Robert B. Parker's Debt to Pay (25 page)

J
esse made three calls after his meeting with Kahan. The first was to Healy.

“It's not him.”

Healy was confused. “Who's not him?”

“The body in the car on Trench Alley. It's not Peepers.”

“And you know this how?”

“I've got photos of him at the Oklahoma City airport yesterday afternoon and positive DNA test results for a Michael Scott Atkinson. He's in the state database.”

“Bullshit on that. Our people have barely gotten done—”

“It wasn't your people who got the samples or did the test.”

“Cut it out, Jesse. Next thing you're going to tell me is that there are black helicopters circling Paradise and snipers in the trees.”

“I wouldn't be surprised. Hunsicker's chief of security is ex-CIA or -NSA or some other alphabet soup, and he's got a long reach.”

“You want me to let Molly know?”

“I'll do that,” Jesse said.

They had a brief talk about Dallas, Healy's wife, and Healy's limbo of semi-retirement.

“This thing better come to a conclusion and soon,” Healy said. “I'm officially retired, but I've been in the office more in the last week than I was when I was on the job. People are getting suspicious and I'm running out of favors to ask and people to ask them of.”

His second call was to Molly and it went pretty much the same as his conversation with Healy had. There was a lot of disbelief and disappointment. The small-talk part of the conversation was more about how the meeting had gone between Jenn and Diana. There was something bugging Jesse about Molly's tone during the call that he'd been willing to attribute to the news about Peepers being alive, but by the end of the call he was convinced it wasn't that.

“Is there something you're not telling me, Molly? Are you holding back?”

Suit's engaged. Can you believe it? That big, goofy bastard is serious. He actually asked me to help him with the wedding preparations.
“No, Jesse, nothing” is what she said.

His last call was to Vinnie Morris.

J
ed Pruitt pulled his VPPD SUV up the steep, winding driveway of the Vineland Park Country Club. As he drove, Pruitt pointed out features of the golf course.
They keep the fairways flat and the greens furry so the members will be happy with their scores.
Apparently keeps the membership levels high
.
And when you charge the dues and fees this place does . . .
The clubhouse loomed before them as they came up to the crest of the hill. Both Diana and Jesse were shocked. Jed Pruitt laughed at their stunned expressions.

“Hideous, ain't it? They spent about twenty mill to redo it about two years ago. Turned a perfectly classy old Tudor-style building into this monstrosity.”

Diana said, “It looks like a cross between something out of
Macbeth
and one of those all-the-beer-you-can-drink steakhouses, only uglier.”

Pruitt laughed again. “Exactly. Some of our unkinder residents refer to it as the Beef and Brew.”

“At least it's big,” Jesse said.

Pruitt agreed. “It's all of that.
Cavernous
is the way I'd put it.”

Almost before Chief Pruitt could put the vehicle in park, a silver-vested valet who looked like an escapee from the cover of
GQ
was at his door. He had arranged for Jesse and Diana to do a walk-through of the place, the venue for the wedding and reception. Scott Kahan had assured Jesse that there was no possibility of Peepers successfully pulling anything off at the country club on the day of the wedding.

“We've scouted every inch of the place. Analyzed where a sniper might hide. We're going to have a portable X-ray scanner for the gifts and scanners to see who might be carrying. We're going to have temporary barriers set up outside so that a truck can't be rammed into the place. I'll have men everywhere and a response team will be on-site. We've got dummy limos set up for the drive from the house to the venue and from the venue to the airport.”

But Jesse, not Kahan, was the cop. He had worked security details in uniform and in plain clothes. As he knew only too well, and as Kahan himself had said during their first meeting, there was no such thing as a totally secure location. Diana was a valuable second set of eyes. She had a knack for seeing things that even fellow agents hadn't been able to see. Better still, she was willing to speak up and act if the situation called for it. Like her looks, that knack and her willingness to act were as much a curse as a blessing. It's what had caused her to get jammed up at the Bureau and eventually led to their parting ways. More important, Jesse trusted her. He didn't trust Kahan as far as he could throw him, nor did he have much faith in Hale Hunsicker after the events at the bar. Oddly, other than Diana, the one player in all this he trusted to do his part was Peepers. That's why they were all here, because he could count on Peepers to keep his promises.

—

Diana and Jesse sat at the rear of the main ballroom at the country club, watching the preacher, the wedding planner, and the catering manager block out the wedding party's movements.
Okay, best man, you stand right here . . .
They hadn't originally been invited to the rehearsal, because neither was a part of the wedding party, but they asked if they could tag along. And with Hale pleading their case, Jenn relented, though it did raise her already high level of suspicion.

“Why do you want to come?” Jenn had asked them, even after she'd given her permission. “The rehearsal dinner is at the restaurant in the lobby of your hotel. You could spend the time together and then just ride the elevator down from your room.”

Characteristically, Jesse shrugged. But it was Diana who saved the day.

