Bad Seed (Jubilee, Kentucky #5)

Chapter 8

Ollie Prine had exhausted all of his Chicago contacts and online searches. He had finally remembered the man’s name he’d known from prison. It was Schyler, and he was dead.

He was toying with the idea of ignoring Berlin’s orders and just calling the number with some cocked-up lie, when it occurred to him to check food delivery services. He didn’t have the hacking skills for that, but he knew someone who did. He pulled up the contact list on his cell phone and then made a call. To his dismay, it rang and rang with no answer. Just as he was about to leave a message, he heard a high-pitched whiny voice.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is Rosey there?”

“She’s dead. Who is this?”

“Ah, man, I’m sorry to hear this. Is this Thor Kowalski all grown up? it’s me, Ollie Prine.”

“What do you want?” Thor asked.

“Don’t be like that,” Ollie said. “We’ve known each other for years.”

“Yeah, you knew my mother, in the biblical sense, but I was just the kid on the other side of the locked door who was listening to you screw her. So, again, what do you want?”

“Are you still all computer techy?” Ollie asked.

“I’m a gamer, and a hacker when I wanna be. What’s it to you?” Thor asked.

“Awesome. Want to make a couple of hundred bucks?” Ollie asked.

“To do what?” Thor asked.

“I have a name and a phone number, but I need the address to go with it. I was thinking of finding this person through food delivery services. I mean, everyone uses them these days, so their name and address should be in the system. All you have to do is check the customer lists for food delivery in Chicago and find the address.”

“Why do you want her address?” Thor asked.

“None of your business,” Ollie said.

“Are you gonna kill her?”

“Ask me a question like that again, and you’ll be first,” Ollie said.

“A thousand dollars, and what’s the name and number?”

“What the fuck!” Ollie shouted.

“Take it or leave it,” Thor said.

“Fine, all right! Fine! But you don’t get a penny until you tell me you have the name and address.”

“What if there are several people with the same name? How will I know which is the one you want?” Thor asked.

“Well, they won’t have the same phone number, though, will they?” Ollie snapped. “It will be an upscale address, and it’s a woman named Harley Banks. I’ll text you the number.”

“If I do find it, I will let you know, and at that time, you will Venmo the money, and then I’ll give you the info.”

“No way! I’m calling the—”

The line went dead. Ollie cursed and made the call again.

Thor picked up, but said nothing.

“Fine, it’s a deal,” Ollie said.

“I’ll be in touch,” Thor said, and hung up again.

“Little prick,” Ollie muttered, but if it got the results he needed, the thousand dollars would be a bargain.

He stretched out on the bed, laid the phone beside his pillow, and upped the volume on the cartoon channel he’d been watching. He’d grown up on Looney Tunes, and when he was frustrated at life in general, he always returned to the days when life consisted of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and Bugs Bunny and Elmer Fudd.

***

Harley ordered room service at dinner—nothing fancy, just soup and a sandwich, but when the order arrived, there was also a small chocolate tartlet on the tray, topped off by a perfect swirl of whipped cream with three raspberries and a mint leaf strategically placed against the tart.

Brendan!

She wasn’t going to second-guess the reason, because it was basically chocolate pie, and she never said no to pie. She was wishing for something to read while she ate, but there weren’t any books in the suite, and she hadn’t thought to bring any with her, so she turned on the TV, and caught up on national news as she ate.

It was cold outside, but she had already settled into the snug comfort of the room, finishing up the last of the soup, when she got a call. The moment Harley saw caller ID, she sighed. What now?

“Hi, Mom.”

“Hello, darling, where are you?” Judith asked.

“Out of town on a case. Why?”

“I just wanted to let you know I’m flying to the villa tomorrow. It’s not prime weather in the south of France, but it’s far better than where I am. I’m sick of this nasty weather here. Your father is in DC at NASA headquarters at the moment, but will be going down to Houston in a couple of days and working at the NASA facility there for an extended period of time. I have no wish to winter alone in New York City. I was calling to see if you wanted to go with me, but I guess since you’re already working again, that’s out.”

The pitiful tone of her mother’s voice made Harley feel guilty, but such was life.

