Chapter Fourteen
JB’s gut tightened. Icy prickles crawled beneath his skin as he felt his muscles tighten. The missing link hovered in the air.
“You know. The new waiter who started this afternoon.” Burt walked back to the group.
“I didn’t hire anyone,” Joanie said.
The men tightened their semi-circle around the cook as Joanie stepped out of the way.
JB realized his place in this questioning was nil unless the sheriff gave him leeway to ask. On the other hand, he could listen, make his own notes. He focused like his life depended on the words. No—like Marcy’s life depended on the words.
Sheriff Davis hung his hat on a pot hook in the corner before he took a seat at the small table. He motioned to Burt. “Take your time, and tell us what happened.”
The aging cook emitted a nervous squeak, his eyes slumped like his tired shoulders, and his hands brushed against his pants legs. He’d been a fixture in the restaurant for over twenty years. Today would be one of the man’s most important days at work.
“Don’t be nervous.” Joanie handed him a glass of water. “Take your time.”
JB sensed the unease wrestling its way through the cook. “Would you like to sit down?”
“No.” Burt wrung his hands. “I mean I’d rather not sit, sir. But, I will if I have to. Whatever you want.”
JB slouched against the counter behind him. He needed to put the cook at ease. Glancing at the canned goods stacked on the kitchen shelves, he wished all the foods hadn’t been bought in bulk. One can could feed a dozen or more. “You’ve got a lot of food stockpiled back here.” He walked over and grabbed the smallest can of pineapple he could find. “Mind if I open this?”
Joanie shook her head. “Fine with me. Put it on your next bill.”
He jabbed the can under the opener, then fumbled on purpose. “Never could get the hang of these. Can you give me a hand, Burt?”
The cook took the can and hooked it into the opener, then reached for a bowl to dump the slices in. Joanie moved forward to finish the job herself, but the sheriff raised his finger and barely shook his head. She stepped back and then perched on a stool she pulled from under the counter.
JB accepted the bowl of fruit and forked some into his mouth, smiled. “Good stuff.” He took another bite. “Now Burt, all we want you to do is tell us what happened. Can you remember? Can you help us nail this guy?”
The cook nodded, gulped his water down, then swiped his sleeve across his mouth before placing the glass in the dishwasher. When he turned to the group again, he looked composed. Ready. “Was about two or two-thirty. I’d just finished up the order Evans called in. A big one, and I wanted everything to be done ‘bout the same time. If everything’s hot when it’s put in the bag, then it’s hot for the customer when they get home. Or to the police station in this case.
“Anyhow, I had it all wrapped and piled, ready to go in the bags when this new man walked over with a Styrofoam container. Had flowers drawn on top. Said Joanie decorated it special for Marcy’s sandwich. He grabbed one of the sandwiches, plopped it in the container, closed the lid, and stuck it in the bag. Packed the whole damn order for me.”
Joanie cleared her throat. “I never hired anyone new. And I didn’t have time to be decorating any special box what with the special delivery down the street.”
The sheriff leaned on the table. “What special delivery?”
“One of the men at the lumber yard called in at 2:10 for a whole apple pie and a gallon of ice cream if I’d bring it down by 2:15,” Joanie grumped. “Except when I got down there, no one ‘fessed up to placing the order.”
“I’ll check on where the call came from.” Kennett made a note.
“Probably a disposable phone.” JB forked another chunk of pineapple into his mouth.
Joanie flushed. “You think the guy called to get me out of the way, so he could have access to the kitchen?”
Sheriff Davis turned his focus back to Burt. “What happened next?”
“Not much. I mentioned he must be new. Didn’t think much of it. Joanie’s always giving somebody down on their luck a chance.” The cook glanced at his boss. “Told him my name. He never told me his, though.”
“Wouldn’t matter, he’d have lied anyhow. What else?”
Burt fiddled with his ear lobe. “Had a big skull earring with swords hanging off it. I mentioned he needed to get it under the hair cover. Told him Joanie’s a stickler for cleanliness and proper attire. Fact is, I pointed him in the direction of the storeroom to get a clean apron ‘cause the one he had on looked like it had been through the mill and back.”
“What’d he say?”
“Said he grabbed the first one he saw and went to clearing tables. Seemed kind of nervous. In a hurry. Kept looking at the clock over the sink,” Burt said. “When he walked out the back door, I told him unauthorized breaks didn’t happen around here. Said he forgot his insulin shot and would be right back.”
“Did he come back?”
“Not yet.” The cook’s body eased, like the air in a balloon being released.
“You did good, Burt. Real good.” JB walked over to the dishwasher, deposited his fork and bowl, then turned to Burt. “Don’t suppose you could give us a description of the man?”