“Look, Jenn, I know this is awkward having us there at the rehearsal, but we just got engaged and we want to soak in the atmosphere. We'll be doing this soon enough ourselves. And we'd want you and Hale there with us.”

With that, Jenn's suspicions had seemed to evaporate, and she kissed Diana on the cheek. She whispered in Diana's ear, “You'll make him happier than I ever could. He loved me. I think he still does, in his way, but he looks at you like he never looked at me. Good thing I'm only a little jealous.”

They had laughed about it. For her part, Diana was only half lying. Even in the midst of all the danger and drama, she was excited at the prospect of being the second Mrs. Jesse Stone, and she intended to be the last one.

What Diana and Jesse were actually doing there was assessing how things might go if Peepers did try something during the
ceremony. It was one thing to do a walk-through of an empty building as they had done with Jed Pruitt earlier in the day. It was something different to see how events might unfold with people in the room. One was static. One was dynamic. And it was seeing how the people would move, where and when, that helped Diana and Jesse figure out how Peepers might come at Jenn. All of Kahan's planning and precautions were good and valuable, but as former boxing champ Mike Tyson is famous for saying, “Everybody has a plan till they get punched in the face.” And what might happen after that punch was what Diana and Jesse were worried about.

“I don't see it,” Diana said. “I just don't see how he could pull it off here. Not by himself.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You don't agree?”

“Just the opposite. The problem is I do agree,” Jesse said. “It's those pipe bombs that he built that concern me. If I could see how he could use them, I'd feel better about it.”

“As a diversion.”

“But not here. Peepers isn't stupid. He's done his research. He knows that Hunsicker has a security man and who he is. He's figured out by now that we must be waiting for him and that a simple diversion won't work. He'll know we won't fall for it. That we'll be prepared.”

T
he valet at the Park Mansion Hotel and Spa accepted the ten-spot tip from the little man as he handed him the keys to his rented Maserati. The valet handed him a receipt stub.

“When you want your car, just hand that to the valet on duty. And thank you for your generosity.”

“My pleasure,” he said to the valet, though it was a lie. His pleasure lay ahead of him.

The bellman collected the luggage out of the trunk and rear seat of the little man's car, placing the items on a wheeled cart.

“I'll take that,” the little man said, pointing at the attaché case, and handed out another ten-dollar bill. “You can have the rest brought up to my room.”

“Thank you, sir. Very good, sir,” the bellman said, handing the man the cordovan leather case. “Heavy for an attaché case.”

It was all the little man could do not to glare at the bellman and declare that the weight of his attaché case was none of the moron's business. Instead he simply winked at the bellman, who, in turn, winked back to indicate that he understood the case contained valuables. He understood nothing, of course.

“Going to do some fishing while you're here?” the bellman asked, retrieving the long, round hardened case from the Maserati's backseat.

“Fishing, yes. Smart man. Now, please, just get that stuff up to my room.”

“Right away, sir.”

At the front desk, an exotic-looking woman with high cheekbones, almost translucent skin, raven-black hair cut in a neat line halfway down her neck, and ice-blue eyes greeted the little man.

“Good evening, sir. My name is Dijana,” she said with a slight Slavic accent. “Do you have a reserv—”

The little man handed her a Massachusetts driver's license and a ruby-colored credit card. “Dijana,” he said. “That's a beautiful name.”

She smiled a glowing white smile. “Thank you . . . Mr. Stone.” She read his name off the credit card. “It's Serbian for Diana.”

The little man laughed in a disquieting way.

“I am sorry,” she said. “Did I say something—”

“No, no. I'm sorry. Just an inside joke. Please, forgive me, Dijana.”

“Of course.” She tapped her keyboard. “Yes, sir. We have your reservation right here. Mr. Jesse Stone. One night, a king-sized bed. All of our rooms are nonsmoking. And you specifically requested a west-facing room with a balcony above the tenth floor. Is that correct, Mr. Stone?”

“It is.”

She screwed up her lovely face. “May I ask you, Mr. Stone, why you made that request?”

He fought himself really hard not to explode at her.

“Personal quirk,” he said. “I don't enjoy the sunrise. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, I suppose I was a little curious, but also because your credit-card status allows us to upgrade you to a spa-level room on the eighth
floor. Those rooms include room-service breakfast free of charge, three newspapers, a huge discount on our spa facil—”

He interrupted her for a third time. “That's very kind of you, but no, I'll keep my original reservation.”

“I assure you, Mr. Stone, it's no bother at all, and the amenities are fantastic.”

“Again, Dijana, I appreciate the offer, but no.”

She considered trying one last time as per her training, but there was just something about Mr. Stone that told her not to go there. He had been perfectly polite, yet he made her uneasy. She handed him two key cards in a small cardboard folder.

“That's room ten twenty-one. The elevators are to the left of the lounge to your right,” she said, gesturing with her arm. “Please let us know if the room meets your specifications, and thank you very much for staying with us.”

“You're welcome, Dijana.”