“You’re right. I can’t possibly go with you, and we both know you’re going to have a good time. You always do. You have your little squad of buddies there. I should probably be telling you to behave yourself.”

Judith giggled. “Oh…I know. I just hate traveling alone.”

“I do it all the time, Mom. You’ll read and sleep your way there anyway. Travel safe. Thanks for letting me know where you’ll be.”

“If anything comes up and you need us, you can always call your father.”

“Right. Will do,” Harley said, knowing she would never ask that man for help.

The call ended. Harley put her phone aside, upped the volume on the show she was watching, and reached for the plate with the little chocolate tart, forked a raspberry, swiped it through the whipped cream, and then forked off a piece of the tart and popped the whole bite in her mouth. The chocolate was smooth as silk. The whipped cream was to die for, the raspberry a perfect accompaniment, and the tart crust had a most delightful flaky, buttery crunch.

She ate the rest of it in three bites and was sorry when it was gone.

But the treat had been both delicious and unexpected, and she’d been raised with proper manners, so she picked up her phone, scrolled through her contacts until she came to the number Brendan had given her, and sent him a text.

Thank you for dessert. Your baking skills are amazing. I am in awe. I burn canned biscuits.

She hit Send before she could change her mind, and then set the food tray out in the hall for staff to pick up, grabbed a sweater from the back of the sofa, and walked out onto the balcony.

The moon hanging in the sky was backed by an explosion of starlight above the majestic mountain. In the dark, Pope Mountain was nothing but a looming pyramid, hiding all the people up there within the density of the forest.

She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be rooted in one place. Did the people here know what the rest of the world was like, or did they even care? It made her wonder what it would be like to be so happy, so soul-satisfied that you would never want to leave. She couldn’t imagine it. But the longer she stood, the more evident it became to her that she felt this way because she’d never met anyone special enough who wanted her as much as she wanted him.

She took a deep breath, inhaling the cold night air, and as she stood, felt something cold touch her cheek, like a butterfly kiss. She looked up in surprise to see tiny snowflakes swirling aimlessly in the air and shivered as if a ghost had just passed by. The feeling was so unsettling that she went back into her room, locking the sliders behind her, then closing the drapes.

As she was turning around, she heard her phone signal a text and saw it was from Brendan.

You’re welcome. I’m getting off work now. Do you still want to speak to me? If so, I need a room number.

Harley quickly responded.

Yes, please. Room 800. See you soon.

***

Brendan’s pulse kicked. He didn’t know how this was going to go, but he liked her sense of humor and had laughed at the “burned canned biscuits” remark. Bottom line—he wanted to see her again. He grabbed his coat from the employee lounge and took the staff elevator up to the eighth floor, got out, and started up the hall. When he reached the right door, he knocked twice and waited.

Seconds later, the door swung inward, and she was standing before him in her sock feet, devoid of makeup, hair in a tumble, wearing faded pants, an old sweatshirt, and a smile sweet enough to break a heart.

Chill, Pope. She’s not Justine, and you’re a grown-ass man. That smile is real, not fake, and you already know she’s more than a pretty face.

“Brendan, thank you for this! Just toss your coat on the back of that chair and come sit. I’m sure you’ve been on your feet all day.”

Brendan’s thoughts were in free fall as he followed her to the sofa.

“Can I get you something to drink? Have you had your dinner?” she asked.

“I’m fine,” he said.

Harley sat down at the far end of the sofa, picked up a pad and pen from the coffee table, then turned to face him and crossed her legs to make a lap.

“Please forgive me for intruding on your time. I’ve been given permission to visit every aspect of the hotel during the audit because Mr. Caldwell wanted a full report, but I don’t feel comfortable stomping into the kitchens of a hotel this size and quizzing people when they’re trying to work. I was hoping I could ask you and save the interference. Is that okay with you?”

Her eyes are blue-green—like she came from the sea.

“Brendan?”

He blinked. “Oh, sorry… I was just thinking about what you said. Ray is family. I’ll do anything to help.”

This was news to Harley. “Family?”

