Mint Cookie Murder (3 page)

"Not really." There was a smile in his voice. "I rescheduled meeting my friend. This is going to take a while. Hold on a sec."

Oh, no. I ruined his meeting with "her." So sad.

"Sorry. I didn't want the guys to hear. I'm not releasing the name of the victim yet. Thought I'd give you a head start before the media started pestering you."

Awww! What a thoughtful guy! "Thanks. Any chance you can avoid saying where the body was found?"

"For a little while, at least," Rex responded. "I've called the Feds. They're sending their local guys over."

"There are local guys?" I asked. I didn't think small-town Iowa had any agents, but I didn't mix well with the Feds. Most CIA employees don't.

"Yeah. There's an office in Des Moines," he said. "They don't want the word out before they understand what exactly happened."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that until this happened, no one at the prison even knew Lenny was gone. They thought he was in his cell right up until the moment I called them, and I told him he wasn't there."

The doorbell rang. I thanked my adorable boyfriend, and he promised to stop by once he got off work to check in.

"Riley," I said, my face falling as I answered the door. My former handler flashed his blue-eyed golden boy smile at me and stepped inside. He was wearing a white, button-down shirt with pressed khakis. And he was carrying a suitcase.

"Hello, Wrath." Riley said as he shut the door behind him and set down the suitcase. "Guess what? I'm moving in."

"What?" I stepped backward, shaking my head. "No. You aren't. You can go to a hotel. You can't stay here." A dead traitor shows up on my doorstep, and he thinks that's an invitation to play house?

"You've got an extra bedroom," he said as he made his way down the hall. "The agency wants me to monitor you closely."

"I don't work for the agency anymore. I don't know why I have to keep telling you that," I snarled.

He shook his head. "Doesn't matter. You're still a person of interest. We still haven't explained Midori, and now you have dead traitors showing up at your house."

Midori Ito, head of the Yakuza, had made an appearance as a dead woman in my kitchen a few months ago. We thought she'd been tied to another case at the time, but she wasn't. She'd been here for reasons we didn't yet understand. Riley and I ditched the body in Chicago, and she hadn't been found, but this was somehow considered my fault.

"This is a bad idea, Riley," I said. "I've started sleepwalking with knives—you could end up stabbed in your sleep 40 or 50 times," I lied.

"Okay, Lizzie Borden. I'll keep my door locked." He set his suitcase down on the bed and headed for the kitchen with me trailing behind him. He stopped dead in his tracks at the breakfast bar, and I plowed into him.

"Whoa," he said. I followed his eyes to see the cat sitting in the middle of the breakfast bar, narrowing his eyes at Riley.

"That's my new attack cat. I don't think he likes you. You should go," I said quickly.

As if sensing my disapproval of the situation, the animal hissed. Maybe he wasn't so bad after all.

Riley reached out, and the cat leaned into him, eyes closed and purring like a semi with a bad muffler. Now that was a real traitor.

"I like cats," Riley said as the fat beast dropped and exposed his belly. Stupid cat! "What's his name? He kind of looks like Hitler."

"He showed up when Lenny did. I've never seen him before, but Rex wants me to keep an eye on him."

Riley frowned and ran his hands over the animal, who purred even louder. "Did you search him?"

I stared at him. "Search who? The cat? Are you serious?" I was more pissed at myself than him. I'd seen animals used as everything from messengers to drug mules. Why hadn't I thought of that?

Riley gave me a glance that intimated that maybe I was an idiot. I walked over to the "everything" drawer and pulled out a pair of latex gloves.

"Okay," I said, tossing them to him. "Show me how it's done."

"I am not doing a cavity search on a cat." Riley ignored the gloves. "Just check the litter box in a couple of days."

There was no way I was doing that. No way. Not a chance.

I changed the subject. "You can't move in here, Riley. This is my house. And I don't work for you. You have no rights here."

Riley sat down at the breakfast bar. The cat came closer to him, purring so loudly I could barely hear. Great.

"Tell me what happened with Lenny," he said.

I sighed and sat down next to him. It took me about five minutes to tell him everything I knew…which wasn't a lot. The cat started rubbing all over Riley like the tanned blond with wavy hair was covered in tuna. Every now and then, the beast would stop and glare at me.

