BM03 - Crazy Little Thing Called Dead (9 page)

The second room held purple and pink sleds, a wagon, gardening tools and a bulkhead door to the outside. A possible escape route when I’d finished my reconnoitering. I looked around at the plant pots, rakes and bags of soil, but if there was anything suspicious here I wasn’t seeing it.

The next room was locked. I wondered if that was suspicious but considering small children used the basement as a play area I thought not. Any number of hazardous materials could be found in a basement. A smart mom would lock them up. I felt over the door and looked along the windowsill for the key. I went back to the laundry room and checked the walls for key hooks and the cabinets once again. Nothing. I found a safety pin in the basket of odds and ends, straightened it out and took it to the door, but it wouldn’t budge. It wasn’t one of those pushbutton knobs they put on bathrooms. It was a real keyhole and I didn’t have the skills needed to unlock it.

I considered putting my foot to it, but I wasn’t comfortable damaging Ronnie’s door, especially as I might make it unlockable and I had no desire to be responsible for a toddler eating rat poison. I went back into the room with the bulkhead door, which wasn’t locked—why would it be?—and let myself out. I shut the heavy doors quietly behind me. And this time I jogged out to the road because I had the uncomfortable feeling I was being watched.

***

Interestingly enough, the black Cadillac Escalade was in my drive when I got home. By the time I’d parked my Toyota, Hambecker was leaning against his passenger door, legs crossed, one hand absently petting Diesel’s head, behind them, down the hill a little, I could see Stripes sniffing around the chicken enclosure. Not that I’d admit it to anybody but I was a little nervous about Hambecker being there. There was no way he knew where I’d been, right? But I mentally prepared myself for battle anyway.

“Hey, Trouble,” he said as I slid from my truck and shut the door behind me. “What you been up to? I checked for you back at the office, but Meg said she hadn’t seen you today.”

“I had stuff to do. I do occasionally have to research my stories. What did you need?”

“Just checking up on you, making sure you weren’t sticking your nose into places it might get broken.”

“You were worried I might get my nose broken? That’s a little bizarre, even for you.” I’d already told him that I could take care of myself, thank you very much, what more did he want? I hitched my bag over my shoulder. “I appreciate your concern, but as I remember it I did better than you the last time you were keeping an eye on me. Maybe I should be keeping tabs on you.”

“Funny,” he said, his voice dead serious. “You’re a laugh a minute, MacGowan. Fine. Go do your amateur hour investigation thing, just don’t come crying to me when people start shooting at you. I’m telling you, Bree, these people don’t care you’re just a small town reporter trying to get a story. They’ll kill you without hesitation if you get in their way. Hell, they’ll kill you if they think you might be
considering
getting in their way.”

“Don’t get your boxers in a bunch. I’m not getting in anyone’s way here. I’m just writing about a small town murder for a small town paper. Nobody cares what I’m doing.”

Hambecker shook his head and pushed himself off the Escalade. “Why do I always get stuck with the women who insist they can take care of themselves? Just once I’d like to end up with a woman with a sense of self-preservation who wants to stay out of harm’s way. Just once. Is that too much to ask?” He headed around to the driver side. “Listen, MacGowan,” he said. “Watch your back. These people are deadly.”

“What people?” I asked. “What people are deadly? Is it the Italian Mafia?”

He just shook his head at me and got in the truck. Not that I cared. I already had a good idea of who I was dealing with. I turned and walked into the house without looking back, but I didn’t hear the SUV reverse out of the drive until after I shut the door behind me. Round one to MacGowan.

The trouble with claiming victory was that I had no idea how to find out who Hambecker thought had killed the guy. I could, and would, write up what I had, but it wasn’t much. I grabbed a pad of lined paper and sat at the kitchen table with an orange creamsicle yogurt and a chocolate chip cookie. The yogurt was lunch. The chocolate chip cookie? Inspiration.

I ended up just doodling on the pad while I rubbed Beagle Annie’s belly with my foot because it had dawned on me that if I wanted to find out what Hambecker knew, I was going to have to follow him, which wouldn’t be easy. As much as I liked to give him a bad time, he was kind of good at his job. It was going to take a lot of ingenuity on my part not to get caught.

