style="font-size:15px;"> Leaning back, Cliff gave her a satisfied grin. “You might be interested to know that at this very minute, the renters on Rosewood Lane are in the process of moving.”
“Now? Tonight?” Grace gasped. “What happened?”
Jack chuckled. “Cliff called me this afternoon with an idea for persuading these creeps to leave town.”
Olivia looked concerned. “Did you threaten them? Because if you did, I don’t want to hear it.”
Jack shook his head.
Cliff shrugged. “The two of us, you mean? We weren’t anywhere near them.”
Olivia didn’t seem convinced of their innocence. “You’d better tell us exactly what you did.”
Jack gestured to Cliff. “You tell. It was your idea, and a mighty fine one if I do say so myself.”
“I’ll be happy to.” Cliff took a last swig of coffee. “After seeing how upset Grace was this morning, I decided there had to be a way to get those people to leave.”
Grace nodded uncertainly. She couldn’t even guess what he’d come up with. “And?” she said.
“And that’s when I talked to Jack,” Cliff continued. “I had an idea I wanted to run by him.”
“I was so impressed with Cliff’s plan that I asked to be part of it.”
“Okay, Cliff, you’re brilliant,” Olivia said. “What did you do?”
“You know the biker bar off Heron Avenue?” Cliff asked.
“Well, yes.” Grace had never been inside. It was a wooden structure that resembled a saloon out of an old western. With its sagging roof, the place seemed about to cave in. The Horse with No Name had become a popular watering hole for a rough biker crowd from miles around.
“Jack and I paid the bar a visit,” Cliff went on to say. “I stood in the middle of the room and said I was having trouble with some deadbeat renters who didn’t seem inclined to move.”
“You didn’t!” Grace burst out.
“I most certainly did.”
“He promised a keg of beer to anyone who’d be willing to ride to the house and convince the renters it was time they looked for housing elsewhere.”
“But … but—”
“Don’t worry,” Cliff said and raised his hands as if anticipating Grace’s objections. “I explained that they were to do no bodily harm, although they could threaten all they liked.”
“Then what?” Olivia asked.
“I can’t rightly say,” Jack said virtuously, then dipped his finger in Olivia’s remaining coconut cream pie and brought it to his lips. “All we know is that about ten of them hopped on their motorbikes. Big, loud bikes.”
“Big, loud guys, too,” Cliff added. “Lots of tattoos and leather. Mean-looking bunch. If they showed up at my place, I wouldn’t want to argue with ’em.”
“They were back about twenty minutes later,” Jack finished.
“What did they say?”
“Not much,” Cliff said. “Just that there shouldn’t be a problem anymore and that they wanted their keg of beer.”
“That keg cost Cliff less than a hundred bucks.”
“They’re leaving?” Grace asked in astonishment. “The Smiths are leaving?”
“Leaving?” Jack repeated, his grin so big it must’ve hurt his face. “Cliff and I drove past and they’d already loaded up their car. My guess is they’ll be gone by morning.”
“Oh, my goodness.” Grace could hardly believe it. “You’re not making this up, are you?”
“No, I swear to you it’s true. Your tenant problems are over.”
“Cliff Harding, have I told you how much I love you?”
“Do you love me enough to share your pie?”
Grace nodded. “Not only that, I’ll buy an entire one just for you.”
Thirty-Seven
After the kidnapping attempt, Bobby had agreed to a match. Apparently, the Russian had given him specific instructions on the first few moves he was to make, moves that would guarantee a loss because Bobby would find himself in what chess players referred to as the Black Hole. So far, no one had devised a method of escaping from this position. Bobby intended to be the first.
Ever since his conversation with Vladimir, Bobby had been sullen and uncommunicative. Teri was furious that her husband had given in to his blackmailer, although she understood that he felt he had no other option.
The Russian’s henchmen had disappeared and, according to the sheriff, the investigation had stalled. They’d found no solid evidence linking Vladimir to the crime; not surprisingly, this was a man who knew how to cover his tracks.
Bobby planned to do something about that, and his plan started with a long, secretive discussion in the sheriff’s office. The next step would be a chess match in New York City on November 11. In one week’s time …
“You can’t lose,” Teri had protested.
“I won’t.” Her husband was nothing if not confident.
Monday morning Teri had a doctor’s appointment, a routine checkup for her and the baby. The salon wasn’t open on Mondays, which made it a good day for her appointments. She dreaded stepping on the scale and closed her eyes when she did. After the initial bouts of late-afternoon “morning” sickness, she’d never felt healthier. The unfortunate thing, in her opinion, was that it meant her appetite had returned.
The appointment took only fifteen minutes and she was out of the office well ahead of schedule. Rachel had asked if they could meet for lunch. She seemed to have recovered from the terror of the kidnapping, for which Teri felt profoundly thankful.
The Pot Belly Deli was relatively empty, so Teri secured a window table and waited for her friend. The soups were a specialty; so were the huge sandwiches but she ignored those. Seeing that she needed to watch her calorie intake—the doctor’s words, not hers—Teri decided on vegetable beef soup, with a plain green salad. Boring but nutritious.
Rachel breezed in right on schedule. “Hi, Teri. You look great.” She swung her purse strap off her shoulder and unfastened the buttons of her coat. “How’s James?”
“Better. He’s still in rough shape but I can see a real improvement.” Teri’s admiration for Bobby’s driver had risen tenfold. She was impressed by his bravery and, she had to admit, by his stoicism, although it frustrated her, too. She knew the broken ribs caused him a great deal of pain. Since the attack, he’d kept pretty much to himself; he’d refused the nurse Bobby had wanted to
