“Caleb, are you sure he didn’t know you were lying? Really sure?”
“I was good, Oliver, you would’ve been proud of me. He gave me his card. Said to call if I had any other information. He offered to pay five figures.” Caleb paused. “And I found out her real name is Annabelle Conroy.”
“Don’t tell that to anyone!”
“What do you want me to do now?”
“Nothing. Do not contact Bagger. I’ll give you a call later.”
Stone clicked off and then phoned Reuben in Atlantic City, relaying what Caleb had told him. “Well, your information was correct, Reuben, Bagger is in D.C.”
“Hopefully this Angie gal will be even more informative tonight. By the way, where are you, Oliver?”
“I’m on my way to Maine.”
“Maine? Is that where she is?”
“Yes.”
“Why Maine?”
“Let’s just say our friend has some unfinished business up there.”
“Having to do with this Bagger dude?”
“Yes.”
Stone put his phone down and continued driving. Caleb’s car, though old and rotting, had performed well enough, though on no occasion had he been able to coax it past sixty. Hours later, the night well established, Stone crossed from New Hampshire into Maine. Checking his map, he exited off the interstate and headed east, toward the Atlantic Ocean. Twenty minutes later he slowed and drove through the downtown area of the place Annabelle was staying. It was quaint and filled with shops offering everything from touristy items to nautical gear, as many coastal New England towns did. This was the off-season though, and most of the visitors were long gone, having no desire to expose themselves to the coming Maine winter.
Stone found the B amp;B where Annabelle was staying, parked in the small lot, grabbed his duffel bag and went in.
She was waiting in the parlor for him, standing in front of the fire that flickered pleasantly behind her. The floors and doors here creaked; the smell was of a recently served dinner mixed with the aroma of centuries-old wood and the heavy bite of the ocean’s salt air.
“I got the owner to save us some supper,” Annabelle said. They ate in the small dining room, and a hungry Stone wolfed down the chowder, thick buttered bread and crispy cod while Annabelle merely picked at hers.
Finished, he said, “Where can we talk?”
“I got you a room next to mine.”
“Um, I’m a bit short of funds right now.”
“Oliver, don’t even go there. Come on.”
She got a carafe of coffee and two cups from the kitchen and led him upstairs, first to his room to drop off his small bag and then to hers, which had a tiny sitting room off the bedroom. There was also a fire crackling in the fireplace. They sat and drank the hot coffee.
Annabelle reached in her bag, pulled out an ID, a credit card and a wad of cash and tossed them to Stone. The ID had his picture on it and other pertinent information making him a citizen of the District of Columbia.
“Quick job from a guy I found. I used a picture of you I had with me. The credit card’s legit.”
“Thank you. But why’d you do it?”
“Again, don’t go there.”
Annabelle just stared into the flames while Stone studied her, debating whether to tell her or not.
“Annabelle, put your cup down.”
“What?”
“I have something to tell you and I don’t want you to spill hot coffee.”
A rare look of fear crossed her features as she slowly put down the cup. “Reuben? Milton? Dammit, I told you not to send them to Atlantic City!”
“They’re fine. This has to do with Caleb and he’s fine too. But he had an unexpected visitor today at the library.”
Annabelle seemed to stare right through him as she said, “Jerry?”
Stone nodded. “Caleb apparently played his part well. Bagger offered a lot of money for information on you.”
“How did he know to come to the library?”
“He found out you were married to DeHaven. It was a public record and these days that information is easily available on the Internet if you know where to look.”
Annabelle slumped back against the small sofa. “I should have just followed my damn exit plan. God, I’m so stupid.”
“No, you’re human. You came to pay your respects to a man you were married to and cared for. It’s normal.”
“Not when you’ve ripped off a homicidal nutcase like Jerry Bagger for forty million bucks it’s not. Then it’s just stupid,” she added bitterly.
“Okay, but you didn’t go to your island, your partner screwed up and Bagger is on your tail and he’s narrowed the gap decisively. Those are the facts we have to deal with. You can’t run now, because no matter how well you run, you will leave some sort of trail. And he’s too close to miss it. If you go to your island, all that guarantees is that when Bagger shows up at your door, you’ll be all alone when he kills you.”
“Thanks, Oliver. That really makes me feel better.”
“It should. Because here you have people willing to risk their lives to help you!”
Her expression softened. “I know that. I didn’t mean what it sounded like.”
Stone looked toward the window. “This is quite the sleepy town. It’s hard to believe someone could be murdered here. Where did it happen?”
“Right on the outskirts. I was planning to go there tomorrow morning.”
“Do you want to talk about it tonight?”
“You had a long drive and you must be tired. And, no, I don’t want to talk about it tonight. If I’m going to face this tomorrow I need to get some sleep. Good night.”
Stone watched her bedroom door close, then he rose and headed to his room, unsure of what the morning would bring.
CHAPTER 30
REUBEN DROPPED over a hundred bucks for drinks and dinner with Angie, but he figured it was a good return on his investment for he learned some interesting things. The two guys who’d ended up in the hospital and the one who’d disappeared completely had evidently displeased their boss, Jerry Bagger. How, Angie was not quite sure, but it seemed to come down to money. Unfortunately, Angie didn’t know why Bagger had gone to Washington, only that it had happened all of a sudden.
I bet, thought Reuben.
Over her third “Dark and Stormy,” a rum and ginger beer concoction that Reuben tried a sip of and almost retched as a result, Angie said, “Funny stuff going on around here lately. Got a buddy in finance for the casino. He told me he was under strict instructions to do everything he could to delay a routine Control Commission inspection of the casino’s books.”
“This Bagger guy in money trouble?”
She shook her head. “Don’t see how. The Pompeii Casino is like the Bureau of Engraving and Printing. It’s a gold mine, and Mr. Bagger is the smartest operator in town. Tough with a nickel, and he knows how to make a buck.”
“Something must have happened, then,” Reuben said. “Maybe the guys who got hurt and the one who disappeared screwed up somehow with some of the casino’s cash. Maybe they were ripping him off, and Bagger found out and brought the hammer down.”
“Mr. Bagger ain’t dumb. You don’t break knees anymore; you just sic the cops or lawyers on cheaters. So this must’ve been something really big, and he took it personally.”
“Cops looking into it?”
She looked incredulous. “Mr. Bagger knows what palms to grease. And do you know how much tax revenue the Pompeii generates for New Jersey?”
Reuben nodded thoughtfully. “He probably paid off the pair in the hospital. And the other guy’s not gonna be squealing to the police.”
“Dead men don’t talk, you’re right.” Angie had scooted closer to Reuben in the booth they were sharing. She patted his thigh with her hand and then kept it there. “So enough shop talk, tell me about yourself. Did you use to play pro football? You look big enough.” She squeezed his leg and leaned into him.