Disclaimer: Characters within belong to the Stratemeyer Syndicate and Simon & Schuster. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Notes: Thanks for the continued interest! I'm so glad that what I'm writing is coming close to the style of the original novels. I know they were never considered great literature, but they always entertained me;) I hope everyone keeps reading and enjoying!
****
Bay of Peril
by Kristen Elizabeth
****
"Why Jonathan?" Victoria sobbed into Nancy's shoulder. "He was so…wonderful. Why?! Why him?!"
There was nothing Nancy could do or say to console Victoria. The older woman was in utter despair over the news that her business partner's body had been found washed up on the beach. By Frank Hardy. That was the part that shocked Nancy the most, she was sad to admit.
"Bad things happen to good people," Nancy replied softly. "I'm so very sorry, Victoria."
Wiping her eyes, the chef shook her head back and forth. "The last time I saw him, I wanted to tell him so many things. But I didn't. I thought there would be plenty of time to say everything that needed to be said. I can't believe…he's really gone."
Nancy held her friend through another round of tears, but in the back of her mind she was reviewing this new, tragic twist to her case. The autopsy hadn't been performed yet, but Frank had told her on the phone that he had seen some rope around the man's hands when the coroner had lifted the body out of the surf and searched what remained of his clothing for identification. She closed her eyes. How horrible for Frank. She had seen bodies before…they both had…but it never got any easier.
Jonathan Brumby was dead, most likely murdered and dumped into the Bay or just dumped. Drowning, being nibbled on by sharks…she couldn't imagine a worse fate.
"Victoria," Nancy began. "I know this is the worst time imaginable, but I need to ask you something. Do you know of anyone, anyone at all, who might have wanted Jonathan dead?"
"No. Everyone loved him." The older woman's hazel eyes gave away her lie. After a moment, she let out a breath. "I should have told you this from the beginning Nancy."
"Told me what?"
Victoria folded her trembling hands in her lap and looked around the empty restaurant. The chairs had been taken down from their resting places on the tables, but that was the only preparation that had been made for the rapidly approaching dinner rush. "I spent ten years dreaming of Curacao," she started. "I wanted people to come here and step into the Caribbean for a few hours. The waterfall, the Spanish tiles, the flowers on the tables…to me, this restaurant is the most beautiful place on earth."
She paused. "But putting a dream together takes money. A lot of money. That's where Jonathan came in. He was the logic; I was the vision. I mean, what did I know about investors and book-keeping and licenses? All I wanted to do was create. To cook. He understood that. We respected each other's roles. He never told me what to put on my menu…and I never asked him where the money came from."
"Are you saying…the money to start Curacao came from less than legal sources?"
"I think so," Victoria whispered. "A lot of our capital came from this company, Ossi Industries. Jonathan mentioned them once or twice. But I never saw that name on any of our books. According to those books, that money wasn't supposed to exist."
*Which would explain why that name didn't come up in my research,* Nancy thought to herself.
"When the incidents started up, Jonathan was much more upset about them than I was," Victoria continued. "When he disappeared, I found out why." She paused. "You have to forgive me, Nancy. I brought you all the way out here, concocted your undercover position…and I never told you the whole story."
Nancy nodded patiently. "Tell me now."
"Jonathan had been getting letters, letters that he didn't tell me about, from Ossi Industries. They basically said that they were no longer interested in financing Curacao. In fact, they wanted to buy up this entire block instead, for god only knows what reason. According to the letters, they wanted us out by next month or else."
"Or else what?"
"Or else they'd mention our undeclared capital to the IRS." Victoria sniffed delicately. "Nancy, I should have told you up front. But I was frightened. Jonathan had disappeared, and here I was facing vandalism, blackmail, a possible audit, a potential threat to my life…" She closed her eyes. "And the end of my dream. I'm so sorry."
"It's all right, Victoria." Nancy reached for the older woman's hand. "But let me ask you…why did you come to me instead of going to the police?"
"It's going to sound crazy, but I really thought Jonathan might still be alive. And that if I went to the police, whoever had him might kill him. I suppose…I suppose that doesn't matter now, does it?"
