Mint Cookie Murder (12 page)

"He's not dead," Riley whispered.

"I know that. But still, it seems like we should honor his memory." No, he wasn't dead. But when he came back, and if he could read and understand words, he'd feel a little flattered maybe.

We headed back inside and stayed discreetly away from the window so we could see if Bobb returned. I spent the day calling various relatives and blackmailing them into buying Girl Scout Cookies. My parents lived in Washington, DC where Dad was a senator, and I had a few scattered aunts and cousins, but not much else. And of course, I used a burner phone so they couldn't reuse the number. I kept a whole drawer of them in my nightstand. Spy craft isn't just for spies—sometimes it's useful against annoying relatives too.

"Dad?" I said as my father, Senator Czrygy, answered.

"Hey, Pumpkin! What's up?" His gravelly voice made me feel better instantly.

"Is this a bad time?" I asked. My father was a busy man. He chaired several committees and worked 15-hour days. Mom was involved in probably every charity in DC. Getting hold of her would be even harder than getting hold of Dad.

"I have a vote on the Senate floor in 10 minutes. But I have time for you," he said. I could hear the smile in his voice.

I made my pitch quick, and he said he'd strong-arm his buddies into buying cookies. Apparently, cookies in the Midwest were a lot cheaper than the rates in the big cities. And a certain senator from Tennessee had a serious peanut butter cookie addiction. I hung up knowing I'd do well there.

I was selling, but I could do better. I needed to make bank so the troop could do some cool stuff this year. I could just pay for everything—my settlement from the CIA was beyond generous. But Kelly didn't like that. She wanted the girls to work for their money. While I sat there, I put down Riley (without telling him, because why should I?) for two boxes of each kind.

I needed to put the word out at Langley. The CIA agents who still worked there had serious sugar addictions. It was a huge problem. About three years ago we had agents getting sick in Asia. After 53 were hospitalized we discovered that the Chinese had poisoned several cases of American candy bars (I'm not at liberty to name the brand—it's classified) that had been sent to each division head. I wasn't so surprised they were poisoned as much as I was surprised the management had actually shared the candy with the field guys.

Still, I figured I was a trustworthy person to buy from, so I made a list of the spies I still knew and made one phone call.

"Maria Gomez." The woman on the line sounded all business, but she was actually one of the few fun people at Langley. She could do this thing with her tongue…it's also classified, but you'd laugh so hard you'd fall over if you saw it. Trust me.

"Hey, Maria! It's Finn Czrygy," I said, using my real name. A name that sounded so foreign to me since I'd had to stop using it a year ago.

"Finn! How the hell are you, girl?" Maria laughed.

"Well, I'm selling Girl Scout Cookies now," I said. "What can I put you down for?"

"Seriously?" Maria's voice shrieked.
Uh-oh. Here it comes. From international spy to Girl Scout leader.
I was now going to have to endure a few minutes of laughter.

"Oh my God, girl! How much can I legally buy?" she squealed. Not what I expected, but that's okay.

I filled her in on the different types of cookies, and to my shock, she ordered a case of every kind. I wondered if I shouldn't up Riley's order.

"I'll tell everyone here! Give me your cell number, and I'll have them text you!" Maria said.

"How about I give
you
the number and instead of sharing it with everyone—you text me what they want, and I'll send it with Riley." I didn't want the whole agency having my cell. What if there was a mole there? Even if it was a burner phone, I still had to be careful.

"You got it!" Maria promised. "Wait, did you say Riley the Hottie is there with you?"

I gave Riley a sidelong glance, and he looked up at me. "Oh yeah. He's sitting next to me at my breakfast bar."

"Tell me he's naked!" Maria always had a bit of a thing for my former boss. I always thought it was in her best interests that she didn't work for him. Or maybe his. Maria was a pretty forceful personality. She probably would have devoured him whole.

"I'll fill you in later! Gotta go!" I said.

"Right. I'll send you orders!" Maria hung up, and I wrote down her order.

Things were looking up. I'd sold 150 boxes on the phone so far. Granted, that only amounted to a quarter a box for the troop, but still—I wasn't making Kelly do
everything
as she'd claimed earlier.

