Tiger's Eye (19 page)

Leo said, “Guy just got out of prison a week ago. Spent fourteen years in Joliet.”

I glanced up. “For what?”

“Arson, drugs, manslaughter.”

My eyes widened.

“He was operating a rolling meth lab and it blew up. Killed a woman in the car behind him.”

“A rolling meth lab? Wow.”

“It wasn’t his first offense either. The guy had a record longer than my arm. Mostly drug related.” Leo leaned back in his chair and said, “So, can you tell me why a man like that would be looking for you?”

My mind was a complete blank. Could I have been wrong? Was this man not connected to my father in any way? Or perhaps Dad was working on this guy’s story?

That’s when that voice came back to me.
I have the tapes.

Geez, if there was some evidence my father possessed that connected this guy to more drug dealers, that would have certainly put his life at risk.

And mine if they suspected I had access to it. Thor was a pretty good source of protection, but something more powerful and portable might be in order now.

I looked up from the file and said, “Will you teach me how to shoot?”

“Shoot what?”

“You know, pistols, firearms, guns. I’m thinking of getting one and I want to learn how to use it properly.”

“You did all right when you grabbed mine the night of the fire and shot into that keg.”

I shrugged. “Beginner’s luck. So will you?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re already dangerous. The town doesn’t need you armed and dangerous.”

Well, that was insulting.

Leo narrowed his eyes and leaned his face over the desk to stare at me. He was so close I could see the tiny scar on his cheek. He smelled like ginger and clove. “What are you not telling me?”

“Someone shot at me and Derek,” I blurted out, and then the whole messy story poured from me in no particular chronological order.

He looked confused as I spoke. Then angry, then back to confused. When I finished I was pretty sure he was thinking Derek and I weren’t the only ones who had dodged a bullet.

“I should have you arrested, you know that?” He stood up and shut the blinds. “Dammit, Stacy!”

“For what?”

“For what? Are you kidding me? Don’t play dumb—you know what you did was completely reckless, irresponsible, and, and…”

“Icky?” I offered.

He ran his hand through his thick dark hair and sighed. “I was thinking more along the lines of obstruction of justice, trespassing, theft, but sure, let’s go with icky.”

“I only borrowed that tractor. I wasn’t stealing it, and I had permission to be on Scoog’s land.” Which reminded me. “By the way, do you know how he died?”

“Don’t change the subject.”

I stood up. “Look, you can help me figure out what all of this has to do with my father’s death and I will cooperate as best I can or I can just leave now and figure it out on my own. Your choice.”

“Sit. Down. Please.”

He took a deep breath, hit an intercom button, and asked Amy to bring him some aspirin.

“Parker keeps a bottle on his desk,” I said, helpfully.

“I can’t imagine why,” Leo said.

I let that one slide as Amy bounced into the room with a bottle of water and two Advil. “Here you go.” She waved at me as she scooted out the door.

“She’s kind of cute.” I lowered myself back into the chair.

Leo looked at me as if a second head had just sprouted from my neck. “She’s about fifteen years old and Monique’s cousin.”

That reminded me. I grabbed a notebook from my bag and jotted down the messages that Derek’s and Monique’s ancestors had relayed to me. I flipped the page and slapped the book on Leo’s desk.

“Are you going to be nice to me?” I asked.

“Are you going to keep me informed on your investigation and any tricks you may have up your sleeve?”

I cocked an eyebrow. “As I recall, that was a source of contention between us.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Sure.”

He reached for the file on Cole Tripp and placed it on top of some other paperwork. “As for Scoog, no results yet, but there were no visible wounds. Most likely the guy just had a heart attack.”

Dead men tell no tales.
Maybe he died of natural causes, but there was nothing natural about the way he was trying to communicate with me.

“What about Liberty?”

“The bird? We found a place a few hours north that functions as a sanctuary. She’s at the vet. She’ll be transported tomorrow.”

That made me a little sad for some reason. I hoped she would find another mate. Maybe I could drag Derek to the vet to say good-bye.

“As for our floater, he was hit over the head before his body was dumped in the lake.”

“Did you find a car?” I jotted down notes.

Leo shook his head. “Not yet. The head injury is off the record, by the way. Whatever it was that he got hit with was unusually shaped, so we’re keeping that under wraps for the time being.”

“Okay.” I looked up from my notes and saw Leo punching the keys on his computer.

He wrinkled his brow.

“What?”

“I just pulled up your dad’s accident report.”

“And?”

“There was no driver in the other vehicle.”

Chapter 25

Leo explained that after the crash, whoever was driving the truck that hit my father had bailed. This was a point that I didn’t remember or didn’t pay attention to in my young, grief-stricken state.

Apparently the truck was registered to a company that hauled goods all over the US, Canada, and Mexico.

“The manager reported it stolen not long after the crash, so it had to be lifted somewhere nearby,” Leo said.

Which made sense, although it offered little comfort.

I was still standing at another dead end.

Before I left, Leo told me he was heading back out to Scoog’s place to do a sweep around Dad’s car for bullet casings and to see why someone wouldn’t want me inspecting it. He also said he would check to see if the truck had been towed there.

“If nothing else, I can get a warrant to access Scoog’s ledgers. From what I understand, there is no next of kin who would object to it.”

He handed me a copy of the accident report, and I told him I’d keep in touch. Then he grabbed my arm and twirled me into his chest. His gun pressed into my thigh.

At least I think it was his gun.

“I know this is personal for you, Stacy.” He held my eyes and a flashback of the days he used to call me kitten swept through my mind. “But please be smart about this. You have trouble, you come to me. And here…” His arm slipped from mine and he reached into his desk. Tossed me a can of pepper spray. “It doesn’t have the octane you were looking for, but it also won’t upset your boyfriend. I suspect he wouldn’t be too happy if you spent time with me at the shooting range.”

