Once Upon a Spy (Humorous Cozy Mystery) (6 page)

“It’s all that power food.” She flexed her right bicep and felt the muscle bulging under her sweater. She could swear she was getting stronger every day.

“You always were a big girl, hon. It’s good genes, that’s what it is.”

“Guess so.” She plunked down on one of the chairs. The kitchen had always been the hub of the Assenheimer family life, even though it was too small to fit them all. So Pop had taken out the wall dividing kitchen and living room at some point, and installed a big butcher block where the wall used to be. He placed a table big enough to accommodate a dozen on the other side of it.

She dipped into the pot of potatoes steaming on the stove. “So what’s happening?”

“Oh, nothing much, dear. Uncle Gerard is still sick with the flu, but the doctor promised he’ll be fine by next week. And Aunt Maybelline failed her driver’s test yet again.”

“No, I meant, what’s happening with you, Mom?”

Mom looked up in surprise. “With me? Why, I’m fine, of course.”

Yvonne grinned. Her mother, a diminutive woman, never liked to draw attention to herself. “How’s the drawing going? Didn’t you have another lesson last night?”

Mom raised her eyebrows. “Fine, dear. Just fine.”

“Can I see?” Without waiting for a reply, she dug into her mother’s bag, still slung against the wall where she’d left it the night before. She took out the big carton folder and opened it to check on her mother’s latest. It was a pencil drawing of an eagle, quite nicely rendered. “Wow. You’re getting really good at this, aren’t you?”

Mom shrugged, almost embarrassed. “Jocelyn said it looks like an eagle, and I guess she’s right. It does, doesn’t it?”

Jocelyn Walters was Mom’s art teacher at the night school she’d been attending for the last four months. After a lifetime of taking care of her family, she’d yearned to pick up the hobby she’d abandoned when she’d met Gerald Assenheimer and set up house. At the age of 56, she felt it was time she did something for herself again, and Yvonne had heartily agreed. The rest of the family hadn’t really understood why someone would want to spend their time drawing stuff on a piece of paper, but then they’d always been a rough and uncultured brood.

“I think it looks great, Mom. You’re so talented.”

Mom’s eyes lit up. “Thanks, honey. I like to think I used to be better, and with a little practice, the old skills just might put in a repeat performance.”

Yvonne carefully replaced the drawing into the art folder, and placed the bag on the floor. “I think you’re crazy talented, Mom. If you keep this up, you’ll be exhibiting at the Museum of Modern Art soon.”

Her mother uttered a startled laugh. “Not quite, hon. But thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Yvonne leaned back in her chair and picked out another potato. Contrary to her mother, she didn’t possess an artistic bone in her body, but to see her mother happy made her happy, too, and that was all that mattered.

Soon, though, her thoughts returned to ASS and the weird day she’d had.

“Did you always know you had this talent for drawing?”

“Oh, no, honey. And I still don’t. But I love the process.” She turned to Yvonne. “I really don’t need to see my work in a museum. I simply love to draw, and that’s all I need. My own gratification.“

With a grave nod, Yvonne tried to apply this little nugget of wisdom to her own life. She’d always been good at garbage collecting, but had she really liked it? Had she been passionate about it? She didn’t think so. But would she like working for ASS? She’d have to wait and see. And if she didn’t? She’d not give it another thought and quit immediately. Life was too short to be engaged in any activity you didn’t feel passionate about.

“What is it, honey? I can tell you’re brooding.”

She looked up to find her mother scrutinizing her. “I’m fine, Mom. Just something at work I need to figure out.”

Mom nodded thoughtfully. “If you want to talk about it, you know where to find me, hon.”

“Thanks, Mom.” Perhaps I’ll take you up on that offer sooner than you think.

The following morning, the sun was shining bright and free, and Yvonne, having slept fitfully, was happy to greet it with a smile. Today was the day her new life started, and she’d decided somewhere between the hours of two and three, that she’d give it her all.

Stepping into the small alleyway that was the entrance to the ASS compound, she was happy to find Izzy already on the spot.

“What took you so long!” her friend cried out by way of greeting.

Yvonne glanced down at her watch. “Long? It’s not even half past eight. You’re early.”

“Couldn’t sleep. Too nervous about today.”

“Me, neither.”

“I should have stayed over like you told me to. At least we could have stayed awake together.”

