Finding Jessica Page 6

  “I just can’t believe I didn’t notice anything.” Rose sounded angry at herself. “She seemed like a natural fit the minute she walked in the door. She understood retail, inventory, accounting. She was great with the artists and customers, never minded staying late. There was never any reason to think she was lying.”

  Rocky flipped the visor down and pushed the garage door opener. “You ever have any trouble with Social Security, submitting payroll taxes, that kind of thing?”

  “I’ve never had anything kicked back.” Her voice was still edgy.

  I hate long days, Rocky thought. I need a beer. “Well, if Amber’s working for Beach, she’s in big trouble,” he said as he pulled the car into the garage. “The feds will be all over this when I tell them.”

  “We need to talk to her before they do,” Rose said quickly. “She might know something about Hal’s murder, and she might be involved.”

  He stifled a yawn. “Look, Rose, I’m a small town cop. I don’t want to ruffle any feathers. I can’t sit on this too long.”

  “Shit,” Rose said angrily. “If I was there, I’d go over to her apartment right now and wring the truth out of her. I can’t believe she lied to us.”

  “Hey, calm down,” he said. “I didn’t say I’d call the FBI tonight. I’ll swing by the gallery in the morning and talk to her about Hal. She might let something slip, and I can bring her in for questioning.”

  “My flight gets in at three-thirty,” she said. “Wait for me.”

  “No.” He rubbed his eyes. “You’re too emotionally involved.” He didn’t want to tell her he was afraid she might strangle Amber.

  “She’s part of the mob, Rocky. This is big-time stuff. You’re a cop; she won’t tell you anything. Let me do it. I’m good at persuading people to talk.”

  “I doubt she’d talk to you unless you tortured her, which is not going to happen.” Rocky reached for the door handle. “I’ve dealt with a lot of criminals. I’ve even convinced a few to come clean. I’m going to talk to her on my own.” He took in a deep breath. He was so tired he could barely lift himself out of the seat. “Then I’m going to call the FBI.”

  “Okay, but don’t tell them about my meeting with Delores, and make sure you tell them she’s a person of interest in a murder investigation. Also, you’ll have to work something out with the agent in charge if you ever want to talk to her again.”

  Rocky slammed the door. Jesus. Women were so bossy it made his head spin. “I don’t know why I shouldn’t tell them about Delores. They’ll probably give you a medal for getting through to her.”

  “No, no, they’ll be pissed I went around them,” Rose said, “and until we know who we’re dealing with at the Bureau, I don’t want to tell them anything.”

  “Okay,” he said. “Mum’s the word, but this had better not come back and bite me in the ass. With all the budget cuts going on, I’m lucky to have a job.”

  “Thanks, Rocky.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m sorry this happened,” he said. “It’s a horrible way to find out someone you trusted lied to you.”

  He wasn’t sure whether Rose had heard him or not because the phone clicked off.

  The door wasn’t locked, and he stepped through it and put his gun in the gun safe. Emily was sitting on the loveseat in front of the television with a cup of tea in her lap. She started laughing as soon as she saw him.

  “What?” he said.

  Her little blonde curls bobbed when she laughed, and her beautiful blue eyes almost disappeared. Rocky closed the door. “Damn,” he said. “I get home, and my wife laughs at me.”

  “Sorry, Honey.” Emily moved over on the loveseat. “Come here, you big lug.”

  He walked over and plopped down next to her, putting his head on her shoulder. She smelled of chamomile and soap and Emily. She looked down at him. “You’ve got donut sugar all over your mouth.” She laughed again. “What am I going to do with you?”

  “You could lecture me,” Rocky said. He closed his eyes. He was so tired, his lids stung. “You could tell me I’m going to have a heart attack.”

  “Or we could go upstairs,” Emily whispered, “and I could kiss it off.”

  Rocky’s eyes popped open. Suddenly he wasn’t so tired anymore. “That’s better than a donut,” he said. “That’s about four million times better than a beer.”

  “I should hope so,” she said. “It better be. I send you off in the morning, thinking you’re going to save the town of Haven from murderers and thieves, and when you come home I have to kiss donut sugar off your mouth. Whatever will I do with you?”

