Authors: Yvonne Harriott
That can be easily explained, she told herself simply. It was because of his connection to Sydney why she kept thinking about him. Nothing else. Once she found Sydney then she would no longer dream about him. He would no longer be a presence in her life.
“I don’t have time to hear about your dream, Nan,” she snapped.
“Why are you angry with me?”
“I’m not. I get uncomfortable when you talk about that hocus pocus stuff.”
“Hocus pocus stuff? I can’t help what I see or feel and will not repress it because it makes people uncomfortable. What about you? Do you think it’s normal to glance at a five-page document and repeat it word for word?”
With the sequence of events that had happened in the last couple of days she could do without Nan’s predictions or being called abnormal. Then she thought, why should she be the only one feeling lousy and carrying the burden.
“Fine. Why don’t you save me the trouble and look into your crystal ball and tell me where to find Sydney?”
There was silence on the other end of the phone and she heard a sniffle. Markie felt like an eel. Nan didn’t deserve that. She was trying to help the only way she knew how. She’d given up her life when her son and daughter-in-law died to raise their children. Not once did she complain.
“I’m sorry, Nan.”
“I know. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Wait. Why don’t you drop by the office today? You can see that I’m okay and you don’t have to spend the day worrying.”
“I will,” Nan said and Markie could almost hear the smile in her voice.
Placing the phone back on the cradle, she slipped out of bed and headed to the small adjoining bathroom. She turned on the light and wanted to turn it back off. It wasn’t the avocado green walls, sink or tub that had her wanting to run. It was her reflection in the mirror.
Last night her right eye had been slightly swollen, with mild discoloration. This morning the skin around the eye was almost black, the sclera red. No amount of makeup in the world could hide her black eye and she didn’t even want to try.
Instead, she opted for the bag of frozen peas in the freezer and held it against her eye for twenty minutes. Then she showered, dressed, and left for the office.
• • •
Would Marklynn help him?
The question still remained in the forefront of Beck’s mind as he parked at the corner of East Berkeley not far from Washington Street. He grabbed his laptop and made his way to Brooks Investigations.
That question had kept him up after he’d read the information Malcolm had sent on Sydney Brooks. She had a juvenile record that was sealed. She’d also been arrested a couple of times for fraud. In both cases the charges were dropped, resulting in no jail time. He figured Marklynn had something to do with it.
It was clear to Beck that, however Sydney got her hands on the pictures, she wanted money for them. It had to be, with her history. What else could it be? If that were the case, then criminal charges would be laid. Would Marklynn help him knowing that it would land her sister in jail? He didn’t think so.
“Good morning. I’m Dalton Beck. I’ve an appointment with Marklynn Brooks,” Beck said to the woman seated behind a glass wall. The nameplate on the glass said Cate Jackson. She got up and came around the glass partition to greet him as he entered the foyer of the office.
She was a short round woman about fifty-five years old, wearing a white summer sweater and black slacks. Her short fiery red hair didn’t seem to complement her dark skin tone.
“Good morning, Mr. Beck. Ms. Brooks will join you shortly. I’ll show you to the conference room. Did you find the office okay?”
Beck followed her as they made their way up the metal staircase with the glass railing to the second floor. They passed a series of empty offices with glass walls separating each office. Glass walls also lined the hallway. Only frosting along the walls and glass doors provided some privacy.
The woman was looking at him as they approached the conference room and he realized she was waiting for a response from her earlier question.
“I’m familiar with the area,” he said.
The conference room was different from the offices. It was enclosed with real walls and entry was accessed only by a key code pad. There was a sign on the door that said the door must be kept locked at all times. She punched in the code and the door buzzed open.
An oval black lacquer table sat in the centre of the room. Floor to ceiling silver cabinets were mounted on the back wall with a desk between the cabinets. It wasn’t the furnishings they’d spent money on. It was the technology equipment. And there was something, a spy gadget he would guess, displayed on a wall of shelves above the desk.
