Swallow The Hook Part 8

Abe looked up from some papers he had been reading. Immediately frown lines furrowed his brow. "Hi. Come in." He rose and shut the door behind Frank and Earl. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing serious. I just wanted to warn you about a little"-Frank paused to select the right word-"disturbance headed your way."

"Disturbance? Whaddya mean, disturbance?" Abe remained standing. He was a good deal shorter than Frank, but with a neck that was twice as thick, and powerful, hairy arms.

"Katie Petrucci is planning on staging a demonstration against what she calls unsafe conditions and environmental problems here at Raging Rapids," Frank told him.

"Unsafe? We've never had a serious injury here." Abe threw back his shoulders, and his dark brows met in a line above questioning eyes. "And what kind of environmental problems?"

Frank held his hand up. "I didn't say there was any merit to her claims. I'm just telling you she's planning on staging a demonstration out on the shoulder of the road. She asked for a permit, and I didn't have any grounds for turning her down."

"Didn't have any grounds? How about that she's destroying my business at the height of the tourist season?" Abe paced furiously around the small, cluttered office. "Who did you say is behind this?"

"Katie Conover," Earl said.

"Bill's daughter?" Not waiting for confirmation, he s.n.a.t.c.hed up the phone and began dialing. He paused in mid-number. "Wait a minute. Katie..." He turned to Earl for guidance. "Is that the nutty one?"

Earl nodded.

"Oh, Christ!" He slammed the phone back down. "That girl's always been a headache. Why's she got this bug up her a.s.s about my place?"

Briefly Frank explained the connection to Green Tomorrow and Nathan Golding.

"You mean to tell me"-Abe's voice rose in a steady crescendo-"some lunatic who's not even from around here is agitating for my business to be closed?" The question ended in a shout just as the office door was flung open.

"Dad, what's going on? Who wants to close the business?" Roy Fenstock looked remarkably like his father, except the older man projected an air of kindhearted grumpiness, while the younger just came across as mean. He glared at Frank. "What's this all about?"

Frank began the explanation all over again, playing down the significance of the demonstration as much as possible. "It won't amount to anything, Roy. Just a few girls with signs. I'll keep them on the shoulder-won't let them block the drive. It seemed better to let them go ahead until they run out of steam."

"Better for you, maybe," Roy answered. "You're just trying to take the easy way out. When Herv was police chief, we never had c.r.a.p like this going on."

Now Frank had his back up, too, and he struggled to keep his voice from climbing to Roy's level. "If we try to prevent it, it'll make them more determined. Just ignore them. If you make them feel like they're totally unimportant, they'll give up."

"Ignore them!" Roy pounded the wall with a ham-hock fist. "Like h.e.l.l I'll let these lesbian hippie freaks push me around!"

"That's enough!" Abe yelled. "Frank, you and Earl will be here during this whole thing on Wednesday, won't you?" he asked as he herded them toward the door.

"Absolutely, Abe. We won't let them disrupt your business."

"Fine." As the door shut behind them, father and son resumed their shouting.

"That didn't go too good," Earl commented on the way back to the car.

Frank only scowled. So much for teaching Earl how to deal with irate citizens.

"What is the most dangerous part of a domestic disturbance call?" Frank asked.

"When approaching the scene," Earl answered.

"Very good!" Frank and Earl sat in the dining room of the Trail's End, waiting for a waitress to take notice of them. Earl had wanted to combine lunch with another police academy study session, but he objected to being quizzed in front of all the prying eyes at Malone's, so the Trail's End had been their compromise, although neither was fond of the food.

"Have you ever tried quinoa and pinto bean stew?" Earl asked.

"Don't even look at that side of the menu. Get a hamburger."

"They don't have french fries here. You have to take it with salad."

"A little lettuce would do you good." Frank craned his neck. "Where is everybody?" Then he grinned as he saw a fl.u.s.tered waitress scurrying toward them, tying on her ap.r.o.n as she went. "Well, look at this! Melanie Powers, when did you start working here?"

"Hi, Chief Bennett; hi, Earl." Melanie skidded breathlessly to a stop in front of their table, her ample bosom heaving. "Sorry I kept you waiting. This is my first time working alone."

Skintight black pants and a stretchy top with a deeply plunging U-neck displayed all of Melanie's a.s.sets. She teetered on heels that would cripple her if she stayed in this line of work, and the waitress ap.r.o.n was a coquettish accessory. She leaned over the table to put down their napkins. "Are you ready to order?"

Earl's eyes widened. Try as he might, Frank wasn't able to keep his eyes focused on Melanie's face, and to give his willpower a rest, he buried his nose in the menu. "I'll have the grilled trout."

Melanie smiled at Earl and stood beside him to read the t.i.tle of his book. "What's that for?"

Her question inspired a palsied flinch of his hand that sent the salt shaker skidding across the table. "I, uh, I'm studying for the police academy entrance exam."

"Cool!"

"But I-I don't want everybody to know about it," Earl stammered.

"Don't worry. I can keep a secret."

Frank smiled. Melanie was an irrepressible chatter-box. Of course, she had managed to keep an important secret that had slowed him down during his investigation of Janelle Harvey's disappearance, a few months ago. But he had a feeling Earl's plans would be public knowledge before long.

Melanie bounced on her high heels. "So, what did you want to order?"

"Oh, I'll have a hamburger," Earl choked out.

"All right, the show's over," Frank said as Melanie's round bottom disappeared into the kitchen. "When should a person be advised of their const.i.tutional rights?"

"After they're taken into custody but before they're questioned."

Frank continued the quiz until their food arrived. "You know this stuff backward and forward, Earl. You oughta ace the exam this time."

Earl smiled and ran his fingers through his hair. Frank's praise made him almost as nervous as his reprimands.

