No Hiding Behind the Potted Palms! A Dance with Danger Mystery #7 (22 page)

“Thanks,” he nodded to me. I
went back and got myself a blueberry bagel, spread some cream
cheese on it, and poured myself some coffee, before sitting down. A
young woman approached me.

“Hi. I’m Julie Amano. I
understand you have a list of the contents of your cartons,” said a
friendly young woman, taking a seat next to me. “Any chance I can
get a copy of that? We’re going to need it when the recovery team
goes in.”

Once I got done with that, I
was at loose ends. Julie took me down the hall to an office where
an administrative assistant handed me a new toothbrush and
travel-size tube of toothpaste.

Mac checked with me about
ten, suggesting that I keep myself busy working on my cookbook. One
of the other agents lent me a power cord, so I found myself a quiet
corner and, after plugging in my laptop, got to work surfing for
recipes. While I was at it, I decided to do some research on
Jenkins Beach. I was surprised when Mac announced that the group
was sending out for lunch. I ordered a salad with grilled chicken
and an ice tea.

By one-thirty, the group was
on alert, waiting for the truck to arrive at Mac’s house. It was
fifteen minutes out when four men arrived in a pair of black SUV’s.
They parked down on Acorn Lane and walked the short distance to
Mac’s house. Ringing the doorbell several times, they seemed
satisfied that no one was home. Disappearing into the bushes around
the house, they waited. When the truck arrived, it backed into the
driveway. The driver unlocked the boathouse double doors and swung
them open. The other two men in the truck jumped down from the cab
and all three men made short work of unloading the boxes and
furniture Barry sent up from Belle Haven. My sofa and my favorite
arm chair were wrapped in plastic. They were carefully tucked into
the far corner, along with end tables, my dining room set, and my
bedroom set. The boxes were carefully unloaded and stacked in a
separate area. It looked to me like the federal agents were trying
to make things easy for the bad guys, so as to minimize damage to
my possessions. As soon as the last box was off the truck, the
driver closed the double doors of the boat house, locked them, and
made a big show of striding up to the house and tucking the key
under the mat in front of the door. The other two men rolled down
the door of the truck and waited in the cab. They were barely out
of the driveway before the bad guys were scurrying out into the
open.

An hour later, they had
found what they were looking for, and we watched as the doll and
the music box were carried away.

“Here comes the hard part,”
Mac said softly into my ear, as the group dispersed. “Where do they
go? And will it lead us to the Robacher family?”

Chapter Ten --

At six o’clock, a team of
investigators found the brutalized bodies of the missing Robachers,
under a blue tarp, at an abandoned farm property by the state
forest. They had died shortly after they were reported missing.
Everyone on the federal task force was grim-faced after the
discovery. It appeared that the Robacher children and Bridget were
tortured in an effort to force Tom to cooperate. His wife’s body
also bore signs of sexual assault, in addition to burns and
cuts.

“We were hoping Mr. Robacher
could tell us what they wanted from Vanguard Advanced,” Mr. Donovan
sighed. “It has to be a whole lot more than just the medical
simulation.”

Once it was obvious that the
Robachers would not be rescued, the federal joint task force moved
in to apprehend the bad guys. Mac, as an Interpol officer, sat it
out in the federal building with me, giving me a blow-by-blow
explanation of what was happening. Three agents were wounded in the
shootout, one of them seriously. Of the six members of the criminal
gang, four survived and were taken into custody. They turned out to
be Balkans and Serbs hired for the job by the phony Tom. None of
them were talking.

That night, Mac and I got
adjoining rooms at the Chateau de Mont Beaulieu, a well-known
resort up in Etherton ski country. The task force wanted to keep an
eye on the Jenkins Beach house for a few more days, just in case
their unknown boss sent out another team of thugs. The federal
agents were waiting for that bank account to be accessed by the
leader of the gang and Mac was involved in obtaining the necessary
warrants for the Swiss account.

