Page 95 of Gem Warfare
Garrett pointed to the gun holstered at his hip. “I’m good,” he said.
“Where am I taking you?” asked Solomon.
“Police station,” said Garrett. “I’ll check us out another car and we can keep going with our leads. Hopefully, the perp thinks we’re tied up for hours waiting on the side of the road. We could get a jump on whoever it is.”
“I like that idea,” I said. “Let’s go.”
None of us felt much like talking beyond a smattering of questions here and there and I figured we were all wondering who placed the tracker, and when. It could be Gideon but that would mean he knew we were on the case. Garrett had been mentioned inTheGazette’sarticle but I wasn’t sure how anyone else could have known I was involved. Unless the Dugans told someone? Or my mom. Or Lily or Ruby. Or Bea. Or someone simply observing the Dugan house. That left infinite possibilities. It could even be a contact of Kelvin Huff, but I couldn’t see how he could have called someone and enacted such a plan so quickly after our visit, which ruled him out.
Solomon drove us to the police station, then excused himselfsaying he had several cars to sweep for bugs, starting with mine since I was parked around the corner. That was far more pleasing to hear than Garrett’s theory that we could all be carrying bugs transmitting our location to some unknown person.
“I have an uneasy feeling about all of this,” said Garrett.
“Me too,” I said.
“If there’s an undiscovered tracker on your husband’s vehicle, we can hope the perp thinks I’ve been dropped here and you’ve gone on with him. “Wait here. I’ll get us another car and we can go visit Amybeth Bell and check out the realtors and those other last few numbers.”
“I’ll research the numbers while I wait. I’ll be fine out here. No one’s going to try anything in front of a police station,” I said and Garrett nodded before he disappeared into the building. I perched on a bench and pulled out my phone and the call log sheet. There were only two numbers left to call. I tried putting them into a browser. The first returned the number of a store that sold recreational vehicles. Not just any old RVs but big, tricked out motorhomes a person could live in very comfortably. My eyebrows rose when I saw the starting price.
The second number was for a jeweler in Boston. What could Huff possibly want to buy there?
When a car horn honked twice, I looked up to see Garrett waving from a silver sedan. I jogged over and got in. “There weren’t a lot of options,” said Garrett when I wrinkled my nose at the scent of days-old takeout. I cranked the windows down, deciding I’d prefer fresh air instead of cold, stale aircon. When the blast of warmth came through the window I wondered at my choice.
“Huff called an RV sales company and a jeweler,” I told him. “You should see the prices of the RVs. There’s no way he can afford one right now. A ring is much cheaper if he’s planning topropose but even then, I don’t see how he can afford one of those either.”
“Unless he’s expecting a payday. An RV is not what I would buy if I expected to be imminently rich.”
“What would you buy?”
“A beautiful place on a corner lot with a big yard and I’d get a vacation place in the mountains somewhere. Maybe Calendar. Traci loves it there. We could ski in the winter and go on fancy hiking trips in the summer.”
“What’s fancy about hiking?”
“There’re wonderful excursions where they take you on the most beautiful trails until you get to your picturesque lunch spot where a gourmet picnic basket waits for you along with a cold bottle of wine, crystal glasses, and no kids.”
“I see the appeal.” Except the no kids. I could imagine Solomon wearing a baby strapped to his chest while I carried the sandwiches and bear spray. Would that be next year though, or the year after? We hadn’t had much chance to put the baby-making plan into action this week.
“The point is, I would not be getting an RV,” continued Garrett obliviously.
“A purchase like that suggests Huff isn’t planning to settle in town. He’s going on the run and doing it in style. He can live anywhere in one of those things. He could even go off grid and he wouldn’t lose any sleep on his memory foam mattress.”
“He’s not on the run if he’s a free man.”
“Correct. He would be free. All he would need to do is retrieve the jewels from wherever he thought Black stashed them, sell them, buy his RV, and the world is his oyster. Well, North America. And maybe Central America. And Mexico!” I added.
“I get the point.”
“Ah!” Another lightbulb went off. “He didn’t call the jeweler for a purchase. What if he’s scouting for a place where he canmake a sale but since he’s not so smart, he thought a regular jeweler might buy the gems. What he really needs is a jewel merchant who doesn’t ask questions.”
“And until he can do all that, he shacks up with our girl, Amybeth. Let’s find out what she has to say.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Amybeth Bell lived in a three family-unit built with a pale brick exterior and windows that were slightly too small and a porch that was slightly too large. It vaguely resembled a child’s drawing of what they thought a house looked like.
Bell was written on a slip next to the middle buzzer. “Hello?” wafted her disembodied voice after I’d pressed it twice.
“Delivery,” I said.