Vanilla Bean Killer Read online

  After he’d inspected it thoroughly, Spencer slid the cement lid of the box. There were no identifying marks on the lid or the box, just solid concrete, which housed something that none of them had expected. Spencer had brought a bag with him, tucked in his belt, and he shook it out now, loading it with the somewhat meager contents of the large box. Hearing a soft sound, he froze in place, keeping his breathing silent and even, and his pulse steady, just as he’d been trained to do.

  Straining to hear every small sound, the Marine realized that there was nothing more than a curious animal outside… unless… He looked toward the source of the sound, and saw a fiber-optic wire being worked under one side of the structure. The wire undoubtedly had a camera attached to it, so Spencer stepped out of the path of the camera, and grasped the tiny cable from behind. Holding it between two fingers, while leaving enough slack in the line so that the agents running it wouldn’t realize that there was a problem, he drew a razor-sharp knife from a holster on his belt and severed the end of the cable, so that the part containing the camera lay in his palm, useless.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  * * *

  Holly Meadows was one of those fortunate people who always had an air of efficiency and productivity, even when business was slow, and today was no exception. Looking as though she was right in the middle of something terribly important, she glanced up and saw a young man exit the elevator across the hall, looking lost and twisting a baseball cap in his hands. He was dressed as though he’d been working in his yard, and seemed terribly out of place in the well-appointed suite of offices.

  “May I help you?” she inquired, her expression pleasant and professional.

  “Um, yeah. I don’t know. Is this where Mr. Beckett works?” he asked, speaking quietly, almost as if he was afraid of being overheard.

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “Oh. Uh, no. I just… I kind of need to talk to him,” the young man shrugged.

  Holly scrutinized him thoroughly, and when she decided that he didn’t seem to be dangerous or unbalanced, she put her headset up to her ear. “Name, please?”

  “Jones. Fernando Jones.”

  “And what do you wish to speak to Mr. Beckett about?”

  “It’s uh… his house. I work on his house.” Fernando looked uneasy.

  She tapped a button on the phone.

  “Mr. Beckett, there is a Fernando Jones here to see you. He says that he does work on your house,” Holly spoke into the receiver, her eyes fixed on the young man in front of her. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

  She pushed another button, ending the call.

  “He’ll be with you in just a few minutes,” she smiled warmly. “Would you like some water or coffee?”

  “No. I… no thank you,” he ducked his head and headed for the nearest seat in the luxurious waiting area, next to a massive tropical fish tank.

  Chas came out a few minutes later, and when he caught Holly’s eye, she inclined her head toward the waiting area.

  “Mr. Jones?” he held out his hand and Fernando shook it, looking more nervous than ever. “Come with me, please.”

  Once the two men were seated in Chas’s office, the PI leaned back in his chair, hoping to put Fernando at ease. “You’re one of the landscaping crew, aren’t you?” he asked.

  Jones nodded. “Yes, sir. I’m a tree specialist.”

  “You do good work—the trees that you’ve put in are perfect. My wife loves them. Now, what can I do for you today, Fernando?”

  The young man swallowed and cast his eyes down briefly before beginning.

  “I don’t want to cause no trouble, or get in no trouble, but… we got shut down because there was a body underneath that wall, and…” he sighed.

  “And what?” Chas leaned forward.

  “And… I was a part of the crew that built that wall in the first place. It was my first summer after high school.”

  “Did you personally build that particular segment of the wall?”

  Fernando shook his head vehemently and paled. “Nope, no way. I ain’t got those kind of instincts in me. But something weird happened with that part of the wall and I never really thought about it until we found that skeleton.”

  He had Chas’s full attention now.

  “What weird thing happened, Fernando?”

  “We had gotten most of the way to the corner, and the architect…”

  “Kaplan Bartlett?” Chas supplied.

  “Yes, sir, it was Kap, just like this time. Anyway, he had a bad argument with the owner of the place, and he stormed off the property, telling us to shut it down and go home.”

  “And did you?”

  Fernando nodded. “Yeah, we did. We all kinda stood around not knowing what to do at first, but then we just packed up our tools and left.”

  “What’s so strange about that? Is Kaplan known for having a bad temper?”

  The young man shrugged. “Sometimes he does, sometimes he doesn’t, but that’s not the weird part.”

  “Okay then, what’s the weird part?”

  “We all got a call a couple of days later that we should come back to the site, and when we did, the wall was finished. Looked as good as if the whole team had been working on it, but none of us did.”

  “So, who finished the wall?” the PI drilled him with a glance, causing a sheen of sweat to pop up on the young man’s brow.

  “I guess Kap did it himself. He never said nothing about it, and nobody ever asked, because we didn’t want him to get mad at us.”

  “Did you ever see the homeowner again after that day?”

  “Yes, sir. He came out every day for quite a while to make sure that we were working. Then one day he just disappeared. Some of the guys said that he was in jail, but we just kept going on the house until we were done. I drove by a few years after that, and it was all overgrown and abandoned looking. All that beautiful landscaping went to waste,” Fernando shook his head.

  Chas gazed, unseeing at his desk blotter for a few seconds, thinking.