Just as Victoria dissolved into fresh sobs, Nancy's cell phone rang. Cursing the caller's timing, but unable to ignore it in case it was something vital, she stood up. "Victoria, I'm sorry. I'll just be a moment, I promise." The older woman nodded through her tears and Nancy moved to a quiet corner of the restaurant, away from the noisy rush of the manufactured waterfall, to take the call.
"Hello?"
"Nancy!"
She froze. "Ned."
"Yeah, it's me. I know it's been awhile since we've really talked, but…" He cleared his throat, and even though thousands of miles separated them, Nancy could tell something was bothering her boyfriend. "We're both so busy."
"I know. I'm sorry. Things have been…crazy here."
There was instant concern in his voice, and it made her guilt triple. "Are you all right, Nan? Nothing's happened to you?"
"Nothing more than being pushed down by a mugger," she assured him. Somehow, she managed to stop herself before she mentioned Frank Hardy's role in the incident…or even that he'd been there at all. "I'm fine, Ned."
"You always say that," he replied. "Even when your life is in serious danger."
There was a touch of bitterness in the words that Nancy ignored. "And it always turns out to be true, doesn't it?"
"It might not someday. Do you have any idea how much that scares me?"
Nancy switched the little phone to her other ear. "Ned, this really isn't a good time to get into that argument again."
"It's never a good time, is it, Nan?" She could almost see him shaking his handsome head at her. "Look, I didn't call to fight. I actually have good news."
She smiled. "I could use some right now."
"Well, in case you've been so wrapped up in your investigation and haven't noticed, this weekend is the Fourth of July."
He knew her too well. She had forgotten. "Oh, yeah. It is. But what…"
Ned cut her off, his voice excited. "I made arrangements to take Friday off. I got a plane ticket. And I'll be arriving in San Francisco just in time to celebrate with you!"
For the second time, she felt her body freeze up. "You're…coming here? This weekend?"
"Is that okay, Nan? I mean…we haven't seen each other since Easter."
"You know that it's okay with me," she quickly assured him. "It's just…" Nancy hesitated. They couldn't have the conversation they needed to have over the phone. Nor could they have it while her feelings about Frank Hardy were still up in the air. It wasn't fair to Ned and she knew it, but she continued, "The case is reaching a crucial point. I want to see you, but if you came, you know you wouldn't be first on my list of priorities."
A few seconds passed before Ned chuckled with bitterness that she *couldn't* ignore. "When am I ever first on that list, Nan? I've become quite accustomed to playing second fiddle. I just want to see you. I miss you. I miss making love to you."
Her cheeks felt hot. "Ned, I'm sorry. I miss you, too. I do. And…you know…being with you. I just don't think the Fourth is going to work."
He cursed and she winced, pulling the phone away from her ear slightly. "Nan, I have been patient for years. I've never asked you for much of anything. I've gone along with the investigations, helped out where I could, stood back when I knew I'd get in the way, and I haven't even really minded. But lately…I've come to realize how much I hate it."
"Hate it?" she repeated. "You hate what I do…"
"Yes. Okay? I hate it. I hate the fact that you're more than happy to drop any plans we have to run off to Australia or South Africa…the ends of the earth, just for a case. I hate the danger you put yourself in every time, the chances you take with your life. I hate feeling like just as we got as close as two people can get, I lost you. And most of all Nancy, I hate knowing that I'll never matter as much to you as solving some damn crime does!"
Hot tears stung her eyes. "You're being so unfair, Ned."
"Am I? You don't agree with any of this?"
"You should know how much you matter to me," she shot back. "And if you really don't, maybe we should do something about it. I care about you too much to keep you in a relationship you don't believe in."
Ned sighed loudly. "Nancy, I know you love me. You'd never sleep with any man you didn't love whole-heartedly. But I just don't think you love me as much as you love what you do."
"That's not true," she whispered. But was it a lie? A moment passed. "Do you love me?"
"Of course I do, Nan."
Nancy dried her tears with the cuff of her pinstripe shirt. "To love someone, Ned, you have to accept certain things about them. If you can't…maybe they're not the right person for you."
"Are you saying that you're not the right person for me? Because I won't accept being second on your list?" he countered.
"You shouldn't have to accept that," Nancy said, louder than necessary.
"No." His voice sounded even further away than it was. "I shouldn't."
"Please. Let's not do this over the phone." She glanced over at Victoria who was still crying. "There's been so much sadness today…I can't take anymore."