"Was that Gomez?" Riley asked.

"Yes, she's my cookie dealer for the agency now." I winked at him, and he looked startled.

A flash of blue caught the corner of my eye, and I grabbed Riley, dragging him off his seat and onto the floor behind the bar.

"Someone's in the yard," I whispered.

Riley slowly rose until he could see over the breakfast bar and out the window. He came back down to me.

"It's a guy in a hoodie. Same hoodie I saw at the grocery store. He's poking around the grave." Riley pulled his pistol out, and together we crawled toward the door to the garage. A second later, the two of us burst out the back garage door to the yard.

The guy was running as soon as we appeared. He vanished through the hedges.

"You chase him," I said to Riley. "I'll wait here in case he comes back!"

Riley took off running, and I looked down at the grave. The bastard had kicked some of the soil aside. Was he trying to recover Philby's body? That's disgusting. I pushed the dirt back over and had an idea.

*   *   *

Riley came back about 15 minutes later to find me up to my elbows in cement.

"What…what…" he gasped—was he out of shape? Huh. "…are you doing?" He doubled over until he caught his breath.

I smoothed the cement dome and took the bucket over to the hose and rinsed it and my arms off. I had no desire to allow the goop on my arms to harden, although it would've made for great weapons.
Concrete Arms Girl!
That would be an awesome comic book.

"Come inside for some water," I said. "You look like you're about to pass out."

Riley drank two full glasses of ice water before speaking. I changed into clean clothes and rejoined him in the kitchen.

"I'm not out of shape," he said finally. "I chased him all over the neighborhood. He kept doubling back. I think he actually might be staying somewhere here."

"You lost him?" I tried to stifle a grin.

"Yeah," he said. "At one point he went through some trees and just disappeared. I'll show you where. After I take a quick shower."

"Good idea. We can drive around while waiting for the cement to harden."

Riley shook his head. "I don't know why you did that. It won't stop him."

I nodded. "I know. But it will slow him down. I don't want him finding the cat-less box any sooner than he has to. And I'd think we should notice a guy chipping cement for hours in the backyard."

Riley took a shower, and I stared out the window at the backyard. It was quick-dry cement, left behind from the previous owner. I thought about our runner in the hoodie. I hadn't seen his face. Medium height, not skinny but not average either—more athletic. He ran like he'd done it all his life. That's how he'd eluded Riley.

What I didn't get was why he came back in the daytime. Whatever he'd wanted my fake dead cat for must've been serious. And creepy. I racked my brain over and over but couldn't come up with any reason why an assassin would want my cat dead. It's not like Philby could talk.

Wouldn't that be awesome? A talking cat! One that could testify against bad guys. It would be the perfect thing. And why did spy villains always have pet cats? I thought about Blofeld in
James Bond
and Doctor Evil in
Austin Powers
. They had pet cats. And Philby did resemble a certain German dictator.

I guess dogs are too nice to be evil mascots. Cats are just too unpredictable. That must be it. Why wouldn't a bad guy have a guinea pig or a parakeet? Parakeets could at least talk a little. I once knew a Somali warlord who had a pet parrot. That's how we got him in the end. The parrot would repeat secret plans. He wasn't a particularly smart Somali drug lord. We even arrested the parrot.

Riley returned, dressed in fresh jeans and a black polo shirt. A whiff of his shampoo as he walked by stirred something in me. Was I actually becoming attracted to his damp hair?

We locked up and hit the road. Riley drove the bizarre route on which he'd followed the hoodie runner. We crossed over the same areas so many times I was starting to get lost.

"And then we came through here." He brought the car down a single road that ended in two side-by-side cul-de-sacs, one on either side of the road.

I started giggling.

"What?" Riley asked.

I shook my head. "It's a testicul-de-sack!" I lost it at that point, collapsing in laughter.

Riley frowned and stared at the road. "You've got to be kidding me."

Tears were running down my cheeks. "Testicul-de-sack! Get it?" I pointed.

He nodded. "Yes. I get it. And it is funny. But this is serious!"

"I don't think you get it," I snickered.

"No, really, I do. I'm just not 12 anymore." He frowned.

