Taylor glared at him. “There’s a basement that hasn’t been cleaned in twenty-five years.”

Harrison sighed. “I’ll poke around under the sink.” He bent down and patted Rhett and then opened the cupboard doors under the sink. Everything was packed in plastic tubs with airtight lids, clearly marked as to the contents. He looked up at Agnes.

“I’m a Virgo,” she said. “We do that.”

He closed the doors and stood up. “This could take a while. Let’s see the basement.”

Agnes pushed on the door in the wall. “There’s a ladder.”

Harrison looked taken aback and then poked his head through the door. “This doesn’t look like you, Miss Crandall.”

“We just found it two days ago,” Agnes said. “And I can’t put stairs in and clean it up because it’s a crime scene.”

“That must be hard for you,” Harrison said with real sympathy, and then he turned to Taylor. “This is probably where we’ll get her.”

“Told you,” Taylor said.

“Hold on a second.” Agnes grabbed her cell phone and punched in Joey’s number on the speed-dial. When it rang, she got his message. “Joey, this is Agnes. Taylor is here with a very nice man named Mr. Harrison from the health department. Taylor’s bribed him to shut me down for the wedding, and they’re going down to the basement now to find something so he can do it. Is there somebody higher up you can confer with to take care of this? Thanks. Love you.” She clicked off.

“Mr. Harrison is head of the health department, Agnes,” Taylor said.

“Then he’s about to meet Joey,” Agnes said, but her heart sank.

“So,” Harrison said, looking down into the hole, “a ladder.”

Five minutes later, they were at the end of the tunnel looking at the acid dripping through the glass tube, and Harrison was legitimately upset.

“That’s dangerous,” he said, covering his nose. “Those fumes are dangerous.”

“And if I was serving dinner down here, that would be a problem,” Agnes said, thinking, What the fuck is that thing? Language, Agnes.

“You never know where fumes will go, young lady,” Harrison said sternly. Then he retreated down the tunnel at a good clip, and Taylor followed him, all but chuckling.

When they were back in the kitchen, Harrison wrote up his prelim report and handed the pink copy to Agnes. “You can’t cater that wedding here,” he told her, as if he’d been rehearsed. “You’ll have to move it to the country club.”

She handed the pink slip back to him. “The wedding’s going to be here. You know damn well that whatever that is down there will not affect a dinner in my barn on Saturday. And if you try to stop it, I will not only sue your ass for damaging my career,” she turned on Taylor, “I’ll have you arrested for bribing a public employee, and you,” she turned back to Harrison, “arrested for taking that bribe.”

Harrison shook his head. “That’s not how it works here in Keyes, Miss Crandall.”

Agnes sighed. “I see. Then it’ll have to be Plan B.”

Harrison blinked. “Plan B?”

“He didn’t tell you about the bride’s family, did he?”

Harrison looked at Taylor. “The bride’s family? Well, the Fortunatos, yes, but Mrs. Dupres, the bride’s grandmother, wants the wedding at the country club-”

“The bride’s mother doesn’t,” Agnes said. “And the bride’s uncle, who runs the local diner? Joey Torcelli? I just called him. He-”

“Give up, Agnes,” Taylor said. “Mr. Harrison doesn’t scare that easy.”

Agnes looked at Harrison. He didn’t look happy. He had to know who Joey was. Probably had tried to inspect the diner once.

“I wouldn’t file that report just yet,” she said to him. “I’d give yourself some room to maneuver, just in case the bride’s family would rather the wedding was at the bride’s old family home. Did Taylor tell you this is Frankie Fortunato’s old place?”

Mr. Harrison shot Taylor a look of loathing and walked out of the kitchen.

“I’ve got you, Agnes,” Taylor said, not fazed in the slightest.

“You had me, Taylor,” Agnes said. “Now you’ve got Brenda, you poor, doomed sap. And Joey ‘The Gent’ and Shane after your ass. You better go now. Your flunky is out in his van, and his feet are turning to ice while you wait. At any minute now, he’s going to tear up that report and go somewhere far away until the wedding is over.”

“Nah, he-”

“And Shane’s coming home any minute.” Taylor looked over his shoulder.

“Yeah, well…” He looked back at Agnes. “You give me back the ring and I’ll go.”

“What?”

“The engagement ring.” He nodded at Agnes’s hand. “Give me my ring back and I’ll go.”