“I’ll leave you in Jamie’s capable hands,” Cate said when they entered the room. “And yes, he looks like the guy from The A-Team. Our clients get a kick out of it.”
Jamie stood up from the head of the oval table and walked around to greet Beck. He extended his hand to Beck, scowling at Cate’s comment.
“It’s Mr. T. that looks like me. Jamie Wright.”
“Dalton Beck.”
The man was built like a linebacker. He wore a black patch over his left eye and his Mohawk and beard could do with a serious trim. Wearing a black T-shirt that stretched across massive chest, with Brooks Investigations written on the front in white, black pants and black boots, Jamie could pass for a soldier of fortune like the television character B.A. Baracus.
“Have a seat.”
Jamie went back to his seat staring at Beck from the head of the table. There were juices and bottled water with fresh pastries on the table along with a projector. Paper and pens were placed in front of five of the six chairs in the room and Beck wondered about the other two people that would be joining the meeting.
“Markie said you’re going to help us find Sydney.”
Beck took his laptop from the carrying case, placed it on the table, lifted up the screen and turned it on.
“I’m not sure how much help I can be with that, but it appears our problem might be connected somehow.”
“Somehow?” Jamie grunted his eyes hard as steel. “We have pictures that link your company to fraud or theft and that’s just for starters. What would the police think if they received an eight by ten glossy of
your
company van parked in your client’s driveway moments before they were robbed?”
“That van was stolen. We had—”
“How convenient. I’m sure they would take that into consideration when they throw your butt in jail after what happened to your client’s house in Jamaica Plains last night. Didn’t think we knew about that, did you?”
“I found out about that early this morning and planned to mention it in our meeting.”
Jamie leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his neck, his eyes still on Beck. He looked as if he’d already made up his mind that he was guilty of something and Beck had to wonder how productive their meeting would be.
“What I can’t figure out is, why? It doesn’t make sense.”
“If I were you, I’d be thinking the same thing. But you’re wrong,” Beck said. He was in defensive mode now and didn’t like it one bit.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Why would I try to kill Marklynn last night and then show up here today?”
“What do you mean
try to kill
Markie?” Jamie sat up like a cobra about to strike.
“She didn’t tell you?” Beck’s eyes widened in surprised.
“Tell me what?” Jamie placed his palms on the desk and pushed himself up to his full height leaning forward.
“Someone tried to run her over last night,” Beck said, knowing exactly what was on Jamie’s mind. “Before you start swinging,” he held up both hands, “I had nothing to do with it.”
The woman whose very name had changed the conversation from unfriendly to hostile walked into the room, sporting a gray power suit. The skirt flirted above her knees. With legs like hers, clad in sheer silk stockings wearing high-heeled black leather pumps, she was definitely a candidate for some type of leg commercial.
Her hand went to her hip to secure the gun into the hip holster as she moved effortlessly towards the front of the room. After the attempt on her life it was a wonder she wasn’t walking around with the gun in her hand.
“Good morning,” Markie said and dropped the file folder on the table. “Sorry I’m late.”
She pushed the wraparound sunglasses from her face to the top of her head and Jamie exploded, “Sweet mother of God!”
S
ydney sat up on the cot when she heard keys jingling on the other side of the door. She scrambled to her feet just as the door opened and a woman, tall, with skin the color of honey strolled in. The black bodysuit she wore looked like it was painted on showing off her well-defined muscles. A body suit in the middle of summer makes perfect sense for a lunatic.
Sydney had named her Blondie. She’d gotten a glimpse of her before she’d passed out earlier. The woman’s left hand was behind her back. In her right hand she had water, a small bottle. Sydney took her eyes off the water when Blondie moved slowly into the room staring at her like an animal stalking its prey.
“Aren’t you a clever girl?” The woman’s eyes fell on the tape Sydney had ripped from her mouth.
Sydney worked at the ropes to free her hands as the woman neared her. She wasn’t going to—
“Sit down.” A taser appeared from behind Blondie’s back. “Do I need to remind you what I’m capable of?” She smiled a cold smile that made Sydney shiver.
