Shadow's Lady (A Pajaro Bay Cozy Mystery + Sweet Romance) (12 page)

"You look okay," she offered.

"Huh?" she replied, wishing she was better at giving people the brush-off.

"He didn't hurt you or anything."

"No! Of course not." Why was she offended? Why did she want to slap this woman for assuming the worst about him?

"Don't get uppity, dear. It was just an idle comment."

Lori picked up a jar of strawberry pie filling and pondered whether the 17.4 ounces in the can would be heavy enough to make a dent if she bopped this annoying woman on the head.

"I mean, you know what they're like," the woman pushed on.

"Actually I have no idea what they're like," Lori said. "I don't spend much time with them."

"Well, of course not, dear." The woman patted her reassuringly on the shoulder. "You're from a good family. But they're everywhere these days, you know."

"How many murderers have you got in this town?" she asked.

"Murderers? I mean his kind"—her voice dropped to a whisper—"You know what they're like."

"What who are like?" Lori said, getting more exasperated by this woman with each moment.

"The Eye-talians. You know, the Mafia and all that. You can't really trust them. They make good pizza, though."

"You've gotta be kidding, right?" Lori said, then saw from the woman's expression that she wasn't. "I think there might be one or two Italians who aren't in the Mafia," she finally responded, as deadpan as possible.

Her sarcasm was lost on Pink Parka "Well, I suppose," she grudgingly acknowledged. "But most of them—"

"—are murderous mafiosos," someone behind Lori said. The women turned around to find a studious-looking, dark-haired man peering over his eyeglasses at them.

"And all the Irish are drunken poets," he added. "I'm Alec O'Keeffe." He grinned at Lori. "And you're our new lighthouse keeper."

"How'd you know?"

"I run the town newspaper. Surely you've read it?
The Bay Sentinel: All the News That Fits in Twelve Pages
. You can't keep a secret from me. I know who's been to prison, who's new in town, who's a bigot...."

"Well!" Pink Parka had finally had enough. She stalked off, muttering.

Alec turned back to Lori. "Easily offended, isn't she?"

"Not easily enough. I've been trying to get away from her for hours—or at least for minutes."

"Really? I'm surprised. You're the spitting image of your great aunt. Don't you know how to wither helpless peons with one glance?"

Lori laughed out loud for the first time in days. "Unfortunately, I learned a long time ago that though I may look like her, all I inherited from Aunt Zee were the baby blue eyes. Without the attitude to go with them, they're not worth much. So I'm grateful you rescued me."

"Not a problem. If I don't offend Mabel Rutherford at least once a week, I'm not doing my job."

She held out her hand to him. "It's nice to meet you, Alec O'Keeffe. I've been reading your book about Pajaro Bay history."

He shook her hand. "So you're the one!"

"I'm Lori York, but you already know that."

"You're the biggest news to hit this sleepy little town since, well, since Matt DiPietro showed up."

"You know about Matt?" she asked, trying to sound casual.

"Yeah." Alec's smile vanished. "We went to school together. A great guy."

Lori must have looked startled, because he added, "I know, I know. He's the devil incarnate to the old biddies of Pajaro Bay. But when we were in third grade he gave me his old bike so we could go racing down that street over there." He pointed out the front of the store. "People are complicated creatures. So," he said with a twinkle in his eye, "You've been out at the lighthouse for a while. Did you see the ghost dog?"

She nodded.

He looked surprised. "Really? The Pajaro Lighthouse ghost and Matt DiPietro in one week. Are you ready to reveal which one was scarier?"

She had to laugh with this jolly guy grinning at her. "No comment. But do you really know everything about everyone in this town?"

Alec peered at her over his glasses. "There's one particular someone you want to know about. Let me show you my morgue...."

•••

"Are you sure we shouldn't take you to a real hospital?" Sam asked him.

Matt fell into the nearest available chair in the clinic waiting room. "I wouldn't recommend having open-heart surgery here, but I'm sure Dr. Lil can pump me full of antibiotics and get me back on my feet."

He stared at the TV in the corner, which was spewing some news program about things happening in Washington or the Middle East or somewhere that seemed very far from Pajaro Bay at the moment.

