Zero Day (35 page)

T
HE
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ERCEDES
SL600 was parked in front of Puller’s motel room when he drove in around two o’clock. Jean Trent was sitting in the driver’s seat. The car was running and the AC was cranked. Puller parked next to the other car and got out. Jean Trent did the same. She had on a sleeveless pale yellow dress with a V-front and a white sweater over top, coordinated pumps, and a white pearl necklace. Her hair and makeup were flawless. The old motel seemed an incongruous backdrop for such glamour.

“Looking for a room at the motel?” Puller said as he walked over to stand next to her.

She smiled. “When I was fifteen I used to clean this place for four dollars an hour and thought I was rich. Sam did the same, but she only got three dollars an hour.”

“Why the discrepancy?”

“She was smaller and couldn’t work as hard. People around here drive tough bargains.”

“I believe it.”

“You got time for lunch? Or have you already eaten?”

“I haven’t. At the Crib?”

She shook her head. “Another place. Nicer. Over the county line. I’ll drive.”

Puller thought about this. He had a short time to divert a possible catastrophe. Did he have time for a leisurely lunch? Then his thoughts went back to what Mason had said. Trent operated that pipeline.

“What’s the occasion?”

“It’s lunchtime and I’m hungry.”

“Have you been waiting long?”

“Long enough. Guess you’ve been busy.”

“Guess I have.”

“How’s the investigation coming?”

“It’s coming.”

“You are remarkably tight-lipped.”

“It’s an Army thing.”

“No, I think it’s a cop thing. My little sister is the same way.”

“Saw your hubby was back in town. He joining us for lunch?”

Her radiant smile diminished a few watts. “No. He won’t. You ready?”

He looked at her fine clothes and then down at his own work ones.

“Fancy place? Not sure I’m dressed for the occasion.”

“You look just fine.”

She drove the country roads with an expert’s touch, hitting the turns and accelerating at just the right moment so the big Mercedes engine was at optimal rpm on the straightaways.

“You ever think of signing up for NASCAR?” he asked.

She smiled and punched the gas on a particularly long stretch of road, winding the car up to eighty. “I’ve thought about a lot of things.”

“So why lunch with me, really?”

“Got some questions, hope you have some answers.”

“I doubt it. Remember the tight-lipped thing.”

“Then your opinion. How about that?”

“We’ll find out, I guess.”

Ten miles later they crossed into another county, and two miles farther down the road she pulled onto a tree-lined asphalt driveway. Around two curves the land opened up as the trees receded and Puller eyed the sprawling two-story stucco and stone building. It looked like it had been dropped, intact, from Tuscany. There were two aged fountains out front and nearby a small stream with a waterwheel slowly turning. There was an outdoor tiled eating area
in an adjacent courtyard. A weathered wooden pergola strung with flowering vines provided a ceiling for this dining space.

Puller looked at the sign hanging over the front door. “Vera Felicita? True happiness?”

“You speak Italian?” she asked.

“Some. You?”

“Some. I’ve been there many times. Love it. I’m thinking of moving there one day.”

“People always say that when they visit Italy. But then they come back home and realize it’s not as easy as it sounds.”

“Maybe.”

Puller looked around at the expensive cars sitting in the cobblestone parking area. Most of the outdoor tables were filled with people as nicely dressed as Jean Trent. They were drinking wine and forking and spooning into elaborate-looking dishes.

“Popular place,” he said.

“Yes, it is.”

“How’d you come to find it?”

“I own it.”

J
EAN
T
RENT CLIMBED
out of the car and Puller fell into step behind her as she headed to the front entrance. She stopped and turned to him.

“We’re also a B-and-B. Four rooms. And I’m thinking about adding a spa. I brought in a CIA chef, and a professional team to run everything. We’re hoping to get our first Michelin star this year. We were cash flow positive after eighteen months. Our reputation has really grown. People come from Tennessee, Ohio, Kentucky, and North Carolina.”

“And no coal mines around?”

“This is one of the few counties in West Virginia that has no coal.” She looked around. “What you do have is unspoiled land. Mountains, rivers. I spent a long time looking for just the perfect location and this is it. I did business plans and demographic and marketing studies. I wanted to fill a need. That’s the best way to build something that’s lasting.”

“I didn’t know you were a businesswoman.”

“Probably lots of things about me you don’t know. You want to find out more?”

“Why not?”

They went inside and were shown to a private book-lined room where a table for two had been laid out. Puller knew little about decorating, but he saw that the interiors had been put together with an experienced eye. Everything was good quality, comfortable, nothing overdone. He had been to Italy many times, and this was probably about as close as one could come to it in West Virginia.

The server was dressed in a white jacket and black bow tie and attended to them with quiet professionalism. They scanned their menus, but Puller finally let Jean order for him. The bottle of white came first and two glasses were poured out.

She said, “I know you’re technically on duty, but I’m especially proud of this Italian Chardonnay and I’d like you to try it.”

He took a sip and let it go down slow. “Has significantly more body than one associates with an Italian white.”

She clinked her glass against his. “It’s called Jermann Dreams, 2007. But an Army man who knows his wines. How did that happen?”

“My father took my brother and me overseas a lot when we were younger. Had my first taste of wine in Paris when I was nine.”

