Blind Trust (23 page)

The rain had stopped, but thunder continued to rumble in the distance, much like his unsettled thoughts. He should've been relieved when Kate realized her burglar stole the translation, but he was too furious.

Revisiting how vulnerable she'd looked, Tom blew out a breath. The burglar had to have been her father. And her father would never hurt her.

A twig snapped to the left of the house.

His hand automatically went to his gun as he scanned the area. The streetlights scarcely pushed back the darkness so that he couldn't make out anything more than the cars parked in the driveway and the outline of the trees beyond.

A shadow detached itself from the tree closest to the house.

Tom drew his gun. “This is the police. Put your hands in the air.”

The man's hands shot up as he took a step closer. “It's me.”

“Baxter?” Tom slid his weapon back in his holster and then yanked the man around the corner of the house out of sight
of the front windows. “I have half a mind to haul you into jail after this stunt. Kate feels utterly violated.” Tom's fingers tightened on the front of Baxter's jacket. “Probably won't be able to sleep for weeks, thanks to you. What were you thinking?”

“What are you talking about?”

“The translation you stole. Did you honestly think I wouldn't know?”

Baxter shook himself loose of Tom's hold. “You got the wrong man.”

An icy chill that had nothing to do with his damp clothes slid through his chest. “It wasn't you?” This changed everything.

Baxter's expression twisted in pain. “Is Kate hurt?”

“No. She wasn't here at the time. But emotionally . . .” Tom shook his head. “I don't know.”

“What's this translation thing about?”

“The plant. Some Spanish priest blogged about it.”

Baxter's eyes slipped shut and he leaned heavily against the side of the house.

“Who did this?” Tom seethed, certain Baxter knew.

“I don't know. I got here just as the cop car left and hung around hoping to get you alone to find out what was going on.”

Tom caught him by the shirt again and pinned him hard to the wall. “You must have some idea.”

Baxter's shoulders lifted a fraction, then dropped.

Tom shook him. “Do you want to help your daughter or not?”

“That number in my arrest file,” Baxter breathed.

Tom glanced around the corner of the house to ensure no one had closed in on them in the dark. “Zoe's?”

Baxter nodded. “Did you call it?”

“Yeah, I got her roommate.”

Baxter clamped his head in his hands. “What have I done?”

Tom yanked Baxter's hands away from his face. “What's Zoe got to do with this?”

A screen door slapped shut next door. “Come on, Whiskers,” Mrs. C sing-songed from her front porch. “Let's take you back to your new mistress.”

“I gotta go.” Baxter clutched Tom's shoulder. “Keep my Katy safe.” The raw yearning in his face cut to the core.

“Tom?” Mrs. C's voice shrilled from the sidewalk. “Is that you?”

Realizing she must've heard them, Tom stepped into view. “Yes, I was coming to fetch Whiskers for Kate.” He glanced back at the side of the house. Baxter hadn't moved. Tom had never seen an expression so tortured.

“Give her my love,” Baxter whispered, then slipped through the trees and away.

Tom felt like his heart had been knifed. He'd like nothing more than to give Kate her father's love. She deserved to know she was loved by her father—and, Lord help him, by
him
—but how could he look into Kate's eyes, knowing her father was alive, and remain silent?

He tipped back his head.
God, show me how to be your man here.
Show me what's right. Because I don't know
anymore.

Tom stared at the starless sky as if he might see a flash from heaven, a sign, something.

Instead Mrs. C came up the driveway with Whiskers in her arms and cocked her head. “You got a lot weighing on your mind by the looks of it.” A gleam lit her eyes. “Should we expect an announcement in church next Sunday?”

“An announcement?” he muttered dumbly, before registering the meaning behind that matchmaker's gleam.

“I can see the signs. And once a fellow gets to your age, he can't afford to dillydally, or some other young man will come along.”

Relieved she'd misinterpreted his sky-gazing, he managed to tease, “Are you saying I'm old?” as he tried to ignore the effect of the sudden image of him dropping to one knee in front of Kate.

“Just saying . . . why dillydally when you know what you want?”

What did he want?

Kate.
Yes.
But at the thought of keeping her father's secret from her, he could scarcely stomach looking at himself in the mirror, let alone meeting Kate's trusting gaze. A text-message alert spared him from dwelling on that thought.

“You best get Whiskers inside now.” Mrs. C transferred the cat into Tom's arms. “And remember what I said about dillydallying.” With a finger to the side of her nose in silent salute, she trundled back down the driveway.

Kate swept open the door and took Whiskers into her arms as if he were the long-lost prodigal. “You poor thing, being locked outside in that horrible storm,” she cooed.

