Sketcher in the Rye: (23 page)

Chapter 29

By day three of tailing Luke, Rory was ready to give up. She felt as if she'd toured every parking lot in the entire township of Huntington with nothing to show for it but the two pounds she'd gained from eating pizza and doughnuts on the fly. For a guy with good looks and a bad-boy attitude, Luke lived an extremely dull life. He went to work, ran errands and went home. From what she could tell, each of his days was pretty much the same as the next and the one after that. If he entertained, it must have been on the weekends. She'd even endured a sleepless night to see if he went out prowling after midnight. In spite of her best efforts, she'd dozed off a few times and awakened with a start, both relieved and disappointed to find his SUV still parked in the driveway. All her dedication bought her was a stiff neck and a cranky mood that caused both Hobo and the marshal to keep their distance.

Sitting in her car, eating yet another slice of pizza, she argued with herself about when to stop the surveillance. What if she stopped it just one day too soon? Well, she had to stop it sometime. How was she supposed to know when? She was so exhausted from her nights that she wasn't getting anything accomplished during her days. Okay, she put her figurative foot down on the two warring hemispheres of her brain. She'd follow Luke one more night but only until the stroke of midnight. At that point, her surveillance of the youngest Harper would officially be suspended. She was surprised by how much calmer she felt having made that decision.

After the first two days of her surveillance, Rory had made a strategic change by waiting for Luke in the parking lot of the medical building across the street from Harper Farms. There simply weren't enough other cars to hide among in Harper's lot that late on a winter's day. From the other lot, she had an unobstructed view of the exit Luke had to take when he left work. He always turned right, and her last day was no exception. But instead of running errands, he headed straight home. He didn't even stop at any of the fast-food places he usually frequented. Rory refused to let herself get too excited. Maybe he was going home because he was ill. Or because he was expecting a repairman, or because he was having company. Or because he was as tired of his tedious routine as she was.

Instead of waiting down the street from his town house, Rory stopped a few houses before it, just in case he'd finally made her. There was a curve in the roadway there and a tall stand of arborvitae that provided a natural blind. From his house, Luke wouldn't be able to see her car. The trade-off was that she'd couldn't see his house either. No problem if he left and drove past her. But if he pulled out of his driveway and turned the other way, she'd only have a few seconds to spot him before the road curved again and swallowed him. She'd simply have to be vigilant.

Three hours came and went, taking with them Rory's hope that on this last night she might finally learn something of value in return for all the hours she'd wasted following Luke and staking out his house. Her eyes ached with fatigue. She didn't dare fall asleep, but it was getting hard to keep her eyelids from closing, until the whirling lights in her rear-view mirror jarred her back to full attention. Now what? What if Luke took off while she was entertaining the cop who'd just appeared at her window? Would the officer understand if she left to chase after him? Doubtful. She opened her window, squinting into the sharp glare of his flashlight.

“Can I see your license and registration, miss?”

Between the darkness and the flashlight, Rory couldn't make out the name on his uniform. But he didn't look familiar. “Of course, Officer,” she said, taking her license out of her wallet and the registration from the glove compartment, where her mother kept it. “Did I do something wrong?” One of the things she missed most about working as a sketch artist at police headquarters was her detective's shield. A shield would have made this whole, inconvenient matter vanish with a smile and a “sorry to have bothered you.”

The cop didn't respond until he'd checked out her ID cards and handed them back to her. “A home-owner called in to report a strange car parked across the street for the last few hours. Mind telling me why you're here?”

“I'm a PI. I've been staking out a house on this block. If you call Yaphank, they'll vouch for me. I was on the job there before going out on my own.”

“Hang on.” He pulled a cell phone out of his pocket as walked away from her window to make the call. As the minutes passed, Rory couldn't figure out what was taking so long. Her status should have been confirmed by now. Unless he was talking to a newbie who had no idea who she was. Then she heard him laugh. Okay, maybe he knew the cop on the other end of the line, but this was no time for a reunion. When he finally returned to her window, she'd been on the verge of getting out to inquire, as politely as possible, what the problem was.

