Wilde One (7 page)

Ainslee scooted her chair around next to him. As she studied the first document, their arms brushed, sending a little tingle through her. She ignored it and forced herself to focus. Thankfully, Hartley Wilde’s handwriting was a heck of a lot better than Victor’s.

“He wrote about spending two days in a foxhole with Thomas and Frank.” Griff smiled. “Says he wished he’d dove in with Speed instead, since Thomas took up twice as much space. Bingo!”

“Great, we know for sure one of Victor’s buddies was called Speed, but that’s all we know. The rest of the letter is about how much he missed his wife and son.” Emotion pricked, and she wiped at her eyes. “I wish he’d made it home to them.”

Griff covered her hand with his. “Hey, don’t cry. It was a long time ago.”

She drew in a shaky breath. “I know. Doesn’t make me feel any better about what happened. Your great-grandpa really loved his wife.”

“Yes, he did. Let’s check the next letter.” He opened the file.

“This one mentions Victor and Ogden coming back from a scouting mission ready to burst with excitement.” She touched the words on the screen. “He says he hopes they all don’t get into trouble.”

Griff’s head jerked up. “I wonder if that was when they liberated the treasure.”

“Liberated?” Her brows rose.

“My guess is Victor stole it.”

“Could be. Obviously Hartley couldn’t go into details about their location or what they found. Someone would have been monitoring all the soldier correspondence home.”

“I’m surprised he said that much and it got through.”

Ainslee dug a pen out of her purse and brushed crumbs off a napkin. “So, we have Victor Talbot, Hartley Wilde, Francis Clark, Thomas, Ogden and Speed.” She jotted down the names in a column. “I’d love to attach surnames to the missing three. What’s in the last letter?”

Griff opened it. “This one mentions their squad will be included in the platoon sent to the front line the next day. He tells his wife to always remember how much he loves her.”

“Oh, God.” Taking a shaky breath, Ainslee wiped away more tears. “He knew he might die in whatever battle was raging. It must be the one that killed both him and my great-grandfather. This letter is dated only a couple of days before Frank died.”

“I guess so.” Griff sat back in his chair. “That sucks. I can’t even imagine what it must have been like for those men.” He gently touched her cheek to brush away dampness with his thumb. “There’s more about the other men down below.”

“He wasn’t sure if his wife would ever get the letter, or if the ones from his buddies would reach their families. He asked her to look them up if the worst happened.” Ainslee drew in another breath. “The Talbots, Clarks, Damontes, Washingtons and Morrises. There’s our answer.”

“Only one name on that list belongs in Little Italy. Damonte.”

She shut down her laptop and closed it. “Speed Damonte. Let’s go find him.”

* * * *

Griff stood in front of Sal’s Place. The legend on the plaque beneath the sign sealed the deal.
Owned and operated by the Damonte family since 1945.
“This is it.”

Ainslee smiled. “Let’s go get our next clue—and maybe drink a toast to Speed.”

“Excellent idea.” He held the door for her.

The bar was cool and dim with few customers this early in the afternoon. A couple deep in conversation sat at a table near the window, and an old-timer nursed a draft beer at the far end of the bar. From the back of the building echoed the scrape and thud of what sounded like kegs being dragged across a storage room.

“Griff, look.”

“What?”

“Check out that photograph.” Ainslee touched a family portrait, yellow with age, framed on the wall to the left of the door. “The clothes look like they’re from the forties.”

A small man in a baggy suit stood beside an attractive brunette wearing a little round hat with a short, net thingy and a feather. Two toddlers in short pants leaned against the woman’s legs. Behind them was Sal’s Place, complete with the same sign hanging above the door.

“The card below the photo identifies them as the Salvatore Damonte family.”

Griff grunted. “I bet the man is Speed. He’s about the right age to have fought in the war. I guess that means Victor wasn’t the only one who made it home alive.” His lips pursed in a low whistle. “He’s a scrawny little dude, but his wife was sure a looker.”

“She was gorgeous.” Ainslee stepped away from the photograph to walk beside Griff to the rear of the room.

“Maybe he was nickname Speed because he was so small he had to run fast from any fight or get killed.”

She grinned up at him. “You could be right, but he obviously had some redeeming virtues to entice a woman like that to marry him.”

