Part 2 (1/2)
”Now you behave while I'm gone.” She had to get over to the Bingingtons' before it got any later. Shaking her head, she hurried down the stairs and out the front door.
It took her thirty minutes to drive to the Bingingtons', and although the house was well lighted, she still felt awkward about going into someone else's home. She slid the key into the lock and walked in.
Switching on lights as she moved through the rooms, she was immediately absorbed in checking the arrangement of tables, flowers, and decor. As a caterer she sometimes worked with florists and other accessorizers to create a complete theme. This one was her baby. She was responsible for everything, from the magnolia blossoms to the bales of cotton she was having brought in. The house was perfect, though. The dining room would easily seat fifty, and double parlors fed off the west end of the dining room. It would be easy to set up the hors d'oeuvre tables and a second wet bar. She nodded with satisfaction as she snapped off the lights and moved on to the kitchen.
Sarah was halfway across the room, searching for the light switch, when a noise outside the back door made her freeze. It was the c.h.i.n.k of something against the gla.s.s, followed by a sc.r.a.ping sound.
Her mind went blank at the possibility of what the noise could be, but her brain registered that it was a sound that should not have been there. Moving as swiftly and silently as possible, she found a doork.n.o.b in the dark and pulled it open. Stepping inside, she pulled the door closed and felt for a lock. There wasn't one.
Fumbling backward she stepped on an object and grabbed into the darkness, catching it before it could fall. A broom. Careful now, she reached into the darkness. Mops, pails, brooms, the vacuum cleaner. She'd stumbled into the cleaning supply pantry. Taking care not to make a sound, she burrowed into the pitch blackness and prayed that whoever was outside would not open the door.
”We're in.”
She heard the voice and knew she was in terrible danger. Someone was robbing the Bingington house. If they found her in the pantry, they would more than likely kill her.
”Yeah, we're in. What a joint. It seems a pity to break in and break out without taking anything.”
The second voice was just as unpolished as the first. Both were male and both young. Sarah could determine nothing else-her heart was pounding so hard she thought she might burst.
”Keep your paws off everything. We're here for the pepper. That's it.”
Sarah swallowed. ”Pepper?” Surely she'd misunderstood. Unless-! She felt a surge of adrenaline that mingled the fear. What if she'd stepped on someone's toes with her White House catering business? If someone else had been pushed aside to make room for her, they might well resort to putting something in her food. Not enough to injure anyone. But a few dinners where guests mysteriously got sick-no one wanted to risk that kind of fiasco at a political event. It would ruin a chef forever in this town.
Her churning thoughts stopped cold as the first man spoke again.
”This is what they call ironic.” His laugh was short and there was the sound of cabinets opening and shutting.
”What?” The second man sounded hostile, as if he knew he was the b.u.t.t of a joke.
”This cook's old man was a sheriff in Mississippi. He wanted a piece of the gambling action from the big boys, then got cold feet. He went back on his word, though, and he had to die. Now his kid is cooking up her own trouble.”
The other man laughed, also a sharp sound. ”Yeah, that's ironic.”
A cabinet shut and silence fell outside the pantry where Sarah hid.
Gripping the edge of a shelf, Sarah listened until she thought she'd gone blind and deaf in the blackness of the pantry, until she felt as if all of the oxygen was being rap. idly sucked from the room.
This was no professional prank or attempt to ruin her business. This was something else, something that went back to her childhood and the father she'd idolized. What gambling action? If her father had known about any gambling ring, he would have put the people in jail. Gambling was illegal in Mississippi at the time Cal Covington was sheriff of Hanc.o.c.k County. Who were those men, and what were they talking about?
A long suppressed fear rose up and nearly choked her. Was her father's death not really an accident? Dizziness made her grasp the wall behind her. That was unthinkable. It was the one nightmare that she'd had to bury just to survive.
She had to see their faces. She had to know who they were and how they knew so much about her business and her past.
Pus.h.i.+ng away from the stabilizing shelf, she eased open the door and slipped into the kitchen. Once she found the light switch with her fingers, she hesitated. What if they had guns?
