Stormbound - pt 15 - by Gun Brooke

Martha looked up at the sound of the door chime. Expecting Aunt Annie to come through the door, which she usually did this time of day, being a creature of habit, she frowned at the sight of the two strangers. Dressed in black suits and black coats, the two women stuck out as sore thumbs in a place like Farlow’s Creek.

“Yes, what can I do for you?” Martha asked sternly. She didn’t like the looks of these two.

“A sign outside says to come look for someone named Pete if we want gas,” the taller woman of the two said. Dark, wavy hair framed a beautiful face with olive tinted complexion. Her eyes, equally dark, seemed to assess the small gas station that was Martha’s pride and joy within seconds.

“Pete! Customers!” Martha called out, knowing Pete was just outside the back door.

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Pete opened the door and Martha had to give it to her husband; he didn’t let on that he found the two women completely alien, which she knew he did. His disdain for ‘city folks’ were well known in Farlow’s Creek.

“Anything else?” Martha said, gesturing at her counter and the wall behind her.

“Yes, as a matter of fact.” The second woman, smaller and with red hair and pale skin, said. “We’re looking for someone and we think she might have passed through here. Have you seen her?” She passed a photo across the counter, and Martha glanced at it with dread in her heart. At first glance, this was a photo of a complete stranger, but when Martha studied it closer, she could easily make out Beth’s features. In this picture, she boasted a long, curly blond hair, and fancy makeup, but it was her, no doubt about it.

“No, never seen her before. Why are you looking for her?” Martha hoped she sounded the right mix of casual and curious.

“Her name is Tiffany Ashton, and she’s wanted for questioning.”

“Questioning?” Martha tried to gauge if the woman was telling the truth, but it was impossible.

“Yes. We’re with the FBI, and Ms. Ashton is a person of interest. We want to speak with her in reference to her father’s murder.”

“Murder?” Martha whispered. She straightened her shoulders. “FBI, you say? You have ID?”

“We do,” the taller woman said, producing a wallet. “My name is Agent Joan Tremayne, and this is my partner, Special Agent Dawn Morrison.”

Martha studied the ID’s, and to her they looked genuine. Still, Izzy’s words of warning echoed in her head and she didn’t give anything away. “Thank you. Any business card if this…Ashton-woman, was it? If she shows up?”

“Certainly.” Morrison produced a business card and handed it to Martha.

Pete came back inside. “Twelve gallons on pump two,” he said. “I took care of your windshield too.”

“Thank you.” Morrison pushed the photo of Tiffany toward him. “Ever seen this woman, sir?”

Pete studied the photo, then shook his head. “No. She’s quite the looker, though. I’d remember if I had.”

“Thank you. I left my business card here in case you see her later.” Morrison’s voice didn’t betray if she believed them or not, but Martha could tell that this woman was no fool.

“They’re from the FBI, Pete. That woman in the picture is wanted for questioning in a murder.” Martha thought it best if she sounded a bit shocked, and indeed she was, since it was impossible to think of Beth…Tiffany and violent crimes in the same sentence even.

“Not wanted for murder. Wanted for questioning. Not the same thing,” Tremayne said. “We just want to talk to her.”

Right. Martha trusted their local sheriff with her life, but these slick ladies, dressed to kill and with their weapons bulging under their suits, didn’t rub her the right way. “Anything else?” Martha asked again.

“Four bottles of water, please.” Morrison said.

Martha pulled the bottles from the refrigerator and accepted Morrison’s credit card. She pulled it through the machine, her mind racing as she tried to figure out when Izzy was supposed to call next time.

“Thank you. Have a good day.” Tremayne and Morrison left and got into their car. Instead of taking off down the road, they drove into Aunt Annie’s small parking lot and stepped out.

“Damn it.” Pete stared out the window. “Well, Annie’s sharper than you and I put together. She won’t slip.”

“I hope not. We need to get in touch with Izzy and warn her right away.”

“Isn’t she supposed to call any moment?” Pete checked his time. “I hope the girls had a good night. It was pretty cold.”

“I’m sure Izzy took good care of Tiffany. Do you think she knows that the feds are asking for her? When she called me yesterday, it sounded like she expected bad guys to come asking for her, not the authorities. Or perhaps I misunderstood her?”

“No, I was under the same impression,” Pete said. “This was unforeseen.”

Martha watched the two FBI agents emerge from Aunt Annie’s, looking frustrated. That was encouraging in itself. The startling sound of the phone ringing made her jump. She answered, forcing herself to not sound breathless.

“Martha, it’s me.” Izzy’s familiar voice spoke quickly. “Any news?”

“Yes. The FBI are here looking for Tiffany.” Martha stood well hidden behind a counter, keeping an eye on the two women. “Izzy, something’s very wrong. They want to ask her questions regarding her father’s murder.”