I grabbed my phone and dialed Steve. I knew for a fact that Tom wouldn’t tell me what I wanted to know. If I caught Steve off guard I might be able to get him to spill.
Might
being the operative word.

“Hey Steve,” I said. “Do you know where Richard Hambecker is staying? I need to get in touch with him.”

“I’m surprised you don’t know, MacGowan. He’s staying with Meg and Tom.”

I hung up and fumed for a while before I called Meg.

“You’re holding out on me,” I said. “Hambecker is staying with you.”

“Only since yesterday, Bree. I was going to tell you when I saw you. I just haven’t seen you since Tom moved Richard in. He was staying at a hotel in White River Junction. That just wasn’t right.” Meg Maverick, mother to the masses.

“What isn’t right is that no one is telling me anything. The silence is deafening here. But can you do me a favor?” Guilt almost always worked on Meg.

She had to say yes. How can you totally keep your best friend out of the loop and then not owe her one? You can’t. Which is how I ended up parked in a lay-by a quarter mile from Meg’s house at noon, waiting for a phone call. I was in Beau’s masonry truck. He was building walls in Europe and while he hadn’t strictly given me permission to drive his vehicle, he didn’t normally have a problem with it.

I had bacon on toast sandwich and Beagle Annie to help keep me company. And an extra-large coffee that I’d stirred chocolate syrup into.

My phone chirped and I read the message:
On the move. Coming your way
.

Good. I turned the key and put the truck in gear, ready to follow Hambecker when he passed me. I pulled one of Beau’s old ball caps over my eyes in a sort of disguise and slid down in the seat, pretending to be talking on the phone.

Hambecker zipped by without even a second look at me or the truck. I pulled out behind him, keeping him in sight, but hopefully far enough away that I wouldn’t show up on his radar. We drove through Sharon and onto the interstate. Fifteen minutes later he surprised me by taking I-91 South. Not that I wasn’t ready to follow him, but why south?

“Why is he going south, Annie?” I asked her. She just licked my hand and laid her head in my lap. Beagle Annie didn’t care what direction we went, as long as she got to come with me.

An hour later we’d reached Brattleboro at the southern end of Vermont, and he wasn’t showing any signs of stopping. I was out of gas.

I pulled off the interstate to fill up Beau’s gas-eating behemoth and started for home. There was no way I was going to be able to pick up Richard again. He could be going anywhere. Well, maybe not anywhere. I was pretty sure he wasn’t headed to Canada.

I had a lot of time to think on the way back and I pulled off in West Lebanon and drove to the Radio Shack. For fifty bucks I was able to purchase a GPS tracking unit, which I took home and charged.

***

The next day I played with the GPS tracker to get the hang of it then I dropped it in my bag and took it to work with me.

“Still mad at me?” Meg asked as I came in the door.

I dropped my stuff on the floor behind my desk and turned to her.

“That depends.”

“On what?” Meg’s eyes started to narrow.

“On whether or not you’ll hide something in Hambecker’s Escalade for me.”

“Are you kidding? No way am I putting anything in Richard’s vehicle. Don’t tell me what it is. I don’t want to know.”

“It’s a—”

“No! I meant it when I said don’t tell me. I do not want to know
anything
about this. Do you understand? The man is a guest in my house and a federal agent. I am not going to jail because my best friend is an idiot.”

“I’m only trying to elevate the status of your newspaper, you know. You might at least pretend to be grateful.”

Meg snorted. “Oh yeah, I’m grateful. Grateful I wasn’t in Beau’s truck with you when you were following
Agent
Hambecker yesterday. Jeez, Bree, what are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking he knows something he’s not telling me. I’m thinking I could find out what it is he knows. I’m thinking I’m an investigative reporter.”

Meg slammed her palm down on her desk.

“You just kill me, you know that? You slouch around writing the stories that get dropped in your lap, and then, when Hambecker appears you suddenly turn into Jane Mayer. This paper is not going to live or die on what you write. Only—wait—if you were writing your columns from jail,
that
might increase circulation. Never mind, you can do any crazy thing you want. Just don’t get yourself killed.” Meg shrugged herself into her coat.

“Don’t forget you’re coming to dinner tonight.” She picked up her purse and stomped out of the room.