The brush of her arm reminded Tom of the comforting hug they'd shared this afternoon, and he suddenly felt jealous of the silly cat.

Kate led the way to the kitchen where she set Whiskers in front of a fresh bowl of food.

The air smelled like coffee and pizza and cinnamon. “You baked?”

Kate smiled. “Warmed up the muffins and dipped the tops in cinnamon and sugar.”

“Mmm, sounds delicious.” He noticed a smudge of the
sweet mixture on her cheek and, brushing it onto his finger, helped himself to a taste. “Sweet.”

The flush in her cheeks made him feel a foot taller. And lower than dirt. He had no business flirting with her. How ironic that she'd warm up to the idea of spending time with him just when it was more important than ever that he keep a tight rein on his emotions. If he'd paid more attention to his judgment than his friendship with Ian, his former FBI partner might still be alive.

“Sit.” Kate nudged him toward a kitchen chair and set a plate of pizza and mug of coffee in front of him, then bounced into the chair beside him. “I have a plan.”

The gleeful declaration sent a shiver down his spine. He knew better than to shut her down without hearing her out. Last time he did, she went ahead anyway, and her plan almost got her killed.

He swallowed a steaming gulp of coffee to fortify himself. “Let's hear it.”

“Okay, so whoever stole the translation is going to want to find the plant, right?”

“Probably.”

“For sure. Think about it. If Jarrett stole it, after he—”

Tom held up his hand. “Jarrett didn't steal it.”

“How do you know?”

“I asked Reed to look into his whereabouts tonight. She just texted back that he and Patti had dinner at The Wildflower and then went to the movies. There are witnesses.” Tom scooped up a slice of pizza and took a bite.

“He could have slipped out unnoticed and then gone back. I don't live that far from the theater.”

“But as far as Patti knew, you were going out with Julie for supper and would likely have the translation with you.”

“Hmm. I never thought of that.” Kate frowned at the paper on the table in front of her and crossed out a word.

“What's this?” Tom turned the paper for a better view.

“My suspects.”

“Lucetta?” he read from the top of the list.

“Sure.” A proud glint lit Kate's eyes that made her look so cute, he wanted to . . .

He dropped his gaze to his plate.

“I started thinking about all the things that have been happening to me, like the counterfeiting and the nasty letter about the mayor I was supposed to have written to the newspaper.”

“And the text message,” Tom added. The mayor was still haranguing him about tracking the guy down.

“Yeah, and then that creepy email this afternoon and the robbery tonight. I was trying to see if there might be a way they're all connected.”

Tom scanned the list of strikes against Lucetta. “Sold Verna's tea set. Needs money to send home. That goes to motive for counterfeiting. But blames your father for her mother's death. How do you figure that plays in?”

“She was furious when she found my father's photo. If she thinks I'm hiding something, which if she came in here and found the information about the plant, she now
knows
I am, who could blame her for wanting to get to the truth? Except that creepy fire on my computer—I don't know how she would've pulled it off, but it had revenge written all over it.” Kate shuddered.

Tom fought to keep a neutral expression and a clear head, when what he really wanted was to load her in his car and get
her as far out of town as he could as fast as possible. “Hopefully Weller will find something to shed light on that. But Lucetta couldn't have known you had the translation either, and from how undisturbed the house is, it seems that whoever let him or herself in knew exactly what he was after.”

“She might've hoped to find more info about my father. Oh!” Kate sprang to her feet and ran to her bedroom.

“What is it?” Tom trailed after her.

Kate sat on her bed, a photo pressed to her chest.

Tom didn't have to see it to know it was the picture of her father. He steeled himself against the sight of moisture gathering in her eyes.

“I thought Lucetta might try to see if anything's written on the back, but it doesn't look like she took it out of its frame.”

Tom pried the photo from Kate's hand and returned it to the drawer. “It would be better if that's not out where Officer Reed might see it.”

Kate sniffed. “Maybe Lucetta saw the translation on the table first and forgot about her original plan, or maybe she got spooked and didn't want to risk getting caught.”

“It's credible.” Tom caught her by the elbow and urged her out of the bedroom, back toward the kitchen. “Trouble is, I couldn't get a search warrant to check anyone's possessions for the papers without information about the plant becoming a matter of public record. And I don't think that's such a good idea, considering all the trouble your father went to trying to keep it out of GPC's hands. He must've had a good reason.”

At the kitchen doorway, she whirled to face him. “That's where my plan comes in!”

“Your plan?”

“Like I started to say before, whoever took the translation is going to go after the plant. Soooo”—she flounced into the kitchen and took a seat—“we keep the area under surveillance and nab her when she shows up.”

