Graveyard Bay Read online

  Ben was the last to exit. His countenance was stern, lips pressed together. He headed for his office.

  Vogel headed for the front door.

  What just happened?

  I focused back on Mike Dillon and the phone call. “Who’s missing?”

  I visualized him consulting his ubiquitous notebook. “Leon Dempsey hasn’t been seen in two days. Police were called when he failed to show up at work and there was no response to phone calls, emails, or texts.”

  “I’ll bite. Who’s Leon Dempsey?”

  “Senior prison officer on duty the night Merlin Finn escaped.”

  My heart took an extra couple of beats. “What do we know?”

  He read off the stats. “Forty-three years old, five foot nine, one hundred eighty pounds, Caucasian, clean shaven at the time of his disappearance, brown eyes, balding, no scars or tattoos, widowed, and no children. Police were called. They were let into Dempsey’s house by a concerned neighbor who had an extra key to his house. There’s no sign of foul play and Dempsey’s car is also MIA.”

  “What does he drive?”

  “An eight-year-old Dodge Dakota pickup truck.”

  I wrote while Mike talked. “Nothing fancy there. Cops check his finances?”

  “He didn’t make any recent cash withdrawals. But what’s interesting is he made two deposits to his account. Twenty thousand dollars the week before Finn’s escape and fifty thousand the day after.”

  I smiled. “Well, fancy that. So, he didn’t take any of that money with him?”

  “Nope. Cops think something spooked him and he bolted.”

  I took a deep breath and recalled the two notes that I’d gotten. “Finn’s a spooky guy. Hey, I’ve got another missing person for you. Did you know that Bogdan Tolbonov is MIA?”

  There was a brief silence on the phone while Mike digested that. “Where did you hear that?”

  It was my turn to hesitate. “At his request, I met with Eric Decker, attorney for Wolfline Contracting. He told me that Valentin Tolbonov believes his brother is dead.”

  “How come he hasn’t reported Bogdan missing?”

  “Decker said that the relationship between the Tolbonovs and law enforcement isn’t particularly cordial.”

  “Why did he tell you?”

  How much do I let you know, Mike?

  “He asked me to help them find Bogdan…or his remains.”

  “What else?”

  “They also asked me to help them find Merlin Finn.”

  The silence was deafening. Finally, “I’m going to give you some advice, not that you ever take it. You never have. Stay away from these people. Is that guy John Stillwater still around?”

  “Yeah, he’s at my house while I’m working here in the office.”

  “I did some checking on him. Did you know he was a New York cop?”

  “He told me.”

  “Did he tell you he was kicked off the force for assaulting a prisoner in his custody?”

  My heart fell. I stayed silent.

  “He’s lucky he wasn’t arrested himself or sued.”

  “Thanks, Mike. I’m a big girl.”

  “Yeah, but sometimes you make bad decisions.”

  “Like not committing to our relationship?”

  I heard him sigh. “A conversation for another time.”

  He hung up without saying goodbye. I checked my watch and texted John to come pick me up. I knew it would take him a few minutes to get to the newspaper so, nosy about what had happened in the conference room, I headed for Ben’s office.

  The door was open, he was on the phone, and when I sat down he looked at me and rolled his eyes. He was just finishing up his conversation. “Call me back when you have something.”

  I collapsed in his office chair opposite him. “What’s going on, boss?”

  He took a deep breath. “I announced in the department head meeting that my attorney is seeking an injunction to halt the sale of the Post.”

  “Wow.”

  “He thinks it’s a long shot but he’s using the tactic that Galley Media failed to negotiate in good faith.”

  “Is that a thing?”

  “It’s easier to prove for a seller who neglects to offer full disclosure about property and assets, but my lawyer thinks we might be able to go that route if we prove to a judge that Galley had advance information about the Sheffield Meridian, making the Post worth at least twice as much as they’re paying.”

  “Do you have proof?”

  “Not yet. I need for you to get on this.”

  Before or after I give you my three-week notice?

  “I have my hands full with the investigation of the double homicide out at Groward Bay.”

  “Come on. Let the police handle that. I need you, Genie.”

  I sighed. “Let me see what I can do.”

  He smiled and stood up. “That’s my street fighter.”

  “How did Robert and Lorraine take the news?”

  Ben laughed. “Robert looked like he’d just taken a big bite out of a lemon.” Ben stood up and mocked Vogel, “Galley’s not going to like this, Ben. You got lawyers? They got more lawyers than you can ever afford. They’ll bleed you dry.”

  I grinned. “You sound just like him.”

  He smiled back. “I’m not sure that’s a good thing.”

  Getting out of the chair, I fixed Ben with my eyes. “Can you stop them?”

  He shrugged slightly. “I’ve got to at least try. I need your help on this, Genie.”

  I took another deep breath. “I’ll do the best I can, Ben.”

  * * *

  I sat at the kitchen table, laptop open, while John negotiated his way around my kitchen. From where I sat, I could barely hear the slosh and rumble of the washing machine in the laundry room as it cleaned a small load of clothes I had in the hamper. But most importantly, it was also washing all my underwear.