Ned grew strangely quiet for a few moments. "I get that you don't want me to come out for the Fourth. But is this the real reason…or is there something else?"
"There's nothing…" she began, before continuing, "I don't know. Ned, I can't apologize for being who I am. Moreover, I won't. But I am sorry for every time I've hurt you. I never, ever meant to."
He scoffed at the idea that she had. "You think I don't know that? Come on…no matter how far apart we've drifted, I could never turn you into some sort of villainess."
She nearly broke down. Why did he have to be so wonderful even when they were on the verge of splitting up? "When I get back to River Heights…there's a lot of things we need to talk about."
"I know, Nan. I know." Another, painful moment passed. "I had better go before I run out of minutes." He hesitated. "Say hi to Frank and Joe for me."
Nancy sucked in a breath. "How did you know that they…"
"Fenton Hardy mentioned to your father who mentioned to me that they were heading out to San Francisco. I just figured with the track record the three of you have going for bumping into each other…it was a safe bet that you had." Ned cleared his throat again. "That's another thing I hate, Nan. Not that you have other men in your life, especially men who have the same interests as you…but that one of them is Frank Hardy." Before she could reply, he hung up with just a simple, "Love you."
It was a long time before Nancy wiped her tears away and went back to console the other broken-hearted woman in the restaurant.
****
"Oh my god!! You saw a dead body today!!" Sarah, Patrick's girlfriend shivered, and waited for her boyfriend to wrap a protective arm around her shoulders. "I think I'd go crazy or something! I couldn't take it!"
From his place in the passenger's seat, Joe couldn't help but notice how Frank's hands were so tight around the steering wheel that his knuckles were turning white. He felt a little bit guilty. It had been his idea to ask Patrick and his girlfriend out for a celebratory dinner after the race, with the two-fold purpose of taking Frank's mind off the day's events. But he hadn't remembered that Sarah could be a real airhead.
"Did you, like, touch it?" the girl asked.
"Of course I didn't…"
Joe craned his neck around to see the couple in the backseat.. "Where does everyone want to eat?" When no one said anything, he suggested, "How about Curacao? It's supposed to have great Caribbean food."
Almost instantly, Frank's hands relaxed. "We know someone who works there. I bet we could get in without a reservation."
Popping her gum, Sarah shook her head until Patrick explained, "Sarah doesn't like food from weird countries."
Frank's hands clenched up again. "So, McDonald's it is," he muttered.
Not more than twenty minutes later, the brothers found themselves digging half-heartedly into a bag of burgers and fries. At least the view was spectacular, Frank thought. They'd ended up in Golden Gate Park, and it was some consolation, as he sipped his milkshake that contained no trace of milk, that at least he got to see the bridge lit up against the night sky.
"Here's to a great race," Joe toasted their friend with his french fries.
Patrick accepted the gesture with a bite of his burger. "I could've taken first place," he told them after swallowing. "But that Swedish guy snuck up on me in the final lap." He looked at Sarah who was trying to keep her platinum blonde hair out of her face as she ate. "Isn't Sweden land-locked?"
"Half of the country is bordered by the Baltic Sea."
He shrugged off Frank's correction. "Well, I'll get him in the finals." Patrick stared at his food for a long moment. "I can't stay at second place."
"The sponsor guys weren't too happy about it," Sarah added.
"Hey!" A scowl spread across Patrick's face. "What did I tell you?" He glanced at the brothers. "Of course they wanted me to take first. They're paying for pretty much every…" The sudden ringing of his cell phone cut him off. "Hold on. I gotta get this."
Frank watched Patrick move away, just out of hearing distance. "Tell me something, Sarah. Who are these sponsors?"
She shrugged indifferently. "I don't really know. They just give him money. A lot of it." Sarah brushed her hair back to give them a glimpse of her ears and the diamonds that adorned them. "He bought me these one day, just because."
"Nice," Joe whistled. "Real?"
"Half a karat. Each."
Frank set his milkshake aside. "They give him all this money…just to race?"
Sarah stared at him. "Duh. Yes. He's the best." She turned her attention to her dinner, and didn't catch the raised eyebrows from the two men.
They ate in silence until Patrick rejoined them. "Sorry about that," he apologized. "It was my…mom wanting to know about the race."
