Cathryn Parry - The Undercover Affair

Interested, Lyndsay straightened her spine. She hadn’t seen a photo of the congressman’s wife before. Information about the congressman’s private life was woefully scant on the internet. She knew; she’d searched for it.

Kitty looked quite a bit younger than the congressman, but Lyndsay knew better than to make a comment.

“Kitty is not aware of the task force. She’s not aware, Lyndsay, that you are an undercover police officer. But she is aware of you as Lyn Francis.”

“Oh,” Lyndsay murmured.

“On Monday morning at nine, your assignment is to meet with Kitty MacLaine in her home and review your design plans with her.”

“What?!” Lyndsay nearly exploded. Her design plans? She hadn’t expected that any of her computer renderings would be seriously considered by anyone. She swallowed, a vain attempt at tamping down her panic. “But I’m not a professional designer, sir. Surely, she will see through that.”

“You have to trust us,” Commander Harris said, his tone sharp. “As you know, you’ve been given an internet cover as a designer working under Karen Talbott, owner of the DesignSea company. What you didn’t know was that Ms. Talbott’s seacoast home was the first one burgled, and she’s been eager to assist us. She’s also a friend to the congressman, and it was his influence that got her onboard with us.”

“So...I’m to meet with Ms. Talbott first?”

“I recommend it, yes,” he said calmly. “Although Ms. Talbott is pleased with your ideas and feels you have talent.”

Someone snickered—Simon, it sounded like. Lyndsay knew her face was red, but she didn’t give him the satisfaction of turning to look at him. She focused on Commander Harris. “I don’t know anything substantial about Kitty, or her desires and needs,” she protested.

Commander Harris looked blankly at her. As did Pete.

“For example, is she the congressman’s first wife? How long have they been married? I understand they don’t have children, but—”

“Is that relevant?”

“Certainly. I know from—” from Andy Hannaman, but it wasn’t relevant to mention his name “—from a longtime local that the congressman’s beach home has been owned by him for almost twenty years, but that during the past five years or so, he was rarely there. Then suddenly this past autumn, after he retired, he started visiting more often.”

“And?”

“And, An—the local,” she corrected herself, “said that he was with a wife he’d never seen before.”

The commander sighed.

“Also, does he have any children by any former relationships? I wasn’t able to tell from his internet profiles, but I assume not.”

“No, the congressman has no children,” said Commander Harris wearily.

“I know you assume this is all peripheral to the task force,” she said to the room at large, “but I really should be clear with these details.”

“Karen Talbott,” he said in a no-nonsense voice, “will fill you in with what you need to know from the design standpoint.”

“And then I’m to review the design plan with Kitty MacLaine on Monday? What exactly are her expectations?”

From the short silence, Lyndsay wondered if Commander Harris had fully thought this out. She waited.

The room was quiet. Everyone was staring at her, it seemed, waiting for her to say something.

Finally, Pete leaned forward. Maybe he felt responsible for giving her a good recommendation. “I’m sure that Kitty is expecting her interior to be redesigned,” he said gently.

“But that is not police work.”

“We have approved contractors we’ll send to assist you. And you’ll get a budget, courtesy of the congressman, to implement the design.”

It dawned on her that they assumed that the one year of design school she’d had under her belt, years before she’d joined the force, was enough to fulfill this crazy cover story. She shook her head, exasperated.

“We’ve invested in you,” Commander Harris chided her. “The task force needs you to continue the cover for two more weeks.”

She resisted the urge to throw up her hands in defeat.

But was it defeat, really? She would be doing investigative police work, as well. That was the most important thing. There was always the hope that she could catch the criminals in the act and make a collar. The potential upsides were too good to pass up.

Besides, she really couldn’t refuse them now.

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll do it. I’ll call Karen Talbott this afternoon and set up a meeting.”

“Just keep your cover,” Commander Harris repeated. “Whatever you do, it is imperative that you not compromise your cover.”

* * *

JOHN UNLOCKED THE front door of his family’s restaurant, then flipped the window sign to Open. Outside, the sun was rising, although clouds were gathering on the horizon. Across the street, he saw the vacant public parking lot and behind that, sand dunes. In the far distance, across the blue-gray sea, were fishing vessels and the season’s early lobster boats, chugging out to check the baited traps.

He drew a hand through his hair. Another summer coming. Every morning was the same. The years and seasons were all starting to run together. He felt like he was spinning his wheels here, but he didn’t know what else to do.

From the corner of his eye, he heard his brother cough softly. Patrick slouched on a bar stool, electronic device in hand, absorbed as he played a video game. The soft glow of the screen in the early morning gloom lit up his pimply face and scraggly hair.

John could never get too mad at Patrick. His brother was young. He’d been at home when all the bad stuff in their family had gone down.

“You want to help me start the coffee?” John asked. “Andy’s crew will be coming soon.”

Patrick pretended that he didn’t hear him. Or maybe he wasn’t pretending, because he was wearing earbuds. He reached down to scratch his lower leg, which made his pants ride up. The ankle bracelet, placed there by the county court system, showed clearly.

John stalked over and pulled his brother’s jeans back into place. “People will be coming in,” he said tersely, once his brother had removed his earbud to glare at John. “You need to help us in the kitchen.”

Without a word, Patrick sullenly got up from his chair. The game went into his back pocket. Patrick shambled into the kitchen. When he was gone, John leaned over, head in hands. Sometimes he had no idea what to do with his brother beyond getting him through his next court date without incident. June 5. Just get through to June 5. The goal was to get Patrick released from court-ordered house arrest without prison time. Since he’d been through a rehab session successfully, the lawyer had told them that Patrick’s release was a strong likelihood, as long as John could help Patrick keep to the conditions set forth by the court.

If John wasn’t successful...

His mother poked her head from the kitchen. “I’m thinking of making clam chowder today.”

“Sounds good, Mom,” he said wearily. “I’ll write it up as a lunch special.”

She nodded and disappeared. She seemed okay this morning, and that was good.

When John had first returned home, she’d been upset about his dad and his brother—understandably—and he’d had to calm her on nearly a daily basis, it seemed. Only lately did she seem like herself again. She was humming an upbeat tune in the kitchen, and he was glad for it.

The rumble of a truck engine sounded outside. A quick glance told him that Andy’s crew had arrived for breakfast—his mother’s special muffins and their morning coffee fill-up. His mom made everything from scratch; even the coffee was from freshly ground beans. Andy was a longtime customer, and he knew their routines. He knew about what had happened to John’s brother Justin, of course, and John’s dad, but John wasn’t sure how much Andy knew about Patrick’s recent legal problems. From what John could tell, Andy wasn’t aware of the arrest and conviction, and John’s promise to the court to watch his brother. John hoped Andy didn’t know, anyway.