  Taking them out of my drawer and putting them in the hamper, I kept visualizing the hulking form of Merlin Finn fondling my panties. Touching them, smelling them.

  I’m going to make you model these for me.

  I shuddered.

  John was putting together chicken piccata and roast veggies, and I was looking for a connection between Wyatt Investments and Galley Media. Galley was an open book. It was a publicly owned company with a board of people I’d never heard of and run by a management team that was more interested in cutting costs and increasing revenues than they were in good journalism.

  Glancing up at the back of John’s head while he breaded the chicken cutlets, I asked, “Did you get a chance to see if there’s anything between Wyatt Investments and Galley Media?”

  Without looking at me, he answered, “I took a poke at it. I’ll do some more tomorrow. Wyatt has financial interests in dozens, if not hundreds, of companies. Those have financial interests in even more companies. If there’s a connection there, I’ll find it. Oh, by the way. Can you download a copy of the infamous notebook onto a thumb drive for me?” He quickly took one out of his pocket and handed it to me.

  While I was at the laptop, I copied the file called Tucker’s Veterinarian Records onto his thumb drive and handed it back to him. Then I did a search for Wyatt Investments.

  The conglomerate was privately held and very opaque. The professionally designed website told me that the firm was global in scope, having offices in New York, Amsterdam, Frankfurt, Sydney, and Moscow. Their holdings were mostly commercial and residential real estate but also included “real estate private debt and direct equity investments in partnership with leading real estate operating partners, sophisticated family offices, institutional real estate owners, and leading private equity firms, in the recapitalization and acquisition of real estate assets and companies around the world. Our focus is on value-added, opportu
nistic, and event-driven real estate investments throughout the capital structure.”

  What the hell does that mean?

  I saw that the Sheffield Meridian wasn’t going to be their only urban mall. They already had six others in cities in the United States, Canada, Great Britain, France, and Spain.

  The website was not forthcoming in who the founders or the managing partners were. Something to work on tonight from my bedroom after we finished dinner?

  “Ready to eat?”

  I looked up from my computer and saw him smiling down on me, spatula in hand, looking absolutely adorable. I love a man who cooks, because I can’t. Well, I don’t.

  I packed up my laptop and stood up. “Famished.”

  The meal didn’t disappoint. After the first taste of chicken and the roasted veggies, I said, “You’re hired. Chief cook and bodyguard.”

  He grinned. “When Abby and I were married, I did most of the cooking. It’s something that I enjoy, a good way to unwind at the end of the day. Plus, I always know that I’ll be eating something I like because that’s all I cook.”

  I took another bite of the chicken. “It’s awesome.”

  “Not in Gerald’s class, but I do the best I can.” He sipped his scotch.

  I grinned. “So, do Shana and Gerald hook up?”

  He guffawed. “When I’m there, it’s not generally a topic of conversation. But I imagine they do all sorts of things.”

  “Aren’t you the slightest bit attracted to Shana? She’s very pretty.”

  He studied me with narrowed eyes. “Are you?”

  I cocked my head and offered an admission. “A little.”

  “Is it Shana you’re attracted to or the lifestyle?”

  I felt myself blush.

  How did I let the conversation get here?

  “A little of both, maybe.” I suppose there should have been some embarrassment in admitting that, but I’d recently turned forty. The last time I’d been with a man was back in October, and I’ll be the first to admit that I have a healthy libido. I know that menopause waits for me somewhere down the trail. What about things I haven’t tried yet?

  Like chains and whips?

  I glanced at John and noticed how ruggedly handsome he was. And how he was smiling at me in a playful way. “After dinner, do you want to get your Christmas decorations out?”

  I immediately thought about Caroline and how when this was over, John would head back to New York and I’d be alone again. I replied, “Not tonight. Tomorrow for sure.”

  * * *

  “Hey, baby.”

  “Hey, Genie. How was your day?” Caroline’s voice was upbeat and bubbly.

  “You know, work, work, work. How was yours?”

  “You know, ski, fall, ski, fall.” She laughed.

  “It’s a tough life. Have you had dinner?”

  “We just finished. Went to a barbeque place called Aspen Hickory House. The ribs are to die for. What did you do for dinner? Bring home takeout?”

  “Yeah.” I lied. I didn’t want her to know that I had a man staying at the house as my bodyguard. “You know me. What else did you do besides skiing?”

  “Aunt Ruth took us shopping. They have some of the cutest shops here.”

  Aunt Ruth was knocking the ball out of the park. Coming home was going to look like jail time after this trip.

  “You’ll have to show me what you bought when you get home.”

  “I bought some really pretty tops and skirts.”

  “Awesome. Is Aunt Ruth close by?”

  “She’s right here. Have you put up any Christmas decorations yet?”

  I closed my eyes and rubbed my forehead. “Tomorrow, after work. I promise.”

  “I worry about you, Genie. It’s almost Christmas. Are you going to be okay?”

  I chuckled. “I worry about me too, baby. But I’m going to be just fine.”

