“Is there an outstanding warrant involved?”
“Nothing so dramatic, I’m afraid. The family simply wants her located and returned to the fold.”
“How old is she?”
“Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine on Thanksgiving Day of this year. I can send you a photo, but it’s possible she’s altered her appearance.”
Marlowe rolled the beaded bottle across his forehead. “Why?”
The lawyer sighed. “Are my reasons important?”
“If you want me to take the case, yeah.”
“It’s a matter of some delicacy. Shannon had a falling-out with a grandparent who recently lost his only other grandchild in a vehicular accident. When you’re ninety-two, Mr. Marlowe, and your health is failing, you want to tie things up wherever possible and make amends. I’m sorry, but that’s all the history I can give you. My practice is small but entirely reputable. Check me out if you wish. However, I would ask that you do so quickly. I’ll need an answer by 6:00 a.m. your time.”
Across the room, Marlowe’s TV showed a carousel in motion. He saw a child’s face fill with excitement as she clutched the golden pole.
Swinging his legs to the floor, he sat up, ran a hand through his hair. “Ninety-two, huh?”
“Unfortunately, I don’t see ninety-three in the cards. Will you accept the job?”
Something in the man’s tone set off a warning bell. Should he listen or not? Marlowe glanced at the TV screen, rocked his head from side to side. “Send me what you have. You check out, I’m on it.”
“You’re a good man, Mr. Marlowe.”
A flicker of humor rose, dark and ominous. “Not good,” he corrected. “Just a man.”
Tossing the phone aside, he got up to snag the last cold beer.
“DARCY? ARE YOU THERE? For heaven’s sake, answer. I’ve been leaving messages on your phone all day.”
Elaine Holland sounded cranky, which was the last thing Darcy needed right then. “Radiator hose,” she repeated to the baffled-looking man beside her with the wrench in his hand. She made a slicing motion. “It’s split, leaking. Just take a look, okay?” She turned her attention back to the phone. “Sorry, Elaine, I haven’t checked my messages today. My rental car broke down.” Her eyes traveled around the weedy lot outside what might loosely be called a service station. “I, uh, might be a little late getting back.”
The mechanic used the wrench to indicate a nearby goat, and Darcy got his message. He’d loan her the animal for a ride. She turned away. “I’m still in Nicaragua. Unfortunately, I don’t know how to describe car parts in Spanish.”
“So you’re stranded.”
“Sí.”
“Damn. Did you talk to Dr. Aquilina?”
“Talked to, got photos of, visited his lab and his experimental farm. A world food shortage is imminent, in his opinion, but avoidable if we’re willing to open our minds and our stomachs to worms, rye grass and something he calls ‘cocoluna.’ Chocolate from the moon. You don’t want to know the details on that one.” She thought about the feature article she was to write and the looming deadline. “Now, why have you been calling me all day?”
Her editor huffed. “A guy’s been asking questions about you.”
That got her attention. Leaving the mechanic to kick her tires, Darcy put some space between them. “What kind of questions?”
“Odd ones. The name Shannon came up, which meant nothing to me or anyone else at the magazine. But after a while and more than one chat, I realized he was looking for you. Is your middle name Shannon?”
“No.” Darcy moved into the shade of the sagging station. “What did you tell him?”
“That you’d been here a little over a year, during which time our circulation has increased. I thought he was a cop at first, but turns out he’s a P.I. So I asked myself, what would a P.I. want with my Darcy? That’s when it hit me. You’re a question mark, kiddo. A lovely person but a puzzle only partly solved. Your parents are dead, aren’t they?”
“Yes.” Darcy’s gaze swept the choked, brown landscape. “What’s his name?”
“Damon Marlowe.”
Meant nothing. “And he looks like…?”
“The guy’s hot. Tall, very lean, with dark, wavy hair that hasn’t seen a pair of scissors for months. He’s not slick or polished, and as far as I can tell, he shoots from the hip. A bit thin, but the muscles are there for sure. I thought artist when I saw him, then rocker, then cop. Would you believe he has gold eyes? You’d say hazel, but the frustrated novelist in me saw an amber-eyed Heathcliff.”
Darcy couldn’t visualize anyone she knew.
She made another precautionary sweep of the area. Except for the goat, a dog the size of a Shetland pony and the mechanic, whose upper body had vanished under her car, there was no sign of life. Even the weeds were wilting in the glare of the sun.
“I checked his credentials,” Elaine said. “Marlowe’s for real. He works out of New York.”
And Darcy worked out of Philadelphia for the moment, but credentials could be faked and identities altered. “Did you tell him where I am?” she asked.
“Hard to do since I wouldn’t know if you drew me a map. Look, just get the hell out of there before the freaky Dr. Aquilina stops experimenting on worms and decides cannibalism’s the way to go.”
In spite of herself, Darcy laughed.
Her editor made a considering sound. “Do you have a cousin named Shannon? I thought you said you did.”
“No cousins.”
“Evil twin?”
“I’m ending this call now, Elaine. Wish me luck.”
When he saw she was free, the mechanic waved her over. He smiled broadly and indicated the overheated engine.
“At least you’re at the right end of the car.” Swatting at a persistent wasp, Darcy slid the cell phone into her bag.
Then whirled around as a loud blast erupted from inside the ramshackle building.
“THREE AND HALF DAYS.” Umer Lugo handed Marlowe a certified check, drawn on his legal firm’s Swiss account. “I’m pleased and impressed. She’ll be back in Philadelphia on Thursday, you say?”
“That’s the word at the magazine.”
“Then I thank you for your services. I’ll handle the matter from here.” Lugo swept an arm around the crowded Turkish restaurant he’d chosen for their meeting. “Select anything you want from the menu and enjoy it at your leisure. I’ll be in town until Ms. Nolan returns. Perhaps I’ll relax while I wait. So many wonderful sights to see.”
And while he wouldn’t be seeing any of them, Marlowe thought the man talked a good game. Just not good enough to fool an ex-cop.
Not his concern, he decided, and shook the hand Lugo offered.
With the check stuffed in his pocket, he made a mental list of outstanding bills and calculated he might have enough left over for a trip to Chile. The Andes. Somewhere remote, where he didn’t know a soul.
His phone, clipped to the waistband of his jeans, began playing Clapton. He checked the screen and saw the name of someone he hadn’t heard from for years, not since they’d worked together in Los Angeles and again briefly in Chicago.
“Hey there, slugger.” Regardless of the circumstances, Valentino Reade always sounded cheerful. “I heard you were in town. What’s up?”