After their movie night—Two Weeks Notice, a Hugh Grant flick in honor of their new job—Izzy had wanted to return home, so she could be fresh and relaxed for this most important day. It clearly hadn’t worked.

“So? You ready?” Izzy hopped from one leg to the other, too hyped to remain still, her eyes wide and innocent.

“Hardly.”

They both gazed up at the nondescript rear facade of the old building. The windows had been bricked up, and the three story structure looked as derelict as any of the other buildings in the alley. Garbage dumpsters stood nearby, and out of habit, Yvonne walked over to check them out. She lifted the lid of the first one. Empty.

“Archibald,” she concluded after checking the other containers.

“Your brother? How do you know?”

“He didn’t empty them out. Archibald never empties out his containers. Always leaves some stuff on the bottom.”

“Bad boy.”

“He is.” She gave the last dumpster a kick, and was surprised when a voice piped up.

“Hey! Watch it!”

Curious, she glanced inside, and was surprised when a familiar face stared back at her. “Matt? What are you doing in there?”

“Never mind what I’m doing in here. What are you doing out there?”

“Um. Waiting for our first day on the job to start?”

He eyed her testily. “This isn’t the ASS building. You’re in the wrong place. Again.”

She frowned. “But this is where you told us to be, right? Don’t you remember? You gave us this address.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Hi, Matt. How’s things?”

“Things were fine, until you showed up. Now get the hell out of here before the shit hits the fan.”

Izzy sniffed. “Smells to me it already did.”

Just then, they were joined by a fourth party. A man dressed in business attire—gray slacks, gray tie, gray vest—came walking down the alley, clasping a briefcase under his arm. When he noticed Yvonne and Izzy, his step faltered, and he stopped, gazing at them uncertainly.

Yvonne held up her hand in greeting. “Hey, buddy.”

“Um, who are you?”

“I’m Yvonne. You?”

“Are you my contact?”

Yvonne, having been raised to be nice to strangers, shrugged. “Sure.”

The man licked his lips, and gestured at Izzy. “I didn’t know there’d be two of you.”

Yvonne tapped the dumpster. “Three, actually.”

From inside the dumpster, a loud hiss sounded. “I’m not here!”

She grinned. “Just kidding about that third party. Thought I saw a rat, that’s why.”

The man frowned, confused, and clasped his briefcase tighter to his chest. “A rat?”

“Yeah, you know. Small rodent with big teeth and long tail?”

“Oh, you mean a real rat. I thought…” His voice trailed off when a bicycle messenger came riding down the alley.

Izzy, who’d stopped hopping from one leg to the other, eyed the messenger curiously. “For a deserted alley, it’s getting really crowded in here, don’t you think?”

When the messenger saw the small troupe, he squeezed his brakes and rolled to a stop ten yards behind the man. “The viscous air smells to vicious fish.”

Yvonne raised her eyebrows. “Huh?”

Izzy dropped her voice to a whisper. “I think he said something about fish.”

“No fish in here, bub. Only rats.”

The man with the briefcase wiped some perspiration from his brow. He seemed about to die from heart failure. “The vicious fish ate the virulent worm.”

Visibly relieved, the bike messenger reached into his bicycle basket, and retrieved a fat envelope, then held it out.

Without a word, the man walked over to the messenger, opened the briefcase and retrieved a file. He handed the file to the bike messenger, then took the envelope and stuffed it into his briefcase and slapped it shut.

The bike messenger gestured at Yvonne and Izzy, who’d watched the scene with slack-jawed interest. “Who are those two?”

The man gulped, staring from Yvonne and Izzy to the bike messenger and back. “But I thought they were with you!”

“No, they’re not,” growled the man, and suddenly reached into his coat and came out with a very big, very shiny gun.

“Gun!” yelled Yvonne, and hurled herself behind the dumpster containing Matt.

“Gun!” squeaked Izzy, and remained standing right where she stood.

“Iz! Duck!”

With a loud yelp, Izzy flung herself to the ground, just when the bike messenger opened fire. Bullets peppered the dumpsters as Yvonne pressed herself flat to the ground, her hands covering her ears. It kinda pissed her off to be shot at the first day on the job. Looking beneath the dumpster, she could only see the messenger’s feet as bullets continued to ricochet all around her.

