“You’re quite a bitch, you know that, Lily? I can see why you brought your bodyguard with you. This painting business, I don’t know what you’ve done, but you can’t lay it on me. I’m not to blame for anything.”
Simon wanted, quite simply, to stand, reach over Mr. Frasier’s desk, and yank the man up by his expensive shirt collar and smash him in the jaw. It surprised him, the intense wish to do this man physical damage. But when he spoke, he was calm, utterly measured. “Trust me, Mr. Frasier, Lily isn’t a bitch. As for your precious son, what he is isn’t in much doubt. Would you like to tell us why Abe Turkle is staying at your cottage?” Simon sat slightly forward in his chair, the soul of polite interest.
“I don’t know who that is or why he’s there. The real estate agent handles rentals.”
“Naturally Abe knows you, Mr. Frasier, knows everything, since he’s forged the paintings for you. I do know that he’s expensive. Or perhaps Olaf is handling his payments as part of the deal?”
Mr. Frasier got to his feet. The pulse was pounding in his heavy neck. He was nearly beyond control, his hands shaking. Almost there, Simon thought. Elcott Frasier pointed to the door and yelled, “I don’t know any damned Olaf! Now, get out, both of you. Lily, I don’t wish to see you again. It’s a pity that the mugger didn’t teach you a lesson.”
Simon said, “We’ll return for a very nice visit, along with the FBI, when we have our proof. Not much longer. Consider this a reality check. You might want to consider cutting a deal right now, with us. If you don’t, just think of all those big, mean prisoners in the federal lockups; they like vulnerable old guys like you.”
“Get out or I’ll call the sheriff!”
Lily laughed, couldn’t help it. “Sheriff Bozo?”
Elcott Frasier yelled, “His name is Scanlan, not Bozo!” Then he nearly ran to the door, jerked it open, and left them staring after him. Simon said to Lily as he helped her to her feet, “It’s been quite a morning, first Abe and now your soon-to-be-ex-father-in-law, both of them leaving us in their lairs and stalking off. But everyone is shook up now, Lily. We’ve stirred the pot as much as we can. Now we wait to see who does what. Just maybe old man Frasier will decide to cut a deal. Now, you ready for a light lunch, maybe Mexican?”
“There isn’t a Mexican restaurant in Hemlock Bay. We’ll have to go to Ferndale.”
Loralee Carmichael looked them over very carefully as they left the reception area. Simon wiggled his fingers in good-bye to her. There was no sign of Elcott Frasier.
He said carefully, as he walked slowly beside her to the elevator, “I want you to consider leaving the rest of this to me. Can I talk you into going back to Washington?”
“No, don’t even try, Simon.”
“I had to try. When bad men are afraid, Lily, they do things that aren’t necessarily smart, but are, many times, deadly.”
“Yes. We will be very careful.”
He sighed and gave it up. “Over tacos we can discuss our next foray.”
“Do you really think that Olaf Jorgenson set this whole thing up?”
“When you think about it, he’s the one with all the contacts and the expertise, unless our Mr. Monk knows more about the illegal side of the business than we’re aware of yet. I’m sure that Frasier will be speaking to Mr. Monk if he hasn’t already. I can’t wait to hear what this guy with his bedroom eyes has to say.”
Simon paused a moment, then said, “That’s all of it, Savich, every gnarly detail.”
Simon switched his cell phone to his other ear, waiting for Savich to ask him questions, but Savich didn’t say anything. Simon could practically hear him sorting through possible scenarios.
“Lily did really good, Savich. She’s tired, but she’s hanging in. I’ve tried to talk her into going back to Washington, but she won’t hear of it. I swear I’ll keep her safe.”
“I know you will,” Savich said finally. “Just to let you know, Clark Hoyt, the SAC in the Eureka FBI office, is going to provide you backup. I figured you guys would stir everything up and that could be very dangerous. I don’t want you to be on your own. If you happen to see a couple of guys following you, they’re there to keep you safe. If you have any concerns, just give Clark Hoyt a call. Now, you make Lily rest. How many tacos did she get down?”
“Three ground beef tacos, a basketful of chips, and an entire bowl of hot salsa. We’re going to hole up now, then see Mr. Monk in the morning. By then, they’ll all have spoken together, examined their options, made plans. I can’t wait to see what they’ll do. Give my love to Sherlock, and let Sean teethe on your thumb. Any word on Tammy Tuttle?”
“No.”
“I’ll call you after we’ve seen Mr. Monk tomorrow.”
“Clark told me they’ve got a line on Morrie Jones. It shouldn’t be long before he’s in the local jail.”
“Thank God for that. I’ll call the cops in Eureka and find out.” He paused, then added, “I’m not planning on letting Lily out of my sight.”
17
Eureka, California
The Mermaid’s Tail
Lily was deeply asleep, dreaming, and in that dream, she was terrified. There was something wrong, but she didn’t know what. Then she saw her daughter, and she knew Beth was crying, sobbing, but Lily didn’t know why. Suddenly, Beth was far away, her sobs still loud, but Lily couldn’t get to her. She called and called, and then Beth simply wasn’t there and Lily was alone, only she wasn’t really. She knew there was something wrong, but she didn’t know what.
Lily jerked up in bed, drenched with sweat, and groaned with the sharp ache the abrupt movement brought to her belly. She grabbed her stomach and tried to breathe in deeply.
When she did, she smelled smoke. Yes, it was smoke and it was in her room. That was what was wrong, what had brought her out of the nightmare. The smell of smoke, acrid, stronger now than just a moment before. Then she saw it billowing up around the curtains in the window, black and thick, the curtains just catching fire.
Dear God, the bed-and-breakfast was on fire! She hauled herself out of the high tester bed with its drapey gauze hangings and hit the floor running.
Her door was locked. Where was the key? Not in the door, not on the dresser. She ran to the bathroom, wet a towel, and pressed it against her face.
She ran to the phone, dialed 911. The phone was dead. Someone had set the fire and cut the phone lines. Or had the fire knocked out the lines? Didn’t matter, she had to get out. Flames now, in the bedroom, licking up around the edges of the rug beneath that window with its light and gauzy draperies. She raced, bowed over, to the wall and began banging on it. “Simon! Simon!”
She heard him then, shouting back to her. “Lily, get the hell out of there, now!”
“My door’s locked. I can’t get it open!”
“I’m coming! Stay low to the floor.”
But Lily couldn’t just lie down and wait to be rescued. She was too scared. She ran back to the door and banged her shoulder hard against it. The collision jarred her and left her gasping. She picked up a chair and smashed it hard into the door. The chair nearly bounced off it. The door shuddered a bit but nothing happened. The damned door wasn’t hollow. It was old-fashioned and solid wood. She heard Simon jerk his door open, heard him knocking on doors, yelling. Thank God he hadn’t been locked in like she was.
Then he was at her door, and she quickly moved back. She heard him kick it, saw it shudder. Then he kicked it hard again, and the door slammed inward. “You okay?”
“Yes. We’ve got to warn everyone.” She began coughing, doubled over, and he didn’t hesitate. He picked her up in his arms and carried her down the wide mahogany staircase.
Mrs. Blade was in the lobby, and she was helping out a very old lady who was sobbing quietly.
“It’s Mrs. Nast. She’s a permanent resident. I tried to call nine-one-one but the line’s dead, of all things. There are people on the third floor, Mr. Russo. Please get them.”
“I’ve already called nine-one-one on my cell phone. They’re on their way.” Simon set Lily down and ran back up the stairs. He heard her hacking cough as he ran.
