Tough Customer (11 page)

Berry removed her sunglasses, setting them and her purse on the kitchen table, then reaching across it to shake hands with him. "Hello."

He took her hand, touching her flesh for the first time. "Hi." For several seconds, that was all he could manage to articulate. Then he muttered, "Call me Dodge."

Still using that overly chipper voice, Caroline said, "How about some iced tea?"

Berry was still staring at him, taking his measure. Absently she said, "Sounds good."

He said, "Fine."

Caroline suggested they go into the living room and make themselves comfortable while she got the tea ready.

"This way," Berry said, disappearing through an open doorway.

Dodge shot Caroline a perturbed glance. She whispered, "Go on. It's fine."

He followed the younger woman from the kitchen, and when he reached the living area, she got directly to the point. "Mother tells me that you're a private investigator."

So, to some extent, Caroline had decided to be truthful. Truth was always helpful when you had to lie. "That's right."

"I've never actually met one before."

"It's not like on TV."

"How is it different?"

"Well, I've never had to leap off a tall building to avoid being shot, or been trapped by a bad guy in a dark, dead-end alley. Mostly I chase paper, not people."

She smiled like she didn't know whether or not to believe him. "You're from Atlanta?"

"I live there now. I work for an attorney. A defense lawyer. The best. Or worst," he added. "Depending on which side you're on."

"He's tough?"

"The toughest. I overheard an assistant DA accuse Derek of sprinkling ground glass over his Cheerios every morning."

She smiled again, but it quickly inverted into a frown. She went to a wall switch and turned on the overhead fan. "Mother had professional cleaners come in this morning. I can smell the solution they used. Can you?"

"No. My sense of smell is shot. Too much smoking."

"I tried it in high school. One cigarette, mind you. But Mother caught me. Those days, I was certain she had superpowers, eyes in the back of her head, amplified hearing. Anyway, she and Daddy had a fit, grounded me for two weeks and, worse, took away my phone for a month. I never lit up again."

He smiled, but an arrow went through his heart at the mention of "Daddy." "Good. That's good. It's a nasty habit."

She held his gaze for a long time, then motioned him toward a rocking chair. "I'm sorry. I'm forgetting my manners today. Have a seat."

She claimed a corner of the sofa just as Caroline came in with a tray bearing three tall glasses of iced tea. She set the tray on the coffee table.

Berry looked at it and murmured, "Our wineglasses."

Dodge took the glass of tea that Caroline passed him. Although there was a sugar bowl and spoons on the tray, Caroline didn't offer him any because she knew that, while he preferred his coffee with two spoonfuls, he drank his tea unsweetened. He wondered if Berry had noticed. She hadn't; she was still staring thoughtfully at the tray.

"What was that, dear?" Caroline asked as she spooned sugar into a glass before handing it to Berry.

Berry took the glass, sipped from it, then seemed to come out of her momentary trance. "Nothing."

She looked across at Dodge, who was trying to sit still in the rocker, because each time he moved, the cane seat squeaked. More like groaned.

She returned her glass of tea to the tray, rubbed her hands together to get rid of the condensation, cast a look in Caroline's direction, then addressed him again. "I'm not sure why Mother retained you."

"I told you why," Caroline said. "Mr. Hanley comes highly recommended."

"So you said, Mother. You learned of him through a friend of yours in Houston for whom he did some work." Looking back at him, she said, "But I don't know what you can do for me. For us."

"I don't know what I can do, either. But based on what your mother tells me, and on what I saw of that scene at the hospital, there's no question you're in a jam."

Caroline said, "Mr. Hanley--"

"Look, stop with the Mr. Hanley, okay?"

Caroline was momentarily silenced by his harsh tone.

If he'd sounded meaner than he'd intended, he was sorry, but her addressing him as Mr. Hanley was annoying the hell out of him. And wasn't it a little ridiculous that she wouldn't use his first name, especially when you took into account--

No, better not to take any of
that
into account.