  Rocky shrugged, and then he let his wife lead him up to bed.

  Chapter Twelve

  On the sixth floor of the FBI’s regional office in Boston, Assistant Special Agent Marcus Thorne hung up the phone. A rare smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. It was possible he’d just gotten a break.

  He looked down at the Operation Haven file. The FBI’s case had been open for six months, and now, out of the blue, some hick named Rocky who worked for the Haven PD had called with a piece of juicy info. The clenching pain that gripped Thorne’s stomach released a bit. He’d never admit he suffered from an annoying nervous condition. He wore his calm demeanor with pride, just like he did his perfectly pressed suits, starched shirts and the shoes his mother polished for him every Sunday night. He closed the file and stood up. Maybe he could actually get this case solved and score some needed points with the Bureau’s senior management.

  Putting on his suit jacket, he straightened his tie. The big man was in his office. Thorne walked down the hall, knocked once and opened the door.

  “Ah, Thorne.” William Franklin, Special Agent in Charge, sat behind his massive metal desk, wearing his perpetual scowl. His briefcase was open, and he was shoving papers into it. “It’s been a long day, so I hope you’ve got some good news.” Franklin’s jowls shook like Jell-O when he talked. How the man ever managed to pass a physical fitness test was anybody’s guess.

  “Actually, I think I might,” Thorne said dramatically. As usual, he wasn’t invited to sit down. Clearing his throat, he continued, “I just got off the phone with a Detective Rhodes of the Haven police department.” Franklin kept stuffing papers into his briefcase in a messy way that made Thorne wince. “They’ve got a woman in lockup for possession of illegal documents.”

  Franklin crumpled up a paper and threw it toward the trashcan. It missed. “What woman?” he said.

  “She’s been using the alias Amber French.” Thorne realized suddenly that his stomach had loosened to such an extent that he had to go to the bathroom. Fine time, he told his bowels, after all that Metamucil these past few mornings. “She’s been working at an art gallery for the past two years.”

  “An art gallery?” Franklin snapped his briefcase closed. “Any connection to Sandy Beach?”

  “She told Rhodes that Beach got her the paperwork for her new identity.” Thorne hoped the girl was telling the truth. He needed some results soon, or his reputation at the Bureau, and maybe even his career, was in jeopardy. “I’ll be flying to Haven to interview her.”

  For the first time since he’d started talking, Franklin looked up. “Good.”

  “Sir, there’s one other thing,” Thorne said. “Rhodes told me he’s investigating the murder of a private investigator.”

  Franklin’s eyebrows rose.

  “The PI was looking for a missing woman on behalf of some big shot artist by the name of Barrington Bigelow. Bigelow thinks the woman had his kid years ago and is trying to find both of them. It turns out, the owner of the gallery where the girl was working also runs the private investigation firm.”

  Franklin snorted. “Next time someone tells you nothing exciting happens in small towns, you can set them straight.” He stood up, briefcase in his hand. He was quite tall, and Thorne suddenly felt childlike and short. “Does Rhodes suspect the girl of the murder?” Franklin asked.

  “I’m not sure that’s the point
, sir.”

  “Does Rhodes suspect the girl of the murder?” Franklin asked again. He was staring down at Thorne, his saggy cheeks disappearing into the fleshy jowls.

  “He’s only speculating, of course,” Thorne said, “but he thinks the PI might have found out this girl had something to do with Beach and confronted her.” He touched the knot of his tie, something he always told himself not to do and yet seemed to do repeatedly all day long. “Right now he’s holding her, pending charges of identity theft and fraud. I told him it’s imperative I speak to her and to cease all interviews. I’m concerned his murder investigation might muddy the waters.”

  Franklin walked around the side of the desk. Thorne followed him into the hallway. “Don’t you think the waters are already muddied?”

  Thorne tightened his bowels as he walked. He didn’t need to be reminded that Operation Haven wasn’t going well. Instead of answering, he said, “If the girl can be linked to Beach, I don’t want Rhodes interfering.”