Needing time to think, Tom refilled his mug from the coffeepot before joining Kate at the table. “Assuming Lucetta is your thief, how would she figure out where the plant is?”

“Her nephew saw me in Verna's woods. He probably told her. She'd put two and two together.”

He sipped his coffee. It'd be a tough area to keep under surveillance, especially when they had no sharable reason to involve law enforcement. And even if they did, the less people who knew about the plant's significance and whereabouts, the better. “Who else is on your list?”

“Michael Beck. The guy in the silver Ford Escort.”

“It's not him.”

“How do you know?” Irritation piqued her tone.

“I'm not allowed to tell you that. Believe me”—he set down his mug—“I would if I could.”

She stared at him a moment as if she thought she might wear him down, then glanced at her list again. “Brian Nagy, of course. For poisoning Verna. He clearly needs money, so he's got motive to counterfeit, and he or his mother are indirectly connected to at least three counterfeit purchases that we know of since he pays both Lucetta and Vic Lawton.”

“And he's angry at you for interfering with his mother's property, which might have prompted the nasty email.” Tom drained his cup of coffee. “But he wouldn't have known about the translation either.”

“No, but he might've noticed I wasn't home and decided to come on a fishing expedition to see what I'd found to go to
town council with.” Kate fussed with his empty mug. “After his real estate agent told him I was at the property.”

Tom tensed, not liking her nervous fidgeting. “How do you know Westby told him?”

“Brian told me I should mind my own business.”

“He threatened you?” Tom half rose out of his chair, then forced himself to calm down. “Where? When?”

Kate's head dipped and she twisted the mug faster. “Earlier this evening, when I let myself into Verna's house to borrow the nutmeg.”

“He saw you?” Tom dragged down his voice. “Kate, if he's really poisoning his mother, he's got to already be thinking you're onto him.” Tom plowed his fingers into his hair. “Oh, Kate, what have you done?”

The sun shone brightly the next morning. Not the kind of weather Tom had hoped for. Too perfect for a little
gardening
. He hoped he wouldn't regret asking his dad to watch Nagy instead of the plants on Verna's property. Although he suspected Baxter would be thoroughly checking them out.

Tom leaned over Weller's worktable in the station's computer forensics lab. “You got anything for me yet?”

“Give me a break, will ya? I've only been at it for ten minutes. Why don't you go harass Kate about getting you the nutmeg proof?”

“Because you know as well as I do that the judge would throw the evidence out of court.”

“Sure, but Nagy won't know that,” Weller said, all the while peering at what looked like Greek on the computer screen and punching keys. “Suggest the judge might go easier on him if he comes clean now.”

“First I need enough for an arrest warrant.”

Weller wheeled his chair over to the fax machine and
snatched up a page. “This just came in. The research station's internet provider confirmed the sender's IP address belongs to Brian Nagy.”

“Yes! Any evidence he corrupted her data—something substantial I can charge him with?”

“I thought you were building a criminal harassment case against him. Wasn't he the guy following Kate? 'Cause the
you'll pay
message—”

“No,” Tom bit out, not wanting to get into who'd been following her.

“Okay, I can get a warrant for
his
laptop, see if there's evidence of plans to follow through on the threat.”

Tom pulled out his cell phone to check in with his dad. “You still have eyes on Nagy?”

“Yeah, he's just getting in his car now.” The sound of an engine starting accompanied his dad's words. “Carrying a stack of papers.”

Kate's?
Tom rushed out to his car. “Which way's he heading?”

“Your way. Toward Main Street.”

Tom pulled out of the police station's parking lot and idled next to the library at the edge of the business district.

“He just turned onto Main,” Dad reported.

“Okay, I see his red Mustang.”

Nagy pulled into the real estate agency's parking lot and climbed out of his car carrying a ream of paper.

Perfect.
Tom waited until Nagy went into the building, then parked behind Nagy's car, blocking him in. By the time Tom let himself in the side door, Nagy was waving the papers in Westby's face.

“This is what she's going to use against us,” Nagy ranted. “You saw her there. If we get rid of this stuff, she'll have nothing.”

Westby slapped down Nagy's arm. “You idiot,” he hissed. “You can't dig that out. That's the whole re—” The agent's gaze slammed into Tom's. “May I help you?”

“No, go on, don't let me interrupt.”

Nagy spun around, his face white. He quickly tried to stuff the papers inside his jacket.

Tom held out his hand. “I'll take those, thanks.”

Nagy straightened. “What are you talking about? These are mine.”

“Oh yeah?” Tom scrutinized the top page, confirming his suspicion. “You translate them yourself?”

