Undercover Operation, page 7
She’d also heard that he hadn’t talked to his dad while he’d been at the home or afterward.
“Your father has dementia, right?” she asked. “I’m really sorry. My grandmother had dementia before she died, and there was something so incredibly exhausting about talking to her sometimes. She’d get so confused and I didn’t know what to say. But I imagine it’s different when you’re estranged.”
“My dad and I used to be really close when I was a kid,” Asher said. “Or at least I thought we were. We did everything together. I was his little shadow. He used to take me on sales calls.”
“What happened?” she asked.
“The official story is that he first cheated on my mom with a client of his when I was ten,” Asher said. “Then after they divorced, he met Mara’s mom, married her and they started a family together. That’s what Mara, my mother and her mother believe.”
“But you don’t?” Peyton asked.
“I don’t know what to believe,” Asher said. “It all happened so suddenly, and my father always had a lot of female clients who he was really friendly with. Personally, I think that my father had multiple affairs. I also suspect that he and Mara’s mother got involved before the divorce because of how quickly they got married. But I don’t know for sure. My dad never wanted to talk about the past. And now that his memory is gone there’s no way I’ll ever know the truth.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t imagine how hard that must be.”
It was the longest she’d ever heard Asher open up about himself and his life. Maybe the most anyone had recently. But while there was still much she wanted to ask him, a dark cloud had moved over his eyes and somehow she knew he wasn’t ready. So she just sat there, carefully working free the remaining bobby pins that fastened her braided hair to her head and listening to the sound of the rain falling, the fire crackling and Spark’s wheezing breath. And for a long moment neither of them said anything.
Asher glanced at his phone.
“Anyway, we’ve got half an hour before our meeting with Donovan,” he said. “He just messaged me to fill me in pretty much on everything he told you, about having the four candidates on board to help us do some of the legwork on this case. We’ve definitely got a lot to fill him in on. I just hate to think we might’ve spent months spinning our wheels getting nowhere.”
A knock sounded at the door. She leaped to her feet, tossed a throw pillow over her wig and then ran to the bathroom where she grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her head, careful to hide every wisp of red. When she came back Asher and Spark were on their feet. Asher pulled his weapon from his ankle holster.
“Check and see who it is,” he said. “I’ll cover you.”
She walked to the door and looked out of the peephole to see Ember’s cheerful face. She was standing at one end of what looked like a food service cart.
“It’s Ember,” Peyton said, “the housekeeper.”
Asher tucked his weapon back into his ankle holster, pulled the cuff of his jeans down over it and then nodded to her. Peyton open the door.
“Ember,” Peyton said. “It’s nice to see you again.”
“Mr. Skerritt wanted to send up a little something from the kitchen for your troubles,” Ember said.
She wheeled the serving cart into the room, along with a thin young man around her age dressed in a crisp vest, white shirt and bow tie. His name tag read Laurence. Both of them wore plastic serving gloves. The cart was overflowing with platters and dome-covered serving dishes, but it wasn’t until they started unloading the food onto the table in the living room suite that Peyton realized it was all for them. There were platters of fruit, veggie sticks, cold cuts and cheeses. There were baskets of bread and trays of pastries, cookies and cakes. Then they brought out two full steak and lobster meals, with all the fixings, and finally Laurence laid a bowl of what looked like homemade stew down on the floor in front of Spark.
Spark’s ears rose to attention. He sniffed Laurence and for a moment Peyton thought he was about to signal. Then the dog shook his head, like he had water in his ears. Maybe somebody involved in the creation of the food had the scent of drugs on them or Laurence had but he’d showered it off. Either way, Spark sat and thumped his tail.
“The chef made it up special for him,” Ember said. “We didn’t have any dog food in the kitchen. So he made it from scratch. He says it’s mostly beef with a bit of lamb and salmon mixed in, as well as sweet potato and carrots because his own dog is a fan of them.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Asher said in a softer version of his Dan-voice. “Definitely much better than the stuff he’s used to having. Thank the chef for us.”