I wiped my eyes and stared at him. "You're really pissed that this guy ditched you, aren't you?" I hadn't realized he was so insecure. Men's egos are so fragile it's ridiculous.

Riley nodded. "Yes. I'm really pissed that I lost him."

I blinked, my laughter gone. "Huh. Okay. Well, so what? We'll find him."

"I think it was the cookies," he said, staring off in the distance.

"Whoa. What?" I felt the laughter bubbling back up my throat. "You're blaming the cookies?"

He nodded. "Yes. Clearly eating that chemical crap messed with my endurance."

"You're serious?" I asked. "Well you just bought a case of every flavor, so you have to live with that."

He turned toward me. "No, I didn't! I'm not buying any cookies!"

"Already took the money out of your Swiss bank account," I answered. And I had. I just wasn't going to tell him yet. Oh, well.

"When the hell did you do that?" Riley roared.

I shrugged. "You shouldn't leave your laptop open while you shower."

Riley fumed as he threw the car into drive and roared out of the testicul-de-sack. It was an epic moment that I'm sure was completely lost on him.

Riley didn't talk to me for two whole hours. But that was okay because I started getting a wave of texted cookie orders from Maria. I could barely keep up as I wrote them down. Wow. These spies were serious about junk food. One guy we'd nicknamed Herman the Worm (you don't want to know) ordered 200 boxes.

The crazy thing was how they were paying for the cookies. While a couple had given Maria PayPal account emails and two actually gave credit card numbers, others were giving me overseas account numbers that were clearly not legal. Spies. Yeesh. It took me the whole two hours to catalog the orders and remove the funds. If this kept up, I'd need an accountant.

When all was said and done, I'd sold 843 boxes. Not bad for one afternoon. My troop was on their way to winter sniper camp!

I called Rex, and he offered to take a cookie form to the office to sell for me. He promised me I'd make a ton of sales. I agreed with him because I adored him, but honestly, he'd never measure up to what I'd done in one afternoon. Still, it's the thought that counts. I toyed with putting Angela down for a case or two, but decided against it.
She
didn't
deserve
Girl Scout Cookies.

"One more thing," Rex said. "I'd like you to meet Angela. Can you join us for dinner tomorrow night?"

Join
them
? Like
they
were a
them
already? My mood plummeted. Great. He'd have a chance to compare the two of us side-by-side, and guess who'd be on the losing end of this event? Me. I couldn't compete with that.

"Sure," I lied. "Can't wait to meet her!" I hoped my lack of enthusiasm didn't come through…too much.

"Great! I'm glad you two will get to meet," Rex said. I did not share his excitement.

"So do you want me to just walk over to your house?" I asked. It made sense that we'd go together.

"No. I have a meeting across town. Why don't you just meet the two of us at Selby's Steakhouse? I'll make reservations for 7:00."

"Fine," I said before hanging up. I wasn't going with him. No chance to present us as a couple because we'd be arriving together. Now they were even
more
of a
them.
I was going stag as a tagalong on his date.

If Riley heard the despair in my voice, he didn't show it. Maybe that was for the best. I didn't really feel like talking about it. Instead I just moped around the house, trying not to picture Rex and Angela's wedding…their children…retiring in their golden years…

As it grew darker outside, I turned the lights out in the kitchen so we could see better. It also would make it harder for Hoodie to see us. Riley quietly made us a couple of salads and to my grudging regret, I had to admit they were good.

We spent the rest of the evening sitting quietly in the kitchen, watching. I gave up on worrying about my relationship with Rex and decided instead to focus on the only relationship I had—with my cat. Something was bothering me about Bobb wanting the dead body of my pet.

"I've been thinking—" I said quietly. No point in giving Hoodie Bobb a chance of hearing us too. "—about why he wants the cat. We had him tested for a microchip, didn't we?"

Riley nodded. "Dr. Rye didn't find anything." He didn't seem mad at me anymore, but you never truly know with spies.

"That's not true," I said. "He felt some sort of anomaly and said it was probably just a fatty tumor or something."

"Right. I'd forgotten about that." Riley was paying full attention now. "So maybe there's something
in
the cat that Bobb wants."