"I'm sorry," Caroline said. "If you prefer being called by your first name--"

"I insist on it, Caroline."

"All right, Dodge."

"I guess that makes me Berry." Their daughter seemed amused and puzzled over the name debate. She divided a look between them, ending on Caroline. "You were saying, Mother?"

"I was saying that
Dodge
has years of experience with criminal investigations. I thought it would be helpful to have someone with his insight and skills on our side."

"To do what?" Berry asked.

"For starters, to find this asshole who's threatened your life." He caught himself. "Sorry for the language."

Berry made an impatient gesture that implied
Forget it.

"I need to find this guy before he carries out his threat to kill you," he said.

"Isn't that up to the authorities?"

He made a scoffing sound. "Wild Bill Hickok?"

She smothered a laugh. "Referring to Deputy Nyland?"

"I like him," Caroline said staunchly.

Berry looked at her with surprise. "I thought you only met him last night."

"I did. But I like what I see."

Dodge's pang of jealousy was misplaced but undeniable. What was it that Caroline liked so well when she looked at the tall, rugged Deputy Nyland? His tanned face and sandy hair? His broad shoulders and flat belly? His stern mouth and cleft chin?

"Nyland's probably a stand-up guy," he grumbled. "Competent enough. But I don't have the confidence in the authorities that you do, Berry. I've found fugitives while the guys with badges were still trying to organize their search. I don't have to file paperwork. I don't have to get clearance from guys who're a lot dumber than me. I don't have to follow rules or fear demotion if the situation goes south."

Berry looked toward Caroline, who took her daughter's hand and pressed it between her own. "Dodge can keep his ear to the ground. Keep us informed. I don't want to be blindsided by anything, especially by the reappearance of Oren Starks."

"I'd rather avoid that, too." Addressing Dodge again, Berry asked, "Aren't you required to have a license in the state where you're working?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe. Probably."

She laughed. "You don't care?"

"Do you?"

She looked at Caroline, who foundered. "We, uh, Dodge and I haven't had time to discuss all the particulars of his ... uh ... inclusion."

He jumped in. "I introduced myself to Nyland as a friend of the family. I'm not official."

"Until your bill comes due," Berry said drily. "What do you charge for keeping your ear to the ground?"

"A fair rate. I won't fleece you. That I promise. And as long as I'm not on retainer, we can honestly say to Nyland, or to anyone else who asks, that I'm operating in an unofficial capacity."

Obviously Berry still had misgivings. "It's a strange setup.

But
these are strange circumstances, at least for Mother and me. I don't suppose it can hurt to have someone working for us behind the scenes."

"I believe Dodge will be a tremendous help," Caroline said.

"Does Mr. Carlisle know about him?" Berry asked her.

"I'll inform our attorney when the time is right."

Berry withdrew her hand from her mother's clasp, stood up, and began to roam restlessly around the room. "I don't understand the need for a lawyer. I haven't done anything wrong."

"All the more reason to have an advocate," Dodge said. "Anytime Nyland wants to interview you, you don't say a word without a lawyer present."

"I already have."

Dodge cursed under his breath.

Caroline asked, "When was this, Berry?"

"At the hospital before you arrived. He and I talked."

"About what?"

"Oren's characteristics. Anything that might give Deputy Nyland a lead to follow. It was harmless."

Dodge had his doubts. "Don't do it again. Understood? My boss would advise the same thing."

"Of course he would. That's how he makes his living."

"True. And a damn good living. But I would trust him with my life. Lots of people have."

"Guilty people."

"Innocent people, too," he returned calmly. "Including the woman he ultimately married."

Caroline sat forward. "He married a client? I sense an interesting story."

Dodge looked across at her. "Yeah. It's a story about a woman in trouble, and the guy who came to her rescue. A very old-

fashioned kind of story. Boy meets girl, and just like that, he's in over his head."

"Boy lost girl?" Berry asked.

"No," Dodge said. "Lucky for Derek and Julie, their story had a happy ending." His eyes remained locked with Caroline's, and for several seconds the atmosphere was fraught with tension. She was the first to look away.