"He doesn't like you," Riley said with something I interpreted as satisfaction.

"The feeling's mutual," I said, glaring back as the cat ignored me.

"Why? You told me you wanted to get a cat."

Yes. I had told him that. "I wanted to get a nice cat. Maybe start with a kitten. I didn't want to inherit a possible double-crossing beast like this."

Riley smiled at the animal. "It couldn't have been Lenny's. The supermax, ADX Florence in Colorado, didn't even know he was out. There wasn't enough time for him to adopt a cat."

"Well, he made it from California to here in an orange hatchback," I said. "He could've picked up a cat along the way."

"That's true." Riley nodded. "But according to prison officials, Lenny was at roll call this morning."

"Maybe he could time travel. Maybe the cat's some sort of evil wizard," I suggested. I'd been reading a lot of science fiction lately and even binge-watched
Battlestar Galactica
in a marathon session that had me glued to the couch for a week.

"Well, it couldn't have been Lenny at the prison. Not if he was here. They obviously made a mistake. Probably covering it up." He scratched the cat behind the ears. "Something's going on," Riley mused. "I think we need to get this kitty scanned."

"That's what Kelly said."

He nodded. "Dr. Rye is who she recommended." Riley started dialing his cell before I could ask whether Kelly was spying for him or if my kitchen was bugged. Either way, I was going to make sure he bought a couple dozen cases of Girl Scout Cookies.

"I don't like it, Ms. Wrath," Dr. Rye said for the fourth time as he felt up my cat on the exam table. The 50-something veterinarian talked like a game show host with a loud, dramatic flourish at the end that for some reason made me hold my breath. And every now and then he would walk over to the wall, turn his back toward us, and shake his head. It was weird. But then, this was my first veterinarian. Maybe they're all like this.

"Nope. I don't like it," he repeated gravely as if asking a giant board if there was a letter
M
and waiting for Vanna to make her move.

I glared at Riley before turning to the vet. "You keep saying that. What do you mean exactly?"

Dr. Rye looked over his glasses at me, arching his right, very scary bushy eyebrow. Maybe he kept gerbils in there. "He's obese. That's bad."

"That's not why we brought…" I really couldn't name him Hitler. "…Philby here." I heard Riley snort behind me. I ignored it. "Can you scan him for a chip?"

The vet nodded like a deranged bobblehead for a minute solid before leaving the room. He returned a couple of minutes later with a green, hand-held device and held it over the cat's neck.

"There is something there." The doc frowned and began to feel around Philby the Fat Cat's neck. The beast did nothing. He'd behaved like an angel the whole time we'd been here. What a con artist.

"I'm not getting a reading. Must just be an anomaly. If it was an identification chip, we'd have the info. He's got some sort of fatty buildup in his neck. That must be it."

Riley stepped forward. "Thanks Dr. Rye." He lifted Philby as if the animal had always been his. The cat purred and would've probably snuggled up if he could've bent his midsection. However, it's impossible to fold a basketball in half, so Riley just had to settle for the idea that the cat liked him.

"I want you to schedule a full checkup for Philby," Dr. Rye said before walking out the door and leaving us standing in the room.

As I paid the bill, the nurse handed me a card for an appointment. I slid it into my back pocket and joined Riley and the cat in Riley's rented SUV.

"Philby?" Riley asked as he started the car. "You named him after a Communist double agent who betrayed Great Britain? Why?"

"Hey, it's better than Hitler," I grumbled. "Besides," I said as I gave the cat a look, "I don't really know whose side he's on now, do I?"

Philby was sitting on the floor between the two seats. He looked up at me and gave me a loud
meeeoooooow
, then began to lick his front paw, which was all he could really reach.

We pulled into the garage, and the three of us made our way back into the house. Riley set the beast down, and Philby trotted over to his litter box and went in. I thought about what Riley had said earlier about me checking his crap for clues. The hell I would.

It was getting late. I supposed I should be thinking about dinner, but I was wondering how to do that with a guest in the house. I didn't really have anything besides junk food. And we still hadn't sorted out the fact that Riley mistakenly thought he was moving in.

"Are you selling Girl Scout Cookies?" Riley's voice brought me back to reality.

Damn. I'd forgotten. "Yes, and I'm putting you down for a dozen cases. Go ahead and pick the kind you want because that's what you're buying."