“Is there anything else the staff at the Park Mansion Hotel and Spa can do for you this evening, Mr. Stone?”

“As a matter of fact, there is.” He placed his attaché on the counter. “I'd like to check my attaché into the baggage room until I check out. Would that be okay?”

“Absolutely, sir. Cliff, our concierge, will be only too happy to do that for you. He'll give you a check stub when he takes your case. If there's anything of value in your case, we do have a more secure area.”

“No,” the little man said. “The baggage room will be just fine.”

And with that, he turned away from Dijana and moved to the concierge's desk. As he did, he smiled that smug smile of his and laughed to himself about the Serbian Diana to his Jesse Stone. He wondered if the real Jesse and Diana would appreciate the irony. Somehow he doubted it.

T
he restaurant was called Edge and, as everyone who worked at the hotel had pointed out, it served the best steak in all of Texas. And that, as they had all added, was really saying something. As if to make the point, the first thing a patron saw when entering Edge, even before reaching the hostess's desk, was the glass-faced meat locker in which the steaks were aged.

“Those are our pride and joy,” the hostess said, seeing Jesse and Diana stop to peer into the glass case. “Those rib-eye steak racks are dry-aged one hundred and fifty days. You will never have a more flavorful, richer piece of steak in your lives. Are you folks here for the Hunsicker party?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Right this way.”

The décor of the place was eclectic: Asia meets Texas somewhere in Europe. There was an open kitchen with roaring flames and broilers, and the place smelled like a beef lover's paradise. The sweet, smoky, and alluring aroma of charring beef fat and flesh filled the air. Most of the rehearsal participants were already seated when Diana and Jesse—who'd stopped in their room to freshen up—were
shown to the two long ebony tables. Both of them breathed a sigh of relief at being seated at the other table, far away from Jenn and Hale. They were keenly aware that the confrontation with Peepers was at hand, that their obsession for the last five weeks would come to some sort of resolution within the next thirty-six hours . . . or not. They just wanted to spend one meal together and enjoy their food without Peepers or Jenn or Hunsicker or anyone else imposing themselves.

They were between two other couples, neither of whom seemed to be interested in talking too much about anything but the food and wine. That was fine with Diana and Jesse, who found themselves actually discussing wedding plans. The discussion didn't last long because, after the steaks were ordered and the celebratory champagne poured, the inevitable and excruciating toasts to the happy couple began.

When Jesse's eyes were about to glaze over, his cell phone buzzed in his pocket. He excused himself. As he walked out of Edge and into the lobby, he noticed that Kahan nodded to Ari to follow. Jesse looked at the screen. He didn't recognize the number and decided not to pick up. The phone stilled in his hand. As he turned to head back to the table, the phone buzzed again. Same number. He thought about not taking it, but realized he wasn't very anxious to listen to any more toasts.

“Jesse Stone.”

“Hello, Chief Stone. It's rude not to answer your phone.”

“Who is this?”

There was a high-pitched snicker in Jesse's ear. “Do you ask a praying mantis who?” It was Peepers. “Hello, Chief Stone,” he said a second time.

Jesse's heart turned cold and his guts burned with anger, but he
knew that he dared not show his cards to Peepers and had to play things steady.

“Hello, Milton James,” Jesse said, aware that calling him Peepers would send the man on the other end of the line completely off the rails. During their one meeting, Peepers had threatened to shoot out both of Jesse's kneecaps if he referred to him as Mr. Peepers. “Are you still Milton James?”

There was that snicker again. “Not tonight, Jesse. I've turned over a new leaf. You know, I've always called you Chief Stone, but I know you prefer to be called Jesse. Is it all right if I call you Jesse?”

“If you'd like.”

“I
would
like. Do you know why I'm here, Jesse?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Poor Jenn,” Peepers said. “I am quite fond of her, really I am. It is her misfortune to have gotten mixed up with you. I owe you, Jesse. I've a blood debt to repay to you and that moron Simpson. It's a shame that Jenn is the one to have to receive the payment of debt. Alas, blood for blood and all of that. Do you understand, Jesse?”

“I speak the language.”

“Stick to police work, Jesse. You're more suited to it than to standup comedy. Suited! Ha, I made a pun, but I, too, am better at other things. Do you know why I'm calling?”

“You're lonely.”

The phone almost turned icy against Jesse's ear. “No, Jesse, not because I'm lonely. The world is full of victims to keep me company.”

Jesse ignored that last part. “Why, then?”

“To give you fair warning the festivities are about to begin.”

“Festivities?”

Peepers said in a snide, sarcastic tone, “Festivities: the celebration of things in a joyous and cheerful way.”

“Like I said, I speak the language.”

“Not the language I'm speaking, Jesse. Until tomorrow.”

“What about tomorrow?”

But it was no good. Jesse was shouting at a soulless man on a dead phone. And when he stepped back inside Edge, the toasts were still going on. He couldn't help but wonder if Jenn would live long enough for any of her guests' wishes for health and happiness to come true.