“Uh, no.” He shot Westby a glance.

The agent took a step back, hands raised in a you're-on-your-own gesture.

“A friend did,” Nagy improvised.

“Friend have a name?” Tom stepped closer, crowding Nagy's personal space. He enjoyed a moment of satisfaction when sweat popped out on Nagy's forehead.

“I don't have to answer your questions,” the man blurted, not sounding all that certain.

Tom pulled handcuffs from his pocket. “You're right. We'll save them for the police station.”

“You're arresting me? On what charges?”

Tom clapped a cuff on Nagy's wrist and snagged the papers he held. “We'll start with possession of stolen property.” Tom yanked Nagy's arms behind his back and clapped on the second cuff. “Let's go.”

Once outside, Nagy resisted going farther. “What about my car?”

“Your car's the least of your problems.” Tom glanced inside it. “But we probably shouldn't leave your laptop on the seat where
anyone might be tempted to steal it. Want me to grab it?” Might as well save Weller the trip when the warrant came through.

Nagy fought against Tom's hold.

“Okay, don't say I didn't warn you.” Tom covered Nagy's head with his hand and urged him into the backseat of his unmarked cruiser.

“I'm not saying anything,” Nagy spat, but as Tom climbed in the front, he added, “Okay, you can grab the laptop.”

Nagy had left the car unlocked, so Tom grabbed the laptop bag and then clicked the auto lock on the door. The man couldn't afford to have his one remaining asset stolen. Not with where he was going.

“I'm not saying anything,” Nagy repeated when Tom returned with the bag.

“That's your right.” Tom drove back to the station in silence to give Nagy a little more time to squirm over his predicament. He parked in view of two officers struggling to escort a mean-looking suspect inside and bit back the urge to threaten to throw Nagy in the same cell.

“If you're going to arrest me for walking into your
girlfriend's
house,” Nagy seethed as Tom opened his door, “then I demand you arrest her for trespassing in mine.”

Straining to keep his cool, Tom pulled Nagy out of the backseat. “Don't you mean your mother's house? Somehow I don't think she'd mind, given that she gave Kate a key. But I'll be sure to ask her.”

Nagy snorted. “She's not fit to answer questions, so the house is under my control. And Miss Adams should just learn to mind her own business.”

Tom led him inside, beyond irritated with the guy's over
confidence. “Yeah, she likes sticking her nose in people's business, doesn't she? Really irks people.”

“Yeah.”

“Like how she defended your mom against the counterfeiting allegations, took care of your mom's cat when she went into the nursing home, asked you to talk to the nurses about her meds when your mom took that sudden turn for the worse.” Tom let out a disgusted snort. “What kind of woman does stuff like that?”

Nagy clamped his mouth shut.

Tom flagged the desk sergeant. “Weller got a warrant for Mr. Nagy's laptop?”

Weller appeared around the corner. “Right here.”

“What's going on?” Nagy struggled against Tom's hold. “What do you want with my laptop?”

“Interrogation room open?” Tom asked the desk sergeant.

“Use C.”

Tom motioned Nagy into the six-by-six room with nothing but a table and a couple of metal chairs in the middle and a two-way mirror on one wall. “Sit.”

Tom sat opposite him and read him his rights.

“I don't need no lawyer. I'm not guilty of anything she didn't do to me first.”

“Uttering threats?”

“I told her to mind her own business. So what? What's that got to do with my laptop?”

For someone who had nothing to hide, he seemed awfully worried about them looking at his laptop.

“All I want to do is sell a piece of property so I can take care of my mother. Is a judge going to throw me in jail for that?”

“You think the judge will be as understanding when we play
that little software program you sent Kate? With his face burning on the screen and blood-red letters flashing ‘You'll pay'?”

“Huh?” Nagy was a pretty good actor, because he looked like he had no idea what Tom was talking about. “I didn't send her any program. I don't even know her email address.”

“So you're saying we won't find any record of it on your computer?”

“No.”

Tom laid the fax sheet from the internet provider on the table between them. “According to this you did. The email originated from your IP address.”

“Well, I didn't send it!”

“Then I guess our computer forensics investigator won't find anything on your computer.”

Nagy's leg took up a nervous bounce. “Our apartment has wireless internet. Anyone could've sent something from it.”

Tom gritted his teeth, prayed Weller found something on the computer. “You password protect your wifi?”

“Sure, but my kid knows the password, which means half his friends probably know it.”

“Any of them have a grudge against Miss Adams?”

“How am I supposed to know?” Nagy drilled his finger into the table. “I'm telling you that I didn't do it.”