Frank said nothing; he'd snuck a look at Patrick while he was on the phone, and although he hadn't been able to hear anything, from the angry and scared expressions on his friend's face, he hadn't been talking to his mother.
"So, Frank," Sarah began. "What did the body look like?"
Ten minutes and three asinine questions from Patrick's girlfriend later, they were ready to leave to pursue Sarah's idea of finding a dance club. But before they left, Frank suddenly patted down his pants pockets, as if searching for something. "Damn," he said loud enough for Patrick to hear. "I promised Dad a full report on the race, but I left my cell phone at the hotel."
Patrick pulled out his. "Here. Just keep it short. Tell him I kicked everyone's ass, but Sweden's."
Smiling, Frank caught the phone. Ignoring Joe's quizzical look, he turned around and walked a few feet in the opposite direction. It only took a second to pull up the list of the last ten incoming calls; he quickly memorized the most recent number and then, just to keep up the pretense of making an actual call, he dialed Nancy's number from memory.
It went immediately to her voice mail; her smooth, chamomile tea voice told him to please leave a message. He tried not to be too disappointed.
"Guess he and Mom are out," Frank said, rejoining the group. "I'll try again later." Tossing the phone back to Patrick, he led them back to the parking lot where they'd left the rental car.
"Joe, you drive. I think I'm going to swing by the police station and find out the latest on the autopsy."
"You sure?" Joe caught the keys with one hand.
Frank nodded. "I'm not in a clubbing mood."
Sarah shook her head as though that was an unbelievable statement. "You shouldn't let one dead body ruin all our fun," she pouted.
"I'll remember that for the next time I find one."
Reluctantly, Joe drove them to the police station and waited as Frank climbed out. "And you're sure about this." After a moment of Frank giving him a significant look, Joe shrugged. "All right. Don't wait up for us."
The rental car peeled off and Frank released a pent-up breath. Joe might be a little miffed that he'd abandoned them, but he wasn't an idiot. He'd gotten the message. Frank did want to find out anything he could about Jonathan Brumby's death, but more importantly, he had a phone number to trace.
There was something that bothered him about these all-too generous sponsors of Patrick's. The more he heard about them, the more they sounded like a group of people no one should ever get mixed up with…the mob!
****
To Be Continued
Author's Notes: Thanks for the continued interest! I'm so glad that what I'm writing is coming close to the style of the original novels. I know they were never considered great literature, but they always entertained me;) I hope everyone keeps reading and enjoying!
****
Bay of Peril
by Kristen Elizabeth
****
"Why Jonathan?" Victoria sobbed into Nancy's shoulder. "He was so…wonderful. Why?! Why him?!"
There was nothing Nancy could do or say to console Victoria. The older woman was in utter despair over the news that her business partner's body had been found washed up on the beach. By Frank Hardy. That was the part that shocked Nancy the most, she was sad to admit.
"Bad things happen to good people," Nancy replied softly. "I'm so very sorry, Victoria."
Wiping her eyes, the chef shook her head back and forth. "The last time I saw him, I wanted to tell him so many things. But I didn't. I thought there would be plenty of time to say everything that needed to be said. I can't believe…he's really gone."
Nancy held her friend through another round of tears, but in the back of her mind she was reviewing this new, tragic twist to her case. The autopsy hadn't been performed yet, but Frank had told her on the phone that he had seen some rope around the man's hands when the coroner had lifted the body out of the surf and searched what remained of his clothing for identification. She closed her eyes. How horrible for Frank. She had seen bodies before…they both had…but it never got any easier.
Jonathan Brumby was dead, most likely murdered and dumped into the Bay or just dumped. Drowning, being nibbled on by sharks…she couldn't imagine a worse fate.
"Victoria," Nancy began. "I know this is the worst time imaginable, but I need to ask you something. Do you know of anyone, anyone at all, who might have wanted Jonathan dead?"
"No. Everyone loved him." The older woman's hazel eyes gave away her lie. After a moment, she let out a breath. "I should have told you this from the beginning Nancy."
"Told me what?"
Victoria folded her trembling hands in her lap and looked around the empty restaurant. The chairs had been taken down from their resting places on the tables, but that was the only preparation that had been made for the rapidly approaching dinner rush. "I spent ten years dreaming of Curacao," she started. "I wanted people to come here and step into the Caribbean for a few hours. The waterfall, the Spanish tiles, the flowers on the tables…to me, this restaurant is the most beautiful place on earth."