And for the first time, he began to relax. “Well, mountain-style family. Ray’s niece, Rusty Caldwell, was an undercover FBI agent before she married my cousin Cameron Pope. He was with Army Special Forces during his tours of duty. Rusty and Liz Devon are first cousins. Their dads were brothers. So, now, despite the lack of blood connection, Ray Caldwell’s people are now our people, too.”

His smile left a knot in Harley’s stomach. Men shouldn’t be this…this…perfect.

“Are there a lot of you?” she asked.

He laughed, and the knot in her belly tightened.

“A mountain full. A valley full. It was a Pope who first came to the valley where Jubilee now exists. His name was Brendan Pope. I’m named for him. He was a trapper. A giant of a man from Scotland, who took a tiny little Chickasaw woman named Cries A Lot for a wife. Then he started a trading post that became a settlement that became a town called Jubilee, and all of the ensuing generations chose the mountain over the valley for their homes. Their original land grants still remain in their families. There have been Popes here since the early 1800s. The first Brendan is why we’re all so big and tall, and Cries A Lot is where our dark eyes and black hair came from.”

Harley’s lips had parted in disbelief, and she’d forgotten to shut them. She was so caught up in the story that she’d forgotten why he was here.

“That’s the most amazing story I’ve ever heard,” she said.

“That’s not the half of it,” he said. “Their lives together came to a tragic end when Cries A Lot, who he called Meg, went up Pope Mountain one day to pick berries and never came home. They searched for her for days. Didn’t know what happened, and for the next century and a half, she was lost—until we stumbled upon the journal Brendan had kept. It’s now in the Library of Congress in DC, but we hadn’t known about Meg going missing until we read the journal. The tragedy took us all by surprise, and ultimately fueled an all-family search.

“We knew from the journal where she’d been before she disappeared, because they found her berry basket and berries spilled all over the ground around Big Falls. So, we began a search, using modern technology like drones with cameras that map topography and GPS that maps what’s beneath the ground. I was up in the woods south of Big Falls with my brother Sean and some other searchers. One second, I was talking to Sean, and then I took a step and disappeared straight down into a hole. Scared Sean out of his mind, and the broken boards ripped gashes in my back and side on the way down.”

Harley gasped. “Where did you fall?”

“Into what had once been a cellar below a settler’s cabin. The cabin had had long since disappeared, and the floor above the cellar had finally rotted through just where I stepped. But I fell at the feet of the woman we’d been searching for. And there she was…” Brendan stopped, took a deep breath, and then looked away for a moment, gathering himself and his emotions. “There she was, or what was left of her… A tiny skeleton, lying on her side with her hands clasped in prayer.” He looked up, straight into Harley’s eyes, then shook his head. “It changed me. Me finding her seemed like a prophecy fulfilled. Meg’s Brendan had never stopped searching the mountain, but died without finding her. Then here I come, nearly two hundred years later—a sixth generation grandson with the same name, and I found her.”

Tears were rolling down Harley’s face. “Oh my God. Did you ever find out what happened? How she got down there?”

“Yes. It’s a really long story, but I’ll give you the quick version. It was during the Civil War. A group of Rebel soldiers came through Jubilee pulling a wagon. Rumor had it the wagon was carrying gold to fund the war. But when Brendan and his friends went looking for Meg, they found the wagon broken down on the roadway. We surmise the soldiers panicked. They couldn’t leave their treasure unguarded, and the wagon was of no use. They carried the treasure into the woods to hide, planning to come back for it, came upon Meg picking berries, and abducted her so she couldn’t tell where they put it. They trailed the tracks of the soldiers, thinking maybe they’d carried Meg off, but miles later, found the men all dead from some skirmish and no sign of Meg. So now the treasure and Meg were lost to time. The really tragic part of that is that we think she was still alive when they dropped her into the cellar with their treasure.”

Harley gasped. “How could you know that?”

“Because when I found the bones, they were in a posed position. I could almost see her as she’d been…as if she’d curled up on her side to pray and fell asleep. Only she never woke up. No way would the soldiers drop her down there and then arrange her body.”

“Was the treasure still there?” Harley asked.

Brendan nodded. “Only it wasn’t treasure after all. No gold. Just paper. She was killed for a trunk full of Confederate money.”