  “How long have you worked for Kaplan Bartlett?” he asked finally.

  “Off and on ever since I got outta high school.”

  “Is he a good boss?”

  “Well, you know, he yells a lot, but if you stay out of his way, you’re usually okay. As long as you don’t dig anywhere that you’re not supposed to. Gotta stay on the dig map.”

  “The dig map?”

  “Yes sir, it shows where we can and can’t dig. Kap makes one up for every job site, and if you dig in a non-authorized area, you could get fired.”

  “I see. You wouldn’t happen to have a dig map for my house, would you?” Chas asked neutrally.

  “No, only Kap has the maps, but I might be able to get a copy.”

  “That would be very helpful.”

  Chas stood and so did Fernando.

  “Uh, Mr. Beckett, there’s just one more thing…”

  “Yes?”

  “Can you… uh… not tell Kap that I came to talk to you? I don’t think he’d like it.”

  “Really, why is that?”

  “It doesn’t take much for him to fire someone, and I really need this job,” Fernando admitted.

  Chas nodded. “Tell you what… you keep an eye on your boss for me, see if he does anything out of the ordinary, and then tell me about it. I’ll forget this whole conversation ever happened, got it?” the PI asked kindly.

  “Yes sir,” Fernando let out his breath in a relieved rush. “Thank you.”

  “Thank you,” Chas replied, seeing him to the door.

  Spencer appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, as soon as the young man’s back was turned.

  “Our time is even more limited now,” he said quietly.

  “Oh? Why?”

  “Because now the feds know that I know they’re out there. It’s only a matter of time before they try to start making some moves. We need to get this thing solved quickly.”

  He told his boss about the fiber-optic spy came
ra. Chas nodded thoughtfully.

  “Yep, that’s either federal or professional. Either way, we’re under the gun here.”

  “Yeah, possibly literally,” the Marine’s face was grim. “I’m on it.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  * * *

  “Let’s try this again,” Spencer told Kel, undoing the padlock to the portable toilet structure.

  “We’re going in there?” the artist raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you think it’s a bit… confining?”

  “It’s bigger than you think.”

  “And why are we doing this?”

  “Because I need your expert opinion, I told you that.”

  “Well, I’m sorry dear boy, but I’m not exactly well-versed in portapotties,” Kel’s lip curled a bit.

  “Just trust me on this, okay? And come on, we need to get in and get out before anyone sees us,” Spencer stepped into the shelter, Kel reluctantly trailing behind.

  There was just enough room inside for them to be able to move around somewhat comfortably, much to Kel’s surprise and relief.

  “Well, here we are,” he observed, looking around at the blue plastic shell as if hoping for inspiration.

  “Not quite,” Spencer knelt down on the floor. “Step back away from the plastic panel,” he instructed, pointing to where Kel should stand.

  When the artist moved, Spencer lifted up the floor of the structure, revealing the open box below it.

  “Oh! What have we here?” the box instantly commanded Kel’s full attention. “Looks too small to be a coffin,” he observed.

  “It’s not a coffin, although that’s what I had suspected at first,” the Marine replied. “Look.”

  Spencer flipped back a tarp that had been draped over the box and Kel gasped at the sight.

  “How did this get here? Do you have a side job as a pirate?” he exclaimed, kneeling down for a closer look.

  “It was buried here. I found it when I was digging for a vegetable garden. I need you to take a close look at those items, do you recognize any of them?”

  Kel squinted down into the box, nearly overcome with excitement.

  “Yes, I do recognize some of these things, and if they’re legitimate, you’d better report this to the police immediately, or you’ll be on the hook for international smuggling.”

  “Somehow, I thought that might be the case. Now, we’ll need to trace this stuff somewhere, and see if we can figure out who put it there and why.”

  “I’d be more concerned about who might want it back,” Kel gave the Marine a pointed look.

  “Well, obviously we’ll be returning those things to their rightful owner, but in the meantime, we need to take photos and notes to see if we can match them up with owners and crimes,” he instructed, handing the artist a pair of nitrile gloves.

  “To even handle these with human hands is a travesty,” Kel breathed.

  “Well, unless you’ve got a better way to identify them, glove up and let’s get started.”

  The two men worked for the next couple of hours, painstakingly noting the characteristics of each piece of priceless art that had made its way into the mysterious box in the back yard.

  Kel reached the bottom of the box and leaned down into it even further, peering at the bottom.

  “Find something?” Spencer asked.

  “Indeed,” the artist replied, brushing at loose soil that covered the bottom. “Look at this…” he pointed one gloved finger toward a crack in the corner.

  “Hmm… looks like a pressure release hinge,” Spencer observed. “Here, take these last few items,” he handed Kel various jewelry pieces, sculptures and rolled paintings, clearing the box entirely. Once the box was cleared, he pushed on the corner that Kel had pointed out, and the bottom of the box swung down, revealing a dark tunnel with a crude ladder leading into it.

  “Well, that’s unexpected,” Kel’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. “How on earth can there be tunnels in Florida? One would think that sandy soil and a high water table would preclude such a thing.”