By the fourth day, they knew
that they were dealing with a professional. An elderly man with
impeccable credentials presented himself at the bank in Geneva to
collect the money in the account. He claimed that he needed to have
it or his wife would be killed. When her body was tossed out of a
dark, nondescript van three hours later, it was clear she had been
strangled as soon as her husband was dropped off in front of the
bank. The murders were about intimidation and terror. Mac said it
was clear there was a leak somewhere, that the old man was a decoy,
to expose the international effort to apprehend the boss of the
criminal gang. Somehow the man in charge had figured out Interpol
was on to him.

“Best guess? It’s a spy
thing. This guy is good, Kim. Scary, too. He has no problem killing
people, not only to make sure there are no witnesses, but because
he enjoys terrifying people. He knows we’re looking for him and
he’s playing a head game. He wants us to know just how powerful he
is.”

Mac worked from his hotel
room, occasionally traveling into the city to catch up with
colleagues on the joint task force. I spent my time in the kitchen
of the Chateau de Mont Beaulieu, observing the master chef, Pierre
Boulon, and the pastry wizard, Arlette Mathieu, at work. They were
kind enough to share some of their culinary techniques and secrets
with me on a rainy Monday. That gave me an idea for my fourth
prospective cookbook volume I tentatively called, “The Penny
Pinching Gourmet Goes Parisian”. I thought it would be fun to show
their food creations in that wonderful setting. My humble, homemade
versions of the same dishes, with calories and pennies cut, would
be displayed on a simple red-and-white checkered tablecloth, using
bistro dinnerware and shortcuts.

Two weeks after the criminal
gang was rounded up, the federal task force wound down its intense
effort to capture the leader, citing no new leads to follow. The
Balkans and the Serbs were still being held without bail, due to
the nature of the brutal killings of the Robachers and the phony
Tom. Mac was due to head off to Bahrain, but first he had to close
out this case. Mae had remained with her sister as long as Mac and
I stayed at the Chateau de Mont Beaulieu.

“We’re checking out
tomorrow, Kimmy,” Mac told me over dinner Tuesday night at the
hotel’s casual cafe. “There’s been no return activity at the house,
so we think it’s okay to go back there now. There’s nothing the
leader of the gang would want there.”

“That’s great news,” I said,
watching him across the table. It was hard for me to imagine not
seeing him every day. With the passing weeks, I had grown fond of
MacDonald Tweedie in a new way, and the thought of surrendering him
to another woman was hard. But I knew that there was no point in
coming between Mac and his future plans. After all, love couldn’t
be forced.

Mac ordered an apple galette
and two forks, along with a couple of cups of coffee from the
waitress. We shared it in companionable silence, lingering over
every bite.

“You seem glum, chum” Mac
smiled at me as he paid the bill.

“I’m going to miss you,” I
admitted. “It’s been nice, despite all the terrible, and I do mean
terrible, things that have happened.”

“Not to worry, Kimmy. You’ll
be with Mae. That’s a guarantee you’ll hear from me.” He reached
over and patted my hand confidently. “After all, I consider you
family.”

I did my best to return his
smile, but all I could think of was how much more I wanted to be
than just a sister figure to him. Some things are meant to be.
Apparently, this was not one of them.

“Before I forget, I have
something for you.” Mac pulled out a long, thin jeweler’s box. “You
know that we have to keep that charm bracelet, along with the other
items, as evidence for the trial. I picked this up as a “thank you”
gift, to tide you over until you can have your things again.
Here.”

I watched his strong,
masculine fingers slide the box across the glass top of the cafe
table. He tapped the top of the blue case twice for emphasis. As I
hesitated, Mac laughed.

“It won’t bite you,” he
assured me. The truth was I didn’t want more evidence of our
platonic relationship. I didn’t want another reminder that he
considered himself to be the brother I never had. With a reluctant
sigh, I picked up the box and lifted the hinged lid.

“Oh, Mac,” I cried. “It’s
charming!”

“Hence the name ‘charm
bracelet’,” he grinned. I examined each little figure with a
growing excitement. There was a little chef hat, a flower blossom,
and a cupcake. Mac knew me well. But it was the silver heart with
its tiny gold key that gave me hope.

“What’s that for?” I asked,
feeling brave.

“So you know you’re really
safe and secure, Kim. We’ve got you locked up tight. People are
looking out for you. I don’t want you to stop chasing your
dreams.”

