at the dust rings in the curio cabinet where the tea set had been. “Actually . . . that kid has always made me a bit uneasy.”

The hair on the back of Tom's neck prickled to attention. “Uneasy how?”

“I don't know.” The way Kate hugged her middle, as if guarding against whatever the kid might do, tripled Tom's unease. “I ran into him when I visited Herbs Are Us after Daisy died. He watched me with this smug look. That's when I figured Daisy got killed because she happened upon a grow-op, so I thought the kid might be involved.” Kate unfolded her arms and threw a helpless glance toward the living room. “Now, it's just . . .”

“You don't want to believe Verna's housekeeper would do this to the old gal.”

Kate shrugged. “I guess.”

“Well, if we're going to get to the bottom of this, I need to ask her what she did with her tea set while she's still halfway lucid.” He touched the small of Kate's back and gently prodded her into the room ahead of him.

A car pulled up across the street from Kate's house.

Tom groaned. “Terrific.”

“What's wrong?”

He strode to the door. “You have company.”

For once Kate was happy to obey Tom's growled “stay put” before he stalked out of Verna's house in full-cop mode. The last person she wanted to face was the
Port Aster Press
's roving reporter. Following Molly's arrest, it had only been by the grace of God and a hospital security guard's zeal that the last reporter who'd tried to snap an exclusive photo had ended up in the drink along with his cell phone camera. Herbert was no doubt eager to make sure he didn't get scooped on the breaking news of her supposed spiral into crime. And unlike the last guy, Herbert came equipped with a real camera.

He turned from his car and all but collided with Tom, who even from her vantage point looked like an immovable force. Herbert must have gotten the same impression, because after a longing glance toward her house, he climbed back into his car and zoomed away, tires squealing in protest.

She half expected Tom to toss her a satisfied grin and feign brushing the dust off his hands, but he didn't even glance back at Verna's house, let alone return to start his questioning. Instead he scooted down her side yard.

Kate hurried to the kitchen in time to spot him slipping through her patio door.

As much as she trusted Tom, he was still a cop. It was one thing to search her house out of concern for where she'd disappeared to. But to nose around without her permission? What did that lunatic reporter tell him?

She hurried to Verna and knelt in front of her. “Will you be okay alone for a few minutes?” Guilt niggled her. She'd promised Verna's grandson she wouldn't leave. Of course, Verna hadn't seemed the least bit concerned when she left the room to talk with Tom.

“I'm fine, dear,” Verna chirped. “No need to stay.”

And she did look fine. Her eyes were clear, and the giddy quality had left her voice. Taking advantage of what might be her only opportunity, Kate took Verna's hand. “I couldn't help but notice that your fancy tea set isn't in the curio cabinet.” Kate rubbed tiny circles over the woman's gnarled fingers. “Did you give it away?”

Verna patted Kate's hand with her other one. “Did you admire my tea set too? It was my mother's.” Her gaze drifted.

“Yes,” Kate said softly, hoping to draw her back to the conversation. “It was lovely.”

“I gave it to Lucetta. The poor dear came to this country with nothing. I wanted her to have something nice.”

“How kind.” Considering how unkind Lucetta had been to turn around and sell such a precious gift. “Did she buy it from you?” That might explain how Verna ended up with the counterfeit cash.

“Oh, no. It was a gift. She doesn't have money to spare. She scrapes together all she can each month to send back to her relations.”

“I see.” Kate released Verna's hand and pushed to her feet. “I need to get home now, but I'll check in on you later, okay?”

“Visit anytime, dear. Anytime.”

Kate hurried out the back door and across the yard to her house. She pushed open the kitchen's patio door and froze.

Tom stood in the opposite doorway, his gun aimed at something in her living room.

Her pulse raced.

He spared her an irritated glance. “I told you to stay put.”

“What's going on?” she said in a squeaky voice, not daring to move and not entirely sure she'd asked loud enough for him to hear.

“I can explain,” a female voice pleaded.

Patti?
What was her new research assistant doing in her house?

Kate edged toward Tom, which earned her a glare that would've glued a lesser person to the wall. Patti probably had a perfectly reasonable explanation for being in her house.

“Well, you're in luck,” Tom said to her. “Kate just arrived, so you can explain it to the both of us.” He jerked his gun sideways. “Take a seat and keep your hands where I can see them. Kate,” he said without taking his eyes off his target, “care to join us?”