Finding Floyd (15 page)

Vicky smiled and started to reply; when she
saw Chris's black Suburban. Speeding down the drive, it came to a
screeching halt. They all watched as Diane hopped out of the
vehicle and Chris reversed and immediately zoomed off, leaving her
standing alone.

"Wonder what he's in such an all fired hurry
about?" growled Jeremiah.

"Uh oh. Looks like Chris and Diane might have
had a disagreement." murmured Vicky. She shut her laptop and said,
"Thank you so much for sharing your stories with me today, Mr.
Evans. I'd like to get together with you soon to hear more about
the earthquakes and the early frontier days."

"Sure, young lady. That would be fine. Next
time I'll tell you my granddaddy's account of the Shawnee Indian
attack." He shook his gnarled head. "Them folks had some hard times
back then."

They watched as Diane slowly rounded the
corner at the far end of the porch and made her way to the back
door. One hand on the knob, she turned, gave them a wan smile, and
slipped inside.

"The poor girl," whispered Vicky. "She looks
upset."

"Something's eatin' that gal, but I couldn't
say what," said Jeremiah.

"Might be something to do with Christopher.
He took off like the very devil was after him," drawled
Preston.

Ralph was at the stove, wooden spoon in hand,
like an orchestra conductor waving his baton. He was explaining to
the ladies, exactly how he produced his famous cream of mushroom
soup in large batches. Aunt Julia slowly stirred a simmering pot,
while Sarah Hardwick sat at the table taking notes on her iPad.

"Tomorrow I'll send Jack out for groceries
and he can pick up the mushrooms, sherry, and other things I need.
How about fried chicken and maybe a corn bread for dinner tonight?"
suggested Ralph. He poked around among the items on the counter.
"Got both yellow and white corn meal here. Could make a
cornbread."

"Do we have any buttermilk, Mr. Spangenberg?"
asked Julia.

"Don't need buttermilk for fried chicken," he
said. Then he smiled at her and said softly, "its Ralph, remember?
Forget the Mr. Spangenberg. Call me Ralph."

Julia blushed. Flustered she murmured, "Oh,
but you do too need buttermilk, Ralph."

"Buttermilk?" he asked, puzzled.

"I always soak my chicken in buttermilk,
usually overnight before flouring it, don't you Sarah?" asked
Julia.

"I surely do. Buttermilk, a splash of hot
sauce, some spices, and refrigerate it."

"That's interesting," said Ralph. "Must be a
southern thing."

"If you don't have any buttermilk which y'all
would need for both the chicken and the cornbread, why don't you
fix a Virginia spoon bread instead Julia?" asked Sarah.

"Never heard of it," said Ralph.

"I think you'll like it, Mr. Spangenberg, I
mean, Ralph," offered Julia. "We could grill the chicken and use
your barbeque sauce. Everybody loves barbecued chicken. I brought
some green beans and a ham hock. Sarah, if you'll snap the beans,
I'll get them started."

Ralph looked perplexed. "But beans don't take
that long to cook."

The women laughed. "The way we fix the beans
it takes a good while."

The door opened and a pale, somewhat unsteady
Diane entered and slumped into a chair.

"Diane, how the hell are you?" said Ralph
beaming at her. "Thanks for letting me visit. This is a great
little place. I think John and Theresa should be here soon, so
we've got a big crowd to feed. These two lovely ladies and I are
planning a great dinner. I got to say, I've missed cooking." He
halted and gave her a closer look. "Diane, you all right? You look
funny."

"I'm okay, Ralph. It's good to see you." She
rubbed her forehead.

"Oh Diane, sweetheart, I dropped by to talk
to you about Sandy. I'm sure you know the cruise isn't turning out
quite as they'd planned."

At the mention of Sandy's name Diane blinked
and tried to focus. Sandy will be back at the end of the week and I
can go back home to peaceful Pippin's Grove. Why did I ever want to
leave? In the last four days, I nearly froze to death, served
breakfast to dozens of unexpected guests, and was just shot at by a
criminal. Not to mention nearly falling in love with Chris. So not
a good thing.

"Sandy sent me a text," began Julia. "I'm
sure you received one too."