The man, clearly intent on finishing the job he’d started, now came walking up to them at a brisk pace. In moments, he’d be upon them! This was simply too much. With an angry grunt, Yvonne quickly rose to her feet, and took a hold of the dumpster next to her. Then, with an animal snarl, she gave it a vigorous shove in the direction of the bike messenger.

The man raised his weapon, but too late. With a sickening cry, he was knocked down by the dumpster toppling over and trapping him underneath.

The man with the briefcase, meanwhile, didn’t seem eager to prolong his stay. With a loud wail, he raced to the messenger’s bike, and slung his leg up and over, then awkwardly started pedaling away.

Yvonne, still royally pissed, fished the messenger’s weapon from his lifeless grasp. “Oh, no, you don’t!” She raised the gun, and squeezed the trigger. A dry click announced she was out of ammo. Furious, she hurled the firearm through the air in the direction of the fleeing man. Through sheer luck, the gun hit him on the back of the head, and after a soft grunt, he sailed across the handlebars and fell to earth in a heap of flailing legs and arms, then was knocked sideways by the hurtling bike. Peace finally returned to the small alley.

“You got him, V!”

Yvonne looked down, and saw Izzy’s funny face popping out from behind one of the dumpsters. “I sure did.”

Just then, a soft pounding sound attracted her attention. It seemed to originate from the dumpster the bike messenger was now wearing as a jacket. She gave it a hearty shove, returning it to its upright position. Almost immediately the lid flew open, and a bedraggled, extremely soiled Matt Halloran came crawling out, looking much the worse for wear.

Yvonne’s hand flew to her face. “Matt! I’d completely forgotten you were in there!”

Matt merely grunted something unintelligible, then reached for his gun.

“You don’t have to shoot me for it! I swear I didn’t do it on purpose!”

Instead of answering her, the agent trained his gun on the rumpled bike messenger. He gave him a shove with his foot, then trotted over to the other man and repeated the procedure. When he also proved unresponsive, he shoved his gun back inside his holster, and heaved a deep sigh. After staring down at the unconscious man, he whirled around. “Goddammit, Yvonne! You just destroyed this whole operation!”

“Huh?”

Wildly, he gestured at the man at his feet. “You just killed Grant!”

“Well, he was getting away, wasn’t he?”

“You should have let him.”

Matt raked his hands through his thick mane. This was an absolute disaster. Not only had the transaction not gone through, Yvonne had singlehandedly killed the only lead they’d ever had.

“This man was trying to kill us!” She was gesturing at the flattened bike messenger, whom he now recognized as Fatik Fatak Fatouk, son of Fatok Fatek Fataik, one of Goriaman’s top spies and Goriamanese ambassador to the US. Like father, like son. At least now they knew whom Grant was working for.

He snapped his walkie-talkie from his belt. “Frank? Better get down here ASAP. The op is a bust.”

He leveled an icy gaze at Yvonne. “Yeah. Someone just whacked Grant
and
the contact.”

Yvonne stirred Fatik with the tip of her foot. “I think he’s still alive.”

“Great. Just imagine what he’ll tell his dad.”

“Dad?”

“Goriamanese spy.” He gestured at the stricken man at his feet. “Grant works for the Department of Defense. He’s been selling state secrets for months. Only we didn’t know whom he was selling them to.” He stared at her, grim-faced. “Now we know.”

“Oh, V! You nailed a spy! Goodie!” Izzy clapped her hands excitedly.

“Not goodie!” Matt snarled. “Grant’s a small fish. Just a glorified civil servant. There’s no way in hell he could get his hands on intel important enough to warrant the interest of a guy like Fatik. He must be working for a third party who’s supplying him with the information somehow. The purpose of this op was to discover the identity of this third party.”

“You should have simply arrested Grant and make him talk,” suggested Yvonne. “Isn’t that what you guys usually do?”

“Chances are slim that Grant actually knows the identity of his contact. We’ve been following him for weeks and have yet to detect a single connection with anyone. Whoever this person is, he is extremely cautious.” He stared down at the fallen civil servant, and was surprised to find he was still alive. At least, if that twitch in his leg was any indication. He quickly knelt down, and felt the man’s pulse. He
was
alive.

He gestured to the others. “We need to get out of here. Right now. Perhaps we can still salvage something from this wreck.”