“Paris when you were nine,” she said enviously. “I was in my late twenties before I even left the country one time.”

“Some people never get to go.”

“That’s true. Now I go every year, months at a time. I love it. Sometimes I almost don’t come back.”

“So why do you? Come back, I mean?”

She took a sip of wine and dabbed her mouth. “This is my home, I suppose.”

“Any place can be your home.”

“That’s true. But my family is here.”

He looked around. “Is Roger a partner in this?”

“No. This is all mine.”

“Pretty expensive proposition.”

“He didn’t bankroll me, if that’s what you mean. Bank loans and sweat equity.”

“Still, I’m sure being married to him didn’t hurt.”

“It didn’t,” she admitted. “So he’s back in town?”

“I had a cup of coffee with him at the Crib.”

“Why?”

“To talk about those death threats. For the record, I don’t think Randy is behind it this time.”

She put down her wine. “Did Sam tell you about that?”

“Yeah, she did.” He paused. “I guess Roger’s business is doing great.”

“I’m not really involved in it.”

“He relies on Bill Strauss a lot.”

“He’s the COO. That’s his job.”

He hesitated, pondering whether to mention the pipeline. He decided that was too risky. Noting her suspicious look, he said, “I’m asking more questions than you are. Sorry, it’s just how I’m wired.”

“We’ll see what we can do about that later,” she replied.

Their food came and Puller spent a few minutes digging into it. As he swallowed his last bit of fish he said, “I think you’ll get that Michelin star.”

Her face brightened. “I appreciate the confidence.”

“Not easy to carve something like this out of the wilderness.”

She finished the wine in her glass. “Are you plying me with compliments for some particular reason?”

“Just being honest. But you invited me to lunch. You said you had some questions. Why don’t you get started?”

“But you only offered opinions instead of answers.”

“I can’t promise what I can’t deliver.”

“Would you like some coffee? We get our beans from Bolivia. They’ve started to turn out great product. A special blend.”

“I hardly ever turn down coffee.”

“Have you been to Bolivia?”

“No.”

“South America in general?”

“Yes.”

“Business or pleasure?”

“I don’t travel for pleasure. I travel with a gun.”

The order was placed and the coffee arrived promptly. It was served in delicate-looking cups with a flower and vine pattern. Puller knew instinctively that Jean Trent had personally picked them. She just seemed the type to want to control things, no matter how small.

“Good coffee,” he said.

She nodded and said, “Now to my questions. Well, I really only
have one. Based on what you’ve found out so far, do you think Roger’s really in danger?”

“I have no way to know if he is or isn’t. I came here to investigate the murders of an Army colonel and his family. I did tell him to take them seriously.”

“Why?”

“Just my gut.”

“I know you thought I was being very cavalier about my husband’s personal safety, but I can assure you that I think about it a lot.”

“But also like you said, he takes precautions.” He finished his coffee and set the cup down. “Do you have any reason to believe that your husband is in danger? Or that he might be connected in some way to the murders that have taken place?”

“Well, one of the victims worked at his company. But I doubt that Roger even knew her. I can’t believe that he has any connection to those people getting killed. I mean, what would be his motive?”

“Don’t know. Is Roger involved in any litigation right now?”

“He’s always involved in litigation. Usually with the EPA or some environmental group. Occasionally with a wrongful death action because of a workplace fatality.”

“So what kind of environmental lawsuits?”

“I don’t know the particulars. Generally speaking, surface mining is pretty bad for the environment. You can’t quote me on that, but it is. People get upset and they sue. If the government thinks Roger hasn’t lived up to his legal obligations or has run afoul of some regulation they come after him. He keeps the lawyers gainfully employed. Why do you ask?”

Puller was thinking of the soil report, but he wasn’t going to tell her that.

She said, “Okay, I lied. I do have another question.”

“Shoot.”

“Why are you really here?”

“I thought that was pretty clear.”

“Dead colonel? Off post? I checked you out. You’re from the
701st. They could have brought in CID from Fort Campbell. The 701st is special. So why you?”

“You know the military well, do you?”

“My father was in the Navy. Lots of men from around here were in the armed forces. And like I said, I checked.”

“Who’d you talk to?”

“I have my contacts. That’s all you need to know. And from what I found out, it seems that sending someone like you out here sends a pretty clear message. This is not just a routine murder.”

“No murder is routine in my book.”

“So you won’t tell me?”

“I’m just doing my job, Jean. Other than that I really can’t say much.”

She dropped him off at the motel. Puller watched her go until she disappeared from view. Then he turned and looked at his motel room. Then his gaze swiveled to his car. He walked toward it. Stopped about fifteen feet away. Studied it. He moved in a counterclockwise direction around the vehicle. Saw something. A bit of insulated wire with the copper seam exposed. It was tiny, a few centimeters, but the sun had hit it just right so that it gleamed like a bit of revealed gold.

He dropped to his knees and then bent his head down. He was up in a second and moved away from the vehicle. He phoned Cole.

“Got a bomb under my car. Want to get somebody over here to come get it?”

While Cole hurried there with the bomb cavalry, Puller sat on the front steps leading up to the motel office and calmly considered the situation.

Folks sure seemed to love their explosives around these parts.

And now maybe he understood the invitation to lunch.