Shadow Dance (Buchanan-Renard #6)

Shadow Dance (Buchanan-Renard #6) Page 9

“Thank you,” Jordan said. “Everyone’s been very helpful. My car should be ready tomorrow, and I’ll be on my way again.”

The three men stood at her table and continued to chat for a few more minutes, though they did most of the talking and she did most of the listening.

Finally Dave Trumbo said, “Well, it was a pleasure visiting with you, Jordan Buchanan, and next time you’re in this area, you be sure to drop by Trumbo Motors. No one undersells me,” he boasted. He threw his hand over Eli’s shoulder and said, “You want a piece of cake, Eli? Let’s go back to the kitchen and let this young lady get back to her homework.”

Get back to her homework? Did he think she was in summer school?

“That’s not homework, Dave,” Jaffee said. “Those are stories she’s reading about her relatives in Scotland. Stories from way back when. She came all this way to read these papers from some professor. Isn’t that right, Jordan?”

“Yes, that’s right. It’s Professor MacKenna’s research.”

Dave peered over her shoulder at what she was reading. “You understand all that?” he asked.

Jordan laughed. “I’m trying. Sometimes it’s not very clear,” she answered.

“Looks like homework to me. I’ll let you work in peace.” He turned and, with his hand still on Eli’s shoulder, headed toward the kitchen with Jaffee close behind.

Time got away from Jordan, and it was almost four o’clock when she gathered up her papers. Jaffee stood in the doorway watching her slip her laptop into her bag. He scratched the back of his neck and said, “Listen, about those commands…”

“Yes?”

“They’re not working. We’re kind of computer illiterate in Serenity, but we’re trying to catch up with the rest of Texas and the world. All the young kids learn about computers over in the consolidated schools, but we’re not quite there yet in Serenity. The town’s beginning to grow and we just got our first high school built, so we’re hoping to get some good teachers in here soon. Maybe they can even teach some of us old folks. I’ve got a nice big computer in the back, but it’s not responding to any of the commands you gave me. I did something…I don’t know what, and I ruined it.”

She smiled. “Ruined it? Unless you took a sledgehammer to it, it’s difficult to ruin a computer. I’ll be happy to look at it.”

“I’d sure appreciate it. I’ve put in several calls to computer technicians over in Bourbon, but they’re dragging their feet getting here.”

He’d been so nice to her, letting her hang out in his restaurant all day, it was the least she could do. She grabbed her bag and followed him into the kitchen. Jaffee’s office was in a little nook by the back door. The computer was archaic by today’s standards. There were cables running every which way. Most of them weren’t necessary.

“What do you think?” Jaffee asked. “Can you save her and get her running again?”

“Her?”

“I sometimes call her Dora,” he admitted sheepishly.

She didn’t laugh. His face was turning red, and she knew it was embarrassing for him to admit he humanized the machine.

“Let me see what I can do.” She figured she had plenty of time to get back to the insurance agency and finish copying the papers in the last box. There wasn’t that much left to do, so if the agency closed, she could always finish in the morning.

Jaffee returned to his work in the kitchen, and she went to work rebuilding the computer. She removed every cable, tossed out two of them, and unscrambled and rerouted two others. Once that was done, it didn’t take her any time at all to get the computer running. Next she tackled the programs someone had installed for him. They too were archaic. Jaffee was trying to run three different ones, and all of them were complicated. Had she had the time and the equipment, she would have written a new program for him. She would have had fun doing it too, and oh, God, what did that say about her? She swore then and there that if she ever named her computers and humanized them, she’d pack it in.

Since she couldn’t install new software, she decided to try to simplify one of the existing programs.

The next time Jaffee checked on her he was thrilled to see the blue screen.

“You’ve got it working again. Oh, thank goodness. But what’s all that gibberish you’re typing?”

It would take too long to explain. “Dora and I are having a little chat. When I’m finished, the program will be easier for you to run.”

After the last customer had left at eight-thirty, Jaffee closed the restaurant and sat down with her to go over the changes she’d made.