A few minutes into the meal Melanie reappeared at their table. "How is everything?"

"Very good. Our compliments to the chef."

Melanie continued to stand there, watching them eat. Frank smiled at her attentiveness. "Could I have some more water?"

Melanie left and came back with the water pitcher. She refilled their gla.s.ses and again stood and watched them eat.

This was getting unnerving. Frank stared back at her.

"Have you figured out what happened to Mary Pat Sheehan's baby yet?"

"No." Frank reapplied himself to his dinner; he hated being pumped about open cases. But Melanie didn't consider herself dismissed.

"Listen," she blurted. "This might be nothing, but after what happened with Janelle, I feel like I better tell you, just in case."

Frank stopped eating. "Tell me what?"

"Last spring this, uh, friend of mine had a problem, and she wanted my advice. She showed me an ad in The Mountain Herald that she was thinking about answering. It said something like 'Loving couple wants to adopt healthy white infant,' and then it gave an e-mail address to respond to, and said everything would be kept confidential."

Melanie had Frank's full attention now. "And did she respond?"

"Well, no. It turned out that, uhm, she had a miscarriage, so then she didn't need to contact them anymore. But since I heard what happened to Mary Pat, I kept thinking, what if Mary Pat answered the ad, and then everything turned out so bad?" Melanie's full lips began to tremble and her blue eyes teared up, threatening disaster for her extravagant eye makeup.

"And when did you say this ad ran in the paper?"

"It was sometime in May, I think. But listen, you can't, like, talk to my friend about this, because she'd kill me if she knew I told you."

"Miss, miss." Two elderly ladies waved their menus at Melanie.

"Okay. I gotta go."

Frank stared at his plate without seeing the trout, rice, and string beans. If an ad had appeared in The Mountain Herald, then Mary Pat might not be the only local girl that Sheltering Arms had victimized. Were other babies from the area up for sale right now?

"You want me to stop by The Herald first thing tomorrow and get that ad?" Earl offered.

Frank speared a forkful of fish. "I'll do it."

"Are you going to try to find out who Melanie's friend is?"

Frank opened his mouth to say, "There is no friend, Earl." But he changed his mind and merely shook his head. If Melanie's story had convinced Earl, there was no reason to blow her cover.

12.

THE MOUNTAIN HERALD only survived because Greg Faraday was reporter, editor, ad salesman, designer, and secretary rolled into one. A monument to efficiency, he located the ad in question within minutes. Frank studied the small ad in the cla.s.sified section.

ARE YOU PREGNANT?.

Loving couple seeks to adopt healthy white infant. We will provide your child with every advantage. Financial a.s.sistance available for expenses during your pregnancy. All inquiries strictly confidential. E-mail:

"So who placed that?" Frank asked.

"I don't know. They just send in the ad copy and a money order to pay for it to run twice, and it's always for a little more than the cost."

"Always? You mean you've had more than this one ad?"

"Yeah, one a few months before this. But don't go telling me it's illegal, because I checked that out before I ran the first one."

"That's not why I'm here," Frank rea.s.sured him. "But what do you mean, you checked it out?"

"With my chapter of the American a.s.sociation of Newspaper Publishers. If you have a question about the ethics of accepting a certain ad, you can call them for advice. And they said couples who want to arrange an independent adoption run these kinds of ads all the time in papers like The Herald."

"Small weeklies? Why?"

"It's not so much that we're small, it's that we serve a rural population. A rural, white population. See, they don't want babies from minority drug addicts in the Bronx."

"Okay, I get it. Do you think these ads are sent by the same person?"

"I don't know. The first one had a different e-mail address to respond to, but they both came in the same way. Envelope with no return address, no cover letter, money order to pay, no names anywhere."

"And have you had any more of these since this one ran in May?"

Greg shook his head. "I'm sorry, Frank. I should have called you when I heard what happened with Mary Pat Sheehan. But the ad was so long ago, I never made the connection."

"That's all right-it could be nothing. But, Greg, do me a favor-don't mention this to anyone until I track this down, okay?"

"This is great!" Earl said when Frank returned to the office with the ad. "All you have to do is call up the Internet provider and find out who owns that account."

"Not that easy, I'm afraid. We'd need a subpoena, and we don't have enough evidence to prove that this ad was placed by Sheltering Arms. It could've really been placed by a couple, just like it says."

Earl wrinkled his brow. "Well, could we send an e-mail to that address-you know, write it like it's from a pregnant girl?"

"Yeah, we'll try. But we'll have to send it from an e-mail address they wouldn't recognize. Edwin and Lucy have a personal account separate from the one they use for Iron Eagle business, so I thought you could go over there and send it." Frank began to write. " 'I am three months pregnant, but n.o.body knows. I can't keep this baby, but I don't want to get an abortion. Please tell me about yourself and how you can help. Molly.' What do you think?"

"It's good except for the name. No one's named Molly anymore."

"My age is showing-you pick it."

"Uh, how about Brandy?"

"Brandy it is."

"Lieutenant Meyerson's here to see you, Frank," Doris's voice screeched over the intercom minutes after Earl left.

"What can I do for you, Lew?" he asked, glancing through some papers on his desk.

"Probably nothing," Meyerson said, taking a seat but maintaining his usual ramrod posture. "The Feds have taken over the Golding murder investigation. They've put me in charge of following up dead ends."

Now Meyerson had Frank's full attention. "The FBI has taken over? Why?"

"Seems like some of Golding's followers got a little carried away last year in Colorado. Blew up some earth-moving equipment being used to build a deluxe hunting lodge. Now Green Tomorrow's on the FBI's radar screen as domestic terrorists. They seem to think Golding's murder could signal the beginning of something big."

"Left-wing extremists versus right-wing extremists?"