Three Dog Island Read online

  She searched his eyes. I knew he knew the correct answer to that question, but did Grace know that he knew? I wanted to jump in and tell her I was ready to order, but I could hardly do that.

  “Uh, yeah. Once,” she said. Whew. She’d given him the correct answer. “But that was right after he took off. He hasn’t called since.”

  Grace wiped at her eyes as though she were crying about her runaway son and then came over to take my order. I needed to establish a pattern here if I had any hopes of communicating with her, if I elected to, that is. I could come back later after he left, of course, but did I want to risk that? Maybe he was keeping as close an eye on her as he had on Josh.

  She pointed to the menu and raised her eyebrows in question. I opened it to the french toast. Then I grabbed a notepad and pencil from my purse and wrote, “No powdered sugar, please. Strawberry jam?”

  She read the note and nodded. After taking my order to the kitchen and stopping off to refill some coffee cups in booths and to take a couple orders, she returned to Mark.

  Despite her proficiency as an actress, she suffered from stage fright. When she poured coffee, her hand shook. When she wrote down orders, she had to ask twice what they were. She was distracted and I did not think it was only because of her concerns about Josh. It hit me hard and fast. Mark Simpson had something on her. Something her husband did not know.

  He was handsome. Judging from the photos Josh had given me from his wallet, far more handsome than her husband was. While Al was big and burly with a square jaw and beer belly and a crew cut which he no doubt still wore, Mark was tall and trim. His thick hair was dark against his tanned skin. His eyes were brown and penetrating. He could come off as the charmer or the villain with the blink of his eyes.

  “What the hell is going on with you?” he asked Grace when she knocked over the salt and pepper shakers as she cleaned off the menus in front of him.

  “I’m fine.”

  He grabbed her wrist, a little too tight for my taste. “You’re anything but fine and I doubt it has to do with your kid.”

  She tried to pull her hand away but he held on. “I’m okay. I told you. I’m fine, just worried about Josh.”

  He must have tightened his grip because she winced and yelped, “Mark! You’re hurting me.”

  He let her hand go but his eyes still held hers. “You’d better not be thinking of squealing.”

  “Of course, I’m not. I’m just scared, that’s all. All this stuff that’s happening is making me nervous.”

  “So, live with it.”

  Live with what? Squeal about what? What stuff was making her nervous? I had to control myself from looking at them. I glued my eyes to a page in my trusty notebook.

  “It gets hard sometimes, that’s all.”

  “Well, it won’t be hard once we—”

  “Once we what?”

  “Nothing.”

  “There’s more money involved than Al is telling me, isn’t there?”

  He shrugged. “How should I know? I don’t know what the hell he’s telling you.”

  “Not enough,” she said.

  “Or too much. Look at you. You’ve got to pull it together or you’ll ruin this for all of us.”

  She looked down at the floor. Just then the kitchen bell rang and she went to pick up my order. I could only hope that I hadn’t jolted at the sound of the bell, or that they hadn’t noticed if I had. Suddenly I realized that I had not put my cell phone on silent mode. I reached inside my purse and pressed the ring button until it went to vibrate, glancing down to be sure I’d put it in the right spot. I may have been a stealthy detective, but not jumping out of my skin at my ringing cell—or worse, the alarm—was beyond my ability.

  Grace set down my plate of food and asked if there was anything else I wanted. I pushed my pad toward her so she would write the words. I shook my head and wrote, “Thank you.”

  She poured Mark more coffee and served him another donut from the cake platter on the counter. Free of charge, I was sure. If this woman didn’t already have an ulcer, she soon would.

  When their eyes met, it was as though the words were being shouted. He was threatening her.

  “I told you. I’m not about to squeal. Who would I tell anyway? And why would I? We’d all end up in”—she lowered her voice to a fervent whisper—”prison for God’s sake.”

  “Including you,” he said.

  “Don’t you think I know that?”

  He sighed and his shoulders relaxed. She’d convinced him.

  As I spread jam across my french toast, I watched the wheels turning in his head. She too was watching. She braced herself for what was coming. Her hand was gripping the counter and her knees were bent as though it would help her hold on.

  “You’re not going to tell Al what happened last night, are you?” he asked.

  She clutched her arms against her chest in protection. It wasn’t a power stance, it was pure defense. She shook her head.

  “You’re sure?”

  She nodded, tears welling up in her eyes. What on earth had happened last night?

  “Good, because it would ruin everything.”

  “I know that,” she mumbled.

  “Okay.” He took a bite of his jelly donut and looked up at her. “What?”

  “It’s not like it was the first time so why do you think I’d suddenly tell now?”

  “Because you’re a mess, that’s why. You’re acting like you didn’t want it to happen.”

  I suddenly had a pretty good idea of what it was. The bite I’d taken of my french toast wasn’t going down so well.

  She glared at him as if contesting his belief that she had wanted it to happen. In the end, she backed down and swallowed her words.

  “Just don’t forget, if you say anything, I’ll make sure Al knows you were the one who started it.”

  “He wouldn’t believe that,” she blurted out, sucking in her breath as though she could reclaim words with the inhalation of air.

