The Cin Fin-Lathen Mysteries 1-3 (60 page)

"Three."

"How
many ant bites?"

"Hundreds."

"Hate
to say it, but the bones will mend before you will be over the effects of those
bites.  Aunt Diane is going to be a bit irritated with your new foundation of
calamine lotion.  But then again, Pink is in - or is it the new black?" I
said smiling.

"So
what's eating you?" he asked seriously.

I
handed him his diary and opened to the last page.  He read to himself the
account that Father David wrote, noting that he was in danger and the local
police probably bugged the room.

"Sergeant
Dave Buslowski, has he been in to talk to you?"

"Yes,"
he said absently as he was still reading.

"I
hope your interview went better than mine."

He
motioned for something to write with, and I tossed him a pen.  Michael filled
several pages before handing it back to me.

"My
Aunt is arranging for me to be removed from this hospital and be privately
nursed in a condo that Betty is setting up."

"Here?"
 Oh joy, I thought.  My head started to ache with the knowledge that Aunt Diane
would be in my backyard.

"I
have to stay in Palm Beach County according to the Sergeant.  Betty will have
all the details, just call her."

"Just
make sure you’re safe.  I don't have the time to run around looking for you. 
I’m one busy woman."  I smiled.

"Thanks,"
he said gently.

I
waved my hand as my eyes were tearing up.  "Let's talk about it another
time.  You’ve Jell-O to eat."

I
filled him in on what my family was up to, and he asked fondly about our newly
formed friends in England.  We reminisced about our last adventure together. 
He was tiring, so I kissed him on the forehead and tucked him in.  I looked at
the elevated leg, mentioning that I wanted to sign the cast he would eventually
have, and I left, tucking the diary deep into my purse.

I
had no more than pushed the elevator button when an all too familiar voice
asked, "Visit over?"

I
turned to Dave Buslowski and shrugged.

"You're
going to have to talk to me."  He got in the elevator with me, and we rode
in silence. 

"Didn't
Harry talk to you?"

"Yes,
but this is an official inquiry.  I need you to follow me to my office."  He
took my arm and guided me through the building to the parking lot.

"Follow
you?"

"Well,
let's say I'll follow you to the county lockup."

"If
you're going to arrest me, I’d rather drop off my car at home.  It's on the
way."

"Your
precious car will be fine for an hour or two."  He led me to my car and
waited until I unlocked the door.  Dave opened the door and all but pushed me
into it. "Remember to mind the speed."  He closed the door and
signaled for his car to be brought over.  The deputy driving got out, and Dave
got in the driver's seat.

"Shit."
 I didn't want to mess with Dave, no matter how mad I was at him.  I dialed my
phone and let Harry know where I was going to be.  He told me that Betty had
dropped off the stuff that we had left in Savannah.  He also mentioned that she
was going to return, after settling Diane in, to have a nice chat with Father
David.  Somehow I felt a bit safer knowing that Betty was there.

I
heard an "Ahem" coming from the speaker in the sheriff's car.  So I
put down the phone and backed out and headed towards the county lockup.

I
pulled into a parking space and secured my car. I checked the locks twice.  It
unnerved me to have the county lockup - or the Country Club as we locals call
it, as it overlooks Trump's golf course - looming over my precious car.  This
car meant a lot to me because it was the first thing that made me happy after
my husband ran off with a rich bitch.  She eventually had dumped him. That
would have given me satisfaction if it weren’t that the homeless blighter was
living in the pool house presently.  Not only did I have Harry on site but my
ex too.

Buslowski
was waiting for me at the front of the building where he'd been dropped off.  "You
make me very uncomfortable glaring at me like that.  You're not still
mad."

"Mad
doesn't skim the surface of what I feel about you right now."  I raised my
sunglasses so he could get a good look at my hateful eyes.

"Put
them back on, you scare me.  By the way, you're not armed are you?" he
said, looking me over.

I
held out my purse.  "Wanna dig through this?  No, then be at ease, all I
have is my wallet, a book and several lethal pens.  Oh, my cell phone is on, do
I have to turn that off?" I said as we walked into a reception area.

"This
isn't a hospital.  But because of 9/11 we all have to go through
security."

He
used
we
, but I noticed while I stood in line for the X-ray machine and
metal detector, he walked around it.  I laid my purse down on the conveyor
belt, took off my necklace and laid it with my watch in a basket.  I didn't
know what to do with my cell phone so I handed it to the officer in charge.  I
noticed that they didn't really notice the
quality
of the necklace and
handed everything back to me.  I jotted down in my memory that this was good to
know.

