Marshal rubbed at the back of his neck as we stood outside the surveyor's home. It had been quite a jaunt, the property being on the extreme edge of Winhill's boundaries and beyond. That time away from possible listeners had given the two of us a chance to plot an 'avenue of attack' in order to coerce, manipulate the surveyor into giving us the information we needed. Whether it would prove him innocent or suspect didn't matter. I wanted to get this mission done.
"Come on," Marshal muttered. He knocked again. "The last thing we need is to have come all the way out here only to hike all the way back with nothing but a wedgie."
I lowered my head with a slight smirk and adjusted my crossed arms.
"Don't laugh," he said without sending me a glance.
"Too late."
Marshal scoffed, but it sounded like a chuckle. This time he looked my direction. "I'll get you later, you know."
I didn't look up. "Try."
"Oh really. I'll take you up on that challenge, chicklit. Just you wait."
"Tremble and terror."
Marshal laughed just as the door opened. The surveyor, Timothi Rasmusen, was a somewhat tall and gangly individual with carrot-red hair and green eyes too-large for his face. I frowned and adjusted my crossed arms. He wasn't very pleasant to look at, and his 'persona' immediately rubbed me the wrong way.
Marshal presented a hand. "Hi. I'm Blake Rankin." They shook hands and Mr. Rasmusen, roughly looking to be in his mid-thirties, looked from Marshal to me with a curious expression. "This is my fiancée, Ahndra Taylor."
I did my best impression of a shy smile and briefly and 'timidly' shook his hand. His hold was nothing short of sloppy and made my skin crawl. I pulled my hand away and just kept from rubbing it on my shorts. Instead, I took Marshal's hand and nearly released a breath of relief.
Marshal's smile widened, and he gave my hand a succession of squeezes. "Is it a bad time? We hoped to ask some questions about stuff."
"Oh. Well." He sent a glance over his shoulder as he scrubbed at his scalp.
I immediately filed the reaction and intensely scrutinized his expressions.
"I promise we'll be out of your hair in, say, ten minutes?"
Mr. Rasmusen lowered his hand. "What's it about?"
"Well, Ana and I are looking into buying some property here, for building a house you know, and we hoped to find a local surveyor to scope out the lots and give us some ideas."
"What property?"
I deepened my scrutiny of Mr. Rasmusen as Marshal described the location of the two lots adjacent to the proposed site of the Winhill Garden. Facial tic. Slight discoloration of the face and neck. Brief fisting of the hand not holding the door. Sudden clenching of jaw. I gave Marshal's hand a succession of coded squeezes. He didn't break rhythm of speech.
"Have they said they're going to sell?" Mr. Rasmusen asked calmly enough.
Marshal shook his head and answered my squeezes with a short reply as he answered "No. We're going to be meeting with one of them tomorrow before lunch. Did you want us to wait until after that meeting before asking?"
"I'd recommend it. You see, I don't think they're selling." Mr. Rasmusen sent another look behind his shoulder as well as a narrowed-eyed gaze behind us. "I really believe you folks should look elsewhere. Winhill has a lot of marshland that floods in the spring. It would add extra cost to your building. Young couple like you? Try building outside Balamb."
Marshal smiled and gave a thanking nod. "Thanks for the input. I--We appreciate it."
"Sure. Have a nice day." He closed the door.
We turned and headed back the way we came.
"Damn," Marshal muttered. He sent me a sidelong glance. "I thought that guy would shit bricks. Somebody has him spooked."
I absently nodded as I stared ahead.
"And he tried to persuade us to leave Winhill before talking to the landowner, while the other guy is trying to get us to stay. Everything about this just screams 'Suspicious'."
I very slightly inclined my head.
My skin tingled as Marshal regarded me. "Hey, chicklit. You think you could tell me what you're thinking?"
"Plot."
"Figured that. Details?"
My mind delved deeper, but I gave a brief shake of my head. "Wait."
"Sure thing. I guess we can try and track down the other landowner. . . ." My skin tingled even more. "Unless you want to get ‘lost’ and keep thinking things out?"
"Yes," I answered absently.