The horror of it all was on her face. “Oh, Brendan! No!”

“Yeah,” Brendan said. “I’ll take that drink now, if the offer’s still good.”

Harley leaped to her feet and ran to the mini-fridge.

“Wine. Longneck beer. Cans of soda. Bottles of water. Name your poison.”

“Dr Pepper. I don’t drink and drive,” he said.

She handed him the cold can and returned to her seat. “Speaking of your brothers, Wiley came to the hotel today with another officer to pick up a woman who’d been caught picking pockets. He’s something else, isn’t he?”

Brendan grinned. “You could say that. Aaron is the oldest, then Sean, then Wiley, then me.”

“Are all of you tall?”

“I’m the tallest in the family by a couple of inches, but family gatherings are like being in the Land of the Giants. If you’re here long enough, maybe you’ll get to meet them one day. Now, sorry for the history lesson. How can I help you?”

“Right,” Harley mumbled, picked up her pad and pen again. “Since you spend your working hours in the kitchen of the main dining area, is there anything about it that has changed since the manager was put in place…like changing vendors or the ordering of products? Anything like that?”

Brendan took a sip of his drink, thinking back. “I know Chef Randolph has complained that the meat he’s receiving is of a lesser quality than what we’ve offered before, and he raised hell just today about the quality of cuts on porterhouse steaks that he’d ordered.”

“What about your side of the kitchen? The baking area?”

“The dairy I use is not what we used to get. Other than that, the bakery is not directly affected. I still have the kinds of flour I need. Eggs are eggs. Sugar is sugar. We came close to a staff walkout because of Beaumont’s daughter, Justine, but she’s out of the picture now.”

“Really? How so?” Harley asked.

“I was told her mother paid off the damages she caused at a local bar and took her back to Dallas with her. That’s all I know, and I only know that because of my brother.”

“What do you think of Larry Beaumont?” she asked.

“I know nothing about how he’s doing his job, but I don’t like him personally. No, that’s the wrong word. I don’t trust him,” Brendan said.

Harley glanced up. “Why not?”

He shrugged. “Instinct. Gut feeling,” he said, and downed the rest of his drink.

“Understood,” she said. “I’m not going to keep you any longer. Thank you so much for tonight, and for the surprise tart, and most of all, for the story. I hope you know how blessed you are to have a history like that. And family who stand behind what you do.”

As Brendan stood, he immediately flashed on Clyde Wallace, the father they’d disavowed.

“We have our mother to thank for that.”

“She sounds special,” Harley said, and thought of the father in prison, but said nothing. If he wanted her to know about all that, he would tell her. Otherwise, it was her secret to keep. “I’ll walk you to the door,” she said, then opened it and stepped aside to let him pass.

Brendan was halfway out the door when he paused on the threshold and looked back. There was a long, silent moment between them, each searching the other’s face for something more than the words they’d spoken. And then he took a deep breath.

“You know how to reach me. Sleep well,” he said, and left.

She stood in the doorway, watching the swing of his shoulders and long stride as he walked away, then shivered, remembering what he said about being the end of a prophecy and wishing someone like him was a part of her future.

Hours later, and long after she’d gone to bed, she dreamed of a snake coming out of the shadows and coiling around her like a noose, then of a wolf standing beside her and the snake dead at her feet, and woke up in a cold sweat.

***

Brendan drove home in silence, went through the usual motions afterward, but was too keyed up to sleep. He kept prowling through the house, digging through the pantry for cookies, downing a longneck bottle of beer in front of the gas fireplace while the wind rattled the screens in his windows, and sifting through unanswered emails.

The feeling he had was unsettling, but he couldn’t pinpoint what had caused it. It felt like he knew someone had planted a bomb with a timer, but no one knew where it was or when it might go off.

Instinct told him Harley Banks’s arrival was at the center of it. But was it just how she affected him, or how what she was doing affected the hotel? One thing he knew for certain: she was already under his skin. He just had to be careful not to let her into his heart. He didn’t want a hit-and-miss lover. He wanted a forever woman or nothing at all.

***

The next morning, Harley ordered breakfast from room service and was sifting through the hotel links and adding figures to her spreadsheet when it arrived. She’d ordered a simple meal. Scrambled eggs, bacon, and biscuits.