  “He sure as hell will when I tell him how we met.”

  It was as though he’d slapped her. How had they met? One thing was clear. The cop had something on her. Something that mattered.

  She was shaking. The woman lived in a constant state of fear. She could be arrested at any moment for crimes she probably had nothing to do with. She could be abused by her husband if he had too much to drink and was in a bad mood. She was terrified of her husband’s supposed best friend who was holding something over her. On top of that she had no idea where her son was, if he was safe, if he was even alive.

  With any luck, at some point I could help her with all of those fears. At the moment I could only help her with one. But did I dare risk Josh’s safety . . . and mine?

  I took another bite of my french toast. It had to appear that I’d ordered it for a reason—and not the real one. I washed it down with a sip of watery coffee. I opened my notebook and wrote a short note. “He’s safe for now. But tell no one. Al and Mark are both after him.”

  Fortunately I’d already established the note writing, but how did I show this to her without her reacting in front of Mark? Looking around as though I’d find the answer in the diner, I noticed that the gentleman at the end of the counter was getting up. He put down his cash, leaving behind his newspaper. I walked over and picked it up, placing it on the counter between me and Mark Simpson. Looking at the community events page, I was careful to leave the sports section on top.

  He bit. He picked it up, looking over at me first to see if it was okay. I smiled and nodded politely, looking back at the community events. I figured I had about two minutes before he got bored and gave Grace his full attention again.

  I pushed my plate away and motioned for Grace to bring me the tab. She set it down beside me. Before she could look away, I motioned for her to read the note I’d written, all the while keeping one eye on her reaction, the other on Mark to be certain he was still absorbed in the newspaper. Considering that my eyes generally prefer
looking in the same direction, it was a wee bit tricky.

  Relief. Gratitude. She grabbed my pencil and wrote. “Where?”

  I shook my head and wrote. “Safe.”

  She understood. She snatched back the pencil to write, “Thank you. Tell him I love him.”

  I nodded and, just as Mark looked up from the newspaper, I slapped a twenty dollar bill on the counter. Snatching up my notebook, pencil and purse, I hurried out of the restaurant. I knew she was watching me. And if she was watching me, it was altogether probable that he was too.

  I had no choice but to walk directly to Catherine’s car. All I could hope was that Grace did not give away anything with her obvious relief. All I needed was for Mark to take down the license plate of the car and trace it to Catherine.

  As I climbed into the driver’s seat, I saw that they were back talking again. I had a feeling she was struggling to not look my way. I had learned a lot more than I had expected to, not necessarily about what they were up to, but definitely about the people in Josh’s life. His mother was not nearly as naïve as she appeared. And yes she was a very good actress. And she was consumed by anxiety and fear. But there was something else, something besides the fear. If I wasn’t mistaken, it was fury festering just beneath the surface.

  There was something else I had learned. Josh had told me the truth. Unfortunately, I didn’t know if I could do the same for him.

  Chapter 15

  If it meant another opportunity to catch Grace alone, I was more than willing to spend another night at Catherine’s. Charlie was just plain willing.

  When I drove up to the diner for the third time that day, I began to think it wasn’t going to happen. There were cops in the diner each time. Thanks to Catherine’s subtle investigative skills that she had picked up from Charlie when they were married, and her having two friends on the Portland police force, she found out that this was the closest diner to the Kirkwood Police Station. I had no way of distinguishing between good cops and bad cops but I was not about to take a chance.

  I sat in the car and watched Grace work. She never stopped moving. When she wasn’t taking orders or serving food, she was threatening to wear a hole in the surfaces of the wood-topped tables and counters with a wash rag. The more I studied her, the more I realized that even if I talked to her alone, she was not going to tell me what had happened and what was going to happen. Fear was a strong motivator.

  Still I had to try. Finally when all cop cars had vanished from the parking lot, I went inside. When she saw me, the excitement in her eyes was unmistakable. So was the fear. She knew what I wanted.

  She glanced quickly around the room to be certain no enemies were present. Then she motioned for me to sit down at the end of the bar where the older gentleman had stationed himself the day before. She pointed to the cup as though to ask if I wanted coffee. Apparently I was a pretty good actress myself. She really did believe I was deaf. I nodded and sat down.

  She poured my coffee and set the pot on the counter. She was looking around for my notebook.

  “I’m not really deaf,” I told her.

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry, but I knew it was the only way I would find out anything.”

  “What did you hear? No, first, tell me. Josh is okay? Is he here with you?”

  “No. He’s being well taken care of though.”

  “Thank you. Thank you so much.” She swiped at the tears overflowing from her eyes. “But who are you?”

  “I’m not going to put any of us in danger by telling you more than you need to know. I am looking out for him. But I have to tell you that we think your husband told his cop friend where Josh was hiding out because everywhere he went, the police showed up. Did you tell Al that Josh had called you from his cousin’s?”

  “Yes, but I told him not to tell Mark.”

  “He must have.”

  “I figured—the way Mark was looking at me yesterday when he asked me if Josh had called. It was like he was daring me to lie.” She wiped a drip of coffee from the counter for the third time. “Or maybe I just imagined it. Mark said he’d post him as a runaway. Maybe that’s why the police spotted him.”

