"No," Maggie said kindly. "If I said yes, that would make me stupid, too. None of us are stupid. Look, a very nice lady named Emma Doty blogged on the Sight and Sound blog yesterday and I e-mailed her and then we spoke on the phone. I told you, it fell in my lap, and I ran with it. She went to school back in the day with Andy Graverson. Andy Graverson was one of her husband's best friends. Seems there were four best buds back then. Small town, no job opportunities, so they all lit out after graduation for greener pastures. Graverson was the only one who never stayed in touch. The others remained friends until the men died off. The widows are still friends. Oh, I almost forgot. Many years later, when Jellicoe hit the big time, the little group realized it was him. They wrote him a few letters, but he never responded.

"Mrs. Doty is handicapped and housebound. She spends most of her days, and probably nights, on the computer. I guess it's a lifeline of sorts to the world when you can't get out and about. That's why she responded to the blog. She lived with her husband in this area for a period during their married life, and always read the Post. When her husband pa.s.sed away, she moved back to Prairie City to be with her friends, and she reads the Post online. In other words, she loves us and our paper."

"And...?" Ted asked. "Why do I have the feeling you left the best for last?"

"Ah, you know me so well, Teddie. I did leave the best till last. Mrs. Doty called back last night just when I got home. Apparently she called her friends after our conversation, and one of them remembered something that Mrs. Doty had forgotten, but when the friend brought it up she started to remember. Mrs. Graverson, Madeline was her name, Andy's mother, inherited a house on some waterway in Florida. They think it was during their junior year in high school. That summer the Graversons and Andy went to Florida to check it out. Mrs. Doty said they were all jealous because they knew none of them would ever be able even to go to Florida, much less own a second house there. Not that this is important, but Mrs. Doty said Andy brought them all back plastic palm trees and jars of Florida sand."

"What's the name of the town where the house is?" Espinosa asked.

"None of them can remember, and they can't remember the name of the waterway. It was a long time ago, guys. I'm thinking the Intercoastal. Possibly Fort Lauderdale. No clue, really."

"We could do a search?" Ted said.

Maggie made a very unladylike sound. "Listen, Ted, if that guy is as smart as he thinks he is, and he kept that place, it isn't in his name, that's for sure. He's managed to bug everything in sight that has to do with us. What makes you think he wouldn't have done the same thing where that piece of property is concerned? He's got himself covered every which way. It's just pure dumb luck we know what we know. We can't go there, wherever there turns out to be. We can't access the public records for fear he's paid someone off to watch them. We need a hacker. And we need to talk to Mrs. Doty again, or else you two have to make a trip to Prairie City, Idaho, and get the lay of the land. You could talk to some of the older folk, check out the library, check out the Graversons' old house, see who lives there now. If it's the same owner, they might know something. It's all we have, so we need to work it to death. Talk to me and make it good, guys."

Ted shrugged. "Book us tickets, Maggie, but make sure they're first-cla.s.s. Don't even think about asking us to bring you back some spuds. Idaho! d.a.m.n! Okay, okay, we go to Idaho. What are you going to be doing?"

Maggie smiled sweetly. "What I do best, getting to the bottom of it all. But there is something...I can't quite put my finger on it, something about Florida. Tell me what it is I can't remember, guys."

Espinosa grimaced. "The bike rally on Alligator Alley for the benefit of the Juvenile Diabetes Foundation. I think it's coming up soon, or maybe it's pa.s.sed already, but for some reason I think it's next week. We can check."

"Thank you, Espinosa. That's exactly what I couldn't remember. Now, think about how we can make that work and coincide with what we have to do."

"You figure it out, Miss Smarty Pants. Espinosa and I are going to frigging Idaho. n.o.body goes to Idaho in the summer. For sure they don't go in the winter, spring, or fall, either. Just us. We're going to frigging Idaho. What's wrong with this picture?"

"Boo-hoo! Get going. Your tickets will be waiting when you get to the airport. Catch the first flight you can get that will land you anywhere near your destination. Go!"

