Flaw-Abiding Citizen (The Worst Detective Ever Book 6) Page 8

  I nodded, the details coming back into my mind. Adam and I had just talked about them yesterday, hadn’t we? “That’s right. Well, apparently that investigation a couple of months ago only exposed one of their arms, but there are still plenty of other . . . extremities out there.”

  “Makes sense. They’re a big organization with an enormous reach.”

  “Exactly. I’m trying to find out how to get more information on them, and I’m hoping the dark web might hold some answers.”

  “Doesn’t it always?” He wagged his eyebrows.

  I must have given him a funny look because he quickly turned serious.

  “I can see what I can find for you.” Adam put his cat down and stepped toward the computer set up on a flimsy black desk in the corner of his living room.

  Now that I took a better look, it wasn’t just one computer. There were at least four monitors on his desk. He apparently liked to collect kittens and desktops. What a hobby.

  He sat down and turned away from me, looking all business. “What in particular are you looking for?”

  “I need more information on the Barracudas,” I said. “Anything.”

  “It’s not going to be easy to find the information. I’m sure these guys have a lot of precautions in place. Otherwise the FBI would have tracked them down by now, right?”

  I nodded. “Probably.”

  “Why don’t you have a seat and let me work my magic?” He waved his fingers in the air as if they held superpowers.

  There was really no way I could help him right now, so I nodded. Zane and I sat on his couch. It was one of those types with recliners on each end and forest-green suede cushion covers.

  And it made Zane sneeze every several minutes. Poor guy.

  I’d already counted five cats, and each one seemed to sense that Zane didn’t like them. They circled and rubbed against him.

  Poor guy. Had I mentioned that yet?

  “I’m not having much luck,” Adam said after what seemed like hours.

  Nope, it had been ten minutes.

  I had a really bad instinct for time, especially when impatience kicked in.

  “I did find some mentions of them, and I’ve tried to hack into what I think is their system. They have all kinds of firewalls up though.”

  “No way to get around them?” I asked.

  “Well, I’m trying.”

  Trying was a start.

  “Oh wait! Oh wait!” His voice rose with excitement. “I just got through one of them. It’s some kind of message board.”

  I stood and rushed over to his computer to see what he’d discovered.

  Just as I got there, he moaned. “No! They’re onto me, and they’re shutting down.”

  He rapidly typed on his keyboard, as if trying to stop them. Finally, he moaned again and leaned back in his chair.

  “They’ve locked me out,” he said. “There’s no way to get back in.”

  I bit back my disappointment. For a minute, I’d felt so close. So, so close.

  “Man, I’m sorry, Joey. I thought I had it.” Adam twirled around in his chair to face me.

  “It’s okay, Adam. Thanks for trying.”

  “I was able to read one thing—one headline of sorts on the forum.”

  “Were you? What did it say?”

  “It said Operation Make Waves has been set in motion. Any idea what that means?”

  I swallowed hard. “I don’t. But I don’t like the sound of it either.”

  As soon as we left Adam’s and climbed in my car, Zane got a phone call from a potential client.

  “Someone wants to see one of my listings!” he said after he ended the conversation. “Maybe I can be a realtor again, and my career isn’t totally tanked.”

  Zane had thought for sure his career was sunk after he’d been accused of murder. But the truth had come out and his innocence had been proven. Maybe people were finally getting over that.

  “Then, by all means, you should go,” I told him. “I’ll take you home to get changed.”

  “Are you going to be okay by yourself?”

  “I’m sure I will be.” I wasn’t sure at all. But I would manage.

  “I hate to leave you with everything that’s going on.”

  “Zane, I’ll be fine. I know how much you need this sale, so you should go for it.”

  “You’re the best, Joey.” His glibness faded. “So what do you think that message Adam found meant?”

  “I have no idea. Whatever it is that they’re planning appears to be set in motion now. If we knew what it was, then maybe we could do something to stop it.”

  “And thus find your dad.”