Diane quickly slipped her phone out. "I had
mine muted. I forgot to reset it." She swiped the screen, quickly
read the message, and sighed.

"Oh no. Sandy says it's been the cruise from
hell. The ship had to make an unscheduled stop in Tampa, because
there's been an outbreak of horrible stomach flu and almost
everybody on board is sick. They'll be stuck there indefinitely so
Sandy doesn't know when she can get back. Her mom's in her
seventies and hasn't been well. Getting sick like that could be
dangerous for an older person."

"Yes," said Julia. "She'll need to stay with
her mother. That's why she asked me to come by and help you out. I
work a bit for her from time to time. I bake for the breakfasts.
Muffins, bread, and such. Now then, we're on our own for a while,
but that's no problem, as I see it. Mr. Spangenberg and I are going
to fix a nice dinner for everyone. Diane honey, you all right? You
look a little funny."

"I'm okay. Except somebody just tried to kill
me and Chris. They were shooting at us."

1 10" unbaked pie shell, well chilled. Butter
crust is best.

1 cup chopped pecans, plus halves to
decorate

4 large eggs

1/2 cup white sugar

1 cup dark Karo

1/2 cup light Karo

1 teaspoon vanilla

1/4 cup Bourbon

Preheat oven to 350F.

Whisk together eggs and sugar well.

Add corn syrups, vanilla, and Bourbon.

Fold in pecans and pour into shell.

Decorate with halves.

Bake one hour, covering with foil if pecans
are browning too much.

Cool before slicing.

Serve with Bourbon whipped cream.

Chris was apprehensive when he saw parked in
his driveway, not the dark blue sedan usually driven by Agent
Rodriguez, but two large BMW motorcycles. Where the hell is
Rodriguez? And whose beamers are those?

Cautiously, he parked on the road and waited
in the Suburban, appraising the situation. His hand rested lightly
on the 9mm automatic, holstered on his hip.

So now my house is available to any passing
thugs that need a place to hide out. How did Toricello know it was
empty? I've got to get some security installed. Who would have
thought I'd have a problem way out here? Keeping a wary eye on the
house, he drew out his phone and called Rodriguez.

"Where the hell are you, Owen?" Rodriguez
barked. Impatience and irritation in her voice.

"Nice to talk to you, too. Listen. I'm
watching my house. Looks like I've got company. There's two beamers
parked in the drive."

The connection was dropped abruptly, and
Agent Rodriguez emerged from behind the house. She slowly strode
toward him. Her hair flowed over her shoulders as the breeze lifted
the raven curls. Dressed in skin tight biker leathers, she wore
polished knee-high boots that added a good three inches to her long
slender legs.

Okay...so she rode one of the bikes over, but
who's with her?

Just then a tall dark figure emerged from the
shadows beneath the pines and stood with his arms crossed staring
at them. Chris opened his door, slipped to the ground and waited.
Rodriguez never failed to surprise him, usually unpleasantly, and
this was no exception.

"What's he doing here? You know better than
to bring a civilian onto a crime scene!" His voice was cold with
fury, as he berated her. "What were you thinking? You just decided
to ride up here with that redneck private eye and compromise our
situation? I ought to have you yanked from this investigation."

Her cool agate eyes looked amused as she gave
him a dismissive glance. "Who I brought with me doesn't concern
you. Didn't you have your hot blondie girlfriend here with you a
while ago?"

"Don't start that. I had no idea Toricello
was here when I brought Diane to see the house and I certainly
didn't expect to be shot at." How does this bitch always get me on
the defensive?

"Didn't you?" Her cold eyes almost closed as
she peered at him appraisingly through her dark lashes. "Maybe she
wanted to introduce you to Mr. Toricello."

"I swear Rodriguez; she doesn't know anything
about Toricello. Leave her alone."

Her sensuous red lips twisted into an
unflattering smirk. "Of course not."

"Can we get back to business?" he asked,
frustrated by the lack of progress.

She nodded. "Well. You were right. The
Blowtorch was camping out in your basement."

"That bastard. I can't wait to lock him up
and throw away the key."