The moment the door closed behind Ted and Espinosa, Maggie's finger hit the speed dial on her phone. "Abner, honey, sweetie, I need some additional help here. You're being cranky, and I do not like cranky. I don't have time to negotiate with you right now. You need to drop everything you're doing, even if it is my work. I want to find out about a piece of property in Florida. I don't know where it is or whose name it's listed under. All I know is that it is on some waterway. Or at least it was fifty years ago."

"Oh, a piece of cake, darling. There must be at least three million or more dwellings in the state of Florida, and they all have owners. Like I said, a piece of cake," Abner snarled.

"I expect to have that information from you by tomorrow. Right now, though, I want you to do any kind of search you can do on a Madeline and Gerald Graverson. Probably born and died in Prairie City, Idaho. I think they're deceased; in fact, I'm almost sure of it. So start there. Find out everything you can, and don't leave any trails that lead back to you or that anyone watching can find. This is probably the most secretive thing you've ever done, Abby. You are listening to me, right? If you aren't, all that lovely beachfront property is mine, buddy. You can probably Google a lot of this stuff. No, I'm not trying to tell you what to do. It was a suggestion, sweetie. Now, I am going to give you an order. Track Hank Jellicoe's bank accounts. I'm sure they are all offsh.o.r.e, but he has to have working capital here Stateside. You're the one, Abby, who always told me, follow the money. Well, I want you to find it and follow it." Maggie listened for a few minutes, and said, "Of course I'm going to steal it. Why else would I want to know? Too much information, I know. So, how long is it going to take you?" Maggie blinked, then blinked again when she realized the connection was broken. Then she laughed.

Chapter 23.

"Why are you looking at me like that, Jack? You didn't have to agree to make the trip. You could have said no," Ted said over his shoulder as he loped behind Espinosa to the private plane sitting on the tarmac.

Bert weighed in. "Why does Maggie think it is going to take five people, I repeat, five people to traipse around some d.a.m.n town in Idaho to try and get fifty-year-old information? Isn't that why we have all those state-of-the-art computer systems?"

Harry sprinted ahead, his sandals making slapping sounds on the tarmac. He zeroed in on Espinosa, who was known to never put up an argument. "Well?" he said menacingly.

Espinosa raised an eyebrow. "Did any of you think for even a minute that the girls want us out of their hair. Idaho is about as far away as you can get, if you are asking my opinion."

Ted whirled around as he walked backward. "First, it was just Espinosa and me going. Then the flights were so screwed up we wouldn't have gotten there till tomorrow with all the stops and layovers and the last-minute ticketing, not to mention the cost. Yeah, I know, the private jet costs more, but Maggie said time was the issue, so here we are, gentlemen, so suck it up and enjoy the flight. It's not snowing there. Yet."

"What the h.e.l.l are you talking about? It's just the beginning of August. It doesn't snow in August!" Jack said.

Ted laughed. "You ever been to Idaho, Jack? I didn't think so. I rest my case. I do know that we will be served filet mignon and lobster aboard this flight. And Boston cream pie."

"And that's supposed to make me feel better. I can cook that myself," Jack grumbled.

Ted came to a stop at the portable stairway that led to the open plane door, where the pilot and hostess were waiting, welcoming smiles on their faces. "Last chance, Jack. Back out now or shut up."

Harry moved a step forward and sent Ted spiraling up the stairs at the speed of light. The others followed. "That was so rude, Harry. Now the pilot and hostess are going to think we're a bunch of ill-mannered thugs." He stepped backward the moment he saw Harry wiggle his foot. "Move! What are you guys waiting for, a bus? The sooner we get airborne, the sooner we'll get back here. Probably with a ton of potatoes in the cargo hold. You can keep potatoes in a cool, dry place for almost a year, did you know that, Harry?"

"Yeah, Jack, I do know that. Like you can keep pumpkins...you know, those orange things you love so much, till Easter. Don't talk to me, Jack. I hate you right now."

"d.a.m.n, Harry, you're nasty this afternoon. Why can't you be like the rest of us and be happy that we're going to Idaho? How many people get to go to Idaho on a nice August day in the middle of summer where it might or might not be snowing? Not many, that's how many. Think of all those russet potatoes, and they have some newfangled potato called a fingerling or something like that, tiny little morsels of goodness that will light up any dinner table. Different colors, too."