Asher tipped them both. Peyton thanked them profusely, fighting the urge to hug Ember. Asher locked the door behind them and watched through the peephole. Then he whistled.
“Well, this is a lot,” he said. “Not that I’m complaining. I wonder if they’re worried that we called the police.”
Spark sat patiently by his bowl and waited for Asher to give him the go-ahead to eat. Asher signaled that he could, and the dog chowed down happily.
“Spark definitely seemed suspicious of Laurence but didn’t sense anything strong enough to signal,” Peyton said.
“Yeah, I noticed that too,” Asher said.
“As you know, some drugs can leave scents for days,” she added, “like marijuana. Cocaine and methamphetamines are a lot easier to wash off. There might be an innocent explanation for Spark’s suspicion.”
“Or maybe not.” Asher walked over to the table, picked up a frosted-glass bottle of mountain spring water and unscrewed the top. There was a metallic click as the seal broke. Suddenly a memory shot through Peyton’s mind.
She’d overheard Ridges mention water bottles.
“Did you ever read that story about the Mexican smugglers who tried to hide knockoff painkillers inside glass pop bottles?” she asked.
Asher nodded.
“Cola and lime,” he said. “Thought it would trick the drug-sniffing dogs at the border. Only border security insisted they open one and it all fizzed out like a soda geyser. I read about it when I was preparing to be partnered with Spark.”
“Back in the alley behind Gunther’s Scuba Shop,” she said, “it sounded like Vaughan was furious at Ridges for losing drugs in some cave that were packed in water bottles. Ridges specifically said that water bottles float, so I’m guessing they’re plastic not glass. What if whoever stole Chief, Agent and Ranger is trying to cross-train them to find those missing water bottles? The truck receipt clue which led us to Rock River was found in a cave in North Cascades National Park along with drug residue and bloodhound fur. If we can hone in on who might’ve packed these bottles, what happened to the missing ones and where they are now, we might be able to figure out who has our stolen puppies.”
* * *
Ten minutes later, Asher was standing by the table, grabbing himself food and trying to pretend he wasn’t fascinated by the way Peyton was setting up her laptop for the video call. First she’d moved to the middle of the crescent-shaped couch and opened her laptop up on the rustic wood coffee table. Then she’d gathered all the books and notebooks she could from around the suite and piled them up underneath her laptop, raising it higher and lower as she tried to find the exact right height.
He smiled. She’d finally unpinned her two braids and shaken her red hair loose so that it fell in long waves around her shoulders. She’d set each hair clip and pin in a glass ready for tomorrow. He suspected he could walk the floor barefoot in the pitch-black without ever having to worry about stepping on one. Peyton was so conscientious and detailed. He suspected nothing ever got past her. It was a good quality in a person. And a partner.
The call wasn’t scheduled to start for a few minutes yet, but he guessed the message he watched her quickly type and send had been to Jasmin, because as Peyton opened the video chat, Jasmin’s smiling face appeared on the screen. Peyton quickly filled the PNK9’s tech expert in on everything she remembered Ridges and Vaughan saying in the alley and how she thought it might’ve been linked to what happened to the missing dogs.
A light shone in Jasmin’s warm brown eyes.
“I’m on it,” Jasmin said, and the sound of her fingers typing filtered through the laptop speakers.
Asher turned back to the food. Odd that despite the incredible spread in front of him he still kept finding himself distracted by whatever Peyton was doing. The steak was so tender it pulled apart beneath his fingers. He slid a good-sized chunk of it between two pieces of bread from the basket and then added cheese from another platter for good measure. Then he started hunting around for some condiments to finish off his sandwich.
“I think I saw some mustard and another kind of dark-colored dipping sauce on the cold cuts platter,” Peyton called. “And you can fish some lettuce and tomato from the salad.”
He stopped and turned back. Heat rose to the back of his neck. Asher hadn’t even realized that she’d been watching him too.
“Can I grab you anything?” he asked.
“Could you bring the veggie and cheese platters over?” she asked.
“You got it.”