  “And thus find my dad,” I repeated with a heavy heart.

  I pulled up to the condo and stopped, not putting the car in park. “I’m going to let you out here.”

  “Where you are going? You’re not supposed to be alone, right?”

  “I won’t be alone. The Hot Chicks are meeting for lunch today. I’m going to crash their party.”

  “I guess that sounds safe enough.”

  “I promise. It is.”

  He opened his door and put one leg out.

  “Good luck, Zane. You’ve got this.”

  “Thanks, Joey. I always appreciate your confidence in me.”

  As soon as he was gone, apprehension filled me.

  What if Jackson was right? What if it wasn’t safe for me to be by myself?

  It didn’t matter. I needed to press on ahead right now.

  And I hoped the Hot Chicks could help me.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Oh, Joey, what a treat!”

  “Joey, fancy seeing you here.”

  “I’m so glad you showed up!”

  The Hot Chicks always knew how to make me feel welcome, and that was just one more reason I appreciated them.

  They were a group of widows in their late fifties and sixties. They got together whenever possible and were always up to some kind of hijinks.

  My aunt by marriage, Dizzy Jenkins, was a part of the group, and she was the one who’d introduced me to the rest of the ladies.

  I had known the group was meeting at the Fatty Shack today. It was a local restaurant that was less flash, less cash, and seafood that doesn’t give you a rash, as Zane liked to proclaim.

  The place was nothing to look at, but the views of the water near the causeway were amazing. Autographed pictures of celebs hung on the wall, including mine. And if you could get past the smell of grease and disinfectant, the food really was good—local, fresh, and non-rash-inducing.

  I stood at the Hot Chicks’ table, totally crashing their luncheon. At least I wouldn’t make their food cold—it appeared they were already doing a good job of that without me. Like any good gathering of women, their talking had taken priority over eating.

  “Have a seat.” Geraldine, a homemaker who liked to make cookies for people and volunteer in the community, pushed a chair out. “You can sit under your autographed picture. And if you do, can I take a stealthie?”

  “You know what a stealthie is?”

  “You know, it’s a selfie with someone famous secretly in the background.”

  “Very good. But is it a secret if you ask first?” I questioned.

  She shrugged and held up her phone. “Beats me. Say cheese!”

  I said cheese and watched my face flash onto her screen. I was pretty sure my eyes were half closed and my mouth opened in midspeak. Thankfully, she didn’t do social media . . . or did she?

  “What brings you out here?” Dizzy asked. “Our scintillating company?”

  “You know I’m always up for hanging out with you ladies.”

  The waitress—Emma—came, and I ordered a Caesar salad with shrimp.

  When I had my water and after I’d snagged a sweet potato biscuit, I got down to business.

  “I need your help,” I said, leaning across the semi-sticky table so they could hear me.

  “We’re at your service,” Gerald
ine said. “As always.”

  I didn’t want to go into all the details about me and Jackson or even me and the Barracudas. Dizzy knew some of them, but I wouldn’t be wise to share too much.

  And I could ask them about figuring out what the Barracudas were up to, but I figured that would be like asking Mary Poppins to help me track down a serial killer. It just wasn’t in their wheelhouse.

  Instead, I stuck to something more basic, the thing that everything else boiled down to.

  “I need to rethink the whole disappearance of my dad thing,” I started as my salad appeared. “I feel like I’m missing something, and I need your help figuring out what.”

  “Oh, we’d love to help you with that,” Maxine said with a sassy shoulder shrug, which only brought more attention to her bare shoulders. If my shoulders still looked that good in my sixties, I would wear strapless shirts also.

  “Your father was a hunka hunka.” Maxine smiled. “I had my eye on him for a while.”

  I squirmed hearing her talk about my dad like that. He was my dad. Women should not think he was attractive. Sheesh.

  I shook my head, getting rid of those thoughts and suddenly not liking her shoulderless top anymore.