Harry looked like he wanted to cry when he took his seat and buckled up per the hostess's instructions. The moment she was out of earshot, Harry shot Jack a withering look, and said, "f.u.c.k you, Jack."

"Potty mouth." Jack sniffed as the hostess appeared with a bottle of champagne.

"Does anyone want information on Idaho to broaden his mind?" Ted asked. "I am a virtual encyclopedia of information. Espinosa can do a color show on his phone, if you like."

"Will you please shut up, or I will see to it that you sleep for the entire trip to wherever it is we're going, Ted," Harry said as he shook his head, declining the champagne. He held up a little bag of ground tea and instructed, "Let it steep for ten minutes. I prefer a cup with no handles."

"Of course, sir," the hostess said sweetly. So sweetly, Jack thought he was going to gag.

"Not that I care, Ted, but why was it so difficult to get tickets to Idaho? I thought no one went there," Jack commented.

"Some potato festival, Maggie said. Gourmet cooks from all over the country are making the trip. Everyone wants to win a gold potato on a pedestal. And it was a last-minute booking. You complaining, Jack?"

"Nah, just making conversation. I have to admit I am a little perturbed that the girls don't want us around. What's up with that?"

"They always have a reason for what they do," Espinosa said, authority ringing in his voice."

"Yeah, and you know this...how?" Jack said sourly as he finished off the champagne in his gla.s.s.

"I know because Alexis talks to me. We discuss everything. That's what couples do. I probably know more than all of you put together. Just because I don't blab my business to you...because none of you can be trusted to keep a secret, doesn't mean I don't know what's going on."

They were on him like fleas on a dog. Alarmed, the hostess backed away with her champagne bottle, muttering something about dinner at thirty thousand feet.

Espinosa clamped his lips shut, his signal that he wouldn't be parting with any information anytime soon. Even Harry's threat-"Don't worry, when we land, I'll kill him. I'd do it now, but I don't want to be the first man to kill someone in midair on a private plane"-kept Espinosa's lips clamped shut.

Bert, who had been quiet throughout the exchange, sat upright. "You know, Espinosa, if you know something we should know, it's not going to do you a bit of good to withhold that information. We're brothers under the skin. A team, I thought. If I had information, you guys would be the first ones I would share it with."

Espinosa thought about it for a moment, then said, "The girls don't know what to do."

"That's it! The girls don't know what to do!" Jack said in disbelief.

"Yeah. They signed on, Lizzie did it all, and she's on her way, or will be shortly, to London. Elias says the CIA and DHS say nothing is going on on our turf. Of course, Elias did not let on that the big shots in the foreign intelligence and law-enforcement worlds contacted the girls. But our side is saying there is no threat to the administration, nothing covert is going on or has been going on, which brings it all back to Hank Jellicoe, who started the whole thing in the first place. That's why we're going to Idaho, back to his beginning. The girls are waiting and depending on us to come up with some workable information."

Harry stirred, which was never a good sign. "Then why didn't you say that in the first place? Then I wouldn't have had to issue my threat to kill you," he complained, one eye open and one eye closed.

"Because I don't take kindly to threats. Alexis wouldn't let you go free if you killed me. She loves me."

"Oh, yeah, well, she's no match for Yoko," Harry bl.u.s.tered.

"Enough with the p.i.s.sing match, boys. We now have the information we need, which is, the girls need us. 'Need' is the operative word here. Are you all following me? In addition, I think we should all thank Espinosa for clueing us in."

Before anyone could comment either way, the hostess appeared carrying dinner trays. They managed to use up an hour cutting, chewing, and mumbling about the gourmet dinner. When coffee was poured, they went back at it, but not with any real intensity. Smarting from their lack of knowledge, Ted zeroed in on Espinosa. "And why were you picked to get this information and not us?"

"Maybe because your phones were off? Well, I was supposed to share it with you, but you were all so belligerent, I just didn't feel like it. You know now, so just shut up. I have nothing more to say."

