Service touched Nantz’s arm to let her know he was slipping away again, went out to the patio, and circled the building.
There was a guard at the side entrance, a Lenawee County deputy. He showed the man his badge.
“Some soiree,” the deputy said. “You on duty?”
“Just hoping to get laid.”
The deputy laughed. “Not a problem in this crowd. They’ve been going back and forth to the vehicles all through dinner. You can smell weed in the air over in the lot. We’re in the don’t-ask, don’t-tell mode.”
“Have you seen the senator?”
“No, but I seen that big-shot Asian bimbo who came in with her and the old guy.”
“Where?”
“She’s out in that white Mercedes stretch.”
Service crossed the lawn, making sure to keep a good distance from the vehicle. He came up in its blind spot, saw two heads in back, no driver. He immediately stepped into the shadow of another vehicle and waited. Siquin Soong got out of the limo and made her way quickly into the building. A man got out of the rear door opposite the building and started to open the driver’s door, but Service bumped him hard to get his attention. The man froze and tensed. Service leaned over and looked directly into his eyes.
“Sorry,” Service said. “Guess I had a coupla suds too many, hey?”
He felt the man’s eyes on him as he crossed in front of the limo and went back into the lodge.
Timms and Nantz were still talking. Some of the crowd was beginning to drift out of the building.
Service said, “Senator, who was the young Asian man that helped Soong’s husband to the dais?”
Lorelei Timms looked at him suspiciously. “The man is her driver and her pilot. I once heard someone call him her brother, but I doubt that. I think he serves other purposes. Do I need to be more specific?”
“Aren’t you worried about a scandal?”
“She’s a political supporter, not my friend. What she does is her business and she is an extremely independent woman.”
“Do you know the man’s name?”
“No, why are you interested?”
“He’s plagued by curiosity,” Nantz said, tugging him away.
“Are Soong and her husband staying nearby?”
“I assume they’re returning to their home in Detroit,” Timms said.
“I’m not comfortable with these questions, Grady.”
“I get paid to ask questions.”
“You’re not on duty tonight.”
“A cop and a governor are always on duty,” he said.
Lorelei Timms glared at him. Nantz grabbed another glass of champagne and pulled him away.
Service said. “I think I screwed up. Let’s split.”
“Now?”
“Now.”
They got into the Yukon and he saw that the white limo was still there. Service punched a number into his cell phone. “Sterling?”
“You got ’im.”
“Where are you?”
“Entry road, only way in and out. What’s going down?”
“White Mercedes stretch limo, driver and two passengers.” Service gave the man the license plate number. “You stay with the driver, no matter what.”
“Give you a bump when he lights?”
“Yeah, good luck,” Service said.
“Don’t need it,” Sterling said.
39
Nantz got out of the vehicle and walked unsteadily up the walk into the B&B, waving at him to let him know she was okay. Service turned on the 800 MHz, clicked to Channel 3, called, “Thirty-One Eighteen, Twenty-Five Fourteen,” repeating the call twice, then waiting.
He tried again five minutes later and still no response.
Five minutes after that Jake Mecosta radioed, “Thirty-One Eighteen is up.”
“What’s your status?”
“We may have something. We found that place our guide told us about. It looks like somebody’s been there.”
The “guide” was Santinaw. “Any critters?”
“No sign of that, but somebody’s done some sprucing up.”
“Kids?”
“Possible, but our guide picked up a trail at the north end of that body of water we discussed. We followed it up to a tote road, about half a click. Somebody ran a four-wheeler down to the river. Old tracks, in and out. Just one trip.”
“How far from that trail to the hole we talked about?” Service asked. The body of water was Laughing Whitefish Lake. The river flowed into the top of it and out the bottom. The hole was the grotto Santinaw had told them about.
“Two clicks maybe.”
“Isn’t much.”
“Wasn’t, but last night somebody left a voice mail for me and urged me to take a look at a cabin on a small lake east of the chute, above that body of water. We’re there now. Lots of activity, five males, three four-wheelers, and a canoe with a motor. Lots of crates and gear, but we haven’t gone in close to find out what. I sent Dort to the county clerk, see if we can find out who owns the place now. She’ll TX me soon as she knows one way or the other. These people here are most definitely not from Kansas—all from way east of our Far West, copy?”