  Franklin stopped, but he didn’t turn around. “She might have killed that PI.”

  “There’s more at stake here than one man’s life, sir.”

  “Thorne, I’m going to pretend I didn’t just hear you say that.” Franklin walked toward the elevator. “You’re a federal agent sworn to uphold the law.” He punched the down button. “You find out she had something to do with the murder, you tell Detective Rhodes. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I don’t want problems with the Haven police,” Franklin continued. “Be careful how you handle this.”

  “Of course,” Thorne said. He’d heard the lecture before about how he needed to work with local authorities, develop relationships of cooperation. He didn’t want to hear it again. He was going to take down a major crime boss and had no intention of sharing the glory with some country bumpkin cop. “Do I have your permission to continue conducting the operation on a need-to-know basis?”

  Franklin turned to the doors as they slid open. “In three weeks I’ve got a meeting in Washington to brief Director Maxwell about CID’s progress.” He stepped into the elevator. “I’m getting a lot of pressure on how much Operation Haven is costing.” He held the door open with his hand. “So do us both a favor, solve this thing. If that means bringing in the Haven PD for support, damn it, do it. You need all the help you can get.” The door began to close.

  “With all due respect, sir, I believe my squad is capable of getting the job done.” Thorne’s bowels rumbled like a volcano threatening to explode. He stopped the door with his palm. Franklin’s face reddened, and Thorne realized he’d pushed him too far. Why couldn’t he just say, “Yes, sir!” like everyone else?

  “Do I need to remind you that the consultant you insisted we embed in Haven hasn’t come up with anything? Or that chasing Beach’s flunky around hasn’t gotten your squad a single arrest?”

  “I’m quite aware of that, sir,” Thorne said. He felt as if someone were squeezing his stomach. He’d been hoping for a chance to move his bowels before it got that far. “But I feel confident we’ll have an arrest soon.”

  “Let’s hope you’re right, because paintings are still being stolen,” Franklin said.

  “Yes, sir!” Thorne said, but the doors had already slid closed. The pounding in his stomach felt like a battering ram. As soon as he got back to his office, he closed the door and lay down on the floor. Taking a deep breath, he rested both hands on his abdomen and concentrated on breathing and relaxing.

  When his stomach calmed down, he got up and ran to the bathroom. While he was sitting in the stall, sweating with relief, he got out his cell phone and made a call to their consultant in Haven. Voice mail picked up.

  “There’s been a development,” Thorne said. “Call me as soon as you get this message.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  As soon as Rose walked into Table Talk, the suppertime crowd and the bright lights made her wish she’d gone home; but after she’d stayed on at the gallery, reassigning the staff’s schedules, it had seemed too late to cook dinner. She made her way to the counter, feeling that familiar pain in her shoulder. Heidi banged a mug down in front of her. “You look tuckered out.” She poured a large cup of coffee. “Mind if I join you?” Not waiting for a reply, she sat down on the stool next to her. Rose couldn’t remember Heidi ever sitting down with her. When Cameron was alive, she’d sometimes seen them through the window, drinking coffee while he was taking a break from the gallery, and it had always made her marvel at Cameron’s ability to get along with absolutely anyone. “So.” Heidi ran her hands through her spiky hair. “I heard Amber’s been arrested.”

  Damn, Rose thought, then said, “The rumor mill runs through this town at the speed of light, but it’s often wrong.” She watched Annie set a glass of water in front of her and saw that Heidi’s nicotine-stained hands were trembling a little. Too much caffeine, Rose thought. How can she drink coffee this late at night? Annie smiled at her and took out her ordering pad. She looked as if she’d just run the Boston marathon, and Rose wondered why Heidi wasn’t helping her staff with the crammed restaurant. “I’ll take the Lake Lover’s Trout,” she told her.

  As soon as Annie walked away, Heidi asked, “Then why’s she in jail?”

  Rose glanced at Heidi. The overhead light cast a shadow over her face, but her blue eyes appeared to be blazing. She wasn’t usually so frazzled, and Rose wondered if the success of Table Talk was getting to her. The diner had recently been chosen as best North Country eatery by New Hampshire Magazine.

