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40
GAFFER'S RIDGE
JENNY'S CAFE
THURSDAY EVENING
Carson groaned as she ate the meat off a barbecue sparerib. She set the bone down in a growing pile next to the mashed potatoes, leaned back, and rubbed her stomach. She looked sadly at her plate. “Two ribs left and I can’t, just can’t eat them, or I’ll explode. Wait, there’s no substance to tomatoes, is there?” And she ate the one lone tomato slice on her plate. She waved at Jenny, gave her a thumbs-up, sat back, and sighed. “The good Lord can take me now.”
No one disagreed with her. Savich sipped on his favorite oolong tea, hot and strong and black as sin. On Savich’s plate were the carcasses of two corncobs, stripped clean.
Jenny and Aimée Rose had kept the café open for dinner, a first, and the place was packed. Jenny and Alfredo Smith, her sous chef in training, were in the open kitchen, Aimée Rose and two college-age servers running their sneakers off to take care of customers. The four visitors were seated at one of the best tables, by a large window looking out onto Winchester Street. Aimée Rose came bustling back, grinning widely. “You liked? Any more seconds? Sherlock? You ate well, too. Excellent.”
“Everything was perfect,” Griffin said for all of them. “We thank you for keeping the place open for us.”
“Yep. Only look what happened.” She waved at the crowded room. “We weren’t expecting all these folks, but what could we do but feed them?” She rubbed her fingers together. “If things keep going like they are, I might have to buy myself a red Porsche like yours, Dillon.”
Savich grinned up at her. “Nah, not red. I see you in a kick-butt black Porsche, extra-turbo-charged engine. Maybe a sign on the back: FEAR ME, all caps.”
Aimée Rose’s eyes lit up. “Oh yeah, maybe me in black leather. Maybe a whip attached to my belt. Now, who’s up for fresh peach pie? It’s Alfredo’s specialty.”
She was met with a chorus of groans. Sherlock said, “The spirit’s willing but the stomach’s stuffed.”
When Aimée Rose took herself off, Carson leaned toward Sherlock across the table. She took her hand. “I still can’t believe what Cyndia Bodine did to you. I didn’t know anyone could do that. How do you feel now, really?”
Sherlock gave her hand a squeeze. “Once Dillon realized what she was doing—from across the room—he stopped her and the pain was suddenly gone. Really, I’m fine now.”
Griffin said, “Tell us exactly what happened.”
Sherlock looked at the three of them, smiled, and said, “Okay, we’ve had our break, I guess it’s time to get back to it. Here’s what happened. I’d walked around the garage, made mental notes on measurements, realized they were off, and then suddenly, they weren’t. I’d stepped onto the front porch when this awful pain ripped into my head. I finally blacked out.”
Savich said, “I’m thinking Mrs. Bodine didn’t want Sherlock to remember. But she didn’t know Sherlock. She remembers what Mrs. Bodine said to her. ‘You couldn’t see what you couldn’t see.’ We all know what that could mean.”
Griffin said, “The girls, if they’re still alive, are very probably being kept in that garage, or below it in underground rooms.”
Savich said, “Agreed. However, if we try to get a warrant, you know we’ll be turned down flat. We’ve got to think of another way.”
Carson was staring at Sherlock. She couldn’t get her head around it. “And I thought it was weird I can sometimes tell what people are thinking. But this is way weirder, it’s very scary.” She paused, then said slowly, “Sherlock, you may be having trouble with your memory because of your accident, but I can see you’re smart, you’re insightful, and no matter what Mrs. Bodine did to you, you still remembered what she said.”
Sherlock wondered if she’d ever again see herself as insightful. She said, “I don’t know if I’ll agree with you when I finally remember who and what I am. All right, Dillon, you’ve been holding out on us. Come on, spill.”
Savich gave them a huge grin. “Okay, here it is. When I supposedly went to the bathroom, I found Quint Bodine’s office.” He pulled his jump drive out of his pants pocket. “I installed a worm on his computer. When he boots it up with his password, I’ll have remote access to his hard drive without his knowing it.”
Griffin could only shake his head. “Amazing, good going, Savich. Of course, nothing we find is admissible in court, but who cares? Now, about this worm you installed. It’s your own design?”
Savich only smiled. “Mostly, yes. I’ll take a look at it later, let you know if I find anything important. Griffin, we know Slick and DeAndre can stay to help you after Rafer’s released from the hospital tomorrow. You could have them check for more missing teenagers in a wider area.”
Griffin nodded. “Good idea. I’ll pick up Sheriff Bodine’s files tonight, read them over, see what’s missing, and what information we still need. But the way I see it, Savich, it’s most likely the girls are at Eagle’s Nest.”
“And if they’re not?” Carson asked.
“Then we check records to see what other properties Quint Bodine owns. Or Rafer owns. If the girls are still alive, they have to be somewhere close.”
Sherlock said, “And that’s the question—why take the girls in the first place?” She raised her near-empty glass of iced tea. “Let’s end this soon.”
