Basically, she was asking Lucy to spy on Mateo’s family.
“Let me collect Megan and I’ll head over there now.” Lucy joined Megan and the pastor’s wife. “Mrs. Fleming, we have to go now. So sorry about this.”
“The good lord will see Robert home safe and sound, I just know it.” She sighed dramatically and patted Megan’s hand. “God bless you both for your help.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Megan said. “We’ll keep you in our prayers.”
Lucy glanced at her daughter—they weren’t the most religious of families, but Megan seemed sincere. More of Nick’s influence, no doubt.
She led Megan back down the drive and past the cars. As soon as they were clear, Megan turned to her. “Mom, there’s something not right about this. We’ve got to find Mateo and get to the bottom of it.”
It had been so very long since Megan had trusted her enough to ask for anything that Lucy couldn’t say no. Besides, if she left Megan behind at the hotel, who knew what kind of trouble she’d end up in. Megan was headstrong—if she thought it might help find Mateo, Lucy wouldn’t put it past her to play amateur sleuth on her own. Better to keep Megan with her.
“You can come with me to talk to Mateo’s family. But that’s the end of it. We’re only going to facilitate things for Chief Hayden and the sheriff.”
“That’s okay. I just need to do something to help.”
Lucy hugged her daughter close. “You are so much like your father.”
Megan didn’t pull away from the words. Which stung. Because Lucy knew full well that right now the biggest insult anyone could give Megan was to tell her she resembled her mother.
Chapter 8
THE ROMEROS LIVED
in the center of the island, about a mile between the beach and the sound, in a modest development of older wood-frame homes that reminded Megan of their own Pittsburgh neighborhood. More so than the mansions that dotted the waterfront lots and which seemed to be competing against each other like actresses walking a red carpet—the stars wearing the designer gowns were less noticeable than the dress.
This morning when they’d walked the beach, Mateo had pointed out the variety of architectural influences. He’d said one of the reasons why so many people paid to have a house on Harbinger Cove was because they had less design restrictions than places like Hilton Head. “That and the fact we get so few tourists. People who want to protect their privacy appreciate that—and my uncle says they’re willing to pay extra taxes to keep the island that way.”
“We only knew about Harbinger Cove because my dad’s family has been coming here for decades,” Megan had told him. “Grandpap still complains his father missed out by not buying a lot down here back in the sixties.”
He’d paused and smiled at her, squinting as the sun hit his eyes. “So which house would you have built? Pick any one you want.”
He spread his arms wide, indicating the endless possibilities and they’d both laughed, continuing their walk and “shopping” trip. Eventually there was only one house Megan had wanted.
“That one.” She pointed to a small cottage with peaked roofs, gingerbread, and a widow’s walk. It was sea glass-green with cream-colored trim. Much smaller than the mansions on either side, it was what her mom called a “jewel box” of a house. The others were all spectacular in their own right, but this one felt like a home.
Mateo had grinned. “Good choice. That’s the Smithstone house. One of the oldest on the beach. I helped them re-do their garden last year.” He gestured to the bougainvillea draped moon gate leading to the path that protected the dunes. “It’s my favorite as well.”
Now, as her mom pulled into the gravel driveway leading to the two-story house where Mateo and his family lived, Megan smoothed her palms over her legs, trying to soothe the anxiety she felt any time she thought of Mateo… please, God, she prayed, don’t let that be his blood. Let him be okay, keep him safe and sound.
Lucy parked between a pickup truck with
ROMERO LANDSCAPING
printed on the side and a van with a
WELCOME PROPERTY MANAGEMENT
logo. They walked to the front door but didn’t make it there before it was opened and a cluster of concerned adults and children emerged.
“I’m Lucy Guardino and this is my daughter, Megan.”
“Have you heard anything?” “Is Mateo all right?” “Megan, the girl from this morning?” “Chief Hayden called, said to expect you.”
“How can we find Mateo?” Everyone else fell silent as the last was asked by a petite woman around Lucy’s age. Mateo’s mother, Megan knew instinctively. Only a mother would look so worried yet be able to push her feelings aside to do whatever it took to help. “Please. Tell me what happened to my son.”