“Good morning, Miss Banks. Shall I put this on your table?”

“Yes, please,” Harley said, and waited at the door, then turned the dead bolt after the man left.

She removed the cloche from her plate and the napkin from her breadbasket, she reached for the butter, slathering some on the biscuits while they were still warm. She thought of the bowl of cold milk and cereal she would have fixed for herself at home and dug in. The food was good, but the biscuits were sublime.

“If that man makes love to a woman the way he handles flour, butter, and sugar, someone’s gonna die happy,” she mumbled, and took another bite.

As soon as she finished breakfast, she went straight to the computer and started with the purchasing department and went back a year, beginning six months before Ray Caldwell’s health scare, and began to enter figures on three separate spreadsheets. One tracking the time Ray was there. One after Beaumont’s arrival, and then another spreadsheet for the audit.

The quantities ordered from month to month varied with regard to the numbers of guests at any given time. The cost of products was the same under both timelines. The payments going out to vendors matched the invoices for both Caldwell and Beaumont. The only difference was the lower quality of products.

It was slow, tedious work, like looking through cracks trying to see a panorama. She’d been at it for hours when she received a message from the front desk that her rental car had been delivered and she needed to come sign for it, so she pocketed the key card and her phone, then grabbed her wallet in case she needed to verify her identity, and left the room.

Once she reached the lobby, she saw a tall, skinny man with black hair standing near the front desk. His back was to the lobby, but the jacket he was wearing had a big Jubilee Car Rental logo across the back.

“Hi, I’m Harley Banks. I believe you’re waiting for me,” she said.

The young man turned, then smiled. “Yes, ma’am. You requested an SUV. It’s the black Chevrolet Equinox in the front row there,” he said, and pointed to indicate which direction.

Harley looked out the front windows. “Yes, I see it, thanks.”

He produced a clipboard with a rental contract. “If you’ll just sign this, we’ll be good to go, and you did request our insurance policy as well. Is that correct?”

“Yes. Where do I sign?”

He pointed. “Here and here.”

After she signed, he gave her the bottom copy and handed her the keys. “The tank is full. If you have any problems, our number is on your contract. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“I’m curious. You resemble someone I know. By any chance, are you related to the Pope family in any way?” she asked.

His polite smile turned into a full-fledged grin. “Yes, ma’am. I’m Liam Cauley. My granny is a Pope. She runs Granny Annie’s Bakery downtown. My mom works there, too. Granny makes the best sweets ever…except for maybe my cousin Brendan. He’s the head pastry chef here. His stuff’s right up there with Granny’s. If you go to her bakery, tell her Liam sent you.”

Harley smiled. “Thank you, I will.” Then instead of walking away, she stood, eyeing Liam’s long, lanky stride as he exited the hotel and got into a pickup truck idling in the driveway.

Definitely got the DNA, she thought.

She went back up to her room, dropped off the keys and paperwork, and then headed to the dining room above.

The noon rush had come and gone, but there were still diners scattered about. Harley chose the same table as before. When she was eating alone, having a wall at her back was a safety quirk of hers, and the view from that area was spectacular. She was scanning the menu when her waitress appeared and took her drink order. By the time the girl returned, Harley had made up her mind.

“I’d like a chicken Caesar salad, some savory herb bread, and a refill of this tea when you bring my food.”

“The herb bread is complimentary,” the waitress said. “A fresh batch is just coming out of the oven.”

“Fabulous,” Harley said. As the waitress walked away, Harley caught a glimpse of her reflection and rolled her eyes. “Damn hair,” she muttered, and finger-combed the unruly curls.

A couple of minutes later her bread arrived hot from the oven and with a ramekin of butter. Her first bite was as good as she remembered. Food for the gods, she thought, and was on her second hunk of bread and butter when her salad was delivered.

“Enjoy,” the waitress said as she refilled the tea in Harley’s glass and then hurried away.

Harley read through her emails as she ate, responded to two different requests for her services, informing them she was unavailable at this time. She had an email from her mother, informing her that she was at the villa and that Harley’s father was en route to Houston, and a strange email from Wilhem Crossley, asking her to check in with him. He needed to know if she was okay.