Surveyor showing signs of terror with a missing wife in an unverifiable location. Same surveyor has reported connection with radicals that have since proved to be fugitives from the law. Presence of possible AWOL Galbadian soldiers/SeeDs responsible for murder, whom also show some type of connection to the present situation in Deling (as reported by Seifer's 'Bingo'). Inability to verify existence of landowners other than unverifiable photos on file with Winhill City Hall.
I arched an eyebrow. Winhill was located between Trabia and Deling Gardens. Neutral ground for outside influences to meet and make necessary purchases. Empty lots provide suitable secrecy and room for weapons sales and delivery within the evening hours. Winhill's location provides suitable distance from military security personnel. I looked over at Marshal and vaguely noticed an odd smile on his face as he watched me. "Handheld."
"Sure." He released my hand and retrieved the requested item from his back pocket. He handed it over with a continued smile.
I accessed the secure email account and typed in the appropriate passwords to activate the satellite link.
'Surveyor showing signs of outside manipulation in order to sway expertise. Recommend immediate search and possible rescue of wife from facility near or around Esthar as per Regal's report. Meeting with one of two landowners is arranged. Have suspicion one if not both landowners are fictitious and will in actuality be additional accomplices responsible for Katie Beita's murder. No proof if cover still intact.'
I scrambled the message and sent it. Then I gave the handheld back.
Marshal accepted it. He smiled wide. "Starting to get interesting, huh?"
Interesting? I smirked and turned to walk again toward Winhill. I wouldn't have come if I suspected otherwise.
"So. . ." Marshal sent me a sidelong glance. "Now what?"
I checked my watch. "Lunch."
"Can we fool around in the tree-fort?"
My chest tightened as I stopped and sent him a look complete with arched eyebrow and crossed arms. "What?" I hadn't heard a more agreeable suggestion.
Marshal grinned. "Please?"
Every part of me screamed Hell yes!, but I turned and continued walking toward town without comment.
"Oh come on. I haven't had a chance to play in a tree-fort since I was a kid. And it'd be a great place for me to take pictures of Winhill. For my cover." Marshal gestured to me. "And you could take notes, or whatever, for the meeting with the landowner tomorrow."
Disappointment shouldn't have felt quite so. . . . "Perhaps."
Marshal made a slight but noticeable exultant gesture with a fisted hand before drawing me close with an arm around my shoulders. I nearly stumbled at the sudden feeling of welcome warmth and the tingle. Hyne.
"We, Seifer and I, plotted and planned to build a tree-fort a couple months after we met. It never happened, though. Damn shame. But he still held the rank of junior classman back then and only came to Deling City with his class for lectures and shit at the Caraway Mansion." Marshal chuckled. "His classes always sounded a helluva lot better than mine. I don't understand why he bitched all the time. I mean, he learns how to beat the hell out of someone and I'm learning math and literature. 'Course, I'm two years older. I guess I had the harder classes before he did."
A memory tingled. "Tree fort," I repeated absently.
Marshal regarded my profile. "You remember something?"
"Fort." I looked over at him. "You mentioned a fort on the trip to the Tomb
."
Marshal smiled. "You're right. Seifer and I were 'remember when'ing at you." He gave my shoulders a squeeze. "Cool. You remembered. Of course, you thought the idea of a tree-fort was pretty spectacular. Don't get why." Marshal watched my face as I looked again down the road. "Maybe because you wanted to get away from the bastard."
I kept my mind silent.
"We tried to use that as a bribe to get you to move away. You remember?"
My mind delved. "No."
"Oh well. Hey." Another squeeze, longer this time. "At least you remembered something."
And that was so painfully true. Finding puzzle pieces lost for years was more difficult than anything I'd had to do before. Especially when I didn't know what they looked like.
"Don't try too hard," Marshal said quietly. "The pieces never fit when we force them."
I absently nodded. I had to be taught to kiss and touch without force. Did I know how to do anything softly? I fisted my hand--I felt a touch on my right cheek and looked sharply over at Marshal.
He smiled. "Relax. It'll come."
I held his gaze a moment before looking away. One of the pieces had to be the right 'reason'.