The Summer House

Chapter 58

Less than thirty minutes after Captain Pierce has told them the news of Staff Sergeant Jefferson’s change of heart, Special Agent Connie York and her squad are still at Four Corners BBQ, seated at an outdoor picnic table sipping way-too-sweet iced tea and thinking through options and strategy, when her smartphone rings.

The number is ANONYMOUS, and before she answers, York says, “It’s settled, then. Pierce, when you go to Ralston, I want Huang to go along. Another set of eyes and ears will prove helpful.”

Huang says, “Glad to be there, ma’am.”

Nodding, York turns around on the picnic table bench, accepts the incoming call, and says, “Hello?”

“Who’s this?” comes a suspicious-sounding woman’s voice.

“This is Special Agent Connie York, Army CID.”

“Oh,” the woman says. “Just wanted to make sure. I saw that you’d been calling me all day, leaving messages and such, but I wanted to make sure. This is Peggy Reese, Sullivan County Times.”

York gets up and walks away from the table where Pierce, Sanchez, and Huang are still sitting, wanting to focus entirely on this call.

“Mrs. Reese, I can’t tell you—”

She laughs. “Ah, hell, ma’am, I ain’t no missus. You can call me Peggy.”

“And you can call me Connie,” she says. “I would love a chance to talk with you.”

“Oh, wouldn’t that be nice,” she says. “I’m afraid I’m busy for a bit with my Walmart shift.”

“But you said you were from the newspaper.”

“I am from the newspaper,” she says. “In fact, I was out this afternoon trying to sell ads and I left my damn cell phone at home. I also do photo work and most of the typesetting, and with all that, I still can’t make a living. But I’m a damn good reporter.”

“I see,” York says. “Then let’s make an appointment. I’d be open for an interview if that’s what you’re looking for.”

“You know it,” she says. “How does tomorrow afternoon sound? Say, around this time?”

No, no, no, York thinks. We don’t have the time.

“Can’t we do it earlier? After you get out of work?”

A slight pause. “I guess we can, if you don’t mind meeting with me late. You see, my stocking job, it usually gets me off at about 2:00 a.m. Think you’ll be up to seeing me then, ’fore I go to sleep?”

“I’m sure I will be,” York says.

“Tell you what, we get off the phone here, I’ll send you a text with directions to my place. How does that sound?”

“Sounds great,” she says. “We’ll be there.”

The tone instantly changes. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Who said anything about ‘we’? Who’s this ‘we’? Your boss?”

York quickly thinks and comes up with an answer. “No, he’s working the case elsewhere. I was planning to bring one of my other investigators along.”

“Nope,” she says. “Not going to happen. Either you by yourself or there’s no meeting. Got it?”

York looks over at her three men. “All right, then it’ll be just me. Alone.”

“Fine.”

A pickup truck pulls in, sending up some dust from the restaurant’s unpaved parking lot. York says, “May I ask you why you only want me there?”

Peggy says, “You may,” and then disconnects the call.

York goes back to the picnic table, sits down. The three men look at her, and she says, “That was the reporter from the local paper. I’m talking to her later tonight.”

Sanchez says, “What the hell do you want to do that for? I thought it was a mistake the first time you called her, back when you climbed out of the Dumpster. Dealing with reporters is always a mistake. They all have an agenda, and they always screw up the story.”

She picks up a plastic cup filled with sweet tea, takes a sip, and decides she’s never drinking tea, ever again. “Because the boss thought it would be a two-way street, me giving her a story, her giving us an idea of what the hell the local landscape is like. Right now we’re operating in a fog, only getting information that someone is tossing in our direction.”

Pierce says, “I think you’re right, ma’am. Even with Staff Sergeant Jefferson changing his mind, it’d be helpful to know the background of the players around here. Finding out our rooms were bugged, seeing how two main witnesses have fled, and having the kill house burn down... it all points to trouble.”

Out on Route 119, a brown-and-white Sullivan County Sheriff’s Department cruiser slows down and comes into the restaurant’s parking lot. It stops in the middle and sits there. A male deputy sheriff in the front seat looks at them.

Sanchez says, “There’s our trouble, right there. That sheriff and her staff. You know, maybe talking to that reporter is a good idea after all.”

York turns her head and stares at the deputy sheriff. A stocky, broad-shouldered young man, who locks eyes with Connie.

She stares right back and says, “Well, Agent Sanchez, so nice to have you on board.”

Huang says, “Should we leave?”

Connie says, “No. We stay. Let him leave first.”

Pierce says, “Might take a while. Huang and I need to get to Ralston eventually.”

She won’t break the stare. To the JAG lawyer, she says, “You two can head out. Me, I don’t have a bus to catch.”

The men stay put for the time being, and the wait goes on.

Then the cruiser slowly turns around and leaves the parking lot. York turns back to the three men and rubs her eyes.

“Looks like you won that round, ma’am,” Pierce says.

“Maybe so,” she says. “But I’d love to know how many more rounds are waiting for us out there.”