Sins That Haunt (5 page)

“The Mexican peso exchange,” the lieutenant added. “But he's not trying that here?”

“Not that we know of,” Damon chimed in. “He appears to be trying to avoid alerting the IRS and going foreign rather than local, closer to his home turf. Nor has he done anything directly himself. He's letting the Santos family, based out of Miami, do all the work while he sits back in Madrid and reaps the profits.”

“He flies in and Lewis ends up dead. Are we sure he wasn't involved?”

Howards, who'd been so keen on the idea of using Shannon, now made Noah doubt their plan.

“It doesn't make sense he'd want him dead. It suits no purpose. There's no motive,” Damon said.

“I think it was a coincidence.” It had to be. Get her in and get her out. Noah was allowing leftover feelings to cloud his resolve. She wasn't in any danger. He needed to think like an agent.

The rest of the meeting clarified everyone's roles once Shannon had done her job.

Noah stood and stretched. Two five-hour plane rides, the time change, and a long meeting; he was ready to crash. He looked at his watch. He'd been up for over thirty hours.

The phone in the conference room rang and Damon picked it up. “Yes?” There was a short pause before he thanked the caller and hung up. “She's arrived in Tweedsmuir.”

“Has she made contact?” an all-too-eager Howards asked.

“Let me say this slowly so you understand,” Damon said. “I know you don't have much practice with women, but I'm going to guess she needs some time to freshen up. Women are like that after they fly overnight.”

Howards rolled his eyes, taking the jab in stride.

“I'm thinking the two of you didn't get much sleep on the flight?” Damon asked.

“Not really. We spent most of the time discussing the case. Going over what we expected of her.” Come to think of it, she must be as exhausted as he.

“Call her,” Damon said. “We don't want her confronting them all droopy eyed. We need her on her game.”

Noah nodded. She might still be a morning person, but somehow he doubted her mood would be chirpy before or after his call. Thinking it was better not to have an audience, he left the room with the excuse of needing to take a leak.

He got a rude, “What?” when she picked up. As expected, she wasn't in the best of moods.

“I see you made it to Tweedsmuir.”

“You have someone following me?” she asked, clearly not impressed.

“No, but the Keyeses are under surveillance, remember. The moment your car hit town, we knew.”

“Goody.”

This wasn't going well. “I just called to suggest you take a nap before approaching them. It was a long night and I wouldn't want them catching you off guard.” And putting her at risk.

“Thanks for the love, but I want to get this over with.”

And him out of her life for good?

S
hannon's skin had started to crawl the second she'd seen the welcome sign. The sooner she left, the better she'd feel. She'd planned on waiting until nightfall, hoping she wouldn't bump into anyone who might recognize her. So far, her luck had held. Two guys from Jersey now owned Mrs. Toblestone's. The couple was trying to find a quieter lifestyle. Well, they'd found it in Tweedsmuir, population twenty thousand.

With its proximity to major tourist cities like Boston, Lexington, and Plymouth, the picturesque town attracted people who liked quaint settings. September was on the slow side, but come October the town would overflow with visitors, here to see the leaves change color. Even now, the small streets were occupied with couples trying to snatch up the final days of summer before winter hit. An involuntary shiver made her clutch the phone. She hated snow.

“It's going to be a long day,” Noah said. “If you go now you might not be on your game.”

“I'm a lawyer, Noah. I'm always on my
game
. Look, I won't screw this up.” As much as she hated being here, she'd like nothing more than to put those two idiots where they belonged. It was the least she could do.

“I don't mean to imply you would. I just—”

“Okay, I'm going now. Hey, is there a camera inside the house or just recording devices?”

“Both. Why?”

She grabbed the purse she'd thrown on the bed. “Just making sure I apply lipstick. In case they've grown a brain between them and figure out what I'm doing there. I wouldn't want my morgue shot to look like shit.” She hung up smiling.

Those two barely knew how to spell their own names. Having them believe a load of bull was child's play. Her father had used them because they did as they were told and didn't try to outthink him, which the old man hated. It was one of the reasons she'd been able to pile up the evidence against him. Never in a million years would he have considered someone going against him. Plus, he'd figured if he could trick people out of their money, he was the smartest man on earth. The slimy bastard confused naïveté with stupidity.

As she descended the stairs from her third-floor bedroom, she was met with the aroma of apple pie. She had noticed the abundance of fruit trees now growing on the property. She reached the foyer and was about to leave when, with a will of their own, her feet took her to the kitchen. There she found the men and, judging by the amount of flour on their aprons, they'd been busy. “Hello, boys.”

Eldon was the first to look up. “Hey, there.” Somewhere between thirty and thirty-five and sporting a beard bigger than his head, she'd have pegged him for a lumberjack. “Excuse the mess.”