Blondie set the bottle of water down on the floor by her feet. She looked down at the water then at Sydney with that cold smile again.
“Thirsty? You can have a mouth full if you tell me what I want to know. Sit down and let’s have a chat. Shall we?”
“What do you want?” Sydney sat down on the cot eyeing the taser gun, not wanting to push her luck with Blondie. Her side was still sore from the introduction and she didn’t want a repeat performance. What she did want was a taste of the water. Her throat was parched. She eyed the water.
“Who do you work for?” Somewhere out in the hall a vent came on and Sydney could feel cold air circulating into the room. The woman looked over her shoulder into the hall then closed the door. “You were going to tell me your employer’s name.”
“I don’t work for anyone,” Sydney said and swallowed as she watched the woman and the taser gun.
“Wrong answer.” Blondie turned on the taser gun and stroked it as if it were a pet. It was as though she had some sort of connection with the device. “Why did you take the pictures?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Your sister is very pretty. Quick on her feet, too.” She stopped stroking the taser, but kept looking at it. Maybe it was talking to her. “You’re not like that, are you? Quick on your feet, I mean. I guess if you were, you wouldn’t be here.”
“Put that taser down and I’ll show you.”
Blondie paused as if considering what Sydney had said then laughed. “She’s much prettier than you. I bet she was the favorite. You know, always had her life in order.” Her mouth twisted in a bitter smile. “She probably did everything right. And you were a royal screw up.”
Whatever issues she had with Markie she wasn’t going to discuss them with the mad woman standing in front of her having a séance with the taser. “Why did you bring me here?”
“Your sister survived the accident last night, but I’m not sure she’ll be so lucky the next time around.”
“What accident?” Sydney froze. Cold sweat washed over her body. “Is she okay?”
“She’s still standing. Whether she remains that way is up to you.”
What has she done? A tear slid down Sydney’s cheek. After her phone call to Dalton Beck, she had decided to hide the pictures until she’d spoken to Markie. She didn’t think anyone would find them. Markie’s life was in danger because she had been impulsive. Impulsive was her middle name Nan had told her once. Why couldn’t she be more like Markie.
“Tears. How touching. I’m still waiting for an answer. Who do you work for and why were you taking pictures in Jamaica Plains?”
“I’m a photographer for
Upscale Design Magazine
.”
It was a one-off assignment. A friend had gotten her the job. She probably wouldn’t get another chance with the magazine again because she wasn’t going to make the deadline. Right now making the deadline was the least of her worries.
“Why don’t I believe you?”
“I’m telling you the truth. I was taking pictures for a layout in the magazine. After that, I decided to go for a walk. I didn’t see anything or take any other pictures.”
“Then what’s your sister doing with the pictures?”
Either way, she was going to be tasered again. Blondie was moving a little too close for comfort. Sydney pushed herself up from the cot and balled her fist the best she could with her hands bounded together, ready to swing.
“I don’t—”
The shock from the taser gun cut off her reply. She lost her balance and hit the floor.
Pain.
Darkness.
• • •
All eyes focused on Markie when she removed the sunglasses. She wanted the meeting to be about Sydney, not her eye. Jamie looked like he was about to burst a blood vessel. She didn’t call him last night because she didn’t want to worry him. Now she wished she had because she was going to hear about it after the meeting.
“Gentlemen,” she said to Carlos and Karter who strolled into the conference room a few minutes later, “I’d like you to meet Dalton Beck. Beck, meet two of our other investigators, Carlos and Karter whom I’ve asked to join us.”
Carlos was built like a refrigerator with short black spiked hair, olive complexion dressed in Brooks Investigations shirt and jeans. Since he and Jamie were allergic to suits, Markie had no objections to them wearing promotional gear.
Karter, on the other hand, was a reed-like man with thick black glasses who always had a handful of tissues. His thin body was lost in the brown suit that was at least two sizes too big.
Both men shook hands with Beck after the introduction and took their seats at the table.