"You're a mess," Sam said, looking him over.

"Thanks."

"Next time turn on your GPIRB. We could've picked you up in five minutes if you'd signaled your position to us."

"Geez, Sam. I was a little busy trying not to get my head blown off. Besides, it should've gone off automatically when it hit the water. Doesn't matter—I don't plan on getting shot at any more."

"Famous last words. You're lucky that woman was at the lighthouse."

"Yeah, lucky," Matt agreed. Then why did he feel like it would've been better if the sharks had gotten him? Lori. What was he going to do about her?

The TV was now running some commercial for a tooth whitener. He watched it, disinterested.

"Listen up, DiPietro," Sam snarled at him. "We're keeping an eye on you. You don't want to talk, fine. You get in the water again, we'll be on you so fast you won't know what hit you."

Matt looked up, surprised, then saw the nurse heading their way, so he said, "I don't have to explain myself to a cut-rate Marine wannabe like you anyway."

The nurse looked shocked at their little display. Sam hadn't been in the Coast Guard for too long, but Matt had to admit she was pulling off a heck of a performance for an amateur. She had potential at undercover work. He should recommend her to the Project.

"Sit here," the nurse said, offering him a wheelchair. As Matt sank into it with a sigh, he wondered if recommending a young Coastie for undercover work would be doing her a favor.

The nurse wheeled him to a room, and helped him into bed. Sam followed. "You have to fill out some forms," the nurse told him. "Do you want me to call your family?"

He shook his head. They knew better than to come around him right now.

"Okay. I'll be right back," she added with a wary look at Sam.

"I don't think she'll bite me," Matt offered.

The nurse ignored that. "He needs to rest," she pointed out to Sam.

"I'm sure he does," Sam replied, not budging.

The nurse shrugged and left them alone.

"Alone at last." Sam shook her head. "Now where were we?"

Matt started to answer, but stopped when a nightmare in gold chains and polyester appeared in the doorway.

"How could you?" he asked the apparition. "Don't you know it hurts to laugh?"

"Hurt?" the tall, handsome African-American man in the purple-striped polyester shirt responded. "You don't know pain until you've gotten a gold chain stuck in your chest hair. This is a dangerous job."

Sam looked the man over from his day-glo shirt to his heeled boots, then turned to Matt. "You know this... person?"

"Sam, this is my partner, George Asher. George, this is Lieutenant Samantha Rogers, one of the Coast Guard's finest."

Sam shook her head. "I take it you're working undercover?"

"Keeping a low profile," George responded, throwing his orange-and-green striped leather jacket on the nearest chair. "I was working a case in the City when I got a call Matt had fallen overboard."

"I did have a bit of help going overboard," Matt pointed out.

"Yeah, right. Too bad the bullet only grazed you."

"Excuse me?"

"If you'd kept it we could've had it analyzed—might've narrowed down our list of suspects."

"Yeah. Stupid of me not to keep it firmly imbedded in my flesh so you could dig it out of my corpse."

"I'm just saying it would've been helpful."

"I'll try to do better next time. Thanks for the advice."

"No problem. That's what partners are for." George grinned at him, and for the first time Matt relaxed. His partner could watch his back for a little while.

"I had a hard time finding you," George said. "I thought this town's hospital was in back of the feed store."

"No," Sam corrected. "The dance studio's in back of the feed store. The health clinic's in the building with the auto repair shop."

"So what are they doing to you?" George asked him. "Changing your oil? Not that I care how badly hurt you are, but if you die I'll have to break it to your family."

"If I die, promise me you'll change clothes before you break the news to them."

"What's wrong with my clothes?"

"You look like an extra from Rent-A-Pimp."

"The chicks love this outfit."

"They do?" Sam asked. "The chicks on what planet?"

Just then the nurse came in. She looked George over like she wanted to spray him with disinfectant, then scurried back out again.

"See? I'm irresistible." He sat down and his expression changed. "Now enough small talk. Fill us in."

Matt described the last few days, from his early morning scouting mission to the Coast Guard's arrival on the island. George gave him a quick glance, and Matt took the hint to tell the official story they'd worked out for the local Coasties.

