“No, nothing like that. My job and the amount of traveling I do don’t leave me a lot of time to date.”
Martha sighed. “Careers are important, but you must think about your future, too. Youth doesn’t last forever, you know.”
Bree sensed they weren’t talking about her anymore. “Did you have a career, Martha?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t call it that,” she said, her face turning red. “More like a silly dream really.”
“Tell me,” Bree coaxed softly.
“Well, at one time, I fancied myself something of an actress,” Martha said, keeping her eyes on the berries. “I got the lead in the high school play and caught the bug. My drama teacher said I had great talent, and for a while, I thought I did, too. So, I packed a suitcase and bought a bus ticket to the city the day after graduation. Everyone told me I was being foolish. I had a good job at the dress factory and a steady beau, but I wouldn’t listen. I was convinced I was destined for better things.” Her smile was sad. “Needless to say, it didn’t quite work out that way.”
“What happened?”
“Three months later, I was back home, worse off than when I’d left. My parents were so ashamed. I’d lost my job at the factory, and my boyfriend had taken up with someone else.”
“But you tried. You gave it a shot. That has to count for something.”
“I would have been better off appreciating what I had instead of dreaming of what I didn’t.” Martha shook her head. “Listen to me, prattling on like an old woman. Are you going to see him again?”
Bree’d been so caught up in Martha’s story that it took her a moment to remember what, or rather who, they’d been talking about.
“Sumneyville’s not that big. Our paths might cross again,” Bree said lightly, but she had the distinct impression the Sumneyville police officer would rather they didn’t, especially given his veiled warning.
He wasn’t the type to share, but Martha, on the other hand ...
“May I ask you something, Martha?”
“Of course, dear.”
“Why are some of the locals opposed to Sanctuary?”
The older woman paused briefly and then resumed hulling. “Whatever gave you that idea? Did someone say something?”
“No, but when I bring it up, people tend to tense up. Like you just did.”
Martha said nothing for several long minutes. Bree waited, alternating sips of coffee with small bites from her plate. Thankfully, Penny had snuck in and placed herself under the table at Bree’s feet, and Bree was able to surreptitiously slip bites to her as well.
Finally, Martha said suddenly, “Where do you live, Bree?”
“I have an apartment in the suburbs of San Diego.”
“How many people would you say live in your neighborhood?”
“I don’t know. Maybe around eighty thousand or so.”
“And how well do you know your neighbors?”
“Not well,” Bree admitted.
Martha nodded, as if that was what she’d expected. “At the last census, the population of Sumneyville and the surrounding area was about three thousand, and most of our families have been here for generations. We know each other, know what to expect. When someone new comes into the area, it’s only natural to be a bit ... circumspect.”
“The Winston family is one of the founding families.”
Martha’s lips turned downward. “Yes, but it’s not the Winstons who are there now, is it?”
Matt Winston is, Bree thought and then remembered Lenny’s warning about poking hives. Aloud, she said, “That makes sense. It takes time to adjust, especially when you don’t know the people you’re dealing with.”
“Yes, that’s it exactly,” Martha said, seeming slightly relieved. “What do you have planned for today?”
The abrupt change in topic clearly signaled the end of the conversation about Sanctuary. Bree briefly considered telling Martha that she was meeting Nick for dinner just to see what would happen but decided against it. She didn’t want to antagonize her hostess, not if she hoped to glean more insider information.
“Nothing specific. I’ll probably do some more exploring, talk to more people, and get some pictures. Sumneyville has a rich, fascinating history, and I’d like to capture some of that in my article.” She looked at her nails. “I should probably get my nails done at some point, too. I saw a salon in town. Do you know if they take walk-ins?”
Chapter Nineteen
Cage
“We’ve traced the weapons to a dealer with shady ties,” Ian told the men gathered in the war room.
“How shady?” Church asked.
“Shady enough to be on several federal and international watch lists,” Ian’s brother, Jake, answered.
“I didn’t think Freed had the brains to deal with the big boys,” Smoke rumbled.
“He doesn’t,” Church agreed. “But he thinks he does. I doubt he has any idea who and what he’s dealing with. He’s not known for looking beyond his own nose.” The undercurrent of bitterness suggested Church was basing his opinion on personal experience.
“If he doesn’t know, then who does?”, Doc asked.
The Callaghan brothers exchanged glances.
It was Ian who said, “We were able to trace the money trail through a local guy, Luther Renninger. From what we found, he’s using legitimate local businesses to funnel funds through those and into offshore accounts, where they’re pushed through another series of networks to be laundered and siphoned into international cartels.”
Heff whistled softly.
Cage said, “The IRS is already investigating Luther.”
“We know,” Ian told them. “But this stuff? It’s not going to show up on their radar.”
“Why not? It showed up on yours,” Doc commented.
Jake Callaghan’s grin was feral. “We have higher security clearance than the standard IRS criminal investigator. And since we’re not officially involved, we don’t have to color inside the lines.”
“Besides,” Ian piped in, “even if they do find evidence and call in the Department of Justice, their hands will be tied. The powers that be are not going to jeopardize years’ worth of investigative work to bag a small-time accountant. If anything, they’ll put eyes on him and see what happens. They might have already.”
Church shook his head. “That would require getting into Freed’s inner circle.