  She handed the phone off to Ruth. “Hello, Genie.”

  “Hey, Ruth. I’ve been concerned. Do you still think you’re being followed?”

  “Not that I can see. After what you and Caroline went through in October, I might just be a little paranoid. One of the Aspen cops actually stopped by to meet with us. He told us that they’d be keeping an eye on our neighborhood while we’re in town.”

  God bless Mike Dillon.

  I sighed with relief. “That’s good news, Ruth. Keep everyone safe.”

  * * *

  Before I turned in for the night, I wanted to make sure John had everything he needed. He’d chosen to camp out on the living room couch instead of sleeping in Caroline’s room.

  I guess it’s too girly for him.

  I usually sleep in the nude, but on that evening, I had on a pair of flannel jammies over which I wore a fluffy pink bathrobe. Barefoot, I left my bedroom and padded down the carpeted steps as quietly as possible.

  It was dark as I descended to the living room. The only illumination came from the streetlight outside, muted from the closed curtains.

  I let my eyes adjust to the darkness and saw the indistinct outline of the couch and what appeared to be a snoozing John Stillwater.

  Guess he doesn’t need anything.

  I sighed and wondered silently why I had come downstairs at all. I had assembled a pillow, sheets, blanket, and a comforter for him before I’d headed for bed.

  One last look at John?

  “Can I help you?”

  His voice behind me nearly made me pee.

  I turned, my heart pounding.

  He smiled. “Sorry if I startled you.”

  “Jesus Christ, you scared the crap out of me.” I took a breath and noticed that he was naked except for his black boxer shorts. I reached out to the wall next to me and flipped on the light.

  When I did that, I saw that John’s face reddened. I also saw his muscular chest, tight tummy, and that his shoulders and biceps were like granite.

  The boy is in shape.

  And that he was holding something behind his back.

  A handgun.

  Seeing that I had spotted the weapon, he brought it out and went to the couch, putting the gun into its holster, laying it carefully on a cushion. Then he took the comforter and draped it over his shoulders, covering himself. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “No worries. My heart rate will be back to normal in an hour or so. Look, I just wanted to make sure you had everything you need.”

  “I’m good.”

  Yes, you are.

  “Okay, then. If you need anything, let me know.”

  Go to bed, Genie.

  * * *

  I had just settled into bed, covers over me, Tucker snuggled up next to my rib cage. I began reading chapter three of Sue Grafton’s last novel.

  My phone pinged. Someone had just sent me a text from a number that was blocked.

  Pulling my phone down from next to the vodka, I read it. Fear turned my fingers to ice and oxygen caught in my throat.

  Did you like my notes?

  I dropped my phone onto my bed, my hands shaking. If that text was from Merlin Finn, then a monster was on the other end of the line.

  Should I get John?

  I reached out and picked the phone back up. Taking a deep breath, I pecked out:

  Who is this?

  After a few seconds my phone pinged again and the answer appeared on my screen. My fear turned to horror.

  Come on, Genie. You know who this is. If you like my notes, you’ll love what I left you at Groward Bay.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  We drove up to the marina’s front gate in the Mustang. John was at the wheel, his Glock holstered under his leather coat. He slowed to a stop and pointed. “It’s all dark. The security lights should be on.”

  He was right. The place w
as a black hole. The only illumination came from our headlights.

  In the pale twin beams, we could see the gate was wide open.

  Someone wants us to come in.

  “Think someone cut the power?”

  He stopped the car. “I don’t think Finn wants any more video.”

  “Why would he stop now?”

  John peered into the darkness. “Don’t know.” He glanced at me. “You ready?”

  I looked back at him. “Think we should call the cops?”

  “We don’t know if there’s been a crime committed.” He attempted a half smile. He turned off the headlights and the dash lights, and we sat quietly while the engine idled.

  “What are we doing?”

  “Letting our eyes adjust to the dark.”

  The sky was overcast, the stars and moon obliterated. The inky night seemed impenetrable.

  Yet as I sat in the car, vague, black shapes slowly appeared like malignant shadows.

  He put the car in gear and pressed gently on the gas and we rolled forward, driving through the gate and along the dark, narrow lane, the black hulking shapes of expensive boats on jack stands lined up on either side of us.

  I cracked my window open and listened. All I heard was the crunching of the tires against the gravel and ice. I rolled the glass up again, warding off the bitingly cold air muscling its way into the car.

  At the end of the lane, we drove onto the parking area. The huge dry-stack boat storage building loomed like a monstrous beast off to our left, the pale concrete pier stretched out in front of us. I strained to see into the inky black of that night to see if the massive forklift was parked outside again, with its prongs underwater.

  I saw nothing.

  John parked the car and cut the engine. Then he reached under his seat and pulled out a flashlight. “Stay in the car.”

  “No way.” My words were false bravado. I was scared right down to my thermal underwear.

  The air blowing in off the bay slapped my exposed face like an icy insult. Pulling up my scarf to cover the lower half of my face, I mumbled, “Jesus, it’s cold.”

  “Shh.”