The stunned silence drew out, and eventually Martha had to ask if Izzy was still there.

“I am. I’m just as shocked.”

“Did you know?”

“No.”

“Why don’t you talk to her and then call me back and inform us what we need to know, and do.”

“All right.” Izzy sounded muted. “Call you back in a little bit, then.”

Martha hung up and turned slowly to her husband. “That didn’t sound good. I think our Izzy has fallen hard for this girl. If she’s using her…” Martha squinted, her fists clenched into hard balls.

“Let’s not judge anyone before we give’em a chance to explain, doll.” Pete stroked her hair. “Izzy is a clever girl. And intuitive. She wouldn’t fall for a criminal.”

“Oh, you don’t know, Pete,” Martha said, anguished. “She’s been so hurt, physically as well as emotionally, and this cutie-pie might have used that to serve her own purposes.”

“In that case, I’m as gullible as Izzy.” Pete shook his head. “Let’s just wait and not jump to conclusions.”

Martha nodded reluctantly. “All right.”

***

Izzy strode towards Tiffany where she was rinsing their plates in the lake. Something in her eyes, and the way she pressed her lips together made Tiffany rise and press the plate to her chest. “What’s wrong? They’re here? Was that Martha?”

“Yes, I called Martha. And it seems like someone is asking about you in Farlow’s Creek.”

“God. They found me.” Tiffany paled and took a step toward Izzy. To her astonishment, and heartache, Izzy took a step back and held up a hand, palm toward Tiffany.

“Not so fast. There’s more.”

“What? Oh, no. Did they hurt anyone?” Tiffany looked at Izzy in horror. “Please tell me they’re all right. Aunt Annie too?”

“They’re fine, if a bit concerned. Seems that a couple of agents from the FBI are asking about you.”

“What? FBI?” Blinking, Tiffany looked confused. “I don’t understand.”

“That makes two of us.” Izzy regarded her coolly. “According to Martha, you’re wanted for questioning regarding your father’s murder.”

Tiffany opened her mouth to speak, but not a sound made it past her vocal chords. Her mind tried to grasp what Izzy just blurted out, and though she had understood the entire sentence, it focused on the horrible new fact regarding her father’s death.

“M-murdered?” Tiffany whispered, her voice breaking. “He wa-was murdered? But he was sick.” She went cold in an instant. The plastic plate fell from her hands and she wrapped her arms around herself, trying to conserve some warmth. “They killed him?”

“The feds seem to think so.”

“There must be some mistake. He was ill for a long time. I took care of him. I—“ Tiffany’s eyes well up with tears and she couldn’t make out Izzy’s features anymore. She wasn’t sure she wanted to, either, since the warm and loving Izzy had vanished and a stranger was staring accusingly at her. “They think I did it? My own dad?”

“They want to ask you questions.”

“Let’s go to them then!” Tiffany flung her hands in the air. “Let’s go to these agents and tell them that they have to investigate his business partners. If they think I did it, we have to tell them they’re wrong, so they can focus on the real k-killers.” Beginning to cry, Tiffany fell to her knees and suddenly she was retching, her stomach turning itself inside out.

“Tiff!” Izzy was suddenly at her side, holding her forehead with one hand and one arm around her shoulders. “God, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. Please forgive me, I’m such an idiot.”

“I…I could never…How could you think...” Her stomach lurched again and Tiffany tried to turn away from Izzy, but the strong arms around her insisted on holding her.

“I’m sorry. Please, please forgive me. Oh, God, Tiffany.” The raw emotions in Izzy’s voice did little to soothe the shock, but Tiffany stopped fighting her. She felt Izzy lift her and carry her across the clearing. Inside the tent, Izzy wrapped Tiffany in the extra blankets and finished off with a survival blanket. Tiffany was still trembling, but felt warmer.

“You’ve had a shock and it’s my fault.” Izzy sounded hollow and tormented. “I wish I could take it all back, Tiff.”

“Don’t…don’t talk just now, Izzy.” Tiffany curled up on her side of the sleeping bag. Was it only last night they had made such passionate, sweet love right here? It felt like an eternity.

Izzy didn’t speak directly to Tiffany, but after a while she pulled out the disposable cell phone and dialed.

“Martha, it’s me. Yes. I spoke with her. No. She had no idea what I was talking about.” She paused. “No. None. Yeah, I’m fine. Really.” Another pause, this time longer. “I don’t think she wants to talk to you, or anyone, for that matter. It was a terrible shock to her, and I failed her.” Izzy sobbed quietly. “She cried and threw up, and now she’s cold to the bone and not talking.”