“We're baking,” Josh said, grinning proudly.

A foot shorter than Eldon and his complete opposite, Josh resembled Shannon's dentist. He looked so much like Gerard Butler, she'd tell her friends she was going to the movies instead of the dentist's office—again. On the plus side, she had great teeth.

“And tasting,” Eldon added, nodding toward his partner.

“I never got to do this in Jersey. I worked for a fashion designer, and he insisted his employees walked the walk and talked the talk. Nobody here cares that I've put on a few pounds,” he said, rubbing those
few
pounds around his midsection. “What's life without some enjoyment?”

Then they both looked at each other and in unison said, “Jersey.”

She couldn't help but grin. They made such an odd couple and yet seemed so compatible—so happy. She looked around the country kitchen and was struck by an odd pang deep in her chest. She pushed it away, telling herself to stop wanting what she couldn't have. She wasn't Suzy Homemaker. Maybe one day, when her penance was over. For now she was happy in Vegas, in her element.

“Can we get you anything?” asked Josh.

“No, thank you. I was following the heavenly aroma. I'm on my way out.”

“Make sure you're here for dinner. The house special is Guinness stew and it's on the menu tonight. You won't find a better meal in Tweedsmuir. Josh here can cook,” he said, sounding oddly surprised.

“I'll be sure to do that.” She left the pair to finish their pies.

She envied those two. She herself didn't cook. It wasn't that she couldn't; she just didn't. She had a Martha Stewart kitchen in her condo and had yet to turn on the stove. She couldn't bring herself to soil the pristine homage to home chefs. Weird, she knew. But there was something about going into her kitchen late at night and admiring all the homey touches she didn't have growing up. The spines to her cookbooks had never been broken, one special one still in its cellophane wrapper. Somehow breaking everything in just didn't seem right.

Outside, Shannon stopped on the wraparound porch of the Queen Anne, waiting for the two passersby to make their way down the block. It wasn't that people had paid attention to her when she'd lived here, but she and Maggie had been inseparable. And it was her best friend everyone would stop and talk to. She didn't want to chance anybody recognizing Maggie's childhood sidekick. Only when she thought the street was clear did she venture down.

The Thompson house was fifteen minutes out of town. At one point it had stood empty and derelict. Then the church committee had decided to make it a town project. She herself had participated. She could give back without anyone completely understanding why she'd had this profound need to make amends. By the sounds of it, JJ had kept to himself when he'd moved back. Even though the good people of Tweedsmuir had no knowledge of his being behind the scheme that had caused Mr. Polanski to take his life, it was a known fact that JJ was a bad father. He'd left the care of a young child to a woman who clearly had issues.

Now, standing on the stoop she'd once helped paint, she reached for the doorbell. Her hand shook. This was stupid. She'd made a promise to herself never to lie again, but this was different. She could do this. Flexing her fingers, she tried a second time. The door finally opened and behind a screen stood Molly Keyes. She had the same overbleached hair and made-up face, only now instead of looking like a porn star, she came off as a middle-aged woman trying too hard to regain her youth.

“Who is it?” a man yelled from somewhere behind Molly.

“Not sure,” she hollered back over her shoulder. “Can I help you?”

Molly didn't recognize her. Shannon had opened her mouth to answer when Luther came around the corner and stood behind his wife. Time hadn't been good to him. The hair he'd so loved to comb was gone, in its place ridiculously dyed jet-black strands too pathetic to be considered hair.

“Hi,” she said, trying to sound casual. “I'm—”

“Jesus, it's Shannon.” Molly opened the door. “Come in, come in. Damn, look at you, all grown-up.” She took Shannon by the arm and tugged her inside.

“Molly, you sure that's Shannon?” Luther asked, looking her over.

“Of course it's her. Move aside.” She nudged her husband with a sharp elbow. “Come. Sit. Are you here to make arrangements for JJ's funeral? We're real sorry about your daddy.”

Funeral? “Thank you,” Shannon managed to get out, scrunching her nose at the pungent aroma of cigarettes. Noah hadn't mentioned anything about a funeral. What the hell was she supposed to say to that? “I-I was told they weren't releasing his body yet.” And if Noah knew what was good for him, he'd make sure JJ's body stayed at the coroners until well after she'd done her part.

“Oh, no. We hadn't heard from you, so I called this morning. They're following standard procedures. Seventy-two hours. I already called McCurdy's and arranged to have the body delivered and cremated. I hope you don't mind. Your daddy told us you and he had reconnected, but that was all he said. Here, sit.” She pointed to a leather recliner.

As her legs suddenly turned to jelly, she sat. A funeral. No way was she planning that man's funeral. “I don't mind at all. In fact, you're free to do as you see fit. You're right. We reconnected.” Perhaps she could use this to her advantage. “But it was purely
business
,” she said, praying like hell the woman would get her meaning.

