Head in a Haymow Page 10

  “Who's the other person, as if I don't know?” His sneer was corrosive in its bitterness.

  “Herb liked to frequent the Den. So what?” Bernice acknowledged quietly.

  “To gamble?” was the obvious question.

  “I have no idea,” was the predictable answer but she continued undaunted. “Roger says Herb was throwing money around at the bar and told people a friend gave him investment advice that had finally paid off.”

  Agent Wyatt made no attempt to hide his doubt in her theory. “And you're somehow convinced that this woman was that friend?”

  Bernice held her ground. “What Bernardo described to me over the phone was a first class manipulator. She knew how to glean what she wanted from men. And I know what you're going to say.” She held up her hand to halt his obvious rebuttal. “But I think Herb recognized her game and called her on it. So rather than lose her advantage, she picked him up as a partner.”

  “To what end?” Agent Wyatt shook his head, still not convinced.

  “To get him to provide seed money for her investment. She convinces him that they're two of a kind. He gives her money to invest. She lets him have just enough back to keep him on the hook then she gets rid of him and takes off with the money.”

  “So you think she left town? If that's the case, why are we here?” He pulled into the immaculately landscaped parking lot and turned off the engine. The stone and cabin facade of the low sprawling building reeked of too much money and not a lot of imagination.

  Bernice looked around her with a knowing smile. “To test my theory.” She turned to Agent Wyatt and made a simple request. “Lose the jacket and tie and follow me.”

  He got out of the car but stood his ground. “Why should I?”

  Bernice rolled her eyes and pulled out her phone to observe the time. “We've still got a few hours to kill before the truck is ready, and it's a Saturday. We've both had a bad week and could use some pampering.”

  Agent Wyatt simply folded his arms in protest.

  Bernice continued in her attempt to reason with him. “Look, if I'm wrong, you get to give me shit for it and get a massage out of the deal. But if I'm right, then you get closer to solving your case and going home.” She pointed at his regulation armor. “But I guarantee, you walk in there as a cop then we get nothing.”

  Agent Waytt's mood was not improving. He pulled the tie free, grumbling, “Fine.” As he pulled the jacket off and rolled up his sleeves, he stipulated, “But you're paying for this.”

  Bernice was digging in her purse. “It'll be my pleasure,” she remarked. She looked down at herself and frowned. “You got any more clothes in here?”

  “There's my gym bag in the trunk,” he responded and hit the button on his key ring.

  Bernice opened the trunk and gasped. Next to his gym bag was a big black hard case. She could only guess at the arsenal inside. She ignored it and dug through the bag, producing a sweatshirt. “This'll do,” she said and proceeded to pull it over her head. Immediately she was accosted by his scent but deliberately ignored it.

  She rolled up her cargo pants into capris and pulled her pony-tailed hair through Agent Wyatt's baseball cap. She finished the ensemble off with a pair of sunglasses to hide her unmade face and threw on some lipstick for good measure.

  Agent Wyatt watched the transformation with mild amusement. “What's with the get-up?” he asked.

  Instead of answering his question, Bernice pulled out her cell phone and a credit card. She left her beat up purse in the car. “You walk in front of me and hold open the door but let me do the talking,” she ordered.

  He crossed his arms again.

  Bernice put her hands on her hips and begrudgingly added, “You want to see the former reporter in action or not?”

  This produced a rather dangerous smirk, but he relented and went ahead of her up the sidewalk.

  Out of the blue on their way in Bernice asked, “Quick, what's your first name?”

  Agent Wyatt stopped dead in his tracks and turned to her with his trademark inscrutable expression.

  She shrugged innocently. “It'd just be nice to know. That's all.”

  He ground his teeth for a moment as he regarded her then turned and continued forward, stating evenly, “My first name is Evan.”

  “Evan,” Bernice repeated. “Evan, Evan, Evan. Got it,” she announced and pulled out her cell phone.

  Agent Wyatt opened the glass entrance door and held it for Bernice. She walked in, marched right past him like he wasn't there and proceeded to yell at some imaginary victim on her cell phone.