She paused, frowning as she reread the message and sent a one-word response.

YES.

But the actual wording of it bothered her. She’d never had a client follow up like this, and it made her wonder why. The only loose end to that whole case had been never finding out who’d been running that scam, but she’d considered that a job for the police and never gave it a second thought. Until now.

She’d already decided to call him when she got back to her room, and finished her lunch. She was waiting for the waitress to bring her the check, and when she arrived, she gave Harley a small box as well.

“From Chef Pope. For your sweet tooth,” she said.

Instant delight shifted her concern about the strange message.

Harley smiled. “Me and my sweet tooth thank him,” she said as she signed the check to her room.

The waitress giggled. “I’ll tell him.”

Harley tried to guess what was in the box all the way back to her room, but whatever it was, she smelled cinnamon, and the bottom of the box felt warm. Two men were in the elevator when she got on, and out of habit, she moved to the back of the car so she could keep an eye on them. Once she exited the elevator, she kept glancing over her shoulder to make sure she was still alone, and by the time she got back to her room, her heart was pounding.

She was beginning to be concerned. There were too many unanswered questions going on at once. The unknown boss behind the trafficking ring. The mystery she was trying to solve for Ray Caldwell, and the mystery of what was in this little box.

As soon as she reached the countertop of the minibar, she opened it, then gasped. A huge, soft, golden-brown cinnamon roll was inside, drizzled with white icing and oozing layers of butter, sugar, and cinnamon from within the rolls. Without hesitation, she tore off a piece with her fingers and popped it in her mouth.

Sex in a box. Right up there with orgasms.

She ate half of it, then made herself stop, saving the rest for later.

She licked the sugar from her fingers and pulled up Crossley’s text, read it again, then called him. The phone rang twice and then Wilhem answered.

“I knew you’d call back,” he said.

“Why?” Harley asked.

“Because my message was a bit cryptic, and you’re nobody’s dummy.”

She took a deep breath. “What’s happened?”

“Maury Paget, the accountant who agreed to testify, is dead. They found him in his jail cell. He’d been strangled. The federal agent who was in charge of the case is dead. He was stuck in traffic when someone on a motorcycle rode past his car window and shot him in the head. And last night, the warehouse where it all happened burned to the ground.”

Harley was in shock. She didn’t realize she was holding her breath until she felt the room begin to spin.

“Oh my God.”

“If you’re home, find a place to disappear. It’s common knowledge that you’re the one who found out what was happening. I don’t think you’re safe. If you’re on a job somewhere else, be careful. Don’t take calls from numbers you don’t know. They may already be trying to find you.”

“Thanks for the heads-up. Right now, I’m in a secure location… I think. Do you have any idea who’s behind this?”

Wilhem sighed. “My guess is that it’s likely the one who got away…the one we couldn’t identify. Just be careful.”

The line went dead.

Harley dropped the phone and covered her face. She didn’t know what to do. Stay here and possibly put other people in danger, or make a run for it and then look over her shoulder for the rest of her life—however long that might be.

This was a waking nightmare. She needed to talk to someone, but not Ray Caldwell. All this would do was stress him further. And if she left, whoever was killing off the people responsible for bringing down the gang wouldn’t hesitate to kill someone here just for information as to where she’d gone.

She thought of Brendan. Ray told her to go to him for help. She knew Brendan’s brothers were with the police, but was a town this size equipped for a hit man?

She sent him a text.

Something has come up, and I need to pick your brain. I promise I won’t make this a habit, but I need some serious advice. Do you have time to stop by again after you get off work?

***

The waitress had just delivered Harley’s message to Brendan, thanking him for the dessert, and he was smiling and remembering the urge he’d had to bury his fingers in all those black curls and kiss her senseless as he was leaving her room last night. He still didn’t know where all this was going, but he wasn’t afraid to find out.

Then his phone signaled a text. It was from Harley. He was expecting another thank-you, but it was something else, and even as he was reading it, the hair crawled on the back of his neck. Every instinct he had was telling him this was serious.

See you around 6:00 p.m. if I’m not delayed.