“Luther, go fetch Shannon a drink. We have coffee, beer, might even have some wine. What can he get you?” She took a seat on the matching sofa.

Luther didn't seem happy about playing the servant. You'd figure after nearly fifteen years together he'd be used to it.

“Nothing, thanks.”

The two were a well-matched couple. Molly, with her purple velour set, didn't have much style, and any woman with an ounce of dignity wouldn't have spared Luther a second glance, never mind a first. JJ had kept them behind the scenes, answering phones or making those annoying dinnertime calls to donate to whatever fake charity he'd concocted, or he sent them trolling for financial information people naïvely gave out.

“We can head out to McCurdy's early tomorrow if you like? I didn't do much other than arrange for the delivery and cremation,” she repeated, looking far too hopeful for Shannon's liking.

Shannon should have known better. She'd have to hit this woman over the head to get her to understand. “That's great. But I hadn't seen JJ in a while.” She kept it vague, so they'd assume she and her father had had more contact over the years. “You might know more about how he'd like to be buried? It's not something a man discusses with his daughter.”

“Nah,” Luther answered. “Never came up. I told her we should just dump . . . I mean sprinkle his ashes over by Hillard Creek. Your daddy used to fish there, back when you were a kid.”

It was more likely he was poisoning the fish so he could sell some miracle cure. “That's not a bad idea.”

Luther beamed at her agreement. Molly, on the other hand . . .

“That's not proper,” she said, like they were suggesting they flush him down the toilet. Which, come to think of it, was also not a bad idea.

“JJ was a free spirit.” Shannon tried really hard not to gag. She didn't give a rat's tail what they did with his ashes. “Doesn't seem fitting that we stick him in the ground.” Actually, it was very fitting, but again, she didn't want to be there when he met his
final
resting place.

Before Molly could again suggest they go to McCurdy's, Shannon changed the subject. “The police told me JJ was shot.”

“It wasn't us,” Luther interjected with a vehement shake of his head. “We had nothing to do with it.”

Molly nodded in agreement, her blue painted eyes and red lips making her resemble a scary bobblehead.

“I believe you. You were his friends.”

“More like business associates,” he said. “But we didn't kill him.”

“I'm not suggesting you did. By the way, you two wouldn't know who did?” It was worth a shot.

“Nope. Not a nice way to go, though.” Luther shivered.

“Our guess was some husband finally caught up with him. Stealing another man's wife is wrong.”

But stealing everything else was right? Talk about a screwy morality.

“You know, he left us in a sticky situation with a lot of loose ends we know nothing about.”

Shannon let out a slow breath, grateful Luther had given her the lead-in she needed. “And that's why I'm here. How much did JJ tell you about our business dealings?” Hopefully, Noah had gotten it right and it was squat.

“Nothing,” Luther answered. “Said he and you had a business arrangement and we were to stay out of it.” He didn't look happy about it.

“Well, you know JJ. Trusting people wasn't his strong suit.” When you spent your entire life swindling others, it wasn't something that came easy. “So that's all he told you?” It wasn't that she didn't trust Noah—she didn't—but she did want to make sure he‘d gotten his facts straight before she dove into this.

“He said you'd come into some money.” A hyena standing over a dead antelope wouldn't have been salivating as much as Molly.

“Not exactly.” After this was over she didn't want to take any chances on having them come knocking on her door. “It wasn't my money JJ referred to. I work for an accounting company. I have access to people with money.” She gave her a knowing smile, trying to appear as dishonest as them. “I know what JJ had on the go. He asked for my help and I was in the process of lining up people who . . . wanted a bigger return on their money.”

“No offense, missy, but why didn't he tell us? Those people have been breathing down our necks. JJ promised them a large one and they don't give a shit that he went and got himself shot. I told your daddy to keep things small. No good can come of involving more people.”

“And I agree. The more people involved, the more likely to get caught.”

“Ah.” Molly touched long purple fingernails to her heart. “That's what your daddy used to say.” She sniffed away a fake sob and touched Shannon's knee.

To say that she had anything in common with her so-called father made her want to throw up. It took everything she had not to smack the woman's hand off her leg. “Well, what's done is done. Let's work on keeping the meeting with these people.”

“You know your daddy mentioned Vegas, but he wouldn't tell us much else,” Luther said, sounding suspicious.

Shannon didn't know why. JJ never told them anything. And for once in her life she was grateful for her father's inability to trust anyone.

“Like we've established, the man kept things to himself.”

“But we were his friends,” Molly said, as if JJ's behavior had hurt her feelings. “Friends share. We did a lot of work for JJ, for
little
return. It would have been only fair to include us in more.”