Agnes looked down at the ring he’d given her. She’d actually forgotten about it. Five thousand dollars he’d said it’d cost him. That could buy some stuff for the house. Like landscaping maybe. Wonder if Garth can landscape?

“No,” she said. “Go away.”

“I want the-”

“You broke the engagement, I get the ring.”

“You stabbed me with a fork!”

“You married another woman first,” Agnes said. “Go away. I have things to do.”

“You won’t get away with this,” Taylor said.

“That’s the best you’ve got?” Agnes said. “Beat it or I’ll have Doyle take a hammer to the Cobra.”

“Hey!” Taylor said, and then evidently realizing his ride was vulnerable, he left.

Agnes looked at the ring and then at the basement door. “Why can’t anything this week be simple?” she said, and went to call her lawyer.


“We’re about five minutes from the bridge,” Carpenter said. “I can see the towers.”

Shane checked his watch. Ten minutes till the payoff. He poked his head in the opening to the front of the van and saw two suspension towers straight ahead on the horizon. Left and right was swamp as far as the eye could see.

“Ideas?” Shane asked.

“I would think a direct approach is needed here, which is your specialty. It’s not like we’re going to be able to sneak up on the drop site.”

“Pull off before you hit the on-ramp for the bridge. I want to see if I can get an over-watch position with a clear shot with the long rifle.”

“Roger that,” Carpenter said, “but it’s going to be a tough angle up to that midspan.”

Shane saw what he meant as they came around a slight curve, and the road rose precipitously toward the nearest tower. “Pull over here,” Shane said before they got so close that he wouldn’t be able to see the midspan.

Carpenter waited until they crossed a concrete bridge over a creek, then pulled over to the side of the road.

“Open the sunroof,” Shane ordered as he placed his M21 sniper rifle in the passenger seat, muzzle up.

Carpenter did so, and Shane stood between the seats, putting a small spotting scope on the roof of the van.

“Not inconspicuous,” Carpenter noted.

“Feel free to contribute Plan B,” Shane said.

“We grab the consigliere and the money before the exchange. Maybe Casey Dean will work a deal with us or break off the contract.”

“Wilson wants Dean terminated.”

“Did he say so?”

“He doesn’t send me out to talk to people.” Shane leaned forward and looked through the spotting scope, adjusting the focus. “He’s testing you.”

Yeah, and I fail if I don’t shoot Casey Dean.

Shane saw a black Lincoln Town Car pulled over in the breakdown lane, right side of the bridge, center span. These goombahs were nothing but predictable, he thought. He checked his watch. Three minutes before two. Casey Dean was a professional, which meant the drop would be made right on time. Shane slid back down in the van, crouching between Carpenter in the driver’s seat and the sniper rifle in the passenger seat, taking the spotting scope with him.

“The consigliere is there.” He held the scope as he peered through the windshield. The view wasn’t quite as good, but he could clearly see the black Town Car.

“Two minutes,” Carpenter said. “And we’ve got flashing lights coming down the road behind us.”

“Cops?” Shane could hear the sirens now.

“Looks like, followed by an ambulance.” Carpenter reached forward and turned on the special radio, tuning it to the local emergency band, the volume turned low while Shane kept his focus on the bridge.

“There’s a report of an accident on the bridge,” Carpenter relayed from his position, leaning close to the radio speaker.

“Bullshit. There’s no accident up there. Dean called this in as a distraction.” Shane was shifting, trying to find where Dean was.

“One minute,” Carpenter announced.

The door on the Town Car opened, and a tall, thin man with gray hair stepped out, holding a shiny metal briefcase. He was looking about, obviously unsure which direction Dean was coming from.

The sirens were getting closer as Shane reached out with his free hand and grabbed the rifle.

“You’re not going to shoot with cops around?” Carpenter asked.

Shane could hear the sirens go by and saw the flashing lights reflected in the windshield. But his focus was on the bridge. The consigliere suddenly reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his phone and answered.

“Dean’s making contact,” Shane said.

“One state patrol car and an ambulance, reaching the ramp for the bridge,” Carpenter reported. “And I’ve got another police car in the side mirror coming this way.”

This was definitely cramping his style. He couldn’t pop out the sunroof and blow Casey Dean away with one shot while the police were driving by. He squinted as the consigliere walked over to the side of the bridge and looked over the edge.

“Oh, shit. Dean’s underneath.” Shane slid into the passenger seat and put the rifle across his lap. “Drive!”