Nick of Time (A Bug Man Novel) (25 page)

“There’s another possibility,” Nick said.

“What’s that?”

“Somebody just wants me to go home. I wonder who?”

“Beats me,” Yanuzzi said tiredly. “Who else have you been annoying?”

Nick slowly nodded. “You know, that’s a very good question.” He got up from the table and replaced the chair. “Thanks for the conversation, Sheriff—I found it stimulating.”

“Yeah,” Yanuzzi grumbled. “Everybody in the diner did too.”

“Hope I didn’t start any rumors—new ones, anyway. Would you like me to call your wife and explain?”

“You do and I
will
take a shot at you.”

“Oh—that reminds me.” Nick took out his cell phone, held it up, and snapped a photo of Yanuzzi.

“What’s that for?”

“Like you said—a souvenir of my visit to Pine Summit.”

26

Y
ou just move this little slide back and forth like this and the newspaper pages show up on the screen there.”

“Thank you,” Nick said to the young woman, “but I’ve used a microfiche reader many times.”

“Wow. How old are you?”

“Believe it or not, I was around before the age of computers. Microfiche was a big advancement—no more painting on cave walls.”

The young woman left Nick to browse in the
Hawley News Eagle
’s morgue—little more than a half-darkened room with one ancient microfiche reader and a wall lined with filing cabinets. With a circulation of only forty-five hundred, the
News Eagle
wasn’t exactly the
New York Times
, but it was large enough to keep a morgue of back issues and Hawley wasn’t far from the town of Pine Summit.

It didn’t take Nick long to locate the article: “From the FBI to Pine Summit: FBI Agent Edward Yanuzzi Takes Over as Pine Summit Sheriff.” It was the same clipping that Yanuzzi had framed on his office wall—but just as Nick suspected, a story as big as that one would have merited more than one page in a biweekly paper like the
News Eagle
.

Nick quickly scanned the article. It opened with a breathless announcement of Yanuzzi’s arrival and followed with statements of welcome from prominent townspeople and quotations from local merchants hoping for a more law-abiding town and a more profitable business environment. Nick shook his head—they talked about Yanuzzi like he was some kind of Old West sheriff who rode into town with six-guns blazing. What kind of crime did they have in Pine Summit that needed to be cleaned up?
Lost pets and stolen bicycles—please, Sheriff, save us!
Yanuzzi clearly thought of his job as a form of semiretirement; Nick wondered if his performance had lived up to his reputation in the eyes of the good people of Pine Summit.

On the next page Nick found what he was looking for: backstory on Yanuzzi during his career as an FBI agent in New York. The guy seemed to have a decent pedigree, though the reporter clearly got some of his facts wrong—he named Bureau departments that didn’t even exist. One thing stood out: Yanuzzi had spent most of his career working in Organized Crime at 26 Federal Plaza in Manhattan. 26 Fed was the FBI’s main office in New York, the same office where Nathan Donovan had worked in counterterrorism—and their tenures there had overlapped.

Nick took out his cell phone and punched a single button.

“FBI. Nathan Donovan.”

“Did you ever know a guy named Ed Yanuzzi?”

“Nick—have you ever considered leading off with ‘hello’?”

“What for?”

“ ‘Hello’ is like a warm-up. ‘Hello’ is a way of easing into a conversation.”

“It’s a phone call, Donovan, not a yoga class.”

“Remember record albums? Remember the sound it made when you accidentally dropped the needle while the album was spinning? That’s what happens to my brain every time you call.”

“You should see somebody about that,” Nick said. “Did you ever know a guy named Ed Yanuzzi?”

“Yeah, I heard you the first time. Give me a context.”

“He was with the FBI in New York. He’s the sheriff here in Pine Summit.”

“
Here
in Pine Summit? Nick, you’re getting married tomorrow—I was really hoping to hear you were back in Virginia by now.”

“I’ve still got time.”

“What are you planning on doing, showing up when the organ starts playing?”

“It’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding.”

“Well, I’ve got news for you, pal—it’s
really
bad luck if you don’t see her
at
the wedding.”

“If only there was some way to speed things up. Wait, I have an idea—you could stop giving me useless advice and answer my question.”

Donovan sighed. “Yanuzzi—New York. Anything else?”

“He spent most of his career in Organized Crime—and he officed at 26 Fed just like you did.”

“And you thought maybe I bumped into him there? Nick— do you have any idea how many agents work at 26 Fed? Don’t ask me, because it’s classified—but there are plenty.”

“Then you never met the guy.”

“Never even heard of him. Why?”

“He smells funny.”

“Oh, brother—here we go again.”

“It’s not just an instinct, Donovan—I think Yanuzzi had something to do with Pete Boudreau’s murder.”

“How do you figure that?”

“That cold case Pete was working on—I think Yanuzzi was involved somehow.”

“
Somehow?
Nick, that’s way too vague for a guy who’s getting married in twenty-four hours.”

“I’m getting close, Donovan. Somebody took a shot at me this morning.”

“I think I know who it was.”

“Who?”

“Your fiancée. She was probably trying to kill you, and I can’t say I blame her.”

“Would you stop kidding around?”

“What is it you want, Nick? I never knew any Ed Yanuzzi.”

