CS 01 The Grail Conspiracy (29 page)

A red Jeep Cherokee was parked beside her rental.

Cotten shrank from the window and sat pressed against the wall.
She didn't think it was Jones. A red Jeep didn't fit his image, and she
hadn't seen one at his farm.

Again the noise. This time she was awake enough to recognize it.
A knock at the door.

She held the revolver with both hands and looked through the
peephole. A man stood on the porch, his back to her, his head hidden
under the heavy hood of his coat.

"Who is it? Who's there?"

He turned and smiled as he pulled back the hood.

"John!" She flung open the door and threw her arms around his
neck. "Thank God you're here."

"You weren't going to shoot me, were you?"

"That's a scary thought."

"Inside, before you freeze," he said, turning her by the shoulders
and nudging her forward. "Cotten, I'm so sorry about your friend,
Vanessa." John closed the door and removed his parka.

Cotten felt a lump in her throat. "Nessi wasn't perfect, but she was
kind, gentle, a good friend. She didn't deserve to die like that."

"No one does." He hung the parka up and rubbed his hands
briskly. "Is there anyone you can think of who would want to hurt
you?"

Cotten shook her head. "No. I mean, I've pissed off my share of
people, but not to the extent that they'd want to blow me up." First
Thornton, then Vanessa. They're going to kill me next. "John, if someone wanted to kill Thornton and make it look like an accident, how
hard would that be? Especially with his medical history. I mean, if
they're powerful enough to shut me down like they have, then they're
more than capable of finding out whatever they wanted to know
about Thornton. They made it look like natural causes."

"Well, the car bomb wasn't meant to look like natural causes. Not
even like an accident."

Cotten plunked down on the couch and curled her legs up.
"That's what has me confused. To be so meticulous arranging Thornton's death, and yet be so crude trying to kill me. I don't get it. One
was very clever, and the other a blatant murder. And there's no pattern. Nothing other than the Grail. That's the only common thread
that weaves Archer, Thornton, and me together. Vanessa was in the
wrong place, wrong time."

"Does anyone know you're here? Have you talked to anyone?"

"No, just you and Jones." Cotten pressed the heels of her hands
against her eyes, thinking it might ease the mild headache. "I take that
back. I called Ted Casselman from the plane but didn't tell him where
I was going."

"Have you had any sleep?"

"Not much. I think I had a midnight visitor, but it could have been
my imagination. I can't tell anymore. I'm so wired I jump at everything. I'm glad you're here. Maybe I can let my guard down a little."

"Let's get something to warm up, then you tell me about it."

She followed him into the hall. "I couldn't find any coffee or tea
last night."

"Secret stash," John said.

She watched him open the door to a storage closet. He pulled out
a vacuum cleaner and a dust mop, revealing narrow stairs in the back.

"The cellar stays cool year 'round, and I don't have to worry about
somebody cleaning out the fridge or the cabinets and throwing away
my hoard. That way, I know I'll always be able to make a cup of java."

Even though the passage was narrow and the opening small, she
could see that there was a lot of clutter at the bottom.

`Be right back," John said before squeezing through the closet and
disappearing down the steps. A few moments later, he returned with
an old tin can in hand. "Voila."

Back in the kitchen he pulled a percolator from the pantry and lit
the flame on the stove burner. "You think it could have been Jones
who was here last night?" he asked as he fixed the coffee.

"I don't know. I fell asleep on the couch and woke up to what
sounded like someone walking on the front porch. But no one
knocked or tried to get in. If it was Jones, he would've let me know he
was here, I think." Cotten sat on the bench and placed the pistol on the trestle table. "There were footprints in the snow, but I can't say for
sure if they were mine or not."

"But you didn't actually see anyone?"

She shook her head. "No, and that was the end of it. I didn't hear
anything else the rest of the night. But I really believe there was somebody out there."

"I saw a few animal tracks around the porch as I walked up," John
said. "A fox, maybe. Might have come looking for food. You're not
used to the sounds of the mountains, and it could have just been an
animal that spooked you."

Steam rose from the percolator's spout as the darkening water
boiled and squirted into the small glass tip of the lid.

"Yeah, I guess it could have been. I sat on the couch with that
damn gun next to me all night. Every little creak and moan-"

"I hope you were warm enough." John retrieved two mugs. "This
place is old-the wind comes right through the walls and floor.
There's no insulation between the cellar and us. It's comfortable in
the summer, but not this time of year." He rummaged through the
cabinet. "I may have some sugar here somewhere."

"You know how I like my sugar;" she said.

He set a Ziploc bag of sugar on the table.

"Actually, the fire kept me warm." Cotten watched him fill the two
cups, thinking she'd love to snuggle up with him in front of that fire.
She missed being held by a man. The thought reminded her of
Thornton. He was dead. Vanessa was dead. The moment passed.

John placed a cup on the table and sat opposite her.

Cotten wrapped her hands around the mug.

"We're going to figure this thing out," he said. "I promise. First, we
need to find out who they are."

Her headache pounded. No sleep, nothing to eat, and her nerves
were taking a toll.

John glanced around the kitchen. "I should have stopped and
bought some groceries on my way up, but I was anxious to see that
you were safe."

"Jones said there's a store in town."

"We're better off going in to Asheville. We can get you some
warmer clothes and anything else you want."

"I guess I should call Ted and tell him I'm okay."

"My cell doesn't get service here. If you need to make a call, we'll
do it when we get into town.'

"I'm ready." Cotten stood and reached for the pistol.

