Blind Trust (12 page)

Tom sprang from his car. “You okay?”

At the end of the street, the gleam of brake lights turned left, back into Kate's path.

Tom quickly lifted the bike off the blond-haired boy, who didn't look much older than Tom's nephews. The kid hugged his scraped knees to his chest, and Tom hunkered down beside him. “What's your name, son?”

The boy shook his head. “Not supposed to talk to strangers.”

“You're right. But I'm a police officer and I want to help you.” Tom glanced at the empty front yards. “Where do you live?”

“No you're not.” The boy edged away from him. “Off-fer-sirs wear uniforms.”

“Yeah, I am.” Tom flipped open his ID. “I'm after a criminal here and he's getting away.”

The boy stared up at Tom open-mouthed. Or more precisely at his gun.

A woman dashed from the house, a baby propped on her hip. “What's going on?”

“Mama!” The boy scrambled to his feet and buried his face against the woman's stomach.

Tom introduced himself and filled her in on the mishap. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go.”

“He's after a bad guy,” the boy said. “He's got a gun.”

Sure, now he talks.
Tom didn't stick around long enough to find out what the kid's mother thought about him revealing his gun to a four-year-old. Back in his car, he shifted into Drive and said, “Phone Kate,” to his new voice-activated phone. At the sound of Kate's unruffled hello, his grip on the steering wheel relaxed. “Where are you?”

“Uh . . . driving.”

“Driving where?”

“Nowhere at the moment. I stopped to answer the phone.” Her tone turned playful. “I wouldn't want to be arrested for talking on the phone while driving.”

His relief that she seemed okay rumbled out in a chuckle. “Smart move.” But even as he asked her where she was, he strained to hear any telltale sounds that someone might be threatening her.

The ding of a railroad crossing signal sounded faintly in the background.

“I just left the nursing home,” she responded, clearly hedging since she hadn't headed in the direction of her house.

Tom hung a left onto the next street and stepped on the gas. The town had only two railroad crossing signals. One out by the elementary school. The other out by Moyer's ravine. The one by the school was the closest.

The rattle and rumble of an approaching train grew louder in his ear. He hit his window button and as the window slid
open, the blast of a train's whistle confirmed he was heading to the right crossing.

“Can we meet?” he asked, turning his car onto the road that intersected the tracks. He slowed at the sight of her car parked in the corner of the empty school parking lot. Too many years in the FBI had him thinking she was a sitting duck and scoping the rooftops for signs of a sniper.

“Uh, when were you thinking?”

Rolling his car up next to hers, he tried not to take her reluctant-sounding response personally. “How's now suit?” he asked, still talking into the phone.

She jumped at his sudden appearance, but better at him than some psycho in a Ford Escort.

“What are you doing here?” she said into her phone, then looked from it to him, clicked it off, and opened her window.

He came around and leaned over her door. “Trying to catch women talking on their cell phones.”

She made a face.

“How about you? This isn't the way home.”

This time, she ducked her head. “Pedro and Verna's grandson showed up at the nursing home. I decided to follow them. See what they were up to.”

Tom laughed.

“What's so funny? I thought I might spot them doing something incriminating.”

“I'm not laughing at you. I was following them too, until—”

The last few cars of the train rumbled past. The chime of the railroad crossing warning fell silent and the caution bar lifted. A car puttered past the school, the elderly driver craning his neck to look their way. Not the silver Escort, but it still made him edgy.

“How about I follow you home and we talk there?”

Pulling into her driveway, Kate took a deep breath and tried not to jump to conclusions, but Tom's tone had sounded so serious. This morning he'd said that the police department responsible for her father's arrest was couriering a copy of his file.
His arrest file
. He'd really been arrested, not just taken in for questioning, as she'd always wanted to believe. What if Tom had learned something really bad?

She hadn't known what to make of his pained look when he cut off his explanation back at the train crossing.

Tom parked behind her.

Bracing for the worst, she glanced in her rearview mirror. His furrowed brow and pensive expression only heightened her apprehension. He caught sight of her watching him, but didn't offer a smile to chase away her worry.

She grabbed her purse and slid out of the car. Any hope that today's visit might be a pleasant repeat of their Sunday afternoon walk at Niagara Parks vanished. With each passing day, he'd grown more distant, as if maybe he regretted his whispered
I care about you
.

He caught her elbow, his breath tickling the hairs of her neck. “What's wrong?”

Heat rushed to her cheeks. “Nothing, I—” She glanced around in hopes of noticing something else she might blame her frown on.

Brian Nagy came around from the side of Verna's house accompanied by a balding man in a business suit with a digital camera slung over his shoulder. Tom visibly tensed.

“Do you know who that guy is?” Kate asked.

Tom studied him a moment longer, then seemed to relax again. “Isn't he the real estate agent? Westby.”

“That's what I was afraid of.” Leaving Tom standing in the driveway, she stalked toward Brian.
Go easy
, a voice inside her head cautioned. Striving for a neighborly tone, she said, “What's going on?”

Westby turned his salesman smile on her as Brian said, “Exploring options.”

“Options?”

“Now that Mother's settled into long-term care, we need to decide what to do with the house and properties.”

“You'll see me around now and again showing clients the place,” the real estate agent chimed in. “But we'll do our best not to disturb your privacy.”

Kate checked the urge to mention Verna's plans to return home. If they weren't a figment of his mother's imagination, Brian would hear of them soon enough. “Um, Verna mentioned that she planned to donate her farm property to the town?”