Lucy gave them all an edited, sanitized version, not mentioning the blood at the scene, only that it appeared Mateo had been at the Flemings’ house and had vanished from there.
“What do you need from us?” his mother asked, her lip trembling. She seemed determined to help—as if she could provide the magic answer that would bring Mateo home safe and sound.
“Let’s start with Mateo’s phone,” Lucy said. “Did he have GPS tracking or a finder app?”
A man, the uncle, Jorge, Megan assumed, stepped forward. “Yes, everyone on my crew has it.”
“Okay, let’s go see where Mateo’s phone is.” Lucy and the man entered the house, leaving Megan behind on the porch, still surrounded by the rest of Mateo’s relatives. There were a few school-aged kids, his mother, and a woman who looked just like her only she was a little younger.
“I am Mateo’s aunt, Hildy, and this is his mother, Anna. Tell us,” the aunt ordered, shooing the children away as she settled Megan on a porch rocker. “What really happened? Everything. We need to know.”
The mother sat in the chair beside Megan. Megan glanced over, saw the way she was blinking fast, trying not to cry, and reached out and grasped Anna’s hand. “I’m so sorry. We’re going to find him. I know we will.”
Her mother would have disapproved of giving false hope, but what good was any hope if you didn’t share it when it was most needed? Anna squeezed Megan’s fingers tight. “Thank you.”
Megan took them through what little she knew, trying to downplay the gory details. “They said there was a safe that was empty, so I guess it was a robbery.”
Mateo’s aunt leaned forward. She was obviously the talker of the two sisters. “Pastor Fleming was robbed? And Mateo was there?” She exchanged a glance with Anna. “He must have been trying to save our money.”
“Your money?”
“Yes, the whole town’s. Pastor Fleming, he ran a financial service, providing micro-loans to ministries in third world countries. We help them and they pay us back with interest. Our money was going to fund a mission in Rwanda.”
“You were sending money to Rwanda and Pastor Fleming was helping?”
Both women beamed and nodded. “He’s such a good man, has friends all over the world. Of course we couldn’t do much, but we gave what we could—all our savings, ten thousand dollars. That was a year ago and tomorrow he was going to pay us and the others back. We made eighteen percent interest!”
“Who could have robbed Pastor Fleming?” Anna asked. “It must have been an outsider.”
How would a tourist have known the money was in the safe? Megan thought. But instead she asked, “How many people were going to be paid tomorrow?”
They shrugged. “Everyone. Practically the entire island contributed.”
“Pastor Fleming was going to pay you all in cash?”
“Yes. The churches are so tiny and in small countries, plus the banking laws—the government taxes and regulations are so complicated. This way we kept it simple for everyone.”
Megan thought about the offering plate passed at Mass each week. Churches and cash, it did kind of make sense.
“Most of us were going to put it all right back in,” Hildy continued. “Let our money keep doing the Lord’s work. But Pastor Fleming said the bookkeeping was taking too much time and energy and he wanted to enjoy his retirement.” She shook her head. “Poor man.”
Anna squeezed Megan’s hand again. “If the thieves got the money, then where are Pastor Fleming and Mateo?”
Chapter 9
LUCY LIKED MATEO’S
Uncle Jorge. He was a man of few words, but answered her questions easily and gave her permission to track the company-owned cell phones, including Mateo’s.
First, he showed her the room Mateo shared with two of his younger cousins. A set of bunk beds, a twin bed, two bookcases—one overflowing with children’s picture books and toys, the other filled with a stack of used paperbacks, mainly action-adventure and sports figures’ biographies—and a single dresser were crammed into the small space. The walls on Mateo’s side of the room were filled with surfing posters, Ansel Adams’ prints, and photos of interesting-appearing buildings and houses.
After showing her Mateo’s room, Jorge led her to the rear of the house, past a carport sheltering two more landscaping trucks and a mountain of pine straw stacked in bales. They entered a toolshed that also served as an office with a laptop and phone perched on a workbench across from racks of carefully arranged gardening tools.
“Mateo must be all right.” Jorge sounded like he was trying to convince himself of the fact as he leaned over the computer—there were no chairs. Lucy had the feeling the Romeros were the type of family who rarely sat while they worked.