  “I don’t think it’s a tunnel,” Spencer replied, pulling a flashlight from his belt. “I think it’s a bunker or something. Maybe a concrete reinforced storage area.”

  “Bomb shelter?” Kel guessed.

  “Maybe. I plan to find out.”

  Spencer was about to lower himself through the bottom of the box when a series of shadows passed over the portable toilet shell. He put a finger to his lips to let Kel know not to speak, and inclined his head, listening. He heard something that made him wary, and motioned for Kel to help him load the stolen artwork back into the trunk, after pulling the floor of it back into place. They had no sooner gotten the shelter floor soundlessly back into place, the box tucked neatly beneath it, when they heard a gruff male voice.

  “This is Agent Segritz of the FBI. You are surrounded.”

  Immediately following the announcement by Agent Segritz, the padlock that had locked the shelter from the outside was removed, and the door opened, letting in the white-hot light of the Florida noonday sun. Spencer, who had been standing across the shelter from Kel, managed to jump into the older man’s arms just before the agents entered.

  “Wow, can’t a guy get a little privacy here?” he asked, one arm around a very surprised Kel’s neck.

  The stone-faced FBI agent who looked more than a bit uncomfortable, took off his dark sunglasses and stared at the Marine.

  “Bengal?” he asked, stepping closer.

  “Dawson?” Spencer replied, shocked.

  “It’s Segritz,” the agent gritted through his teeth, his eyes darting toward Kel.

  “Oh, yeah. Of course,” Spencer recovered. “What are you doing here, man?”

  “I might ask you the same thing,” Segritz seemed rather amused. “Looks like you changed sides.”

  Realizing that he hadn’t fooled his former coworker, the Marine grinned. “Nah, I’m just afraid of the dark,” he quipped. “Thought someone might jump out of the shadows at me if I came in alone.”

  “And here I am,” Segritz nodded, still looking at Kel suspiciously. “I heard you got out.”

  Spencer nodded. “Yeah, finally. It took some really high-level convincing, but Command turned me loose.”

  “And you didn’t go home?” Segritz frowned.

  “This is home,” the Marine said quietly, precluding further conversation.

  “Well, you put me in an awkward bind here, Bengal,” the agent admitted.

  “Yeah, what’s that?”

  Segritz seemed to weigh his response for a moment. “There’s some stuff going on around this house, stuff that gets federal attention, if you catch my drift.”

  “I hear you.”

  “If I find out that you’re involved in bribery, I can’t just let you walk, you know.”

  “Bribery? What are you talking about?”

  “I find it hard to believe that you don’t know,” Segritz gave him a look.

  “You lost me,” the Marine shook his head, honestly baffled.

  “You still playing watchdog for Beckett?”

  “Watch yourself, Dawson,” Spencer’s jaw flexed.

  “Segritz,” the other man frowned. “I’ll take that as a yes. You might want to explore what your boss has been up to, and what his interest is in this house. Who’s he?” the agent jerked his head in Kel’s direction.

  “My dream date.”

  “Uh-huh. And what’s underneath this box?”

  “Oil field.”

  “Some things never change, huh, Bengal?”

  “So it would seem.”

  “My official report says that I didn’t find anything here today.”

  “Much appreciated.”

  “But I will be back tomorrow.”

  “Noted. Thanks Dawson.”

  “Segritz.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “Take care of your pretty little girlfriend,” the agent grinned at Kel.

  “With my life,” the corner of Spen
cer’s mouth lifted fractionally.

  ***

  Kel had rows upon rows of photographs spread across his desk in the study, along with a magnifying glass, a pad of notepaper, and a glass of expensive Scotch.

  “What have we got?” Chas asked. He and Spencer sat across the desk from the artist, who was utterly absorbed in the task at hand.

  “The identifying marks leave no room for doubt. There are pieces of art from three major artists. The theft of these items rocked the entire art world more than a decade ago, and everyone assumed that they’d just been lost. To have not only found them, but touched them, is a profound…” Kel stopped to take a breath and Spencer interjected.

  “Can we get to the bottom line?” he asked kindly.

  “Oh, yes, of course,” Kel gathered himself. “We have a rare collection of Bernoli, Castillano, and Brunière pieces, the value of which probably equals the GDP of a well-developed nation.”

  “So, the owner of the house was an art thief?” the Marine frowned.

  Chas shook his head. “No, it had to be bigger than that. Whoever has an interest in this house is very well connected. I had to jump through hoops I’d never imagined existed in order to push the sale through. We need to find out who the owner was connected to, and why.”

  “Which will probably lead us to the murderer,” Spencer mused. “Any word from the coroner yet?”

  “He should be doing the autopsy now. Toxicology won’t be back for a few days, but with a body this old, there isn’t much hope there anyway.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  * * *

  “Are you sure that we should be doing this?” Echo whispered, though it was broad daylight. She’d left Jasmine sleeping in the care of her favorite babysitter, thirteen-year-old Destiny Crandall, so that she could come along on her best friend’s wild goose chase.

  “Of course I’m sure,” Missy whispered back. “It’s my house, and even if the police are investigating it, they can’t exactly keep me away from my own property.