"Plan on shooting your way out of the Piggly-Wiggly?"

"Hello?"

"Cheryl, it's Cotten Stone." She stood near the Wal-Mart entrance.
The suburban shopping center was a few miles outside of Asheville.
John leaned against the wall watching the customers come and go.

"With SNN," Cotten said, after a few seconds of silence.

"I know who you are," Thornton's wife answered.

Even with the noisy parking lot and people walking by, Cotten
heard the coldness in Cheryl's voice. "I hope I'm not calling at a bad
time;" Cotten said.

"I knew about you and Thornton-knew all along."

"Cheryl, I'm ... sorry. I realize there's nothing I can say to make
up for the pain ..." Cotten squeezed her eyes closed. She really meant
that. Never had she wanted to cause anyone any pain. She'd just fallen
for Thornton so fast. She hadn't had time to think.

"You're right, there's nothing you can say," Cheryl said.

Cotten knew this was hard for Cheryl. It was hard for her, too. "If
this weren't so important, I promise, I wouldn't be calling."

"What do you want?"

"Cheryl, it's vital that I know if any of Thornton's notes came
back with his personal belongings."

"Why?"

"I ... I believe they might contain clues to who killed him."

"What are you talking about?"

"Cheryl, I can't go into detail now, but I have my reasons-"

"Reasons? I'm sure you do. Like demanding that he divorce me?
Like wanting to get your hands on his wallet? Do you know how
much Thornton is worth? I can just imagine your reasons."

There was a pause and Cotten heard muffled sobs.

"Thornton died of a brain hemorrhage, Ms. Stone." Cheryl punctuated the Ms. with disdain in her voice. "So let's just leave it at that."
Her voice broke. "At least I didn't have to face the embarrassment of
him dropping dead while he was fucking you."

Cotten held her hand over the receiver to hide her sigh. The
woman had every right to attack her. Cheryl's crude remarks were
aimed to hurt, to make Cotten feel cheap and guilty. It worked, and
she knew she deserved it. But Cotten wasn't demanding anything of
Thornton when he died. She had broken it off. She swallowed back
the bitter taste in her mouth and took a deep breath.

"Cheryl, please. Thornton called me from Rome and told me he
was on to something big and he was afraid for his life. It's just too
much of a coincidence that he wound up dead. You know as well as I
do that for Thornton to be afraid ..." Cotten didn't know what else to
say. She had no proof of anything.

Another awkward pause. "I talked to my husband, too, the day
before he ..." Her voice cracked. "He apologized for all the times he'd
hurt me, for the times he'd made me cry. He told me I was a good
wife and didn't deserve him. That wasn't like Thornton. I didn't
understand why he was telling me all that." She cleared her throat as if
regaining her composure. "He was like a drug to women. I know you
weren't the first to become addicted. But you were the first one I
think he really cared about."

Cotten heard Cheryl blow her nose. She waited.

"So, what do you want?" The widow's voice had become matterof-fact.

"His comp book. I need to know what was in his last series of
notes." She heard a clunk and assumed Cheryl laid the phone down.
A moment later there was the sound of footsteps and the rustling of
paper.

"They didn't send it," Cheryl said.

"But he always had notes."

"The only thing I have is two sheets of paper that look like they
might have been torn out of his comp book. They arrived the other
day-Thornton mailed them to himself from Rome."

"Is there any reference to the Grail story?"

"No, just a list."

"Like a to-do list?" Cotten asked.

"Names."

"Can you read them to me?"

Cotten listened for a full thirty seconds before she said, "Wait.
Stop. Let me get a pen and paper."

She motioned to John who dug into his coat and pulled out a
ballpoint. He grabbed a garage sale notice from a public bulletin
board nearby and handed it to Cotten. She turned it over and franti cally wrote on the back. "One more time, Cheryl. Just slowly read the
names one more time." A moment later, she stopped scribbling and
said, "Thank you. Thank you so very much."

Hanging up, she turned to John and whispered, "Holy shit!"

THE RED JEEP CHEROKEE pulled into the parking lot of the South
Asheville Oakley Library on Fairview Road, a half mile west of Interstate 240. Patches of snow partially covered the winter rye grass lawn,
and the rusty iron-rich soil sprawled beneath.

"If you log into the SNN site and use their database, can't they
track you and know where you are?" asked John as he and Cotten got
out and climbed the library steps. "Can't we get background information on Thornton's list just by searching the Internet?"

"Yes, but the SNN archives are much more geared to research,"
Cotten said. "I'll log into SNN using my Anonimizer-dot-com
account. It's a third-party browsing service that totally hides my identity and the IP address of the computer I'm using." Cotten waited as
John held the door open. "I use it all the time so nobody can track
me. If I'm doing some research, sometimes I don't want anyone to
know that a reporter is snooping. People would be shocked to know
how much of a trail they leave behind on the Internet."

They checked with the clerk at the circulation desk, and she
pointed them to the computers.

There were five PCs lined up along the back wall-one being used
by a young couple-the others empty. Cotten chose the one farthest
from where the couple sat. Launching Netscape, she logged onto
Anonimizer.com, entered her account info, then typed in the URL for
the SNN research portal. When it asked, she entered her user name,
newsbabe, and password, kentuckywoman. Navigating to the SNN
biographies section, she typed in Hans Fritche, the first name scrawled
on the back of the garage sale flier. Almost instantly, a list of links
came up. She scrolled through them, then chose one and clicked. A
picture of the Chancellor of Liechtenstein appeared with a short
background summary. Cotten clicked on the print icon.