  “Listen here, Pedro, if I wanted a huge pile of excrement on my front lawn, I'd let a herd of cows trample through my bushes. And frankly with your pruning skills, that would be an improvement. So you better find a place to hide that shit before we get back, or you can look for another job. Comprende?”

  She clicked off the phone and looked absolutely furious when she approached the unwitting receptionist at the front desk. The young woman was half her age and gorgeous. She looked quite intimidated by Bernice's formidable demeanor.

  Bernice quick-changed her expression from angry to patronizing, smiling like she owned the place. “Hello there. Can you help us?”

  After a small gulp the young woman managed, “Certainly, Ma'am.”

  “My husband is a heart surgeon for the University of Minnesota. He easily performs dozens of angioplasties and bypasses every week. Well, I finally got him to come up to the lake, and he just can't seem to relax.”

  She turned to a completely baffled Agent Wyatt and clicked her tongue. “Just look at him,” she sighed with pity. Returning her attention to the receptionist, she continued, “So I was at the club yesterday on the back nine with Eunice Conner, Judge Conner's wife...”

  Agent Wyatt's eyes grew slightly wider at the outrageous lie, but he kept his silence.

  “And she told me how this place just did wonders for her Bert. And I'm hoping you can do the same for my Evan.” At that point in the performance Bernice leaned in and spoke with authority. “She told me I must have Jessica work on him because Bert says that she's the best.”

  The receptionist gaped at Bernice for a moment. She recovered quickly, mumbling, “You know, I think you should talk to my supervisor,” and ran off.

  Agent Wyatt wryly commented behind her. “Jesus, talk about a first class manipulator.”

  Bernice glanced over her shoulder and whispered, “Why, thank you.”

  The supervisor rushed up to the receptionist desk looking rather disconcerted. “I'm so very sorry to keep you waiting, Ms.-?”

  “Hordstrom, Mrs. Dr. Evan Hordstrom. My name is Bernice, but you can call me Bunny.” Bernice smiled at the woman, tolerantly waiting to be accommodated.

  The supervisor, dressed to the nines and looking like she just walked off a runway, smiled tolerantly back. “I would love to grant your request for Ms. Breck to work with your husband,” she apologized. “Unfortunately, she has not been employed in our center for some time.”

  “Well!” Bernice huffed indignantly, swirling around to confront Agent Wyatt. “Did Bert mention this to you?”

  Agent Wyatt did his part to act completely clueless and shrugged.

  Bernice whipped back around, tisking to herself rapidly and shaking her head, moaning, “This is extremely disappointing. My Evan simply must have the best. We were told to ask for Jessica, and she's not here.” Bernice looked up with determination. “You will tell me where she works now, and we will seek her out there.”

  The careful change between accommodation and disapproval was so slight it was almost undetectable. However, the supervisor's tone did sharpen. “As I understand it, Ms. Breck relocated to Florida.”

  Bernice leveled a counter glare of disapproval and remarked, “How unfortunate for my Evan.”

  The supervisor smiled tightly. “It might comfort you to know that all of Jessica's former clients are now being catered to by our lovely Stacy.” The supervisor looked
past Bernice and sent a knowing indulgent smirk to Agent Wyatt. “Perhaps you can bring yourself to settle for her instead.”

  Bernice twisted around and asked Agent Wyatt rather caustically, “Well, will she do?”

  Again, Agent Wyatt raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

  Bernice rolled her eyes and pulled out her credit card. “He simply must have this done. I cannot enjoy my vacation knowing how tense he is.” She slid the card across the counter with dramatic resignation and added, “And I suppose as long as I am here, you can find someone to work with me as well.”

  It had been a long time since a man made her feel that good.

  Her Finish masseuse, Guntar, worked her over like a stubborn flank steak. He tenderized her muscles to the point where her whole body melted into a comfortable mass of goo.

  Bernice saved her baiting about Jessica for her facial, where she was less worried about bodily harm. “So who is this Jessica I keep hearing so much about?” Bernice inquired with the air of a hungry gossip.