"Come
on," Buslowski growled, being the impatient lout he is. 

"Remember
I didn't ask to be here.  Blast, these lights are bright."  I put back on
my sunglasses.  During a prior investigation, a mist of poison had been sprayed
into my face and damaged my eyes and caused my pupils to enlarge.  This made my
night vision improve but caused me pain during daylight hours.  I had been
putting in some drops that Mary the pagan witch in Cornwall had sent me, and,
although they did improve somewhat, they still were painful.  "Are we
going to your office or are you just going to book me now?" I said
sarcastically.

"I
think that since we already have your fingerprints we can just go to my
office," he said light-heartedly. 

Buslowski
led me to the elevators, and we rode one up to the third floor.  Harry and I
had been here before.  Not a most pleasant visit.  We had been fingerprinted
not in the forensics lab but hauled over to the prison by an inexperienced
deputy.  Dave’s office was a glassed-in affair that housed a large paper-strewn
desk, computer station with two monitors, two comfortable chairs that flanked
each other, and a battered coffee table that looked as if it did more time as a
footstool than held coffee.

I
took the farthest chair from the door and sat down.  Buslowski excused himself
for a minute and came back with a large cup of coffee for me and a perky female
deputy named Tina something-or- another.

"Tina
will take down your statement."

"Statement
on how I feel about stiletto heeled shoe makers, or a statement on police
brutality? I assure you that they’re quite similar," I said dryly. 
"I assume it’s about me finding Michael Williams.  Where do you want me to
start?"

"I
want you to talk to me about the mill and anything else you’ve found out since
then," Buslowski's voice tightened.

"Okay,
I guess I will start at the school.  Harry and I thought that we would visit
the school where Michael was supposed to have visited.  I don't remember
exactly how I heard about the missing bus driver, Manuel Perez.  It’s been a
long day," I explained.  "A little boy, I think his name was Markus,
told me that he had seen Father Michael across the street in the old mill.  He
had seen the photograph of him that I had been holding when I was questioning
the staff as to if he had been there.  Anyway, Harry and I thought it was worth
a try so we went over there and walked around looking for an opening - the big
doors were chained shut.  Harry and I went in opposite directions, and he found
him first.  We could see Father Michael through a break in the back wall of the
mill.  Once I got in and down to Michael, I tossed my cell to Harry and had him
call for help.  Or did I have him call before?  Lord, I don't remember which
way, sorry.  Where was I?  Oh yes, Father Michael.  He was trapped and
unconscious when I got to him.  I think I asked Harry to get some water. 
Anyway, I tried to get him to drink it.  He woke and talked to me.  I think he
said that it wasn't an accident, and then he passed out."

"Did
he say anything else to you?" prompted Buslowski.

"He
called me a big baby for crying, but that was all.  You came, and you know the
rest."  I sat back and sniffed the coffee before I took a tentative sip.  “Good
coffee.  Can I go now?"

Buslowski
looked at me wryly.  "Did you find out anything else at the
hospital?"

"You
were with me most of the time."  I held up my thumbs so he could see the
red angry marks.

"I
know you visited him."

"I
didn't really ask.  I felt that I had done the job of finding him, so I backed
off and just visited with him."

"That
doesn't sound like you."

I
held up my thumbs again.  "I think I’ve had enough espionage for a
lifetime, Sergeant."

"Let's
go back to Perez.  How did you know that was Manuel Perez, and what does he
have to do with Father Williams?"

"I
know that I probably jumped the gun on identifying him.  I was just showing
off.  Was I right?"

Buslowski
nodded.

"Cool. 
Just put one and one together.  I don't know why Father Williams is down here. 
Maybe you should ask him about Perez.  And while you’re at it, I would be very
interested to know what the hell he does for the Church."

"Back
to Perez."

"He
didn't show up for work according to the staff at the school, and when we found
that body in the back, I just got the uncomfortable feeling that it was him.  I
never knew him in life - it was just a gut feeling."

"Harry
mentioned that maybe Father Williams was looking for Perez."

"You'll
have to ask him about that.  Harry gets good hunches.  Remember, he pegged
Tobias and Manfred as the killers long before you or I did.  He’s a pain, but
he is good at figuring things out."