She spent an hour helping him familiarize himself with his computer. He made copious notes on Post-its and stuck them on his wall. She had already programmed in her e-mail address so he could write to her with questions if he got into a bind, but he asked that she also give him her cell phone number just in case he couldn’t get the e-mail to work.

She thought she was finished, but he handed her a stack of e-mail addresses and begged her to put those in his address book. Eli Whitaker was at the top of the list. Dave Trumbo came next. She smiled when she read his e-mail address. DangerousDealer-Dave. She added it without comment and went on to the next one.

When everything was complete, Jaffee insisted on walking her back to the motel.

“I know it’s not that far and we’ve got streetlights, but I’m going to walk with you just the same. I want to stretch my legs anyway.”

It was still hot outside, but the temperature had dropped a little with the setting of the sun. When they reached the drive that led to the motel entrance, Jaffee wished her a good night and strolled on.

Jordan walked into the lobby thinking she could take a shortcut to her room. The lobby was packed with women.

Amelia Ann rushed forward to greet her at the door. “I’m so happy you could make it.”

“I’m sorry?” Jordan responded.

Amelia Ann’s daughter, Candy, sat at the front desk. She printed Jordan’s name on a pink name tag and hurried over to stick it on her shoulder.

“We’re happy you can join us,” Amelia Ann bubbled.

“What am I joining?” Jordan asked, smiling at all the women staring at her.

“I’m giving Charlene a late-night bridal shower. You remember Charlene,” she said in a whisper. “She let you photocopy your papers at the insurance agency where she works.”

“Yes, of course.” Jordan searched through the smiling faces for Charlene’s. “It’s so nice of you to invite me, but I don’t want to intrude.”

“Nonsense,” Amelia Ann protested. “We’d love to have you.”

Jordan lowered her voice. “But I don’t have a gift.”

“That’s easy to fix,” Amelia Ann said. “How about giving her a place setting of china? Charlene chose a real pretty pattern. Vera Wang.”

“Yes, I’ll be happy to—” Jordan began.

“Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll order it tomorrow, and I’ll add it to your bill. Candy? Go wrap another gift card and write Jordan’s name on it.”

Jordan met all twenty-three women and was thankful that they were wearing name tags too. For the next hour, she watched the unwrapping of the gifts while she drank sweet punch and ate mints and white cake with thick, gooey icing.

By the time she returned to her room, Jordan was on a sugar high. Then she crashed.

She slept hard that night, returned all of her phone calls the next morning, and didn’t leave the motel until after ten. Her plan was to walk over to the insurance agency to copy the rest of the papers, bring them back to the motel, and then run over to Lloyd’s Garage and wait there for Lloyd to finish the repairs. And he would finish them, she decided, even if she had to stand behind him and prod him with a crowbar. One thing was certain: she wasn’t going to put up with any more delays or surprises.

Her plan didn’t work out. Charlene gave her the bad news. “They picked up the machine and hauled it off about an hour after Steve told the salesman he wasn’t going to buy it. Did you have a lot more to copy?”

“A couple hundred pages,” she answered

She thanked Charlene again and retraced her steps to the motel. Okay, new plan. She’d get the car, check out the copy machine at the grocery store, and if that machine didn’t have the capability of feeding the pages in, she’d look for another one.

Lloyd was pacing in front of the garage. The second he spotted her he shouted, “It’s ready. All ready to go. Early too. I told you I’d fix it, and I did. Okay?”

He was a nervous twit. His hand trembled when he thrust the itemized bill at her. He was obviously in a hurry to get rid of her, for he didn’t even count the money she gave him.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, no,” he rushed out. “You can be on your way now.” Without a backward glance, he hurried back into the garage.

She put her purse and her laptop on the passenger seat next to her and started the engine. Everything seemed to be in working order. Lloyd, she decided, ranked up there with Professor MacKenna for weirdness. She was happy she didn’t have to deal with him any longer.

She drove directly to the grocery store and was elated to find a modern copy machine with all the bells and whistles. She was back in business. She thought she could have everything done in a couple of hours if she hurried. Then she’d call the professor and get his boxes back to him.

Better safe than sorry, she reminded herself. To be prepared in case the car acted up on the road again, she bought water and planned to stop at a filling station to buy some antifreeze for the radiator if it sprang another leak.