She paused. "But putting a dream together takes money. A lot of money. That's where Jonathan came in. He was the logic; I was the vision. I mean, what did I know about investors and book-keeping and licenses? All I wanted to do was create. To cook. He understood that. We respected each other's roles. He never told me what to put on my menu…and I never asked him where the money came from."
"Are you saying…the money to start Curacao came from less than legal sources?"
"I think so," Victoria whispered. "A lot of our capital came from this company, Ossi Industries. Jonathan mentioned them once or twice. But I never saw that name on any of our books. According to those books, that money wasn't supposed to exist."
*Which would explain why that name didn't come up in my research,* Nancy thought to herself.
"When the incidents started up, Jonathan was much more upset about them than I was," Victoria continued. "When he disappeared, I found out why." She paused. "You have to forgive me, Nancy. I brought you all the way out here, concocted your undercover position…and I never told you the whole story."
Nancy nodded patiently. "Tell me now."
"Jonathan had been getting letters, letters that he didn't tell me about, from Ossi Industries. They basically said that they were no longer interested in financing Curacao. In fact, they wanted to buy up this entire block instead, for god only knows what reason. According to the letters, they wanted us out by next month or else."
"Or else what?"
"Or else they'd mention our undeclared capital to the IRS." Victoria sniffed delicately. "Nancy, I should have told you up front. But I was frightened. Jonathan had disappeared, and here I was facing vandalism, blackmail, a possible audit, a potential threat to my life…" She closed her eyes. "And the end of my dream. I'm so sorry."
"It's all right, Victoria." Nancy reached for the older woman's hand. "But let me ask you…why did you come to me instead of going to the police?"
"It's going to sound crazy, but I really thought Jonathan might still be alive. And that if I went to the police, whoever had him might kill him. I suppose…I suppose that doesn't matter now, does it?"
Just as Victoria dissolved into fresh sobs, Nancy's cell phone rang. Cursing the caller's timing, but unable to ignore it in case it was something vital, she stood up. "Victoria, I'm sorry. I'll just be a moment, I promise." The older woman nodded through her tears and Nancy moved to a quiet corner of the restaurant, away from the noisy rush of the manufactured waterfall, to take the call.
"Hello?"
"Nancy!"
She froze. "Ned."
"Yeah, it's me. I know it's been awhile since we've really talked, but…" He cleared his throat, and even though thousands of miles separated them, Nancy could tell something was bothering her boyfriend. "We're both so busy."
"I know. I'm sorry. Things have been…crazy here."
There was instant concern in his voice, and it made her guilt triple. "Are you all right, Nan? Nothing's happened to you?"
"Nothing more than being pushed down by a mugger," she assured him. Somehow, she managed to stop herself before she mentioned Frank Hardy's role in the incident…or even that he'd been there at all. "I'm fine, Ned."
"You always say that," he replied. "Even when your life is in serious danger."
There was a touch of bitterness in the words that Nancy ignored. "And it always turns out to be true, doesn't it?"
"It might not someday. Do you have any idea how much that scares me?"
Nancy switched the little phone to her other ear. "Ned, this really isn't a good time to get into that argument again."
"It's never a good time, is it, Nan?" She could almost see him shaking his handsome head at her. "Look, I didn't call to fight. I actually have good news."
She smiled. "I could use some right now."
"Well, in case you've been so wrapped up in your investigation and haven't noticed, this weekend is the Fourth of July."
He knew her too well. She had forgotten. "Oh, yeah. It is. But what…"
Ned cut her off, his voice excited. "I made arrangements to take Friday off. I got a plane ticket. And I'll be arriving in San Francisco just in time to celebrate with you!"
For the second time, she felt her body freeze up. "You're…coming here? This weekend?"
"Is that okay, Nan? I mean…we haven't seen each other since Easter."
"You know that it's okay with me," she quickly assured him. "It's just…" Nancy hesitated. They couldn't have the conversation they needed to have over the phone. Nor could they have it while her feelings about Frank Hardy were still up in the air. It wasn't fair to Ned and she knew it, but she continued, "The case is reaching a crucial point. I want to see you, but if you came, you know you wouldn't be first on my list of priorities."