  “So, what am I missing here?” I started, stabbing a piece of lettuce. “This is what I know. My dad moved here. He was working for Charlie McGowan over at the marina doing dolphin tours. He began acting strangely a few days before he disappeared, then moved everything important to him into a storage unit here locally. An international student worker asked him for his help, and she ended up dead. Then my dad disappeared.”

  “Sounds like a Hollywood-engineered story, doesn’t it?” said MaryAnn, a retired schoolteacher and the quiet, soft-spoken one of the group.

  “It kind of does. It gets stranger,” I said. “I discovered a house down in Hatteras where my father was apparently staying. The expiration date on a milk carton there indicated that it was eight months ago, around the time he first disappeared.”

  “Clever detective work,” Dizzy said. “You get that from my side of the family.”

  I didn’t bother to remind her that we weren’t blood related. I just smiled and nodded. “My photo was found at the house, as well as a strange message that had been carved into the wall.”

  “What did it say?” Dizzy asked.

  I hesitated. “It’s not important, and I don’t want to give away too much. The investigation is highly classified, I guess.”

  So classified that Jackson couldn’t talk to me about it. Bitterness could age you, and in Hollywood, aging meant the death of your career.

  I shoved aside those thoughts.

  “Go on,” Maxine said.

  “There’s got to be something I’m missing here,” I continued, raising my palm up to show my desperation.

  “What’s your theory?” Dizzy asked, her grin a little too wide and weird.

  I ignored it. She marched to the beat of her own drummer.

  “I think he was in danger and went into hiding. Either that or someone . . .” Hurt him. Killed him. I couldn’t finish saying it aloud.

  “It’s been eight months, you said?” Geraldine asked.

  “That’s right.”

  MaryAnn spoke, and we all leaned closer to hear her soft, little voice. “Well, you need to think about how he’s been supporting himself all this time.”

  I nodded. MaryAnn had a good point. Somehow, my dad had to buy food, at the least. Maybe he had to pay for a place to stay.

  “Do you think he had money saved up?” asked Maxine, the proud business owner of a salvage store named Utter Clutter.

  “Maybe a little. He should be getting his retirement checks also. I wonder where they’re being sent.” How would I find that out?

  I probably couldn’t. I doubted anyone from his railroad retirement fund would talk to me about it.

  Had Jackson looked into my dad’s finances? Could he get answers with a warrant?

  It didn’t matter. My dad was smarter than to let a money trail lead to him. And even if Jackson had answers, he wouldn’t tell me.

  “Then you need to ask yourself if he would stay around here or go somewhere far away,” Geraldine said.

  “If he’s running for his life, I’d think far away,” Dizzy said.

  “But there are places in this area where a person could disappear,” added Maxine, a native of the Outer Banks. “Take Nags Head Woods, for example. It’s so dense and thick there that a girl disappeared into the brush once and didn’t come out for six months.”

  “Is that true?” I glanced at the other ladies for confirmation.

  They nodded.

  “That’s how the story goes,” MaryAnn said.

  If I’d heard her correctly.

  “What if your dad was going to leave, but then he heard you were back in town?” Dizzy asked. “Maybe he decided to stick around closer, just in case you needed help.”

  Her question startled me. I hadn’t thought about it from that angle. “I suppose it’s a possibility.”

  But did that mean my presence here might get him killed?

  It was also a possibility.

  I really needed to think this through.

  What if me showing up here had only made things worse for my father?

  How would I live with myself if that was the case?

  Chapter Fifteen

  As I stood to leave, someone let out a catcall behind me. I twirled around, ready to give the guy a piece of my mind.

  Then I saw the Romeos sitting there with dopey grins on their aged faces.

  The Romeos were the male equivalent of the Hot Chicks, except they were the Really Old Men Eating Out. And apparently, they were a hoot, so much so that I forgot about the piece of mind I was about to give them.

  After all, they weren’t dirty old men. They were sweet granddads who were being cute and funny.

  Right?

  No wonder the Hot Chicks kept glancing over my shoulder as we talked. They were flirting. Those naughty ladies.