“How long do you plan on staying here?” he asked her, without the least change to his official demeanor for a former comrade in arms.

“Midnight at the latest.”

“I'll inform the home owner.”

“Thank you, Officer,” she said. “You have a good night now.” In spite of her best intentions, a bit of sarcasm hopped a ride on her words. Fortunately he seemed as immune from irony as he was from camaraderie. She watched him cross the street to update the person who'd reported her. Then he moseyed back to his cruiser, where he spent the next fifteen minutes. With laptops now standard issue in patrol cars, Rory figured he was probably writing up his incident report. When he finally left, she breathed a sigh of relief.

Less than ten minutes later, Luke pulled out of his driveway and sped off in the opposite direction. Showtime. She started her engine and took off after him. Talk about cutting things close.

Since it was well past rush hour on a weekday, traffic was light, and Rory had to hang farther back than she would have liked. But it became apparent in a matter of minutes that Luke was returning to Harper Farms. Rory's heart sank. He'd probably left something behind earlier and was going to retrieve it. She had half a mind to give up and go home. But she hadn't been raised to be a quitter. If a job was worth starting, it was worth finishing, and finishing to the best of her ability. She'd committed herself to this final night, and she intended to see it through.

Waiting once again in the parking lot across from Harper Farms, Rory watched the minutes creep by with agonizing slowness. She was itching with anticipation by the time headlights reappeared at the exit. After the vehicle turned onto the road, she realized it wasn't an SUV but a large pickup truck. But who was driving? Had Luke changed vehicles for some reason, or was another person behind the wheel? Should she follow the truck in the hope that it was Luke or continue waiting in case it wasn't? Something in her gut told her to stick with the pickup. Of course it might have been nothing more than her natural inclination to choose action over inaction, but she didn't have the luxury of time to dwell on her decision. While she still had the truck in sight, she took off after it.

The driver wound his way through back roads until he reached Route 110, where Rory was caught twice by traffic lights that turned red after the pickup went through them. Had he turned onto a side street, she probably would have lost him, but since he didn't, she was able to catch up and keep the truck in sight. She whispered a thank-you to whatever guardian angel was smoothing the way for her that night, because given their route thus far, there was a good chance he was headed to Greenbrier Farms.

In spite of the potential risk of exposure, Rory had to find out who was in the pickup. She started closing the distance between them, planning to pull even with him at the next red light. If he saw her, she'd act surprised, wave and give him a wry smile that said, “What a small world.” The light ahead turned red. The pickup braked. She eased up beside it, glancing quickly into the cab. Luke was behind the wheel. In the wash of his dashboard lights, she could see he had his cell phone to his ear. Her instincts had been right. When the light turned green, she let him get ahead again. No point in pressing her luck.

Possibly because he was distracted by the phone call, Luke seemed totally unaware that he was being followed. He didn't try any of the moves designed to check for a tail—or lose one, for that matter. But from what Rory had learned of his personality, it was just as likely that a heady mixture of self-confidence and youthful arrogance had lulled him into believing he was untouchable.

When they reached Greenbrier, Luke turned into the lot. Rory had to scramble to find a place to leave her car. They weren't any commercial buildings nearby with parking lots, nor could she see any up ahead. If she drove too far, she'd have a long walk back to the farm, and there was a good chance she'd never find him in all of that unfamiliar acreage. Especially at night. Decision made, she swerved off the road onto the narrow dirt shoulder, grabbed her cell phone, LED flashlight and .45 Smith and Wesson and started running back to the farm.

She had to be careful navigating the parking lot with its bright security lights. Half crouched, she scuttled between the handful of vehicles there, noticing that the pickup was not among them. Once she reached the far side of the lot, she found herself in the dark, both literally and figuratively. From that point on, the lighting seemed to range anywhere from minimal to nonexistent. Since she'd been there just once, she had only a vague memory of how the place was laid out and no idea at all where Luke and his truck might be found.