Dodge uncomfortably shifted his position in the squeaky chair and motioned down at the tray on the coffee table, calling Berry's attention to it. "That seemed to spark a memory earlier. You mentioned wineglasses."

She resumed her seat in the corner of the sofa and tucked her feet beneath her. "After dinner, Ben and I decided to split what was left in the bottle of wine. So before going upstairs, we sat in here to drink it. Deputy Nyland must have seen the glasses on the coffee table and jumped to the wrong conclusion about what they implied."

"Wine-fueled hanky-panky?" Dodge said.

"Something like that." A vertical frown line appeared between her eyebrows. "I wonder if he pawed through the trash to count the beer and wine bottles we'd consumed."

"It was the happy hour that set Mrs. Lofland off," Dodge remarked. Both women looked at him inquisitively. "I talked to her."

"You talked to her?"

"When?"

They asked the questions simultaneously. Dodge explained. "After that ugly scene outside her husband's room. The two of you put your heads together for a private conversation. Nyland got a phone call. I thought I'd find the lady, see what was on her mind. She was in the hospital cafeteria, sitting alone, having a Coke. She was crying. I went up to her, told her I couldn't fail to notice that she was upset, asked if I could be of help."

He recounted to them almost verbatim the conversation he'd had with Ben's wife. It had been explanatory, enlightening, and, largely, troubling.

When he finished relating to them what had been said, neither Caroline nor Berry would look him in the eye. The thin bead chain dangling from the ceiling fan clinked against the metal casing. Dodge's breath soughed in and out of his overtaxed lungs. The cane seat of the rocking chair squeaked again, although he would have sworn he hadn't moved a muscle. Those sounds emphasized the silence of the two women.

Finally Dodge asked bluntly, "Is it true, Berry?"

She nodded.

He frowned and looked across at Caroline, who was staring at her hands, which she was clasping and unclasping where they lay in her lap. He cleared his throat and stood up. "I need to smoke."

He was almost out of the room when Berry, head lowered, said quietly, "When you come back, I'll explain."

"That would be helpful."

"What I don't get--"

"Yeah?"

She raised her head and looked at him. "Had you ever met Amanda Lofland?"

"Never laid eyes on the woman till I heard her telling you to stay away from her husband."

"Yet in half an hour's time she had poured out her heart to you. How did you gain her confidence that quickly?"

Softly Caroline said, "That's his speciality."

THE TASK FORCE WAS A DUD.

At least in Dodge's opinion it was. Serving on it wasn't nearly as challenging as he'd been led to expect, nor as exciting as his fantasies had spun. He was glad to be out of uniform and off the night shift, but so far his task force duties had amounted largely to attending mandatory meetings conducted by egotistical windbags with nothing constructive or informative to say.

The group of elite police officers and FBI agents convened daily in what was called headquarters. Even in euphemistic terms, that lofty name hardly described the space. The unlabeled office was on the ground floor of an obscure office building on the outskirts of downtown. In an area where all the buildings were derelict, this was the worst of the lot. The only thing it had going for it was the cheap rent.

Here they met to review eyewitness accounts of the robberies, to watch the videos of the holdups from the banks' security cameras, to update one another on individual progress in tracking down leads, and to discuss strategy on how to proceed.

The premise that the group was elite was laughable. They'd reviewed the testimonies and watched the videos till they knew the contents by heart. They didn't have any leads, and, as for how to proceed with the investigation, nobody, especially the men in charge, had the least friggin' idea. These so-called high-level meetings usually evolved into swap fests of big fish stories.

Dirty jokes made the rounds. Cars were debated at length. Sporting events were argued over and gambled on. They drank gallons of high-octane coffee and snacked on empty calories. Those who smoked kept the room cloudy. They insulted one another, also one another's clothes, cars, alma maters, wives, mothers, and dogs. They held farting contests. They talked about women endlessly--who they'd laid and who they'd like to.