He balanced his makeshift sandwich on the corner of the veggie platter and carried them both over. Spark glanced their way from his usual post in front of the fireplace as if debating whether to join them, then stretched out slowly on the rug.
The laptop blooped and then Owen’s face appeared on the screen. Tall, blond and having already made a name for himself on the force in Seattle, Owen, one of the four candidates, had the kind of clean-cut look that Asher expected to see beside the word “cop” in a kid’s picture book.
Asher shuddered to think what someone would caption his own grumpy mug. Especially after the conversation he’d just been having with Peyton had reminded him of just how sour his mood had been the past few months.
“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Asher!” Owen said. He grinned. “Wow, looks like they’re feeding you well in the field!”
He chuckled. But Peyton’s smile tightened as if something about Owen’s comment had rubbed her the wrong way. Asher set the food on the table behind Peyton’s laptop and then sat down beside her on the couch.
He leaned toward her. “You okay?” he asked, softly.
She nodded, sat up taller and straightened her spine.
Nah, she wasn’t okay. But he didn’t have time to ask her about it now.
The computer sounded two more times in quick succession as first Donovan then PNK9 Officer Tanner Ford joined the call. Tanner wasn’t the easiest guy to get to know—which Asher realized was pretty ironic coming from him—but he was tough, fearless and as solid as rock. By the look of things, Tanner was at home on his couch. His eyes seemed tired but focused, and his K-9 tracking boxer, Britta, lay beside him with her tan head on his knee. The final one to join was another one of the candidates, Veronica, who was also Jasmin’s younger sister.
Donovan called the meeting to order and explained that Jackson, his K-9 partner and Parker were working on the investigation, and that Brandie, the other candidate, was doing some work for Jasmin. Then he gave a brief recap of everything that had happened in the case so far, including the fact Jackson and Parker hadn’t found anything in their search of the suite.
“The fact a housekeeper says there have been ongoing thefts at the lodge for who knows how long and this is the first we’re hearing of it really bugs me,” Asher said. “It’s possible that it means nothing and has absolutely nothing to do with Stacey’s and Jonas’s murders. It sounds like the other thefts were pretty minor and maybe the lodge talked the victims into sweeping it under the rug. But, it’s a loose thread we’re just discovering now and I don’t like it.”
Then Peyton filled them in on what she’d overheard Vaughan and Ridges saying about the bottles and their theory about how it might tie in with the dogs.
“I already think I’ve got something,” Jasmin said. “End of May, Memorial Day weekend, a small foreign registered yacht set off Seattle-bound from Victoria, British Columbia. Canadian RCMP had gotten a tip there was a shipment of cocaine on board and the Shiprider Law Enforcement Team went to intercept. They boarded the boat and found nothing. But when they brought in the K-9 unit the dogs barked up a storm around an empty container of water bottles. They found one bottle, tested it and found cocaine residue.”
Asher leaned forward. So did Peyton.
“That was about five months ago,” Asher said. “The timeline works. So, what happened?”
“Well, the guy who’d rented the boat was a young Greek mucky-muck with diplomatic immunity,” Jasmin said. “He claimed it was just a tourist trip he’d taken with his girlfriend, he’d never met the crew and when he caught one of the crew using cocaine he’d fired him on the spot, although law enforcement noted it looked like the unnamed crewman had actually popped off the boat and disappeared when they were docked in Port Angeles. The Greek consulate in Vancouver got involved and intervened. The mucky-muck and his girlfriend flew home. Not much law enforcement can do without evidence. Shiprider never got a proper crew manifest. Nothing there to chase. But theory was, someone had seen them coming and tossed the bottles overboard.”
“Wow,” Asher said. He looked at Peyton. “It fits.”
“It sure does,” she said. “Any idea how much cocaine is missing? The dollar amount?”
Jasmin’s fingers tapped the keyboard.
“I’m only guessing here,” she said. “But there are twenty-four bottles in a case—”
“And one was found empty,” Owen added.