Harper's had an access road that led from the parking lot to other areas of the complex. It enabled trucks to haul their deliveries closer to specific buildings and made it easier for employees to move machinery around the complex. In all likelihood, it made sense for Greenbrier to have a similar setup. Rory checked the perimeter of the lot where she was standing and spotted the access road. With the macadam worn down to loose gravel and dirt in many places, it could more accurately be called a path than a road. She aimed her flashlight downward so she could avoid stumbling in the ruts or attracting attention and made her way along it as quickly as she dared.

She'd gone what seemed to be the equivalent of two blocks when she heard the sound of a truck's door being slammed shut, followed by other noises she couldn't immediately place. There were men's voices too, but she couldn't make out their words. One thing was clear, they weren't concerned about how much of a racket they made. Greenbrier was a safe place for them.

Rory stayed on the path until she saw a well-lit area up ahead. Coupled with the fact that the noises had grown considerably louder as she approached, it was most likely the place where the men were working. She switched off her flashlight, tucked it into her jacket pocket and struck out across a grassy area to a large wooden structure that appeared to be either a barn or a garage. The Smith and Wesson had grown heavy in her hand. Having taken that possibility into account, she'd been carrying it in her left hand. She paused in the lee of the building and transferred it to her right hand while she tried to determine how many men were involved in this after-hours operation. She counted three distinct voices, one of them definitely Luke's, his cocky tone as identifiable as a fingerprint.

Being careful not to step on any fallen branches that could crack and give her away, Rory crept to the side of the building, in hopes of catching a glimpse of the action. Heart pounding, gun at the ready, she peered around the final corner. Luke's pickup was there, its bed partially filled with large burlap sacks. As she watched, Luke emerged from the building with another sack in his arms and hefted it onto the truck bed with the others. A man of about the same age followed him out, closed the wide doors and padlocked them. A third man was standing and watching. He was older, upwards of fifty, stocky, but well dressed. He had a smug little smile on his lips. Although Rory had never met Roger Underwood, the owner of Greenbrier, she was willing to bet she was looking at him now.

She moved the gun to her left hand again and withdrew her cell phone from her coat pocket. Turning off the automatic flash, she positioned herself to take a one-handed shot featuring Luke and the cargo in his truck, but the older man crossed between her and the truck, blocking her view.

“Come on inside,” he said, giving Luke a hearty clap on the back. “We'll have a drink to our mission. Those doors locked up good, Kevin?” he asked the other young man. Kevin assured him they were.

“Why not?” Luke replied, as if he didn't have a care in the world. Rory watched the three of them stroll off to a small, vinyl-sided building diagonally across from the wooden one. If they were going to have that drink, she should have time to find out exactly what was in those burlap sacks and take a photo for proof. She ran over to the truck. The tailgate was still open, so she climbed aboard. Unfortunately the sacks were all sealed, but when she grabbed a handful of the burlap, she felt something like seeds sift through her fingers. Was this the poisoned seed Zeke had heard Underwood discussing on the phone that day?

She had to be sure, but she needed to find a knife or scissors to open one of the sacks. All she had with her was a gun, a phone and a flashlight. And her car keys, she realized. She pulled them out of the pocket where she'd stowed the flashlight. The ring from which the keys were suspended had been a stocking stuffer from her aunt Helene years ago. It contained a mini pocketknife, which included a teeny scissors. Rory pulled out the scissors and tried cutting into the burlap. If the fabric had been capable of laughter, it would have been doubled over in its mirth by the size and bluntness of the tool. Rory kept at it though, sawing away at one spot until the threads finally began to fray and separate. Another minute and she'd have a hole just big enough to allow some seeds to spill out. Single-minded about her task, she was startled when she heard the men laughing.