“Sure thing.” The cook walked next to Kennett, looked up. “Yep, ‘bout his height. Slim in the pants. Walked with a bad limp. You know, the kind with a hip stuck out and a draggy foot.”
JB kept a straight face, but details on this description were a little too specific. A little too exact. A disguise meant to distract.
“Dark brown eyes.” The cook’s voice strengthened. “His bushy, black beard made me wonder why Joanie hadn’t made him shave. Then I saw the scar at the edge of the hairline.” He stroked his finger from his temple, across his cheek, and into the beard area. “Figured that’s why she let him pass.”
The sheriff stood, held out his hand. “Thanks. You’ve been a lot of help. We may need to ask some more questions later, but I think we’ve got what we need for now.”
Kennett and JB shook the older man’s hand, too. And Joanie gave him a hug before he stepped out the back door.
Burt turned around. “Almost forgot the tattoo. Had half a heart on his forearm with ragged edges. You know…like one of them cutting strips on a box of waxed paper. And some numbers in it.”
JB focused on what might be an identifying mark. “Could you make out the numbers?”
“Not all of them, but there was a 3 and an 8, I know for sure.”
“Thanks, Burt. Thanks a lot.”
After the cook left, Joanie closed the restaurant early and then headed to the pub area through the adjoining doorway.
Five minutes later, Sheriff Davis, JB, and Kennett stepped out onto Main Street.
“Nothing but one big masquerade. At least we know his height,” the rookie said. “And the color of his eyes.”
“Even those could have been contacts.” JB’s insides rumbled with fearsome thoughts. “The tattoo might mean something. But the scar might have just been the paste at the edge of the whiskers.”
Kennett started down the street. “I’ll check on any surveillance cameras in the area. See you guys at the office.”
The sheriff and JB climbed in the patrol car and headed to the police department.
“What do you think?” Sheriff Davis asked.
JB clenched his hand then released. “I think this looks damn professional. The guy didn’t miss a trick. Got Joanie out so there’d be no questions. Wore everything to make a witness not really see him. Knew Marcy’s whereabouts.” He ground his fist against the door.
“So where does that leave us?” The sheriff angled into his parking spot, and the two men got out and braced their forearms on the top of the cruiser.
JB assessed what he knew of the attacker.
Somebody with experience in disguises. At the restaurant for sure. Maybe other places.
Somebody with knowledge in explosives, because no matter what the gas company said, he knew in his gut the blast at her office had been professionally set.
Somebody skilled in automotives and weapons. Very skilled in marksmanship to have inched closer to the target in front of the bank, yet only wounded the victim instead of shot-to-kill. Because looking back, this had all started right then and there.
Why then? What had been different in the everyday life of Marcy that day?
Then there was what the note on the burger had said. Something about finishing off her hot-shot ex-husband.
Where did that leave him?
JB’s heart pounded with adrenaline, pierced with pain at the only conclusion. He’d come home. He’d brought this with him. He’d dragged Marcy into his life of danger. Just like she’d said—danger followed him. This time it had followed him home. Right to her doorstep.
“It’s me. Whoever’s doing this is after me through Marcy. The guy knows everything. Almost like he knows me personally. Almost like…” JB couldn’t say the words.
“One of yours? FBI or something close?” From the look on Davis’s face, he’d already reached the same deduction.
“Maybe. Then again, I’ve had some rough cases lately. Locked a lot of people up who didn’t go easy. Some of them had mighty big-time friends.”
Sheriff Davis straightened. “One of those the case where you felt like you’d been ratted out?”
JB nodded. He’d always wondered if it had been someone from a previous case who’d recognized him undercover on the second one. Turned him in for a price. In fact, he hoped that was what happened, because otherwise, it meant someone in the Bureau had busted his cover. Either way, someone was out to get him. Why?
“You know the Crayton Police will follow procedure. Cover every possible scenario from our end until something shakes out one way or the other. That’s all we can do.” The sheriff heaved a deep sigh. “What are you gonna do?”
JB knew the drill. Get the victim, the witness, into hiding. Rotate backup watches on the safe house. Keep the victim safe at all costs to yourself. This case was different. Marcy was the victim. Survival would be key in his mind. “I’m taking her into hiding until you and your police figure this out.”
Sheriff Davis leaned away from the car. “We can protect her just as good here in Crayton.”
“The hell you say.” JB hated to get in the man’s business, but Marcy was his to save. “I’ll protect her any way I have to. Got that? Any way I have to.”
“I know it’s hard to hear, but you’ve got to get your emotions under control. Otherwise, you’ll get both of you killed. Be careful you don’t overstep your—”
“Overstep?” JB raised one finger from his fist. “There’s only one person who better be careful about my overstepping. And he better be damn afraid, because he’s targeted the wrong person this time. He’s target Marcy. Nobody does that…nobody.”