"So you have no idea who shot you?" George prompted.

"Nope. I had spotted the drop point—have you ever seen one, Sam?"

She shook her head. "They drop pesticide in the water to mark where the drugs are, and it glows, right?"

"Exactly. When the pesticide hits the water, it not only releases the cyanide that's been killing the seals, it also phosphoresces—glows in the dark—"

"—Like George's shirt?" she interjected.

"Yeah. Except better looking. Anyway, I'd spotted a drop point, after only ten nights of wandering around the bay in the dark searching for one, and I was trying to get close enough to see if a boat was there to pick up the drugs, and then somebody shot me."

"And you didn't see the boat?" George asked.

"Nope. The mist was too thick. They must've had infrared to shoot me like that."

"So we're back where we started," George said.

"Yeah. Basically. Except now I've scared 'em. They know somebody was out there. So I'm gonna make sure they know it was me."

"The infamous Shadow," Sam offered.

"Yup. I'll put the word out that I want to get a piece of the action—help them expand their distribution network. That might bring them to me."

"Yeah," Sam said. "Or it might make them kill you to eliminate the competition."

Matt shrugged. Then he said, "Lori can't go back to the island."

"Yeah, what about her?" George said. "What's her part in this? You thought she might be involved last time I talked to you."

"She's not."

"But the dead sea mammals?" Sam asked. "You said they started washing ashore right after she arrived."

"Right. The seals," Matt said.

"Of course!" George said, when Matt didn't continue. "Why didn't we think of this before?"

"You wanna share your brilliance with the rest of the class?" Matt asked.

"Think about the progression of events. We've had an influx of imported meth in Central California since last fall, coming from somewhere other than our usual Mexican border crossings. The Pajaro Lighthouse was unoccupied for months, then Lori shows up, then the seals and dolphins start washing ashore, which helps us zero in on Pajaro Bay...."

"She flushed 'em out," Sam said.

"Exactly. They must've been using the island as a contact point. She's only involved because she forced them off the island, out into the sea. They had to find another method of passing the drugs from the offshore carrier to the panga boat that's bringing them in to Pajaro Bay. Instead of using the island as a drop-off point, they have to use the ocean itself."

"A tidy little package," Matt said.

"But how can you be sure she's not part of it?" Sam asked.

"I'm sure. She's got her own reasons for being here."

"And she hauled you back to the lighthouse," Sam pointed out. "And then she called the Coast Guard to come get you. Not the actions of a co-conspirator. Besides," she added, "she's the spitting image of Zelda Potter."

"Who's Zelda Potter?" George asked.

Sam put her hand to her chest and faked a swoon. "How could you not know Zelda Potter? She was an actress in a bunch of B-movies. A petite, sharp-tongued platinum blonde—sort of a low-budget Bette Davis. My boyfriend and I have seen every Zelda retrospective on the classic movie channel. She always played the poor-but-honorable girl who brought down the gangsters. Ms. York is her great-niece, and she looks just like her. It makes it hard to picture Ms. York on the side of evil."

"No," Matt said. "She could never be on the side of evil. She's different. There's something special about her...." He drifted off, unable to describe how he felt.

Sam and George looked at each other.

"What?" Matt asked.

"Nothing," they both said. They grinned at each other.

"I gotta go," Sam said. "If you think you can handle him?" That was to George. Another look passed between them.

"What?" Matt repeated. "I'm not hung up on her."

"Right," they both said.

"I'm not. It's just that I have to protect her. It's my job," he insisted, though neither of them had disagreed with him. "She's—"

"—special," they both finished.

"Enough!"

"I gotta go," Sam said. "See you both later."

As soon as she left the room, George got busy pulled out a little device and set it up. After a minute he said, "Okay. The dampener's working. No one can hear us now." He sat down in a chair next to the bed. "So, I'm amazed you could keep that whole pack of lies straight in the condition you're in. How's it really going?"

"I don't know, man. I'm having trouble keeping all my different stories straight. What can I tell the civilians, what can I tell the coasties, what can I tell the agents in the Project."