I didn’t take it personally. We’d been friends long enough that I knew she’d come around again before long. She wouldn’t, however, put the tracking device in Hambecker’s SUV for me. That was clear. And truthfully, if he’d been a guest at my house I probably wouldn’t have done it for her. There are rules.

Well, okay, maybe I would, but only if she had a good reason.

***

The table was already set when I walked into Meg’s kitchen. Unfortunately, she wasn’t the person I found there; Hambecker was stirring something on the stove. He turned and looked at me. I’d foolishly stopped half way into the kitchen, frozen by the sight of him. I was an idiot. I told myself to relax and came to stand next to the stove. The familiar smell of spaghetti sauce wafted to me, and my stomach growled. Loudly.

“I didn’t know you were cooking tonight when Meg asked me to dinner. I’ve never seen you cook. I thought Moose was the cook between the two of you.” I couldn’t seem to stop the idiot words from coming out of my mouth.

“Moose is the cook when he’s around because he likes to cook more than I do. Gives him something to hide behind. That doesn’t mean I can’t cook.”

I edged toward the living room. “Excuse me a minute. I want to say hi to Meg.”

“Sure. Go ahead.”

I practically ran up the stairs to Meg and Tom’s bedroom. Meg was sitting with her youngest, brushing her hair.

“You might have warned me.” I plopped onto the bed next to her, letting my body fall back until I was staring at the ceiling. “I just made a huge ass of myself.”

“Language,” said Meg, nodding her head toward Gemma whose hair she was now braiding. “What does it matter? You knew he was staying here.”

“God, I don’t know. Why do I always make such a fool of myself?” I flipped over on my stomach and looked out the window to the river. If I only had a boat I could float away. O
h stop being so dramatic
.
He’s just guy
.

“I’d think you’d be used to it by now.” Meg laughed.

“Hey!” I picked up a pillow and thumped her back with it. “Be nice.”

“I thought the point of best friends was you didn’t have to be nice.”

“Momma, you always tell me I have to be nice to Toby,” Gemma said. She looked confused.

“Yes, I do pumpkin, because you and Toby are still little. When you’re grown up you can tease your friends and they’ll know when you’re kidding.” Meg snapped a hair tie on the braid. “Come on,” she said. “Richard will think we’re afraid to eat his food.”

“Wait a sec,” I said quietly, so Gemma wouldn’t hear. “Can you distract Hambecker for a couple of minutes for me? I don’t want him to see what I’m doing.”

“Bree!” Meg gave me the don’t-you-dare look she’d perfected on her kids.

“Come on Meg, just two minutes.”

She huffed down the stairs without answering but I knew she’d do it.

When we got to the kitchen with Gemma and Jeremy—who came out of his room and followed us down the stairs—Tom was there. He was running water over lettuce as Hambecker drained the noodles in the second sink. They were laughing, and obviously comfortable with each other. Like they were friends or something.

Huh
.
When did they become friends
?

Meg motioned for me to get out the door. “Richard, come look at this,” she said.

And then I was out the door. I trotted over to the Escalade and yanked on the passenger door. Locked. “What’s with these people?” I tried the rear passenger side door, the driver’s door and the seat behind the driver. All locked. Rear hatch. Locked. “Crap!”

I ran over to my truck and grabbed a roll of black duct tape from my
unlocked
glove compartment. I skidded back to Hambecker’s SUV and crouched down next to the rear wheel. I wrapped the GPS in duct tape and stuck it to the top of the fender inside the wheel well. I tossed the duct tape into the bed of my truck and sauntered back into the house like I hadn’t broken into a sweat.

Meg and Hambecker were just walking in from the living room, and if looks could kill, I’d be dead.

Chapter Seven

Meg called the other two kids down and we sat down to a table loaded with food. The usual madhouse followed with plates and bowls being passed across the table in all directions. Gemma up-ended the basket of rolls and several tumbled off the table to be snapped up by the dogs. It was a normal dinner at chez Maverick.

It wasn’t until we all had food on our plates and the kids had silenced themselves by filling their mouths that I noticed that Tom had his
I have to do something I don’t want to do
face on. He was serious and there was a furrow between his eyebrows.