  Suddenly I felt like I was in a crossover movie of Steel Magnolias meets Grumpy Old Men.

  “You’re the infamous Romeos.” I stepped closer, suddenly perking up and happy for the distraction from my problems.

  The men laughed and mumbled things beneath their breath and elbowed each other.

  It was adorable.

  I mean, these guys reminded me of teenagers in senior-citizen bodies. There were no grumpy old men here.

  “We like your movies,” a tall, thin man with white hair announced.

  “Thank you.” I nodded in respectful acknowledgment.

  “I’m Ivan,” he said. “And these are Chuck, Lloyd, Frank, and Sammy.”

  “Nice to meet you all.” I hoped no one tested me on their names.

  “Don’t let those women influence you,” said Chuck, who looked a little like Jack Lemmon. “They’re nothing but trouble.”

  “I’ve gotten that impression.” I flashed a smile at my friends.

  The Hot Chicks giggled, which was also adorable.

  “You know you like us.” Maxine coyly waved her hand in the air.

  This whole exchange was fascinating. Absolutely fascinating. And did I mention adorable?

  “You’re not asking for their advice, are you?” Lloyd asked. At least, I thought he was Lloyd. He was the more studious looking of the group. “Because we give much better advice.”

  Should I even ask? Why not? “I am looking for advice, actually. Do you really think you’re all a more ideal choice?”

  “We are or our names aren’t the Romeos.” Ivan smiled.

  I shifted and dove in. “Okay then. Any of you know anything about tracking down a terrorist group?”

  Had I just asked that aloud? I expected them to stare at me in silence. Instead, they all laughed again.

  “I’ve watched Black Hawk Down. Does that count?” skinny Ivan chuckled.

  Another round of laughter escaped from the group.

  “My gr
andson taught me to play Call of Duty,” wrinkled Chuck added. “How about that?”

  “Not quite what I’m looking for, but thanks.”

  Sammy, a man with a military haircut and disposition, finally spoke. “I used to be in the Coast Guard. Maybe I can help.”

  I paused, wondering if he was sincere or if he was about to crack another joke.

  He didn’t smile. Nor did anyone else.

  “Sammy’s even got some medals,” Ivan said. “Don’t let him fool you with his humility.”

  “Really?” I questioned, wanting to confirm that these guys weren’t trying to pull one over on me.

  “Really. What do you need? Does it have to do with that bombing yesterday?” Sammy’s voice was surprisingly high pitched and slightly scratchy.

  I nodded. “As a matter of fact, it does.”

  He leaned into his ladder-back chair. “I’ve been hearing some chatter among my old buddies.”

  “Does it involve the Barracudas?” I shouldn’t have put the idea in his head, but I had. That made it a leading question, I supposed. Too late.

  He shook his head. “Nope. Actually, it doesn’t.”

  Really? Surprising. “Who do authorities think it is?”

  “A group called Earth Mother.”

  I shook my head, now totally thrown off guard. “Who is Earth Mother?”

  “They’re an environmentalist group,” Ivan added. “Or as some people call them, wackos.”

  “People think that an environmentalist group set off a bomb in Manteo yesterday.” I repeated all the information because I was having trouble comprehending it. My investigation wasn’t supposed to take this turn.

  “The house belonged to Ted Montel,” Sammy said.

  “I’m not following,” I said. “Who is Ted Montel?”

  “He’s been one of the most outspoken critics of the new environmental regulations on Hatteras Island,” the former coast guardsman said.

  I shifted my weight and jutted my hip out, prepared to stay until I understood this—and maybe even long enough to eat another sweet potato biscuit. “What kind of environmental regulations?”

  “Outdoorsmen and environmentalist wackos have been at odds for years about regulations here on the islands,” Ivan explained. “Many who are concerned about the area think that off-road vehicles are endangering precious wildlife. Outdoorsmen claim that they’re unable to support and provide for their families because of these regulations. It’s been a mess.”