He frowned as he looked at the forms. "Oh my God! Look at these ingredients! You can't expect me to eat these! Don't they make any that are all natural?"

I shook my head. "Nope. And if you don't pick a flavor, I'll do it for you."

"What the hell am I going to do with a dozen cases of chemicals?" Riley asked.

"I have a few ideas…" I mumbled.

Riley ignored me and started going through my cupboards, ending with the refrigerator. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed.

"You have no food here," he said to me as he waited.

"I have plenty of food here," I protested.

He shook his head. "No, you have crap here. Chemical particles loosely held together by what used to be food. Tomorrow, we're going shopping. I can't live like this."

"You aren't supposed to." I put my hands on my hips in an attempt to look threatening. "This is my house. You do not live here," I said, emphasizing each word independently so he'd know.

Riley shook his head and turned away from me. In perfect Mandarin Chinese, he ordered a complete takeout dinner, sans the MSG. When he hung up, he smirked.

"It'll be here in 20 minutes. Just enough time for me to unpack. I ordered three dinners."

"Three?" I asked.

He nodded. "Rex is walking over right now." And with that, he disappeared down the hallway. The bastard.

I threw my hands in the air and stomped very maturely over to the door. I opened it as Rex was lifting his hand to knock. He kissed me then walked right in. This was getting out of hand. It was bad enough that Kelly came and went as she pleased, but to have these two men doing it? I was definitely going to have to wire the doorknob to shock, based on these two's biometrics. They'd learn soon enough.

The Chinese was delivered, and the three of us settled in the kitchen, Riley and Rex on the stools at the breakfast bar, me standing on the other side. I should probably get a table with chairs.

Rex filled Riley in on how he found Lenny on my doorstep after he'd called.

"He'd escaped from the supermax in Colorado," Rex said as he pushed away his plate. "They aren't sure how. Coroner says he was shot somewhere else, drove here, and died of blood loss from three gunshot wounds. All through the back."

"Have you made a statement to the press?" I asked. I was not looking forward to another glut of media on my front yard like I'd had a few months ago.

"Tomorrow," Rex said. "We're not going to say where he was found, as a matter of national interest. That should keep the reporters away from you for a while."

I started putting the leftover food in the fridge. "I just don't understand why he came here. I had nothing to do with Lenny. Riley had another agent on that case."

Riley nodded. "It doesn't make sense. How would a prisoner in lockdown find you, anyway? We've managed to keep your cover intact even with the last situation. No one but the guys at the top in the agency know where you are. Or
who
you are."

"Maybe there's a leak?" Rex mused. "The commissioner wants this wrapped up on our end. He doesn't want to tap into another event with Feds."

I turned to Riley. "You should go to Colorado and check his visitor logs, phone calls, stuff like that." That would get him out of my house.

"There's no leak at the top," Riley said. "I think there's still some connection to the problems we had here a few months ago. Someone who's after you is still alive."

"Oh, come on!" I protested. "That's got to be over!"

Riley gave me a look that said,
Oh yeah? What about Midori?

I gave him a look that said,
Shut up!

Rex looked from me to Riley. "Well, whatever's going on, I'd like you to come by the station and take this off our hands."

"Wait…" I said as I realized something. "Did you know Riley was coming here?"

Rex nodded. "He called me. That's why I'm here for dinner."

Did everyone know what was going on except for me? Kelly and Riley were talking…Rex and Riley were talking…for all I knew, Philby was talking to someone who still wanted me dead, or worse.

"Hey!" Rex said, reaching for the Girl Scout forms. "Are you selling cookies?"

I glared at my boyfriend. "Yes. And you're buying two cases." That showed him.

After Rex left and Riley went to bed, I thought about the last 24 hours.

A couple of months ago my life was fairly normal—well, as normal as it could be for an outed CIA agent living under a new identity in the middle of Iowa. Born as Fionnaghuala Merrygold Wrath Czrygy, I'm now Merry Wrath. My life as a spy with the CIA came to an end when a White House official outed me due to my father's lack of support on Capitol Hill. I was "retired" by the agency with a nice settlement, and I moved back to my hometown of Who's There—a small city in Iowa—to help my best friend run a Girl Scout troop. And it worked out nicely…for a year.