"I'll pray for you," Jack said solemnly. Bert and Ted agreed to do the same. Harry slept.

Three hours later the plane landed in Boise, Idaho. Ted spoke at length to the pilot, tapped some numbers into his phone, and was the last off the plane. "We have a rental car waiting. We have a two-hour drive ahead of us, so who wants to take the wheel?" Jack volunteered, and they were on the road in less than twenty minutes.

"Okay, Bert, you're my navigator. Type in the address and let the GPS do our work."

"Where are we going, Ted?"

"The only address I have is Emma Doty's." He rattled it off. "I guess we should start there. How big can a town with a population of thirty-six hundred be?"

"I thought you said the population was two thousand," Harry said. "I hate falsehoods. And the people who tell them."

"It's two thousand if you don't count the people who live outside the town limits. Do we really care what the h.e.l.l the population is?" Not bothering to wait for a response, Jack answered the question. "No, we do not care. Let's all just kick back and think about our mission here and how the girls are depending on us to come through for them. Now, sit back and think pleasant thoughts."

By local time, it was the dinner hour when Jack drove the rental car down Main Street. "Here we are, boys, Mayberry, USA, or Prairie City, Idaho, which is also in the good old U. S. of A. There's the town square to the left. That's town hall next to it. I know this because there's a sign on the lawn. To the right is St. Albans Church-not sure what the denomination is. Let's just go with religious and be done with it. That brick building is the post office. There's a sign on the door saying UNITED STATES POST OFFICE. Ah, here's a hardware store, a drugstore, and Miss Eva's cafe. To the right of Miss Eva's is Waddell's Emporium. The sign says they sell everything. I guess that means a toaster or a pair of socks. Looky there, on my left is the police station. Hiram Sherman sells all kinds of insurance to fit your needs right next door. Cody's Beauty Shop does discreet waxing in a back room if you're interested," Jack said, enjoying his witty monologue. "Farm Bureau is coming up on the left, right alongside McBride's one-stop shopping. Groceries," Jack clarified.

"In case none of you noticed, there are no traffic lights. Ah, here's a stop sign, so I am stopping. You know what, I like this little town. Look at all these trees, and the sidewalks with benches. All the stores have flowers, probably donated by the Garden Club. Make a note, Harry, so you can tell Yoko. Better yet, take some pictures and send them to her. She loves flowers."

Two ladies in flowered dresses carrying string bags stopped in the middle of the road to stare at them before they moved on.

"Oh, s.h.i.t, they made us. Strangers from out of town. Now the cops will be trailing us, and before you know it, we'll be locked up. I saw that in a movie once," Espinosa said in a jittery-sounding voice. "n.o.body came for them. They were rotting away before they were found, and none of them were ever the same again."

"Relax, we're going to see Emma Doty, and she won't let anything happen to us," Ted said.

"Hold on, Jack. Look, there's a funeral home. James Dial and Sons. What better place to start than there. We can go to Emma's after we pay a visit. Looks quiet, so probably no customers. It's worth a shot," Bert said, excitement ringing in his voice.

"Yeah, let's see what they can tell us, if anything." Jack made a right turn and parked behind a shiny black hea.r.s.e. "You can do the honors, Bert, since this was your idea."

Inside the mortuary, it was dim and cool. The decor was burgundy walls, dark blue carpeting, and cherrywood. The sickening smell of flowers was everywhere. Somber music played in the background. There was no one behind the shiny cherrywood desk, so Bert rang the little bell sitting on a pedestal. A door opened; the scent of flowers grew stronger. A balding youngish man in a three-piece suit, who looked more like one of his customers, extended a snow-white hand. He had polish on his nails. "Marshall Kelly. How can I be of service to you and your loved ones?"

Bert debated just a second before he reached for his wallet, flashed his retirement badge, and hoped Kelly didn't look too close. He didn't. "We're working a cold case, and our leads have brought us to this beautiful little town of yours. We need some information on a couple who used to live here a long time ago. I'm sure before your time, but you must keep records."