  “I don’t think so. Either way, do not tell either of them about this conversation or that you know he’s safe.”

  She nodded, clutching her arms against her chest. “I won’t. I won’t make the same mistake twice.” If only she’d said that before she’d gotten married the second time. “He’s really okay?” Tears were welling up in her eyes again.

  “Hey, Grace, you’ve got customers!” someone yelled from the kitchen.

  She waited for my response of assurance before taking more orders, returning as quickly as she could.

  “Look, I know we don’t have much time. I need to ask you what’s going on. What kind of trouble are you in?”

  She shook her head. “I can’t tell you. They’d kill me.”

  “Mark and Al?”

  “We’d all end up in prison.”

  “Josh is very worried about you.”

  “He’s a good boy, you know.”

  “Yes. I do know.”

  “The school’s been calling to see why he hasn’t been in class.” Her nervous fingers were twisting the sash of her apron, reminding me of a child who was standing outside the principal’s office.

  “What did you tell them?”

  Her eyes opened wide as if appalled by her answer. “I lied! I said he’s back East looking after his sister who broke her leg.”

  “I’ll look out for him, Grace, but Mark and Al are not going to stop trying to find him. He’ll never be safe until they’re put away. Do you really want him to live in fear like this?”

  “No, but if I told you and it backfired, and they didn’t get caught, Josh would be in even more danger.”

  And so would she.

  “I really think it will blow over after a while. They’ll figure if he hasn’t turned them in by now, he’s not going to.”

  So she was naive after all.

  “They’re not going to stop, Grace, not until they find him. He’s really afraid for his life. What do they think he knows? What kind of operation are they running? He can’t figure it out.” Charlie was relatively certain it was a skimming operation, but I decided it was best not to share that with her.

  She shook her head, rubbing her arms that were crossed in front of her chest. “I can’t. I just can’t. But if you tell me who you are and how to reach you, maybe—”

  “Here,” I said, writing a name and phone number on a small piece of paper. “Memorize this now and throw it away. If you need to reach me, call Jerry Bridges. He’s a policeman—the good kind—an old friend of mine. He’ll get hold of me and I’ll call you.” I didn’t dare give her any of my numbers or Charlie’s. I didn’t even want to tell her what police department Jerry was with. All she had was his cell number and the area code which covered a large area.

  She was studying the name and number. Just then another cop car pulled up. This time only one person got out.

  “You’d better go.”

  I pretended to sign something as I got up from the counter. I waited until Mark Simpson had sat down before leaving the diner.

  After a late lunch with Catherine, Charlie and I headed north. I filled him in on my visits to the diner and he filled me in on his visits to the truck dispatch center and the police station. Both Al Wallace and Mark Simpson were squeaky clean. Not only that, but Mark Simpson was being heralded as a hero for having tried to save his partner’s life.

  “His partner was killed?”

  “In the line of duty.”

  “Josh didn’t mention it.”

  “Maybe he didn’t know. Although it must have been all over the news.” Charlie nodded toward his glove compartment where I found a newspaper article on the story.

  Charlie was not exaggerating. Mark Simpson was definitely the hero of the Kirkwood Police Department. His partner had been killed less than a month ago. Mark had ta
ken a bullet in his shoulder, trying to save him. That explained his reputation. It also explained why he was on his own.

  “That leaves us pretty much where we started,” I said as we made our way from Olympia to Tacoma.

  “Not quite. You’ve confirmed that they’re up to something, something illegal that could land them all in prison.”

  “True.”

  “And we know where Al Wallace makes his truck runs.”

  “Up and down the west coast. A lot of help that is.”

  “A wee bit testy, are you, lass?”

  He was right. I was out of sorts. There was a constant discomfort in my third chakra. It was making it difficult for me to eat. That was never a good thing. Closing my eyes, I traced it back to the day before when I was sitting at the diner counter. When Mark Simpson grabbed Grace’s wrist to be exact.

  “We also know that Al Wallace is getting back into town tonight and his buddy Simpson wants him to go somewhere this weekend,” Charlie continued.

  “Right. To the station which is probably not a station at all.”

  “That’s something. And we know it’s north.”

  “True again.” I’d forgotten that. “So, why didn’t we stick around and follow them?”

  “Because we put someone else on the job.”

  “Who? Manny?”

  Charlie smiled. “It’s a perfect job for him.”

  Manny was one of Charlie’s old students who loved doing any job Charlie would allow him to do, especially since life as a retiree had proven to be very boring. “You think he can handle this? It could be a long stake out. Maybe I should head back.”

  “Not necessary, lass. Especially since the copper already saw you.”

  “Good point.” Charlie seemed to be full of those lately.

  Close to an hour later as we were driving into West Seattle, I said, “But still—Manny on his own?”

  “Still worrying about that, are you? He’ll do fine. He just has to keep an eye on them and follow them. Not rocket science.”

  I dug into my purse for my cell phone. “That reminds me, I haven’t checked in with Josh for a while.”

  “What, a whole hour? And how did that remind you?” Charlie enjoyed trying to understand how my brain worked.