"Father
Michael said he pulled the debris down on himself accidentally, but he told you
that it wasn't an accident."

"I
told you what he said to me.  You have to ask him.  Remember, Harry and I were
looking for him.  We thought that he was investigating something, but as I
recall we were just guessing. We really didn't have much more than that toy
drive flyer and an overheard conversation between priests to go on.  That and
the..."

Buslowski
shook his head as a warning, and I stopped talking.

"I’ve
been very cooperative, considering."  I crossed my arms, which was
difficult to manage while holding a cup of coffee.

"Tina,
I think that’s all.  Could you print that up and have Ms. Fin-Lathen sign it,
after she reads it, of course."

Tina
smiled, reached back to the printer and handed me the form.  Ah, the miracle of
computers.  I read it over and signed it and handed it to the young lady.  She
mentioned she would be back with copies and left the room.

Buslowski
moved behind his desk and sat down.  He unlocked a drawer and pulled out the
marble bag.  He opened it, and I leaned forward as he counted out the marbles
and the diamonds.

"So
we’re back to the diamonds," I said.  "Did you find anything
out?"

"My
expert tells me that these are old stones taken probably from a setting or
several settings.  They’re real and worth about two hundred thousand
combined."

"So
they're not blood diamonds?"

"Nope,
probably family heirlooms and not terrorists' currency."

"Well,
that's a relief.  The last thing I want to be involved in is anything to do
with terrorists."

"Does
Father Williams know you have them?"

"No,
but his housekeeper does."

"I
think I’ll give these back to you to deal with."  He scooped them up and
put them in the bag.  He handed them to me.  "Put them somewhere
safe."

I
stood up and put them in my front jeans pocket.  I smiled as I patted my safe
place.  Buslowski frowned and shook his head.

"Can
I go now?"

"No,
I’ve something to discuss with you."

"If
you're going to yell at me some more, it isn't necessary.  I heard you loud and
clear."

"It's
about the hospital.  I think I bungled things up between us."

"You
think," I said sarcastically.

"I'm
under this pressure.  I get gut feelings too, and my gut said you were lying to
me."

"No,
you asked if I knew where Michael was and I told you he was in surgery.  And I
was telling you the truth that he was in surgery, just not the right room. 
It's not my fault that someone else screwed up."  I cleverly avoided
telling him that I wasn't lying then because I was. "We worked together,
or sort of together, before, and I thought you knew me well enough to not hide
a priest that needed surgery from the police.  Hell, I remember being accused.  Wait
a minute.  Is this about Father Michael disappearing out of that hospital in
London?  Well, that wasn't my doing either.  He left on his own accord."  Technically,
it was with the help of my pagan witch friend, but I didn't need to go into
specifics.

"You
certainly have a knack of getting yourself into trouble."

"It
would appear so.  I'd blame Harry and the drink, except Harry wasn't in
England, and I've only had two drinks in the last couple of months.  Maybe I'm
cursed."

"I
think you just like helping people.  Now what do I have to do get you to stop sticking
pins in me?"

"I
guess we could call a truce, and you could try to understand that you cuffed me
in front of some very chatty people in my community.  And really, there’s
nowhere I could go that you couldn't find me."

"So
am I forgiven?"

"Forgiven,
but not forgotten.  Believe me, I will think twice before doing anything to
cross you," I said overdramatically.

He
got up and crossed over and shook my hand, sealing the truce.  We walked out
together, and as I stopped to unlock my car he asked.  "So you think
you're an alcoholic?"

I
turned and looked up at him.  "No, but there were times I did a remarkable
impression of one.  Impressed me enough to let go of my drinking ways."

"So
asking you out for a drink would be a bad idea."

"Liquor-wise
no, but I think that there's chemistry between us.  Good or bad, it's
chemistry.  I wouldn't have been so pissed if it were someone else cuffing me,
but you? So, in order to keep me on the straight and narrow, I’m going to
decline."

Buslowski
smiled and straightened up.  "Must be the uniform.  All the ladies like a
man in uniform."

I
smiled, shook my head and got in the car.  Let him have his big head and enjoy
some ego.  Maybe it would keep him off track long enough for my houseguests to
depart and leave me once again in peace.

I
wondered as I drove home whether I had meant anything I just said to him. 
Either I was good at lying or good at lying to myself.  Either way, it had
bought us some time to find out what was really going on at Lake Okeechobee.