“The police are doing everything they can to find him. Did Mateo have his own computer?”
“No. When he needed one, he used this one.”
“How’s he been acting lately? Anything strange?” She reached past him to pull up the computer’s browsing history. Nothing exciting there.
“No. He gets good grades and is a hard worker. He’s a good boy.” Jorge’s jaw clenched and Lucy intuited that he rarely gave anyone such praise in person. He turned away, typed for a few moments, then the screen filled with a map. “There. He’s there. At the marina.”
Not far from them—a mile and a half, on the Intracoastal Waterway. Across from their hotel and the shopping center at the southern tip of the island. “I’ll call the police, let them know,” she told Jorge.
“We’re closer. I’m going over there myself.” They left the office and went back through the house. Megan was talking to Mateo’s mother and aunt on the porch but looked up as they passed.
“Where are you going? Did you find Mateo?” she asked.
“We found his phone. At the marina.”
Jorge took his sister’s hands and gripped them as if making a solemn vow. Then he broke away and headed toward his truck. Lucy followed. “Megan, wait here.”
“No. I’m coming with you.”
Lucy didn’t have time to argue. The marina was a public spot on a Sunday afternoon, about as low risk as you could get. Still, she didn’t like the idea of Megan being more involved.
Too late. They took off, following Jorge’s truck as it spun out from the gravel drive and onto the street.
<><><>
THE MARINA WAS
on the other side of the shopping center at the far end of the island and faced the sheltered waters of the sound. The boats docked there ranged from small flat-bottomed bass boats to large sailboats and cabin cruisers. Only a handful of cars were parked in the gravel lot, most of them clustered around the rental kiosk. But one at the far end was a black BMW with plates that read:
PASTOR1
.
“That’s Pastor Fleming’s car,” Jorge said.
“Do you know where his boat is docked?”
“No.” He jogged over to the car.
Lucy debated following him but Megan was already making her way to the rental kiosk where a lone attendant watched them. She rushed to join them.
“Have you seen this boy?” Megan asked, showing him the photo of Mateo on her phone.
He frowned, squishing his lips one way then the other. “Nope, can’t say that I have.”
Lucy took over. “Do the Flemings keep their boat here?”
“Of course. We’re the only marina on the island.” He jerked his chin in the other direction, toward the inlet leading to the sound. “That’s him going out now.”
Lucy squinted and shielded her eyes from the sun as she stared west into the sound. The water was a brilliant blue streaked with golden ripples. A mid-sized cabin cruiser was silhouetted against the blue of the water and sky. She couldn’t make out who was at the wheel. “Did you see him? Pastor Fleming?”
“Nope. But it’s his boat. Who else would be driving it?”
Damn. As soon as it reached the end of the no wake area and hit the open water, they’d lose him. She glanced around. “What’s the fastest thing you have to rent?”
“Got a Formula 400 Super Sport. If you’ve got an operator’s license.” Which she didn’t. “Or, if you want something that you don’t need a boat license for, I got wave runners.”
Perfect. “I’ll take one.” He fumbled below the counter for a clipboard and forms.
Lucy ignored him, grabbing a life vest from the rack beside the counter and throwing it over her head. She shook her head at Megan who was also reaching for a vest.
“Wait here. Call Hayden. Tell her to get the Coast Guard out—see if Fleming’s boat has GPS,” she added as an afterthought. Wouldn’t that make everyone’s life easier? She hung her messenger bag over her chest diagonally, made sure her phone and pistol were zipped safe inside where they’d stay as dry as possible.
“Mom, I want to—”
Lucy silenced Megan with a look. The attendant was frowning. “Now see here, I can’t—”
Lucy did something she’d never done before. “FBI. Official business.” She was so full of crap—if word ever got back to the office, she’d never live it down. “I’m going to find Mateo, get to the bottom of this,” she promised Megan.
She climbed on board the closest wave runner without waiting for the attendant’s permission. Megan cast off the line as Lucy started the engine. It’d been years since she’d driven one—last time she and Nick had taken a vacation just the two of them. Cancun. Four days of fun and sun.
Her ankle twinged as she leaned her weight on it, steering the wave runner away from the dock. So much had changed since that vacation. Megan waved. “Mom, be careful!”