“Hang on a minute—I’m going to send you a photo of Yanuzzi. I just took it at lunchtime.”

“You had lunch with the guy? I thought you said he tried to shoot you.”

“That was this morning.” Nick called up the photo of Yanuzzi and pushed Send.

There was a long silence on the other end.

Nick pressed the phone tighter against his ear. “Donovan— did you get it?”

you get it?”

“Yeah—I got it.”

“Ever see the guy before?”

“Everybody in the Bureau has seen him—his photo’s all over the place. His name isn’t Ed Yanuzzi—it’s Tony Womack, and he was in Organized Crime all right. He spearheaded the takedown of a major Japanese boryokudan crime ring several years ago, then he just up and disappeared—along with a whole lot of money.”

“I told you he smelled funny.”

“Now listen to me, Nick. Stay away from Womack or ‘Yanuzzi’ or whatever he calls himself now—we’ve been looking for this guy for a long time, and the last thing we want to do is tip him off.”

“Are you sending people to pick him up?”

“No—I’m coming up there myself. Womack’s veteran FBI— he can spot a field agent a mile away, especially in a small town where he knows all the faces. This needs to be a one-man show, and I’m not handing it off to some rookie. I can be up there in a few hours—I’ll wait until after dark so nobody notices my car. Where have you been staying?”

“A place called the Mountain View Lodge.”

“Well, don’t go back there. If Womack’s the one who took a shot at you this morning, you’re lucky to be alive—let’s not give him a second chance. How in the world did you manage to have lunch with this guy?”

“Crowded diner. I just walked up and started talking.”

“Yeah, that sounds like you. Look, we’ll need a place to meet when I get there—someplace out of the way.”

“I know the perfect place,” Nick said. “It’s a cabin, way out in the middle of nowhere—the place where Yanuzzi took a shot at me this morning. He’d never expect me to go back there.”

“Good—give me an address and I’ll meet you there. And Nick . . .”

“Yes?”

“You’re getting married tomorrow—let’s try to get you there in one piece.”

27

A
lena tossed the magazine aside and randomly picked up another from the lobby table.
Pocono Mountains Travel Guide
, the cover said. She opened it and looked at the glossy full-page ad on the inside cover. There was a photograph of a young couple enthusiastically embracing in a two-story hot tub shaped like a champagne glass. “I Want an All-Inclusive Romantic Escape,” the headline read.
Me too
, Alena grumbled to herself.
There’s just one little problem
.

On the other side of the coffee table, Dante, Trygg, and Ruckus stretched out on the lobby carpet. The three dogs lay still as death except for their eyes, which lifted from time to time and floated around the lobby in a look of utter boredom. One of them let out a high-pitched whine; Alena glared across the table at them and raised both hands in the air in a gesture that said, “So what do you want me to do?”

Alena had been waiting in the lobby of the Mountain View Lodge for hours, and she was slowly going crazy. There was nothing she could do but wait, and waiting was something Alena despised because it made her feel powerless. Waiting felt passive; there was no way to act or control the situation, and that made her feel like a victim. Earlier that morning there were things to do—she could retrace Nick’s steps and go to that lake house and take pictures of the little bug things that Nick had found there— but now she was forced to wait on a call from Noah Ellison to tell her what to do next. Noah said he would make this project his top priority, but she wondered if he really meant it. He was a polite old man—maybe he was just saying that to get her off his back. Maybe he was having lunch right now, or playing solitaire on his computer, trying to remember what it was that crazy dog woman in the Poconos had asked him to do.

But she wasn’t really frustrated with Noah. It was Nick—he was the one who had put her in this situation; he was the one who was making her sit in an empty hotel lobby waiting for him to return. The instant that thought crossed her mind she could hear Gunner’s voice saying to her,
“Nick didn’t make you do anything, Alena—this was your choice. Take responsibility for your own actions.”
Now she was angry at Gunner too—or was she just angry with herself?

She threw down the travel guide in disgust and walked over to the Mountain View Lodge desk again, where Holly was doing her best to appear busy but looked almost as bored as Alena.

Holly spoke first. “I hate this job—in May, I mean. We get our last snow, like, around Easter? But the runoff, that goes into the lake, so it’s way too cold. And kids, they aren’t out of school yet, so families—you know.”

“That’s why we picked May for the honeymoon—off-season rates.”

“You’re coming up here for your honeymoon?”

“I hope so.”

“You will. I’m sure of it.”

“Have there been any calls? Any messages?”

Holly gave her a look of condolence. “I would have told you—right away.”

“I just thought maybe you forgot.”

“I hate being bored, don’t you? I’d rather be busy any day— it makes the time go, you know—faster.”

“Tell me about it—I’m about to lose my mind just sitting there.”

“Your fiancé has to come back,” Holly said. “I mean, doesn’t he? Sooner or later? He didn’t check out—he wouldn’t just leave his things here.”

“It’s hard to say what Nick will do.”

Alena heard the sound of footsteps approaching from behind and she wheeled around—but it wasn’t Nick. It was another man, of medium height and slender build, dressed in a plain navy T-shirt and jeans.

The man rapped his knuckles on the desk and asked, “Restaurant?”

“Oh, sure,” Holly replied. “Right down that hall. See it? That one—there.”