A few seconds passed before Ned chuckled with bitterness that she *couldn't* ignore. "When am I ever first on that list, Nan? I've become quite accustomed to playing second fiddle. I just want to see you. I miss you. I miss making love to you."
Her cheeks felt hot. "Ned, I'm sorry. I miss you, too. I do. And…you know…being with you. I just don't think the Fourth is going to work."
He cursed and she winced, pulling the phone away from her ear slightly. "Nan, I have been patient for years. I've never asked you for much of anything. I've gone along with the investigations, helped out where I could, stood back when I knew I'd get in the way, and I haven't even really minded. But lately…I've come to realize how much I hate it."
"Hate it?" she repeated. "You hate what I do…"
"Yes. Okay? I hate it. I hate the fact that you're more than happy to drop any plans we have to run off to Australia or South Africa…the ends of the earth, just for a case. I hate the danger you put yourself in every time, the chances you take with your life. I hate feeling like just as we got as close as two people can get, I lost you. And most of all Nancy, I hate knowing that I'll never matter as much to you as solving some damn crime does!"
Hot tears stung her eyes. "You're being so unfair, Ned."
"Am I? You don't agree with any of this?"
"You should know how much you matter to me," she shot back. "And if you really don't, maybe we should do something about it. I care about you too much to keep you in a relationship you don't believe in."
Ned sighed loudly. "Nancy, I know you love me. You'd never sleep with any man you didn't love whole-heartedly. But I just don't think you love me as much as you love what you do."
"That's not true," she whispered. But was it a lie? A moment passed. "Do you love me?"
"Of course I do, Nan."
Nancy dried her tears with the cuff of her pinstripe shirt. "To love someone, Ned, you have to accept certain things about them. If you can't…maybe they're not the right person for you."
"Are you saying that you're not the right person for me? Because I won't accept being second on your list?" he countered.
"You shouldn't have to accept that," Nancy said, louder than necessary.
"No." His voice sounded even further away than it was. "I shouldn't."
"Please. Let's not do this over the phone." She glanced over at Victoria who was still crying. "There's been so much sadness today…I can't take anymore."
Ned grew strangely quiet for a few moments. "I get that you don't want me to come out for the Fourth. But is this the real reason…or is there something else?"
"There's nothing…" she began, before continuing, "I don't know. Ned, I can't apologize for being who I am. Moreover, I won't. But I am sorry for every time I've hurt you. I never, ever meant to."
He scoffed at the idea that she had. "You think I don't know that? Come on…no matter how far apart we've drifted, I could never turn you into some sort of villainess."
She nearly broke down. Why did he have to be so wonderful even when they were on the verge of splitting up? "When I get back to River Heights…there's a lot of things we need to talk about."
"I know, Nan. I know." Another, painful moment passed. "I had better go before I run out of minutes." He hesitated. "Say hi to Frank and Joe for me."
Nancy sucked in a breath. "How did you know that they…"
"Fenton Hardy mentioned to your father who mentioned to me that they were heading out to San Francisco. I just figured with the track record the three of you have going for bumping into each other…it was a safe bet that you had." Ned cleared his throat again. "That's another thing I hate, Nan. Not that you have other men in your life, especially men who have the same interests as you…but that one of them is Frank Hardy." Before she could reply, he hung up with just a simple, "Love you."
It was a long time before Nancy wiped her tears away and went back to console the other broken-hearted woman in the restaurant.
****
"Oh my god!! You saw a dead body today!!" Sarah, Patrick's girlfriend shivered, and waited for her boyfriend to wrap a protective arm around her shoulders. "I think I'd go crazy or something! I couldn't take it!"
From his place in the passenger's seat, Joe couldn't help but notice how Frank's hands were so tight around the steering wheel that his knuckles were turning white. He felt a little bit guilty. It had been his idea to ask Patrick and his girlfriend out for a celebratory dinner after the race, with the two-fold purpose of taking Frank's mind off the day's events. But he hadn't remembered that Sarah could be a real airhead.
"Did you, like, touch it?" the girl asked.
"Of course I didn't…"
Joe craned his neck around to see the couple in the backseat.. "Where does everyone want to eat?" When no one said anything, he suggested, "How about Curacao? It's supposed to have great Caribbean food."
Almost instantly, Frank's hands relaxed. "We know someone who works there. I bet we could get in without a reservation."