He nudged her arm then pointed to a mirrored wall behind the bar loaded with a variety of bottles. “What do you want to bet our labels match a couple of the ones up there?”

“No bet. I see your tequila bottle on the second row in the middle.” She leaned on the mahogany rail. “Whiskey, whiskey—there’s mine. Fourth row, two from the end.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Now what?”

“I can’t be sure, but it looks like something might be stuffed in the neck of that bottle.”

“Hey, folks, sorry I didn’t hear you come in.” A man who looked barely old enough to legally drink hurried out of the back room. His gaze landed on Ainslee, and brown eyes lit with appreciation. “What can I get you?”

“This might sound a little strange, but can we take a look at a couple of those bottles.” She pointed to the display.

“Those are empties. Some of them we don’t stock anymore, but I’ll be glad to pour your choice if we carry it. Uh, after I see your ID.” He glanced toward Griff. “Just the lovely lady. I have to card anyone who looks younger than thirty.”

Griff scowled. “I’m not
that
old.”

Ainslee’s lips stretched in a broad grin. “Can we look at the bottles first and then have a drink?”

“Sure. Which ones?”

She laid their labels on the gleaming bar. Second row in the middle and fourth row on the right end.”

The bartender hesitated. “May I ask why you want to see them?”

When Griff opened his mouth, Ainslee poked him with her elbow. Leaning forward she flashed another smile. “Would you believe we’re in a contest, and our next clues are in those bottles?”

The man’s eyes widened, and he glanced around. “Are we on TV or something? Is this one of those reality shows?”

“Kind of like that but without the cameras.”

Griff gave her a thumbs-up behind the kid’s back as he turned away to reach for the two bottles. Ainslee’s looks definitely came in handy when it came to soliciting favors from men.

“Here you go.” The bartender set both bottles in front of them.

Ainslee stuck two fingers into the neck of the whiskey bottle and pulled out a rolled piece of paper. She did the same with the tequila bottle to retrieve the clue.

“Nothing else in them?” Reaching around her, and enjoying the brief contact with her bare shoulder, Griff gave the bottle a shake. When a rattle sounded, he upended it. A ring rolled out.

Ainslee touched the red glass stone. “Looks like it came out of a gumball machine.”

“I guess you don’t leave the real deal behind in a bar.” He tilted the whiskey bottle. This time the ring that slid out had a fake golden-brown stone. He glanced toward the bartender. “This is what we needed.”

The man shrugged one shoulder. “I suppose you can take the rings. It’s not like they’re worth anything. Do you still want that drink?”

“Sure.” Griff grinned. “You up for a shot?”

“You bet.” Ainslee pulled out her wallet and flipped it open to display her ID. “Tequila, but we’ll take your house brand instead of this expensive stuff.”

Griff snuck a peek over her shoulder at her driver’s license and did some quick math. “You’re twenty-nine?”

She nodded. “How old did you think I was?”

“I don’t know, twenty-four or five. You look younger.”

“Let’s hope people are still telling me that in twenty years.” She picked up one of the shot glasses the bartender slid across the mahogany surface.

Griff picked up the second one. “To Speed.”

“To Speed.” She tilted it back then bit into the slice of lime stuck on the edge of the glass.”

Tequila burned down his throat as he threw back the drink.

Ainslee’s eyes watered, but she gave him a sweet smile. “Shall we hit the road?”

He handed the bartender a twenty. “Thanks a lot, and keep the change.”

“Appreciate it. Good luck. I hope you win.”

“We hope so, too.” Ainslee scooped up the rolled notes and the rings.

Griff followed her to the door and pulled it open. Before he’d walked two yards, perspiration dotted his brow. “I say we get out of this furnace and try to find some shade before we figure out the clue.”

“Excellent idea.” Her hips moved beneath the clinging skirt as she hurried down the sidewalk.

His heat level rose higher than the skyscrapers visible in the distance.

When they reached the SUV, she unlocked the doors then handed over the keys. “If you want to drive, I can work on the riddle.”

He climbed in then rolled down the windows. “What, you think you’re better at puzzles than I am?”

She shot him a smile as she eased onto the hot seat. “In a word, yes.”