“Oh.” Part of me appreciated
the thoughtful gesture, but another part of me was overly aware of
the dull ache of unrequited love. My fingers continued to fondle
the charms, seeing them shine in the glow of the small lamp on the
cafe table.

“The emerald bead is for
your birthday. The cup and saucer are for the coffees we’ve shared.
The little car is to remind you of our late-night road trip.” Mac
gave me a mischievous grin. “The silver boy and girl are because
we’ve been friends forever. That’s a bond that can’t be broken,
Kimmy.”

“I’ll treasure this,” I said
sincerely. “It’s so sweet of you.

When we went back to our
rooms on the fifth floor, Mac came in to do a sweep of my room. He
checked all the nooks and crannies, to make sure there were no
hidden dangers awaiting me.

“Sleep tight,” he said, hand
on the door handle.

“Mac?” I suddenly didn’t
want to feel so alone. It wasn’t that I was apprehensive as much as
it was that I didn’t want our time together to end.

“Yes, Kimmy?” He paused at
the doorway.

“Could we leave the doors
open for just one more night?” I asked. Mac’s face softened. He
came back into my room and swept me up in his strong arms. I felt
his lips on my forehead, kissing me gently.

“Poor Kimmy. You’ve had such
a horrible time of it the last few months,” he said softly. “Of
course I’ll leave the door open. You call me if you need anything.
I’ll be here in a flash.”

He gave me another squeeze
before he turned and walked back to his room. I felt the wind go
out of me as he disappeared from sight.

Fifteen minutes later, I was
ready for bed. I piled up the pillows and gave them a good slap,
hoping to get rid of my frustration. It didn’t work. I was still
too aware of Mac in the next room and the ache inside me. Why did
life have to be so complicated? Why couldn’t I be that woman he
wanted to marry?

The next morning, we checked
out of the Chateau de Mont Beaulieu at nine and hit the road in the
Jeep Cherokee. We took our time, traveling down the back roads. Our
first stop was the Northford house, to check on what was left. Mac
had convinced me to hold on to Adelaide’s furniture. We would get
it reupholstered down the road. He needed to furnish the small
suite he was building above the boathouse and thought my mother’s
furniture would work. His crew had moved the pieces earlier in the
week. Walking into the empty living room, I no longer felt a
connection to the house. Adelaide was no longer here. We tidied up
the debris, packed up the few remaining items left in cupboards and
cabinets, and gathered my clothes. Mac and I loaded everything into
the back of the SUV. From there, we headed to Jenkins
Beach.

“Why don’t I take you to the
house and help you get settled. Rogan and his guys moved all the
furniture to the third floor the other day, so you’ll find you just
have to unpack the cartons. You can give me a shopping list and
I’ll go to the grocery store.”

The minute we pulled into
the driveway of Bonnie Oaks, I felt the tension leaving me. I
looked at the charming cottage. A whisper seemed to roll in on the
gentle bay breeze, telling me that this was the beginning of a new
year for me, filled with opportunity and happiness. All I had to do
was embrace it. I just wished I had the courage to tell Mac how I
really felt about him.

We worked through the
afternoon. I unpacked the cartons up in my third-floor sanctuary.
Mac carried in all the items from the SUV and removed the trash I
piled up by the door. By three, he was ready for a trip to the
market. I joined him in the kitchen for an inventory of the pantry
and refrigerator. Together, we made a list of needed
groceries.

“How about a nice, juicy
steak on the grill tonight,” he offered, “with a nice bottle of
cabernet sauvignon?”

“Lovely,” I
agreed.

“I shouldn’t be too long,”
he promised as he headed out the back door. I watched him walk to
the Jeep Cherokee. Shaking myself back to reality, I got busy
familiarizing myself with the kitchen. I checked out the pots and
pans that were available in Mac’s kitchen and headed upstairs, to
bring down some of my personal favorites. When I was up there, I
grabbed a couple of my favorite utensils, three pans, a couple of
baking dishes, and my favorite paring knife in its sheath. With
arms full, I used the elevator and made my way back down to the
kitchen.