Marshall Kelly's Adam's apple bobbed up and down. He would have so much to talk about at the next Rotary meeting if he could last that long. The FBI right here in his mortuary in Prairie City. "We have records dating back to the day my grandfather opened this mortuary. I'm sure they're somewhere. To be honest, I couldn't say where they are at this precise minute. Tell me who it is, and possibly my father might know, and we won't have to go through all that digging. No pun intended. It's rare that I get to use mortuary witticisms." He laughed.

Bert winced. "Madeline and Gerald Graverson."

"I've heard the names. Dad's napping in the back. Let me fetch him and see what he has to say."

"Napping in the back," Ted hissed. "You don't think he naps in a..."

"Do not go there, Ted," Jack hissed in return.

Five minutes went by, then another five minutes. Finally, Marshall Kelly and a white-haired, suited-up senior came through a burgundy leather door that didn't make a sound. Introductions were made all around. Tea or coffee was offered and declined.

Marshall Kelly Senior motioned the men to sit in a row of dark burgundy leather chairs. "It was sad; Gerald pa.s.sed first, then Madeline six months later. They both looked lovely. We get so many compliments on our work, that's why people elect to come to James Dial and Sons, opposed to going out of town. There's the travel, the caskets are discounted, the satin is tacky." He shuddered to show what he thought of such places.

"How was the turnout?" Harry asked bluntly.

Both Senior and Junior Kelly looked at Harry as though they'd never seen a live Oriental. And they probably hadn't if they'd never left Prairie City. "And you are?"

"Harry Wong," Bert said.

"He's our resident terrorist," Jack said.

Harry stared at the two men until they looked away.

"Well," Mr. Kelly Senior said, "Everyone in town came to pay his or her respects. Funerals and wakes bring out the best in people. There was an overabundance of flowers, as I recall, but with no name attached to the cards at either funeral. That's the only reason I remember it. People sign their names to gifts of flowers. Both Madeline and Gerald are buried in St. Albans Cemetery. It's two miles down the road, right off our main street."

"Any family members attend?" Bert asked.

"As I recall, there was no family, just friends and neighbors. The Graversons had a son, but no one knew where he was to notify him. We tried. We held the bodies an extra week, just in case we were able to locate him. I'm sorry to say we never did."

"Who paid for the funeral?"

The elder Kelly held up his hand. "Now, that was very strange. A bank draft came in for a large amount of money. It paid for the cemetery plots, top-of-the-line Springfield caskets, the minister, our fee, of course, and the refreshments that were served afterward at our home. Actually, I think there is still fourteen hundred dollars in an escrow account we set up. I'm sure the interest has acc.u.mulated nicely. We would be more than happy to turn it over to the son if you can locate him for us."

"We don't know where he is, either," Jack said.

"Their home, what happened to it?" Ted asked.

"Nothing, as far as I know. It's still standing. I believe the neighbors boarded up the windows and doors. I do know their cars are still in the garage. I'm sorry, but I don't remember who told me that."

"That's okay," Bert said. "Who pays the taxes on the property?"

"I really don't know for certain. You could ask at the town hall. I would a.s.sume they were paid ahead, possibly by the son, or else there was money in an account. This is a small, friendly town, gentlemen. I'm sure if there wasn't enough money, the townspeople would have chipped in. We're not talking a huge amount of money for property taxes-less than two hundred dollars a year. Ask for Ellie at the bank. There are no secrets in this town. There will be records."

"Did the Graversons own any other property anywhere?"

The elder Kelly slapped playfully at his forehead. "How could I have forgotten that? It was all this little town talked about when Madeline inherited a house in Florida. The land of sunshine and oranges. They went there once a year, and they even posted a bulletin at the church saying that anyone wanting to go to Florida could stay there for a vacation. I don't think anyone ever took them up on the offer, but it just goes to show how kind the Graversons were."

"What is all this about?" the younger Kelly asked.

"We think they were witnesses to something that happened in Florida a long time ago. As I said, we're working a cold case. It's probably not going to go anywhere, but we have to check every possibility. I don't suppose you have an address for the property?" Bert said.

"Shouldn't you have that if, as you say, something happened there? I certainly don't know it. Maybe Pastor Homes has it, I really can't say."