“Right,” Jasmin said. “And I’m guessing at current street value each bottle would hold about fifty-five hundred dollars’ worth of coke. So, fifty-five times twenty-three is a hundred and twenty-six thousand? Give or take a few ten thousand.”
“Vaughan said that Ridges lost over a hundred thousand in merchandise,” Peyton said. “It all fits.”
Silence fell around the group as everyone took in the possible implications.
“Okay, so let’s say someone on board the yacht saw Shiprider coming, thought fast and chucked all the bottles overboard,” Asher said. “Maybe they panicked. Maybe they can’t find them. Either way, now they’re looking for them and have reason to believe they’re somewhere off the coast of Olympic National Park. We cruised all up and down that coast today and the only time Spark alerted was in a cove near Salt Creek, right before we were attacked by the tattooed stranger.”
“Maybe we should go back there tomorrow and give that area a closer look,” Peyton said. “There might be caves.”
“Agreed.”
After some discussion it was decided that Asher and Peyton would rent scuba diving equipment from Gunther’s in the morning and go search the Salt Creek cove. The chief suggested that they make arrangements for Spark to stay with Tanner and Britta during the dive, so that the dog wouldn’t be left alone on The Mixed Blessing while Asher and Peyton were underwater.
“Sounds good,” Asher said. “I don’t exactly like the idea of leaving Spark alone on the boat, considering the last time we were there somebody shot at us.”
“I’ll take him and Britta hiking in Olympic Park,” Tanner said.
“Thanks,” Asher said. “He’ll love that.”
It was agreed Tanner would meet up with them in Rock River the next morning.
“I’ll contact the Shiprider Law Enforcement Team personally to see what more I can find out about the yacht incident,” the chief said. “There might be more than what’s in the file, and I might be able to shake it loose. Owen and Veronica, I’d like you to get a sketch of the tattoo from Peyton and canvass tattoo parlors in Tacoma, Seattle, Port Angeles and the surrounding area to see if anyone recognizes it. Be discreet.”
Was it her imagination or did Owen’s smile dim slightly? She wondered if he was disappointed not to get a flashier assignment and if the fact that four candidates were being considered for only two spots was bringing out a competitive streak.
“Got it,” Owen said.
“Absolutely,” Veronica said.
“Okay,” Donovan said. “Sounds good. Everybody stay safe and we’ll meet up back here tomorrow afternoon to check in.”
Asher and Peyton said their goodbyes, and the call ended.
Peyton closed the laptop, let out a long sigh and walked over to the food table. He could tell at a glance her shoulders were tight.
“Everything okay?” he asked. “You seemed a bit bothered back there when Owen called you Mrs. Asher.”
“I didn’t realize you’d noticed that,” Peyton said. “It’s nothing personal. Believe me. It’s just I worked really, really hard to reach the top of my game and prove myself, professionally. And suddenly it’s like I’ve been demoted to your sidekick. ‘The Mrs.,’ ‘sweetie,’ ‘baby.’ You said it yourself, Vaughan and Ridges won’t see me as a person, just your woman.”
He knew she meant it when she’d told him not to take it personally. But still, something about her words stung in a way he couldn’t explain. He stood.
“Well, just to be clear,” he said. “I don’t think of you that way. You impress me. Incredibly. You’re talented and professional, and I’m incredibly thankful for how you had my back today. As for the fact I called you ‘baby’ or ‘sweetie,’ I’m still trying to figure out how Dan refers to Merry. But I’m sorry if I ever made you feel bad.”
“No, it’s okay,” she said. A smile crossed her face that did nothing to assuage the look of sadness or worry in her eyes. “It’s not you. I promise. I really enjoy working with you.”
She made a plate of food then picked up her laptop and moved to one end of the couch. Peyton picked at her dinner as she sketched the lines of the tattoo on a piece of hotel paper. Then she showed it to Asher for confirmation, and when he nodded took a picture of it and sent it to Owen and Veronica. Then Asher and Peyton sat on opposite ends of the couch and worked on their laptops. After a while, curiosity got the better of him.