Popping her gum, Sarah shook her head until Patrick explained, "Sarah doesn't like food from weird countries."
Frank's hands clenched up again. "So, McDonald's it is," he muttered.
Not more than twenty minutes later, the brothers found themselves digging half-heartedly into a bag of burgers and fries. At least the view was spectacular, Frank thought. They'd ended up in Golden Gate Park, and it was some consolation, as he sipped his milkshake that contained no trace of milk, that at least he got to see the bridge lit up against the night sky.
"Here's to a great race," Joe toasted their friend with his french fries.
Patrick accepted the gesture with a bite of his burger. "I could've taken first place," he told them after swallowing. "But that Swedish guy snuck up on me in the final lap." He looked at Sarah who was trying to keep her platinum blonde hair out of her face as she ate. "Isn't Sweden land-locked?"
"Half of the country is bordered by the Baltic Sea."
He shrugged off Frank's correction. "Well, I'll get him in the finals." Patrick stared at his food for a long moment. "I can't stay at second place."
"The sponsor guys weren't too happy about it," Sarah added.
"Hey!" A scowl spread across Patrick's face. "What did I tell you?" He glanced at the brothers. "Of course they wanted me to take first. They're paying for pretty much every…" The sudden ringing of his cell phone cut him off. "Hold on. I gotta get this."
Frank watched Patrick move away, just out of hearing distance. "Tell me something, Sarah. Who are these sponsors?"
She shrugged indifferently. "I don't really know. They just give him money. A lot of it." Sarah brushed her hair back to give them a glimpse of her ears and the diamonds that adorned them. "He bought me these one day, just because."
"Nice," Joe whistled. "Real?"
"Half a karat. Each."
Frank set his milkshake aside. "They give him all this money…just to race?"
Sarah stared at him. "Duh. Yes. He's the best." She turned her attention to her dinner, and didn't catch the raised eyebrows from the two men.
They ate in silence until Patrick rejoined them. "Sorry about that," he apologized. "It was my…mom wanting to know about the race."
Frank said nothing; he'd snuck a look at Patrick while he was on the phone, and although he hadn't been able to hear anything, from the angry and scared expressions on his friend's face, he hadn't been talking to his mother.
"So, Frank," Sarah began. "What did the body look like?"
Ten minutes and three asinine questions from Patrick's girlfriend later, they were ready to leave to pursue Sarah's idea of finding a dance club. But before they left, Frank suddenly patted down his pants pockets, as if searching for something. "Damn," he said loud enough for Patrick to hear. "I promised Dad a full report on the race, but I left my cell phone at the hotel."
Patrick pulled out his. "Here. Just keep it short. Tell him I kicked everyone's ass, but Sweden's."
Smiling, Frank caught the phone. Ignoring Joe's quizzical look, he turned around and walked a few feet in the opposite direction. It only took a second to pull up the list of the last ten incoming calls; he quickly memorized the most recent number and then, just to keep up the pretense of making an actual call, he dialed Nancy's number from memory.
It went immediately to her voice mail; her smooth, chamomile tea voice told him to please leave a message. He tried not to be too disappointed.
"Guess he and Mom are out," Frank said, rejoining the group. "I'll try again later." Tossing the phone back to Patrick, he led them back to the parking lot where they'd left the rental car.
"Joe, you drive. I think I'm going to swing by the police station and find out the latest on the autopsy."
"You sure?" Joe caught the keys with one hand.
Frank nodded. "I'm not in a clubbing mood."
Sarah shook her head as though that was an unbelievable statement. "You shouldn't let one dead body ruin all our fun," she pouted.
"I'll remember that for the next time I find one."
Reluctantly, Joe drove them to the police station and waited as Frank climbed out. "And you're sure about this." After a moment of Frank giving him a significant look, Joe shrugged. "All right. Don't wait up for us."
The rental car peeled off and Frank released a pent-up breath. Joe might be a little miffed that he'd abandoned them, but he wasn't an idiot. He'd gotten the message. Frank did want to find out anything he could about Jonathan Brumby's death, but more importantly, he had a phone number to trace.
There was something that bothered him about these all-too generous sponsors of Patrick's. The more he heard about them, the more they sounded like a group of people no one should ever get mixed up with…the mob!
****
To Be Continued