“You’re probably right.” He started the engine and pulled out onto the street. “Since we really have no direction to go but west, we can at least escape the city while you put those special skills of yours to the test.”

Turning in her seat to face him, she laid a hand on his arm as he stopped at a red light. “I might be better at riddles, but you’ve contributed plenty, and I don’t mean just your grandfather’s letters. If it weren’t for you, I probably would have quit by now.”

He frowned. “Really? Why?”

“Because this hunt wouldn’t be any fun. Having a partner makes the whole process entertaining.”

“I couldn’t agree more—holy shit!”

“What?”

Craning his neck as the light turned green, he was forced to drive away. “Did you see him?”

“Him, who?” Ainslee stuck her head out the window.

“Parnell Jones. With his height, he’s kind of hard to miss. He disappeared into Fast Times.”

She turned back to face him. “Do you think he’s one of the contestants?”

“He must be. It’s too big a coincidence to have seen him twice in two days for any other reason.”

Flipping her hair over her shoulder, she settled onto the seat and smiled. “That’s great.”

“It is?”

“Sure. If he was headed into Fast Times, it means he hasn’t figured out the Speed connection. At least we know we aren’t in last place.”

“Gotta love that, but we don’t have much of a lead.” He let out a long sigh as traffic stalled. “Read the clue. Let’s hear what the old bastard has tortured us with this time.”

Ainslee slammed the door of the SUV and walked to the same picnic table in the same rest area she’d stopped at the day before. The phrase
running in circles
sprang to mind. Plopping down on the bench, she dropped the clue on the table.

Griff sat beside her. “We aren’t idiots. We can figure this out.”

“Then why do I feel so stupid?”

He scowled as he spread out the paper between them. “You shouldn’t. Victor was a sadist. He wanted us to sweat over these clues.”

“They seem to be getting progressively harder. Or parts of the riddles are harder, anyway.” She planted her elbows. “We’ll get this.”

“Read it again. The beginning, which should give us our next destination city, has been nagging at my brain.” He leaned back and closed his eyes.

She took a moment to study him. The hard jaw, straight nose and angled cheekbones coupled with straight dark hair suggested a touch of Native American blood in his heritage. But it was his direct green gaze that sent a quiver through her every time he glanced her way. The man had sex appeal to spare.

She cleared her throat. “Large simple, like a phase of the moon where the old man ends. Look behind a founding father’s little achievement for your stone
.
” She frowned. “What part of the riddle is bugging you?”

He rolled his eyes. “The whole thing, but in particular, large simple. Somehow they go together, but not the way he words them, if that makes any sense.” He let out a sigh. “Let’s focus on the moon instead. What are the different phases?”

“Full, new, waning, waxing. Do any of those suggest a place to you?”

“Isn’t waxing what women do to their legs?”

“Yes, but people wax other things, too. Like furniture or cars.”

His brows shot up. “Detroit is the Motor City.”

“Definitely large, but I don’t know if it’s simple. The residents probably wouldn’t appreciate the description.”

He pulled out his phone. “What about waning? Sounds like a town in Texas.” He scrolled for a moment then scowled. “No city anywhere called Waning. Are you sure those are the only phases? Isn’t there a crescent moon?”

“It isn’t an actual phase, just a description.” She smacked her head. “Who says Victor knew that, though? I really am an idiot. Check Crescent City.”

Griff typed on his phone. “There’s one in California and one in Florida.”

“Victor sent the letters from San Francisco. The California one could represent him in the game, since he was one of the six men in their squad.”

“Crescent City is hours north of San Francisco. Wait! New Orleans is called the Crescent City.” He jumped up from the bench. “Now I know what was bothering me.” A smile spread. “Large simple is a play on words for Big Easy, another New Orleans nickname.”

She stood and gave him a high-five. “You rock. Nice job.” Scooping up the clue, she read through it again. “Well, duh! Where the old man ends refers to the Mississippi River, which is called Old Man River. Boy, am I dense.”

“Maybe a little slow…”

She smacked his arm. “What about the second part of the clue?”

“Who cares. We’ll figure out the specific location once we get to Louisiana. It’s a long drive.”

She glanced down then ran the toe of her shoe through the grass. “Are you going to ditch me to catch a flight south?”