  Byron, her effeminate attendant looked ripe for the plucking. He was older but was very cognizant of his appearance and gave Guntar a knowing smirk when he escorted the wobbly Bernice to his waiting chair. Bernice looked back at the extremely healthy masseuse as he made his departure and turned to Byron, whispering, “Good for you.”

  Byron's smirk expanded to a full blown smile. “Yes, he is,” he demurred. And so their shallow friendship was forged on that acknowledgment. Bernice knew she picked the best candidate for dishing dirt even old dirt.

  Byron exclaimed as much as he rolled his eyes and began to work the tingly astringent into her face. “Oh, that poisonous little number's been gone and forgotten, dear.”

  “Bunny,” Bernice corrected with a simpering smile.

  Byron smiled back. “What a sweet name.”

  “Thank you. But I must tell you, I've heard from just gads of people at the club that she was fabulous. Why are you not agreeing with them?” She posed the question with complete innocence.

  Byron made a face like he had just eaten cat shit and harrumphed in obvious disgust. “Well, if you heard it from the club, it must have been from the men. Bend over please, Bunny.” He gestured to the nearby sink and proceeded to rinse her face. It caused the tingling, slowly turning to burning to subside into a refreshing baptism.

  As she sat back up, she spied the bowl he was mixing with efficient expediency. It looked like a yogurt parfait. He worked it with a bristled brush and applied the brush to her face, bitterly adding, “Around here, we called her the collector.”

  Bernice's eyes glowed with anticipation. “Really?” she gushed. “How intriguing.”

  Byron twisted the brush in small rotations over her face as he dished some more. “She would only wait on the men, telling my poor Guntar he needed to practice on the woman, since he wasn't touching their bodies anywhere else.” Byron ground a little too deep with his brush causing Bernice to wince. He noticed and let up a little. “Then she would flounce around here like some vile diva, showing off her huge tips and throwing it in all our faces.” He pointed to the sink again, and Bernice dutifully obliged.

  When she sat back up, he applied a fragrant white cream. “So, really, she was just a stupid floozy?” Bernice watched Byron carefully.

  He made a fussy face and admitted, “I wouldn't call her stupid. She knew what she was doing. She was getting more than tips from these men. Close your eyes for me please,” he ordered softly.

  “I hope you don't mean sex.” Bernice let her eyes fall back as the soft cream was soothingly worked into her crow's feet.

  This produced a chuckle from Byron. “Your guess is as good as mine on that one, Bunny. She's not my type. I was referring to information.”

  Bernice opened her eyes and gave a mischievous grin. “You mean for blackmail?”

  Byron released a high pitched hum, teasing, “Maybe, but what I heard was she was getting investment advice. Inside stuff, you know? Which fund to buy and which to sell; asking for specifics and giving her undivided attention in exchange.” He sat back and admired his work, remarking, “Beautiful Bunny.”

  Bernice glanced at the mirror over the sink and smiled with genuine pride. She did look pretty damn good if she did say so herself. She returned to the subject. “Well, it doesn't make sense then. If she was making so much from her clients here, why did she leave?”

  “No idea,” he answered simply as he tisked and ran a brush briskly through her neglected hair. “She just called us up one day and quit.”

  Bernice stopped Byron's brushing with her hand and questioned, “She didn't come in and pick up her last check?”

  Byron raised his eyebrows in agreement. “I know, right? She did leave some God awful post office box for somewhere down south, if I remember right.” He ran his fingers along Bernice's scalp and fluffed her hair, adding, “That slut Stacy does all her clients now.” He let out a rather raunchy chuckle and concluded, “Talk about happy endings.”

  Bernice sat up at that point, raising her eyebrows in alarm. “You don't mean-”

  “Oh, Bunny!” came the deep sarcastic voice.

  Bernice and Byron both turned their heads to find Agent Wyatt. There he stood, holding a terry cloth towel around his naked waist with one hand and balling his clothes tightly in the fist of his other hand. Behind him stood yet another beautiful woman, looking equally put out.

