Cathryn Parry - The Undercover Affair

“Yeah, it’s helping. So far we’ve been ruling people out as suspects. We’ll find out more about the investigation tomorrow.”

“Right.” Tomorrow was the day the burglary task force was meeting at headquarters, up in Concord. She hoped to be part of phase two, because to be part of the team that brought down the ring of thieves preying on wealthy homes along the seacoast was what she most wanted.

The bartender glanced her way, and it wasn’t a friendly look. He was suspicious of her still. And that could jeopardize things...

On a whim, she said, “Pete, could you please look up and tell me who lives at 118 Seaside Drive?” That was the home—connected to the Seaside Bar and Grill by a covered walkway—the bartender had come from.

“Affirmative. There’s a Margaret Reilly, age sixty. And a Patrick Reilly, age nineteen.”

Definitely not the bartender. He looked to be in his thirties. She thought she’d heard one of the contractors calling him John, but she wasn’t positive.

“Lyn?”

“Please check if Margaret Reilly owns the Seaside,” she said. There was a Margie who worked in the kitchen. Until now Lyndsay hadn’t connected that Margie might live right next door.

“Hold on, let me check...affirmative, as well. What’s going on?”

She wondered if John could be Margie’s son. He would be the right age. “Pete, could you check if there’s an address for a John Reilly in Wallis Point? Age thirty-something.” It was just a whim, but she wanted to cover her bases.

“One minute.” There was a short pause. “Affirmative again—22 Cove Road.”

That was about two miles away, closer to the cul-de-sac where she worked. Lyndsay had memorized the Wallis Point street maps prior to arriving at her assignment.

She didn’t know what, if anything, this information told her. Bartender John, possibly John Reilly, was still standing by the beer truck, and every few minutes he stared toward her. She needed to find out if he was, in fact, John Reilly, Margie’s son.

“Lyn, is there something I should know?”

“Yes. Please add Margaret and Patrick Reilly to the list for background checks. It seems everyone in the area stops by this place at one time or another. Hold off on John Reilly for now, though.” She would verify John’s real name in a few minutes, but Pete could get started. “I know we initially didn’t have the owners of the Seaside Bar and Grill on our surveillance list, but I think it’s prudent to check them out.”

“Will do.”

She stretched her shoulders. “Okay, then. I’ve passed you information on everyone who has visited or is affiliated with the congressman’s neighborhood during the past four days. Is there anything else you need from me before I wrap it up here and head back north tonight?”

“Yeah, we need one more thing. No, make that two.”

“Great.” She could multitask. And she liked assignments. “What do you have?”

“I need you to get into the Goldrick house this afternoon.” That was the vacation home on the lot directly beside the MacLaines’. “You’re specifically looking for any artwork on the walls. Paintings that look as if they might be worth something. We’re not seeing anything on the insurance company reports, but we want to make sure.”

Her heart sped up. Finally, police work that was more directly connected to the burglaries that Pete and other members of the task force were investigating. “No problem. Does this mean I’ll be continuing with phase two of the task force?”

“One step at a time, Lyn.”

“I was invited up to Concord for the meeting tomorrow,” she said cheerfully.

Pete laughed. “Because I recommended you. You’re doing great work so far.”

He hadn’t said what her future was to be, one way or the other. That was up to Commander Harris, she supposed.

She wasn’t going to give them any reason not to let her continue.

“I’ll head inside to lunch, and then get to it,” she said. “What was the second objective? You said I have two.”

“The second objective is the same as always. Keep your cover, Lyn.”

“Why are you telling me this again?”

“Because I want to stress to you that keeping your cover is your first, last and major objective, always. Never forget it.”

“Right,” she said cheerfully again. “I’m an interior decorator currently contracted by DesignSea. This week, I’m working on a proposal for Congressman MacLaine and his wife.”

“You’re so subtle,” Pete said dryly.

She laughed because his sarcasm was unfounded. She was subtle. She felt like a duck in water doing this kind of work, and that was a great feeling.

Except where he was concerned. She darted a glance toward John, the bartender, as she hung up with Pete. Staring at her, yet again. She was giving herself a third agenda item for this lunch break, and that was to find out his full name and his particulars so Pete could run his background check.

Exiting from the car, she grabbed her purse, which carried her concealed Glock, then headed inside the Seaside Bar and Grill. The air smelled fresh and briny, and the wind blew through the opening of her jacket, making her shiver. She opened the door to the eatery, smelling something delicious, like freshly baked bread.

She checked her watch: 11:46. The kitchen was open but still a bit early for Andy Hannaman’s crew, the group who were working on the Goldrick home. They didn’t habitually leave the oceanfront cul-de-sac until noon, then it was a six-minute drive to their lunch spot.

Taking a seat in the back corner, Lyndsay strategically chose her favorite position where she had a view of the parking lot and road, plus a view to the entrance as well as the kitchen entry, with the long wooden bar beside it.

She waited. John would be inside soon, as well as Andy. Both her objectives could be achieved together. She could chat with the crews and organically, without suspicion, gain an invitation to look at the Goldrick renovation, as well as unobtrusively ask for John-the-bartender’s particulars.

In the meantime, Millie, the waitress who stood only as high as Lyndsay’s shoulders, came and took her sandwich order.

“I’d like the BLT, please.” Another strategic decision, designed to initiate a conversation with Andy. Millie nodded at her, then scuttled off. The little waitress didn’t speak much—she just did her job.

For the moment, Lyndsay was alone with her thoughts. Nothing to do but sit at the scarred table and gaze over the parking lot and street to the dunes beyond, with a sliver of dark blue ocean in the distance. The beach at Wallis Point reminded her of summer vacation from her youth. Also of romantic vacations from her marriage, but she didn’t like to think those thoughts.

Millie brought her a glass of iced tea, which she set beside Lyndsay’s department-issued mobile phone on the table. “Thank you, Millie.”

She received a brief nod and a smile in reply. Followed by the retreat of quick paces from soft-soled sneakers.

Concentrate. Watch for Andy Hannaman’s crew.

She checked her perimeter. Cocked an ear for the sound of a vehicle pulling into the gravel lot.

Instead, the door opened, and John the bartender walked inside, followed by the young man from the beer truck. The young man wore a uniform shirt with a logo, and his body language indicated that he was reluctant to follow John. The two men headed behind the bar, and she observed as John explained in a low but authoritative murmur what he needed the young man to fix. Evidently, there was a problem with the beer line.

Distracted from her purpose, she gave them her full attention. John’s head was bent. He had a short haircut, like a lot of the police officers she worked with. But it wasn’t just his looks that drew her notice. There was something to the way he moved. The subtle cock of his hip, the deliberate, staccato punch of his fingers tapping against his forearm as he concentrated. His mannerisms showed he was impatient. Alert. Coiled.