Tiffany knew Izzy was in as much pain as she was, but part of her, the wounded, hurt part, wanted Izzy to suffer for treating her like she just did. After our night together, after all that beautiful, one-of-a-kind passion, she could imagine me being a cold blooded killer. Tiffany hugged her knees close to her chest. Or maybe this is all my fault for reading far too much into a casual affair. Resorting to her childhood way of coping, Tiffany closed her eyes and simply turned off. A dreamless sleep was sometimes the only way she could manage.

***

Dawn Morrison slammed her fists into the steering wheel and grimaced at the pain.

“Hey, don’t wreck the car,” Joan said, shaking her head. “Though I can understand your frustration.”

“Frustration is just the beginning. How about furious, exasperated, and generally pissed off.” Dawn knew she was using language that normally belonged to her more outspoken partner, but she was ready to push her fist through the window.

“I know. Someone did a good job of trying to hide Ashton’s rental, but they obviously forgot about the LoJack System,” Joan said, flipping open her Blackberry.

“I can’t believe how botched up this case is. Why the hell weren't we on top of her from the start? We should have anticipated those bastards making a move on her and the city cops didn't even tip us off when she came to them for help. Just blew her off!”

“Hey, our regional office up there screwed up too, ” Joan said as she reviewed her e-mails. “They've kept very tight lipped about the Bureau’s investigation because they're unsure how far the tentacles of the Emerald Corporation reach.”

“Two years, two stinking years investigating this hornet nest and what have we got to show for it? A dead CEO and his kid on the run. Shit, if they’d just done their job when she tried to file the complaint against those bastards, we could’ve had her in protective custody by now. She's gone under ground now and our chances of finding her quickly are slim.”

“Reminds me of someone else we know, doesn’t it?” Joan sighed. “I thought I was going to choke on my own tongue when I saw the name of this godforsaken place. Farlow’s Creek.”

“Yeah,” Dawn agreed, having had the same reaction. Grace Farlow had been the name of a fugitive she and Joan had chased for years. The woman, a famous scientist, had been on the FBI’s ten most wanted list, and when they’d caught up with her, she’d gone under the name Laura Carter. Dawn looked over at Joan, her trusted partner, but also the love of her life, and thought of how the hunt for Grace Farlow had also brought them together. Joan had nearly lost her life back then, and so had Dawn, but they lived to tell.

“So, did you get the feeling that these people are protecting someone?” Joan raised her perfect, black eyebrows.

“Oh, sure. Especially the old woman in the post office. She was ready to slam me over the shins with her cane.”

“But it doesn’t make sense, Dawn. As far as we know, Tiffany Ashton doesn’t know a soul in this place. Why would they go out on the proverbial limb for her?”

Dawn chewed on her lower lip. Joan was right. It didn’t make sense. “What if they’re protecting someone else, someone who’s taken an interest in Tiffany? Think about it. The car was obviously in a wreck before someone covered it up, quite expertly, I might add. What if this person helped Tiffany? A man who’s taken by her pretty face and the fact that she’s less than five feet tall. The townspeople might be loyal to him.”

“Or her.”

“Or her.” Dawn smiled quickly at Joan. “Let’s not exclude any gender.”

“So, let’s get a list out who lives close to where we found the car. I mean, the person doesn’t have to live close, they could be on the road, but it’s someone local. It’s the only thing that seems plausible.”

“I agree.” Dawn looked down at the folder in her lap. She had printed everything they had on Tiffany Ashton, her father, Edgar Ozland, his company, and partners. Unlike Joan, Dawn found it impossible to read massive amount of intel from her Blackberry; she needed it on regular paper, or at least a big computer screen. “He was a ruthless son-of-a-bitch, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah, but he appears to have operated by some honor code, at least. His partners, on the other hand, not so much.” Joan made the clicking sound with the tip of her tongue that usually meant she was less than impressed. “They all appear to be true pillars of the community. Real honest to god philanthropists.” Huffing, Joan snapped her Blackberry closed. “I don’t buy it. For them to have to concede to the fact that Edgar left his entire estate to his estranged daughter, whom he only socialized with during the last months of his life when he became increasingly sicker…I don’t buy that either. They have a lot to lose if Tiffany inherits the majority of the shares.”

“And if they could frame her for his murder, that would be another nail in her coffin.” Dawn rubbed the bridge of her nose.

“I don't believe they're that patient.”

“What do you mean?” Dawn glanced at Joan’s solemn face.

“I think they want her dead. Oh sure, if they can frame the kid even better, but wouldn't it be so much neater if the key suspect were to end up dead unable to defend herself?”

“You don't think the girl had anything to do with the murder?”

“No, but I'm sure our pals are weaving a tale as we speak and they have the financial clout to manipulate a lot of strings.”

“Any chance they have someone on Ashton's trail?”

“You can count on it. If we can find her car, so can they.”

“Then we need to make sure at least one of these interesting local folks trusts us enough to let us know where she is before she plays into the hands of these partners and gets herself killed.”

Continued in part 16