She carried four gallons of water, two in each arm, out of the store. The parking lot was deserted. No wonder. No one would choose to go grocery shopping in the god-awful heat of the day. Today was already a scorcher. She squinted against the sun bouncing off the cement. She felt like she was getting sunburned just walking across the lot. She placed the containers on the ground next to the trunk of the car. While she was digging through her purse for the keys, she noticed a piece of clear plastic protruding from the seam of the trunk and thought it was odd that she hadn’t noticed that before. She tried to pull it free, but it wouldn’t budge.

She found the key, slid it into the lock, and the lid sprang upward as she stepped back. Jordan looked inside…and froze. Then she very gently lowered the lid.

“No,” she whispered. “Couldn’t be.” She shook her head in denial. She was just seeing things, that was all. Her mind was playing tricks on her. It was all that sugar she’d eaten…and the heat. Yes, that was it. The heat. She’d had a terrible heat stroke and just didn’t know it.

She opened the lid again. She felt as though her heart had just stopped beating. There, curled up like a tabby cat inside the biggest Ziploc bag she’d ever seen, was Professor MacKenna. His lifeless eyes were open, and he seemed to be staring at her. She was so stunned she couldn’t breathe. She didn’t know how long she stood there staring down at the man, two seconds, maybe three, but it seemed an eternity before her mind would let her body react.

Then she freaked. She dropped her purse, tripped over one of the gallons of water, and slammed the trunk lid closed. No matter how desperately she tried, she couldn’t convince herself that she hadn’t seen a dead body in her trunk.

What in God’s name was he doing in there?

Okay, she was going to have to look again, but oh, Lord, she didn’t want to. She took a deep breath, turned the key again, and mentally braced herself.

Oh, God, he was still there.

She left the key in the lock, ran to the side of the car, and all but dove through the window to get her cell phone from the front seat.

Who should she call? The Serenity Police Department? County or local? The sheriff? Or the FBI?

Jordan knew two things for certain. One, she was being set up, and two, she was in way over her head. She was a law-abiding citizen, damn it. She didn’t carry dead bodies around in her trunk, and she, therefore, didn’t have the faintest idea what to do with it.

She needed advice—and fast. The first person she wanted to call was her father. He was a federal judge, so of course he would know what to do. But he was also a worrier, like most fathers were, and he had enough on his plate now with the explosive trial under way in Boston.

She decided to call Nick. He worked for the FBI, and he would tell her what to do.

The phone suddenly rang. The sound so startled her she let out a yelp and nearly threw the phone down.

“Yes?” She sounded as though she were being strangled.

Her sister was on the line. She didn’t seem to notice the hysteria in Jordan’s voice.

“You are not going to believe what I found. I wasn’t even looking for a dress, but I ended up buying two of them. They were on sale, and I almost got one for you too, but I thought our tastes are so different you might not like it. Should I go back and buy it anyway? The sale won’t last long, and I could always return it—”

“What? Oh, God, Sidney, what are you talking about? Never mind. Are you home?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Is anyone else home with you?”

“No,” she answered. “Why? Jordan, is something wrong?”

She wondered how Sidney would react if she told her the truth. Yes, something’s wrong. There’s a dead body in the trunk of my car.

Jordan couldn’t tell her. If Sidney did believe her, she’d only become upset, and there really wasn’t anything she could do about it from Boston. Besides, as dear as her younger sister was, she could never keep a secret, and she’d immediately find their mother and father and tell them. Come to think of it, she’d tell anyone who’d listen.

“I’ll explain later,” she said. “I have to call Nick now.”

“Wait. What about the dress? Do you want—”

Jordan disconnected the call without answering the question and quickly dialed Nick’s cell phone.

Her brother didn’t answer. His partner, Noah, did.

Dear God in heaven, she couldn’t catch a break to save her life.

“Hi, Jordan. Nick can’t talk right now. I’ll have him call you back. You still in Texas?”

“Yes, but Noah—”

“Great state, isn’t it?”

“I’m in trouble.”

The panic in her voice came through the phone loud and clear. “What kind of trouble?” he asked quietly.