Someone was leaking information, and she was confident enough of the source to print it, and to have traveled to Orcas, again.
To have pushed Fiona’s name forward, again. And this time linking her with Simon. The hunky artist who traded Seattle’s urban flair for a quiet inlet retreat on Orcas.
The paper had even printed a sidebar on him, relating his work in the medium of wood, his practical applications with a creative flair, its organic center.
Blah, blah, blah.
She had a few dozen things she’d like to say to Kati Starr, which of course was just what the reporter wanted.
The continued publicity put her in a tenuous position with clients. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—answer questions, and they couldn’t help but ask them.
And because the questions, and the crazies, were popping up on her blog, she had to close the comments section and rerun old entries.
Desperate for something to keep her mind occupied, she focused on a new project. And hunted Simon down in his shop. Whatever he was making involved the lathe and the use of a small carving tool—and looked as though it required precision and focus.
She stood back and kept her mouth shut until he turned off the machine.
“What?”
“Can you make this?”
He tossed the protective goggles aside and studied the photo.
“It’s a window box.”
“I know what it is.”
“It’s actually Meg’s window box. I asked her to take a picture and upload it for me. Simon, I need something to do.”
“This looks like something for me to do.”
“Yes, initially. But I’ll plant them. If you could make four of them.” She caught the wheedling edge in her voice and hated it enough to change tones. “I know maybe you don’t actually want window boxes, but you have to admit they’d look good, and they’d perk up the front of the house. You could even decorate them for Christmas with—or not,” she said as he only stared.
“Okay, I guess I won’t mention an idea for some raised beds on the south side of the house. Sorry. Sorry. One look around here and anyone could see you’re already busy enough without me dreaming up more to keep myself occupied. What’s that?”
She gestured toward the tarp that covered the wine cabinet.
“That would be none of your business.”
“Fine. I’ll go clean something and you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.”
“Fiona.”
She stopped at the door.
“Let’s go for a walk.”
“No, it’s fine. You’re in the middle of something, and my problem is I’m not. So I’ll get in the middle of something.”
“So, I’ll go for a walk by myself, and you can go in and sulk.”
She heaved out a breath before crossing over and putting her arms around him. “I was planning on sulking, but I can put it off.” She tipped her face up. “I’m restless, that’s all. I’m used to coming and going when I please. Heading off with the dogs, or jumping in the car and driving into the village. Stopping by Sylvia’s, or going by to see Mai. I promised I wouldn’t go anywhere alone, and I didn’t realize how stir-crazy I’d get when I couldn’t. So now I’m a pest, and it annoys me. Probably more than it annoys you.”
“Doubtful,” he said, and made her laugh.
“Go back to work. I’m going to go take some new pictures of the boys and update the website.”
“We’ll go out later. Go out for dinner or something.”
“I feel sanity returning. I’ll see you when you’re done.” She walked back to the door, opened it. Stopped. “Simon.”
“What now?”
“Agents Tawney and Mantz just pulled up.”
She tried to be optimistic as she walked across the yard. Tawney greeted the dogs, and was immediately offered a rope by Jaws as Mantz stayed several cautious steps back.
“Fiona. Simon.” Despite his dark suit, Tawney gave Jaws a quick game of tug. “I hope we’re not interrupting.”
“No. In fact I was just complaining I had too much time on my hands today.”
“Feeling hemmed in?”
“A little. Lie. A lot.”
“I remember how it was for you before. We’re making progress, Fee. We’re going to do everything we can to close this case and get things back to normal for you.”
“You look tired.”
“Well, it’s been a long day.” He glanced over at Simon. “Is it all right if we talk inside?”
“No problem.” Simon started toward the house. “You’ve seen the latest in U.S. Report,” he said. “It upsets her. She doesn’t need that added on. You’ve got a leak to plug.”
“Believe me, we’re working on it.”
“We’re no happier about it than you are,” Mantz added as they stepped inside. “If Eckle gets the idea we’re looking for him, he could go under.”
“That answers the top question. You haven’t found him yet. Do you want anything?” Fiona asked them. “Coffee? Something cold?”
“Let’s just sit down. We’re going to tell you as much as we can.” Tawney sat and, leaning forward, linked his hands on his knees. “We know he was in Portland on January fifth because he sold his car to a used-car lot on that date. There’s no other vehicle registered in his name, but we’re checking on purchases in the Portland area on or around that date.”
“He could have bought something from a private seller. Not bothered to register it.” Simon shrugged. “Or had fake ID. Hell, he could’ve taken a bus to anywhere and bought a car off Craigslist.”
“You’re right, but we check, and we keep checking. He needs transportation. He needs lodging. He needs to buy gas and food. We’re going to turn over every stone and use every means at our disposal. That includes Perry.”
“We spoke with him earlier today,” Mantz continued. “We know he and Eckle communicated, using a third party to smuggle letters in and out.”
“Who?” Simon demanded.
“The minister Perry bullshitted at the prison. The minister took Perry’s letters out and mailed them—they were to different names, different locations,” Tawney explained. “Perry claimed they were to members of a prayer group his sister belonged to, and the minister swallowed it. He brought Perry the responses, mailed to him, again from different names and locations.”
“So much for maximum security,” Simon muttered.
“Perry managed to get a letter out a few days after Kellworth’s body was found, but there’s been no correspondence to him for over three weeks.”
“Eckle’s distancing himself ?” Fiona glanced from agent to agent. “Is that what you think?”
“It plays. Eckle’s gone off script now,” Tawney added. “And that’s something Perry’s not pleased about. Now that he knows we’ve identified Eckle and we’re focused on him, Perry’s not pleased about that either.”
“You told him?” Simon interrupted. “So he’ll have a chance to confirm the damn news story with his pen pal?”
“Short of ESP, Perry’s not getting any more messages out or in,” Mantz insisted. “We’ve blocked his conduit. He’s been locked down, and now he’ll remain locked down until we have Eckle in custody. Eckle’s not living up to his standards, and Perry’s feeling the squeeze of losing some of the privileges he gained through good behavior.”
“You think he’s going to tell you, if he knows, how to find this Eckle?” Fiona demanded. “Why would he?”
“He wants to cut the cord there, Fee. He’s not happy his protégé is making mistakes, going his own way. Perry knows, because we made sure he knows, those mistakes will make it impossible for Eckle to get to you.” Tawney waited a beat. “You’re still his one failure, and the reason he’s in prison. He still thinks about you.”
“That’s not particularly good news.”
“We don’t have much to bargain with. Perry knows he’s in prison for life. He’s never getting out. Eventually, his pride will push him into telling us what we need, or we’ll take Eckle without him.”
“Eventually.”
“He’s offered us information. He’s careful enough to couch it as observations, speculations, theories, but he’s ready to turn on Eckle with the right incentive.”