I throw a dirty look at the kid zigzagging his bike all over the road when I finally manage to pass him.It’s that I’m running really late already, otherwise I’d pull the punk over and write him a damn ticket.
“Nothing,” Mancuso returns on the other end.“Peter Abel does not exist.The license plate you pulled from the traffic camera was off a different vehicle that was stolen from Kirksville, Missouri, in 2011.And we have no match for the prints pulled off the envelope you guys handed over.”
“If he doesn’t exist, then who the hell was that?”
It feels like we’ve been chasing our tails all week, trying to get any kind of traction on who showed up at Strange Brew carrying the picture of a dead man.The dead man was Mike Lee, at least that much has been confirmed.When or how his body ended up in the ruins of Clem’s old auto shop, who the hell knows?But I’m having a hard time seeing how the slight, rather nondescript older gentleman Bess described could possibly be responsible for that.
“I have no idea, but the man is one slick operator,” the agent observes.
True, and if he did pull this off by himself, he has to be packing some amazing skill and impressive strength, which makes me wonder…
“You reckon he’s a pro?Maybe a spook?”I suggest.“It would explain why the man stayed in the shadows all of those years, and how he would’ve been able to keep tabs on Bess and her mother.”
“That makes sense, if he is a CIA agent, it would explain why we can’t find him.I can put out a few feelers, but I’m pretty sure this is going to be a dead-end street.”
To say I’m frustrated is an understatement, but at least it would appear there is no longer any possible threat to Bess, and for that I’m grateful.
Speak of the devil, the screen on my dashboard shows an incoming call from her.
“Mancuso, I’ve gotta go.We’ll touch base later.I’ve got another call coming in.”
“Wish the happy couple Godspeed from me.”
“Will do.”
I hang up and immediately answer the incoming call.
“Hey, honey.”
“Where are you?”
Bess has a tell; when she is stressed or anxious, her voice rises in pitch.
“I’m about seven minutes out.”
“Do you have the cakes?”
I glance over my shoulder where Lola has expertly stabilized the boxes with the three tiers of the wedding cake Bess worked on for two days straight.
“I do, and you’ll be glad to know they’re still in one piece.”
“Oh my God, don’t even joke about that.”
“Relax.I’ll get them there unharmed.I’ll see you shortly.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
As promised, she is standing in front of The Carriage House, directing me around the side of the main building.She’s still in the casual clothes she left home in, but someone did her hair, piling it artfully on her head in a mass of curls and some flowers, and her beautiful features are enhanced with makeup.
“You look gorgeous,” I tell her, getting out of the truck.
But when I reach for her, she sidesteps me.
“No kissing, or all of this…” She waves her hand around her face.“…will have to be redone, and there is no time for that.We’re already running late.”
That last comment comes with a pointed look for me.
“Hey, you told me to be here at one, and it’s one on the dot.”