  “It’s not jail,” she said. She wished Heidi would go away. The last thing she wanted to do was talk about Amber. “She’s being held at the station house lockup.” Ironically, Elvis was belting out “Jail House Rock” from the jukebox.

  “Well, it sounds like jail to me.” Heidi drummed her fingers on the countertop.

  The pain in Rose’s shoulder was traveling up her neck. She knew Heidi had always been fond of Amber, but she felt the girl deserved some confidentiality. “All I can tell you is that the FBI will want to talk to her.”

  “The FBI?” Heidi bit her thumbnail, which Rose saw was already bitten to the quick. “Are you kidding me?”

  “I wish I were.” And I wish I could sit here in peace.

  “What about that artist?” Heidi said. “I heard he got attacked at Solitude, and he’s in the hospital.”

  Annie passed by with about fifteen plates balanced on her arms, but she didn’t have Rose’s meal. It had been a big mistake to go out, and she still needed to pick up Cosmo. He’d stayed with Rocky and Emily while she was in New York.

  “Did it have something to do with the missing girl he was looking for?” Heidi snapped her gum. Rose wondered if it was Nicorette. “’Cause that’s what I heard.”

  Rose glanced at her. “Were you here when Hal came into the diner and showed her picture around?”

  “Yeah, nobody recognized her.”

  “Look, I can’t talk about it.” Rose needed to go home, pop a painkiller and go to bed. “It’s a police investigation.” She signaled to Annie.

  “An investigation Rocky let you in on.” Heidi seemed to be trying to keep her gravelly voice low, not that anyone could hear them. “Oh, but I forgot, you two are friends.”

  Rose took a couple of dollars out of her purse. “Ouch.” She set them down under the water glass. Annie stopped in front of the counter, her face almost purple from exertion. “You can tell Veronica to cancel my order,” Rose said. “I’m just too exhausted to eat.”

  “Oh,” Annie looked confused. “Okay,” she said, and then she sped off, shouting through the kitchen at Veronica.

  Heidi patted her apron, pulled a cigarette out of the pocket and stared down at it. “Sorry,” she said. Her voice had a beaten quality to it.

  Rose stood up. “I know you’re concerned about Amber,” she said. Suddenly, Heidi looked different to Rose, a sad woman without a family. Table Talk and Haven were her family. “But really, she is n
ot who you thought she was.”

  “Probably not,” Heidi said quietly. “Probably not.”

  After leaving Table Talk, Rose drove to Rocky’s to pick up Cosmo. She thought about stopping at the hospital to see Barrington, but she wasn’t sure what the visiting hours were, and Rocky had told her he was going to be released in the morning anyway.

  Rocky and Emily were sitting outside on the deck when she arrived. Lucy, their Lab, was lying by their feet. When Rose’s car pulled into the driveway, she saw Cosmo lift his head before he took off running. She barely had time to close her car door before he bounded into her arms. From the deck Emily waved a greeting, which Rose returned. Rocky walked down the steps to meet her.

  “Thanks for watching Cosmo for me,” she told him. “How’s Amber?”

  “Trying hard to look brave,” Rocky said. “I called the FBI. Spoke to an Agent by the name of Thorne with the Criminal Investigative Division in Boston. He’s flying up tomorrow to interview her.”

  Rose scratched Cosmo’s ears. “Did you question her?”

  “No, and it’s my own damn fault,” Rocky said. “As soon as she told me Sandy Beach got her a new identity, I had to call the feds, and Thorne said to cease all interviews.”

  Cosmo licked her face.

  “Rocky, she might know something about Hal’s murder.”

  “I’ll talk to Thorne,” Rocky said, “and see what I can do.”

  Rose tried to stifle a yawn. “Sorry, it’s been a long day,” she said.

  “We were just having dessert,” Rocky said. “Emily made an apple pie. Would you like a piece?”

  “No, thanks, I need to get some sleep,” she said. “Any leads on Hal?”

  “Nope,” he said. “I’ve been knocking on doors, but neighbors around there are few and far apart. Nobody heard or saw a thing.”

  “I was afraid of that,” she said.