  “Were leaving right now,” He said with authority and walked away.

  Byron rubbernecked his departure with noises that sounded like he was watching the dessert cart being taken away. He assessed Bernice with a knowing leer. “With a man like that at home I'd be going at it like a bunny too.”

  “Honestly, I thought that all Jessica did for her clients was stroke their egos.” She let the loaded statement hang in the air and mingle with the thick tense cloud of hostility. There was plenty of room for it. Once again, Bernice shoved her body as close to the passenger door as her seat belt would allow.

  Agent Wyatt sternly narrowed his line of vision to the four inches over his steering wheel and refused to acknowledge anything else in the car including Bernice.

  She wasn't going to be ignored. “For what it's worth, I think we learned quite a bit about her.”

  He gripped the steering wheel more tightly.

  She swallowed but continued. “I mean, we have her full name, Jessica Breck, and we know her last known address was a post office box in Florida somewhere and that she left work suddenly. I'm guessing it was around the same time Herb disappeared.”

  He careened the car into the driveway of the repair shop. Bernice grabbed the dash and stomped on the imaginary brake at her feet but made no comment about his driving.

  Instead she broached, “If we can pinpoint Jessica's departure with Herb's disappearance, I'd say she would be a good candidate as a suspect.”

  Agent Wyatt sped down the driveway, leaving choking amounts of dust in his wake.

  Bernice continued quicker, knowing she was running out of time. “But it still doesn't explain why Herb's body surfaced now. If she murdered him before she left, I mean.”

  He stomped on the brakes, grinding gravel under his tires and forcing the car to lurch forward hard. He unhooked his seat belt and crisply commanded at the dash, “Get out.”

  Bernice nodded mutely to her lap, grabbed her purse and exited the car. She walked to the garage. He walked to the office.

  She cringed when she heard the door slam.

  Bernardo and Mark were waiting for her at the entrance to the garage. Her truck was parked off to the side.

  She smiled politely and opened her purse. “How much?” she asked with as much patience as she could muster.

  “Um, your invoice is inside.” Bernardo looked past her shoulder at the office.

  Bernice turned slightly and glanced with her peripheral vision. “But you know how much it is, right?”

  Mark spoke up. “Two-ten,” he said clearly.

  Bernic
e smiled at Mark. Even without his Dad around, she could see he was turning into a responsible man. Maybe that's because his dad wasn't around.

  She pulled out her farmer's wallet from her purse and counted out the sum in tens and twenties. She handed the money directly to Mark, commenting, “Worth every penny.”

  He accepted the money rather shyly. Bernice heard a familiar slam behind her and didn't bother turning. The two men with her observed Agent Wyatt march to his car, watching her the whole way. He paused slightly as he opened the door. Then he scowled and climbed in.

  Mark took the money into the office, and Bernardo returned his attention to Bernice. He assessed her with a mixture of appreciation and curiosity.

  “Hey, you look a damn sight better than when I saw you this morning.”

  Bernice shrugged. “Thanks. I treated myself to an afternoon at the spa.”

  Bernardo whistled and made a “la-tee-daa” face. “That where you got the sweatshirt?” he continued.

  Bernice's stomach dropped. She looked down and realized he was right, but it was too late.

  She turned to the driveway only to watch the twisting wisps of dust start to settle in the aftermath of Agent Wyatt.

  “Well, shit.”

  Chapter 10

  “Oh Helen, not today.”

  The diminutive goat stood like a hoofed King Kong, claiming her dominance by standing with majesty on the top of the chicken coop. Bernice usually admired her irreverent spirit. Today she had no patience for it.

  “Well, piss on ya then!” she yelled and stalked off, leaving the goat to bleat victoriously from her lofty perch. The newly penned in chickens cackled in righteous indignation at the noisy stomping that was taking place on their home.

  Bernice herded the rest of the Nigerian dwarf goats into their barn. She grabbed the galvanized bucket of feed and stood at the entrance, banging it with a discarded piece of re-rod.