She wanted the light, but she wanted to be cautious even more. Slipping along the wall of the kitchen, she made her way to the dining room and listened.
The old house was silent, as if no one had been there in a hundred years.
They were gone.
Sarah knew it, but she didn't want to believe it. While she'd been cowering in the pantry, they'd slipped out again. Now she'd never know who they were and how they'd come to know anything about her father.
She thought of calling the police, but the reference to her father held her back. All of those dirty accusations came rus.h.i.+ng back at her-that he was dishonest; that he had abused the power of his office; that he had consorted with criminals; that he had betrayed the public trust.
Those were the charges her father had faced, and they were responsible for his death. Nothing was ever proven against the lawman, but he'd gotten careless from worry and stress.
When he was shot trying to stop a robbery, plenty of folks said he deliberately stepped in front of the bullet.
Sarah switched on the kitchen light. In the pantry, she found canisters of pepper-ground pepper, peppercorns, green peppercorns, white pepper, red pepper, cayenne pepper. She found a used grocery sack and dumped them all into that, careful not to touch the flat surfaces of the cans and jars.
If there was any hanky-panky going on with the pepper to the Bingington house, she was going to find out about it. And then she was going to find those two men who'd been in the kitchen. She was going to find them and make them tell her what they'd meant about her father.
She grabbed the bag of pepper and hurried to the front door. There had been times when she'd suspected there was more to Cal's untimely death and her mother's sudden collapse-and some of the people responsible for all of the tragedy had been not five feet away from her this very evening.
It was a terrifying thought, but one Sarah was determined to prove, no matter what she learned about the past.
Chapter Three.
Daniel Dubonet watched the expression on the other man's face. There was no clue to his emotions.
”Check her out thoroughly. I have it from a very good source that this young woman could be serious trouble.”
”What source?” Daniel knew he was pus.h.i.+ng his luck to question his superior in such a manner, but the veil of secrecy that had suddenly surrounded a seemingly innocent young cook had piqued his curiosity. What gave with Sarah Covington? The first request from the Secret Service for FBI a.s.sistance was odd enough. Now the continued investigation was even more peculiar.
”That's an inappropriate question.” Paul Gottard turned cold brown eyes on his employee. Daniel Dubonet was an agent with a lot of potential. But asking such stupid questions could end his career in a hurry.
”There are no inappropriate questions. Not in an investigation.”
Gottard eyed the younger agent. Dubonet was impulsive and brash. Qualities that could be good or bad, depending on when and how they were used. He was also an agent who stood out- a fact that could make him a hero, or a scapegoat.
”Put your trainee's manual away, Dubonet. You want to know why we're so interested in Sarah Covington, I'll tell you. Miss Covington has a very interesting past.”
Daniel started to make a retort, but he bit it back. He'd already pushed his luck with his boss. He could plainly see that by the lines of tension around Paul Gottard's eyes.
”Sarah is the daughter of a sheriff down in Mississippi. I should say, he was the sheriff. He's dead now. Died under suspicious circ.u.mstances. After a lengthy investigation by our agents.”
Daniel was immediately alert. Corruption of local law enforcement officers was an area that particularly interested him. Lawmen, like ministers, were supposed to conduct themselves impeccably, Daniel believed. Men or women who took oaths to protect and defend citizens and then behaved illegally, were worse than other criminals.
”Tell me the background.” He leaned forward in his chair.
”Cal Covington was serving his second term as sheriff of Hanc.o.c.k County. Seems he was doing a pretty good job, at least, according to his records. Looked like he could have been elected every four years for the rest of his life.” Paul reached for a file on his desk. ”Then there were rumors he was involved in an illegal gambling interest. Those coastal counties have always been wide open for gambling, prost.i.tution and all the other vices. Been going on for years and no one seemed to mind all that much.”
”So what happened?”
”That's the strange part. Covington was a real Wyatt Earp. Young girl was killed and he sent more folks up to the state pen than any other sheriff in the history of the county. Then we got a tip that he wasn't on the up-and-up. He made some enemies-” Paul dropped the file on his desk. ”And then he walked into a bullet in a penny-ante robbery.” Suicide?”