The Sweetest Summer(98)
“I’m not talking to you. Only the FBI.”
“Well, they should be here in about twenty minutes.” Clancy suddenly noticed a lingering scent of spicy food. There was nothing in the microwave or on the stove, however, so he figured it was just the way Katsakis smelled in a closed room. “I see you already located the soda. There might be some chips in the cabinet.”
“I already found something to eat. Leave me alone, Flynn.”
Something to eat . . . oh, hell no! As casually as he could, Clancy strolled inside the break room, opened the freezer, and found it empty save for the ice cube trays, a freezer-burned tub of ice cream, and a frosty Post-it note, which had fallen off the evidence bag.
Clancy shut the freezer. He looked into the garbage can. Yep, the bag was in the trash. He looked into the sink. Yep, the plastic container was empty. He took a moment to compose himself.
“Hey, Flynn. If that was your lunch, then I guess I’m sorry. But you’re not a very good cook. It had a strange taste. Needed more cinnamon. The Greeks put cinnamon, cumin, and sometimes cocoa in their chili—did you know that?”
“How much did you eat?”
“I said I was sorry!”
“How much, Mr. Katsakis?”
“I ate it all! So shoot me!”
Clancy thought this through. On the off chance his father had been right and the contest entry was tainted, then it might be wise to call the EMTs. “Are you good? You feeling all right?”
“Why do you care how I’m feeling? I’m a little gassy. There. Now you know.”
Suddenly, it dawned on him that if the chili was, in fact, psychogenic, the credibility of anything Cosmo might say to the FBI would suffer. Could he really have gotten this lucky? For the first time in recent memory, he hoped his father’s “mayornoia” was legit.
“I’ll let you know when the federal agents arrive.” He shut the break room door.
Fifteen minutes later, the borrowed Jeeps rolled into the parking lot. Clancy, Deon, and Cam glanced at each other, barely able to keep from laughing. They were about to learn how the agents enjoyed their sightseeing tour of the island.
The three special agents who canvassed the industrial area, boardwalk businesses, and Island Day vendors looked no worse for the wear. But Congressman Wahlman, Apodaca, and her sidekick appeared shell-shocked.
“How did it go?” Deon came off as business-as-usual, but no one answered him. “Uncover anything noteworthy?”
Clancy had to momentarily turn his attention to some papers on the front desk or he was going to lose it.
“Thank you for asking.” The Special Agent in Charge sounded noticeably snippy. “The answer would be, ‘fuck no, we are not okay.’”
“I may never be okay again,” her sidekick said.
Clancy looked up just as Wahlman glared at him. He seemed somewhat less stunned than his friends, but certainly not happy. “You might have had the courtesy to tell us exactly what kind of private club the Bayberry Freedom Colony is.”
Clancy looked surprised. “What? I thought you knew! I am so sorry.”
“I just bet,” Wahlman said.
Cam got Clancy’s attention and nodded his head toward the break room.
“Ah, yes.” Clancy addressed Apodaca. “We have a witness here who claims he saw the kidnapper. He’s in our break room.”