Tom sat back in his chair and scraped his unshaven jaw. As much as he hated to admit it, he believed the guy. And if Nagy
wasn't
behind the threat, then whoever was, was still out there. Tom glanced at his phone, uneasiness rippling through his chest. He thought he'd have heard something from Kate by now. She said she'd try to isolate the nutmeg in the mix first thing. He texted her. “You okay?”

Tom laid his cell phone on the table and looked at Nagy,
who'd grown increasingly fidgety over the prolonged silence. “Tell me about the counterfeit money.”

“What are you talking about? The money my mother gave Kate?”

“And your lawn mowing service. And your housekeeper's nephew.” Tom leaned back and crossed his arms. “And the money you used to pay for your plumbing supplies the Saturday before last.”

“That wasn't counterfeit.”

“Are you sure?”

“What are you trying to do? Pin all your unsolved cases on me because I upset your girlfriend?”

“Watch it!” Tom tamped down his anger, uncomfortably aware of the video camera behind the two-way mirror. He tugged at his collar, wishing there was a window they could open in the stuffy room.

It felt like the Molly Gilmore interrogation all over again. Nagy wasn't singing like Tom had hoped. Not even sweating. And the reality was that if the computer search came up empty, they had nothing strong enough to give him more than a court appearance notice.

Tom's phone vibrated on the table. He glanced at the screen, then at the mirror behind him.
Kate's
here?
He strode to the door in two short strides. “Excuse me a minute.”

Weller stood in the hall.

“Where's Kate?”

Weller handed him a counterfeit twenty.

Tom gave it a cursory glance. “What's this?”

“Kate's supervisor and her assistant both verified her story about the deleted file on the computer. They claim it was a prank.”

“I never doubted it,” Tom glanced past him to Hutchinson escorting Kate their way. She wouldn't be happy to learn he didn't have enough to hold Nagy. Tom lowered his voice. “Tell me you have something I can use in there.”

“I'm still reviewing his internet searches,” Weller said. “But it doesn't look like he sent Kate the email.”

Just great.
“Then bring in the kid for questioning.”

Kate beamed as she and Hutchinson joined them. But the tired lines and dark smudges around her eyes gave away the toll yesterday's cyber threat and break-in had taken on her. She proudly held out a paper. “That's the list of everything in Verna's tea, including dangerously high levels of nutmeg.” She covered the page with a second one. “And this is the official ingredient list from Beth of what should've been in the mix. No nutmeg.”

“Good work.”

“I suggested we pick up the comparative at the tea shop,” Hutchinson said.

Weller shook his head. “A lawyer will get that evidence thrown out in a heartbeat.”

Tom curled the papers in his hand. “But so far Nagy hasn't asked for one.” He winked at Kate. “You can wait in the next room if you like and watch the interrogation.” At least then he'd know she was safe.

“I'd love to.” The look in her eyes—a mix of gratitude and confidence in him—took away his breath.

He tipped the papers in salute. “Thanks for this.”

“C'mon.” Hutchinson caught Kate by the elbow. “You can wait in here.”

Tom strode back into the room, shaking his head at Nagy.

“What?” Nagy's gaze darted to the papers in Tom's hands.

Tom straddled the chair opposite him and laid the papers on the table with a disturbed sounding tut.

“Why'd you put nutmeg in your mother's tea?”

Sweat broke out on Nagy's upper lip. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

Tom waited, confident he'd given Nagy enough rope to hang himself with.

“I—” Nagy's fingers rat-a-tatted over his lips as if trying to hold back the lie Tom suspected was coming. “A jar tumbled out of Mom's cupboard when I was collecting her tea to bring to her. It was a spice—could have been nutmeg. Some may have spilled into her tea.”

“Some?”

Nagy fidgeted. Glanced at the mirror behind Tom's head. Swallowed. “How was I supposed to know it would hurt her?”

“What makes you think it did?”

“You just said—” Nagy clamped his mouth shut.

“In high doses, it causes nutmeg psychosis with symptoms similar to dementia. But you already knew that, didn't you?”

Nagy stared at Tom with the look of a scared kid arrested for the first time. Then he planted his hands on the table and surged to his feet. “Are you accusing me of poisoning my mother? How dare you!”

“Sit down.” Tom narrowed his eyes at Nagy until he sat, then laid out the scenario much the same way Kate had speculated.

Nagy grew paler by the second.

“A blood test should confirm elevated levels in your mother's blood,” Tom concluded. He made a mental note to order one if Hutchinson, watching the interrogation through the mirror, wasn't already on it.

The last of the color drained from Nagy's face. “I want my lawyer.”

Tom reined in the grin that tugged at his lips. “Yeah, thought you might.”