“Donate it?” Westby's eyebrows connected with what remained of his hairline as his gaze swung to Brian.

“No! Why would I do that?”

“Your mom said that she and your dad had always planned to.” Kate tilted her head, hoping to look nonthreatening. “Didn't she tell you?”

A whisper of acknowledgment flitted across Brian's eyes, but he didn't admit to it.

“That area is a unique microclimate,” Kate pressed. “Probably home to several rare plants and animals. I'm sure the town will want to ensure that it's conserved.”

“It's private property. None of the town's business.” Brian's eyes narrowed. “Or yours.”

She shrank back at his caustic tone. Then Tom stepped to her side, his solid presence bolstering her confidence. “It's what your mom wants,” she said. “She told me as much not more than an hour ago.”

“Nursing homes are more expensive than my mother realizes.” Brian wagged a finger in her face.

“Excuse me. I need to get going.” The agent beat a hasty retreat.

Brian scarcely acknowledged the man's departure, but at least he withdrew his wagging finger and crossed his arms over his chest. “I'd appreciate it if you don't fill Mother's head with impossible ideas. In fact, just stay away from her altogether.”

Kate defiantly crossed her own arms. “I can't do that.” At Tom's cautioning touch, she added, “I promised I'd deliver some of her tea tomorrow.”

Brian dismissed the promise with a flick of his wrist. “I'll ask Lucetta to do that. If you'll excuse me.” He gave them both a brisk nod, turned on his heel, and headed into Verna's house.

“Looks like you struck a nerve,” Tom said.

“You don't think he'd sell the property without telling Verna, do you?”

“If he's got power of attorney, he might.” Tom maneuvered her back toward her house. “Brian's wife really did clean him out, and even a basic room in a long-term care home isn't cheap. Sometimes we have to do things we don't necessarily want to do to protect a loved one's welfare.”

Kate glanced back at the door Brian had disappeared through. “I'm not so sure it's his mom's welfare he's concerned about.”

“That's a switch.”

Kate's attention snapped back to Tom. “What do you mean?”

“Usually you're the one giving people the benefit of the doubt.”

“I know, but I can't help it. He just . . .” She fitted her key in the lock, not really wanting to admit how she felt. “He rubs me the wrong way.”

Tom didn't respond, but amusement danced in his eyes.

Kate sighed and trudged into her house. “You don't understand. Verna thinks she's coming home. Brian clearly hasn't talked to his mother at all about her wishes. And it's her property!”

“Unfortunately, if Verna gave him power of attorney, he has that right.”

Kate dropped her purse and keys on the table behind the sofa. “I'm not so sure that she understood what she was signing. And something like that needs witnesses, doesn't it? Who'd he use? Lucetta and Pedro?”

“If you're concerned that he's not acting in her best interest or intends to abscond with his mother's money, you can call the Office of the Public Guardian and Trustee and they'll investigate.”

“How long will that take?” She trailed Tom, who'd started checking her windows and doors again. “If he has gambling debts, like Julie said, he's bound to accept the first cash offer he gets. Maybe that's why there's been no more counterfeit bills surfacing.”

“Whoa! How'd we switch to counterfeiting?”

“Don't you see? What better motive for printing money than covering gambling debts? Only now he doesn't have to, because he's got bigger crops to harvest.”

The corner of Tom's mouth ticked up at her comparison. He edged back the window sheer and scanned the street. “Nagy's background check didn't show a high debt load, beyond what
his ex-wife left him with, but if he's borrowed under the table, he
could
be grasping at creative ways to meet payments.” Tom let the curtain slip back into place. “If you're worried about Nagy selling the place without Verna's consent, maybe before you call the OPGT, you should talk to her. Right now, I'm more concerned about the guy who's been following you.”

“What?” Her gaze veered to the window. “What are you talking about?”

“I'm sorry, that's not how I wanted to tell you.” Tom guided her to the sofa, but his tender expression only made her nerves jumpier than ever.

“Someone's following me? When? Where?”

“At the nursing home.” Tom hesitated as if measuring his words. “The driver of a silver Ford Escort was watching you.”

Her chest tightened. “The same car we saw Sunday.”

“Yeah.” Tom expelled the single word with a breath of frustration that only left her more rattled.

“Who is he? What does he want?”

Tom reached for her hand, but the warm strength of his fingers wasn't potent enough to slow her galloping pulse. “I've issued a BOLO for his car. Once we locate him, we'll get answers. All I know at this point is that he's the same guy who was spying on Peter Ratcher at the hardware store.”

“So you think he's connected to GPC?” Kate gulped so loud Tom closed his other hand over hers.

“Unless you can think of anyone else who would be interested in following both of you.”

She closed her eyes and tried to recall the man's image from the video. “He seemed vaguely familiar, but I don't think I've seen him around the research station. Do you think he could be behind the text message too?”

“I don't know.” He squeezed her hand consolingly. “I think Julie would've said something if she recognized him, but I'll print off a still from the video clip and ask the rest of the library staff if they recognize him.”

Suddenly feeling like a cornered animal, Kate sprang to her feet and paced. “Do you think he—?” She choked on the words.

But the empathy in Tom's eyes told her he knew what she was thinking. “Until we figure out who this guy is and what he wants, I'd rather you don't go out alone, or without at least letting me know where you're heading. You okay with that?”

Everything in her reared at the thought of letting this guy control what she did.