It was three o’clock then. I picked up Thor and checked in with work. Derek had already written the piece on Cole Tripp, but I was able to fill in a few gaps with the information Leo had presented me.

I popped into Parker’s office as he was piecing together tomorrow’s edition.

“Derek took a beautiful picture of that collie you found.” His long fingers hovered over the mouse, moving images and text to align them just right.

“She is a cutie,” I said. “Parker, did you know the driver who hit my dad wasn’t found at the scene?”

“Uh-huh.” The monitor was huge and I could see he was having trouble fitting the Black Opal ad next to the classifieds.

“Don’t you think that’s a bit odd?”

Parker shrugged and a piece of dried skin flaked off from his sunburn. “Not if he was drunk. Or high.”

“You think that’s what happened, don’t you?”

Parker looked at me. “Who else would steal a big rig?”

Good point.

“I just wish I had his files,” I mumbled.

“What’s that you said?” He was still engrossed in his computer screen.

I sighed, told him it was nothing, and walked out, closing the door behind me.

When I turned around, I smacked head-on into Iris.

She had a sheepish grin on her face.

“Were you eavesdropping?”

She shrugged. “I’m a gossip columnist.” She said it without a trace of shame in her voice.

I laughed, told her I had to run, and made my way to the parking lot.

Iris followed me. “Stacy, wait!”

I had my keys in my hand as I turned around. Thor was waiting for me next to the car. “What’s up?”

“What files were you talking about?”

“Oh.” I waved my hand. “It’s nothing. Just what my dad was working on before he passed.”

Iris cocked her head, wagged a finger at me. “You know. I just may be able to help you out, kiddo.”

I drove Iris to her small house on Crescent Moon Drive listening to her babble about treasure hunting.

“I hit ’em all, but the best one is the Spring Clean at the community center. I once bought a teapot there with only one chip in it.”

“Only one? Wow.”

She was talking about garage sales. Apparently the earlier you got to one the better the deals, and it was best to carry pictures of your collections to make sure that you didn’t purchase a duplicate. And to wear comfortable shoes.

I had never been inside Iris’s house before and I must say it was incredibly clean, with the lingering scent of pine oil and orange Pledge. It was also a little creepy.

She had about twenty thousand PEZ dispensers, all shapes and sizes, including the very rare (according to her) Daffy Duck on a black stand. She had neatly organized them in curio cabinets according to color.

There were also shelves and shelves of salt and pepper shakers lining every wall. I wasn’t sure what inspired a person to purchase a set of salt and pepper shakers in the form of a dog whizzing on a fire hydrant, but hey, we all have our obsessions.

Even Thor looked utterly amazed.

Iris flipped on a light and opened a door. “Electronics and things are in the basement.”

My jaw dropped as I descended the stairs. Stacks of Atari gaming systems, eight-track players, cassette tapes, VHS and beta boxes, turntables, and computers that dated back to Plato teetered against the walls.

I stood there, gobsmacked, as Iris filtered through her collections.

“Got it!” she said after just ten minutes of searching. She handed me a round, black nylon bag.

Inside were computer disks. One—the last one—was labeled SJ in blue ink.

My throat closed up for a moment. “Where did you get this?” I finally asked.

Iris explained that the bed-and-breakfast association put on a yearly sale to raise funds for advertising dollars.

“I’m sure your grandmother didn’t realize what it was.” She glanced around the room. “Heck, I didn’t even know until I logged it.”

I hugged Iris and told her I’d buy her a salt and pepper shaker set the next time I was at a flea market.

As Thor and I walked out, I received a text from Tony.
Cin’s not answering her phone. Can you check on her?

I drove to Cinnamon’s house, all the while itching to crack into the CD case. If I had my laptop with me, I would have.

Cinnamon didn’t answer the door right away. I peeked through the window and saw that she was getting up off the couch.

She answered the door in a tank top and shorts. “Hey, Cousin.”

“Hey, you okay?”

“Of course, just got up from a nap. Why?” She left the door open and walked toward the kitchen, her long dark waves bouncing off her back.

Thor and I followed. “Tony asked me to check on you.”

She poured herself a glass of orange juice and drank it in one gulp. “That man worries too much. I think I caught a bug, that’s all.” She smiled. “What’s up? Anything new?”

I told her about Cole Tripp, the driver from Dad’s accident (or lack thereof), my conversation with Leo, and the CDs.

She set her glass on the counter with force, splashed water on her face, and said, “CDs first, then we shoot.”

I sat back in the computer chair a few minutes later and shook my head. “I can’t believe it.”

“Me neither,” said Cin.

Every disk was blank. There was a code written on the back of one of them—GGGH225, but that didn’t ring a bell. I wanted to pull my hair out and holler until I was hoarse.

Cinnamon tapped my knee. “Come on. I know something that’ll cheer you up. Almost as good as sex.”

“Really?”

I watched my cousin as she pulled a large duffel bag out from beneath the bed and unzipped it. The woman had an arsenal almost as impressive as Iris’s PEZ collection. There were holsters for every body part, six-shooters, semiautomatic pistols, revolvers, and more.

If there was one thing my uncle Deck taught his daughter, it was how to handle a weapon. A police officer himself, he wanted to ensure that Cin would always be able to protect herself. My mother hated guns so I was never allowed to participate in these sessions.

Cin’s personal shooting gallery was behind Tony’s garage. We drove there with her collection.

Thor plopped down in the shade as Cinnamon set up the target. I could hear the sound of power tools filtering from the shop as I waited.

When she was done, a life-sized portrait of Monique Fontaine stared at me.