"He ditched some food and other supplies when
he took off. Left a lot of crap behind. He must have really made
himself comfortable. There are even cigar wrappers and some empty
liquor bottles down there." She paused and looked towards the road
that wound uphill. "There's a pickup truck pulled off on the side
of the road up there with both right side tires shot out. Here,"
she said, holding out her hand. "You forgot to police your
brass."

Chagrined, he held out his hand and she
dropped the shell casings into his palm.

"I guess you were in a hurry, but I figured
you might want them," she said with a smirk. "Let's keep our team
members and the local sheriff's office on a need-to-know basis. I
don't want to waste any time filing unnecessary reports on damages
to private property."

"Thanks," he muttered. Rodriguez was
thorough, he'd give her that, but he sure didn't need her to
chastise him. God knew how many times she'd stepped well over the
line.

"An evidence team will be out from Roanoke
soon. People are going to ask why Toricello chose to hide in your
house." She turned to face him and asked pointedly, "Who told him
you had a place here that was unoccupied?"

Her continued references to the suspect
hiding out in his house irritated him. She obviously thought Diane
or her friends had supplied the information. They glared at one
another for a long moment.

"Why didn't you hang around and nail him?"
she hissed. "We could be wrapping this case up right now."

"I wasn't alone. I couldn't risk something
happening to..."

"Yeah, let me guess. You had your girlfriend
here and you didn't want her getting hurt. Right?" Rodriguez's dark
eyebrows arched.

"Yeah, that's right. Diane was with me," he
said defiantly.

"Some of her pals from that little town
upstate are here too. You aware of that?"

He nodded and sighed. "Yes, but they've got
nothing to do with Toricello."

She snorted. "Yeah, sure. What a coincidence.
You know they're all connected somehow. Why would they all be down
here where the Blowtorch is holed up?"

"It's just a coincidence," he insisted,
knowing this response would sound lame to anyone in law
enforcement.

"Yeah, and they were all together in that
cute little town in New York where we found that shithead DePalma
and all that drug money. Now they're all here with Toricello. How
convenient."

"Get off my case!" growled Chris, leaning in,
to within mere inches of her face.

The dark eyebrows lifted again as Rodriguez
stared back defiantly.

Footsteps on the gravel drive caused him to
look up and see the big man in black leathers slowly coming their
way. Sam Woodruff's huge black mustaches and perpetual scowl were
easily recognizable. He knew the former army ranger was quiet,
capable, and potentially ruthless. Woodruff had a well earned
reputation for being a rogue operative and with the man's checkered
past, it was anyone's guess whether he was entirely
trustworthy.

Woodruff had tipped them off that the
Blowtorch was in the vicinity. How he'd discovered this, Chris had
no idea. It was common knowledge at the bureau that he'd started up
his own security business. He had contacts in the FBI and a half
dozen other Federal agencies. Presumably, there were individuals
willing to pay very well for his particular skills, because the man
made a very comfortable living.

"Sam." Chris nodded a greeting.

Crossing his arms, the man in black grunted a
reply and leaned back on his heels, studying them.

Grimly, Chris turned back to Rodriguez and
glared at her.

She shrugged. "He was with me when you
called. After all, he is our informant, so I figured we could use
the help."

"Right," shot Chris in quick response.

"Found nothing significant," came Woodruff's
low quiet voice.

Chris sighed. He felt at a disadvantage. The
two of them were on the scene well before him. The perspective was
never quite the same when other's supplied the facts.

"At least Toricello is on foot, unless he
found another vehicle," offered Rodriguez. "Maybe we should check
out that B & B where your blondie girlfriend and her buddies
are staying."

Chris ignored her sarcasm and turned to the
other man.

"Looks like your suspect took off through the
woods. There's some prints in the mud that disappear into the
pines," volunteered Woodruff.

So, Toricello was out there blundering around
in the woods somewhere, probably pissed off that we found his
hideout. Now I have to deal with Rodriguez getting cozy with
Woodruff. And I'll never convince her that Diane is innocent. The
investigation was rapidly spinning out of control and he didn't
like it one bit.

Chris turned at the sound of a large van
climbing the hill. It was the FBI evidence team. How am I going to
explain this one to the boss? While we were knocking around the
county looking into empty holes, the suspect was hiding in my own
house! And I let him get away. He rubbed his aching head. I guess
this means goodbye promotion.