The following day Ritz and I had an appointment. Our client, Angela Morton, was arriving to pick up the necklace.
We converged at Kitty’s place shortly after noon. Ritz pulled her Ducati up behind my red Mustang. A late-model Merc sat in the driveway as well. It had to be the client’s.
I got out of the car and turned to Ritz, who was taking off her helmet. “Nice wheels for a poor divorcee,” I said.
Ritz shrugged. “Probably got it in the settlement.” She strapped her helmet to the bike and took out her smartphone. I could see she was setting up to take a photo of the house. Ritz was camera-mad.
“Don’t. Kitty doesn’t like anyone taking photos of her place,” I warned. “She stays under the radar, where possible.”
Ritz grunted.
I walked swiftly up the flagstone walkway to the front door.
Kitty and Angela Morton were seated in the living room at the back of the house. It was the first time I had met her. She was a petite blond, not unlike the current wife but at least a decade older. Guess the husband had a type.
We made quick introductions, using just our first names. I let Ritz hand Angela the necklace. No sense getting my prints on it too.
I nodded to Kitty, who gave me a thumbs-up. She seemed particularly pleased with this successful outcome. Her mouth was set in a determined smile.
Angela stared down at the necklace in her hand. “I can’t thank you enough,” she said, eyes shining. Diamonds dripped through her fingers. They graduated from small at the clasp to seriously impressive in the middle.
This was my favorite part. When we meet with our client to tell them the job is done… well, it makes my heart swell. We’ve done something good for someone.
Angela didn’t let us down. She was effusive with praise. It was a pleasure to watch her pretty blond head bob in excitement.
“You guys…you’re amazing! I never thought I would see it again. Thank you!” Her smile lit up the room.
“You’re very welcome,” said Kitty. She was beaming.
I rose and reached for my purse. “Sorry to cut this short, but I’m here on my lunch break. I’ve got to get back to work.”
“Where do you work?” asked Angela. Her eyes lifted from the necklace. They glittered like the diamonds.
“At the city animal shelter,” I said.
“She’s the donations manager and event coordinator,” said Kitty proudly. Kitty is always generous when it comes to boosting my ego.
“I’ll be sure to give a large donation this year,” said Angela. She sounded sincere. “Thank you again!” She waved with her free hand.
Kitty walked Ritz and me to the door. “That’s a job well done,” she said with satisfaction.
I nodded with a smile. The good feeling stayed with me all the way back to work.
Sometimes it seems like the world doesn’t care. But we do.
The weekend passed quickly. It was another noisy Monday at the animal shelter when Alison appeared at my office door. She was practically bouncing.
“The puppies have come!” she said.
I popped up from my chair and followed her out to the kennels. This was the best part about working at the animal shelter. Puppies and kittens.
We had been alerted earlier that some kind children had discovered a shivering mom with her pups in an old shed. The kids’ parents had informed the authorities, thankfully.
I could hear the puppies yipping as I entered the shelter area. We hurried to the largest kennel room, at the back, and peeked over the half door. Four adorable shepherd/husky crosses, about seven weeks old, engaged in climbing over each other. I pulled open the half door and sat down. They made a mad dash for my lap. That always makes my heart sing. We played for a while, until one of them pooped. Then that took all their attention. I escaped while they were playing Let’s All Try to Do That. Happily, Wanda, one of our animal-care workers, came to the rescue.
When I got back to my office, my cell phone dingled. The ring tone signaled Kitty’s home phone. I answered immediately.
“Del, can you get here? Now? We have a problem.” Her voice sounded unusually clipped.
“On my way.” I hung up.
That was weird. Usually Kitty texted me. What was so urgent that she felt she had to call instead?
I was at her front door in under ten minutes. I didn’t even get a chance to ring the bell. The carved wooden door swept open, and Kitty stood there, looking miserable.
“What is it?” I asked, immediately alert. Had someone died?
“Follow me.” She turned, leading the way into the living room.
I had to walk briskly to keep up, so I hardly noticed the priceless artwork that covered the walls. Kitty’s place wasn’t big, but it sure held the goods.
A woman was standing before the window, looking out on the forest view. She turned as she heard us approach.
I put her age at about fifty, but she had made a tremendous effort to look ten years younger. She was extremely well dressed in a slim-fitting sheath that would probably fetch four figures on Bloor Street in Toronto. Her shoulder-length caramel hair had been colored and styled by the very best.
It was her face that gave away her age. This was not a happy woman.
Kitty turned to me. Her eyes still had that wild look.
“Del, this is Angela Morton.” She put special emphasis on the name.
I stared at Kitty. Then my gaze swung back to the woman before us.
I had never seen her before.
NINE
The real Mrs. Morton was very gracious. Frankly, I was surprised Jeff Morton had left her for such a lightweight like Cindy.
She was here, apparently, to discuss a hospital charity event with Kitty and was just leaving.
I waited until we were alone before losing my cool.
“That was Angela Morton,” I repeated. “The real Angela Morton.”
“Yes,” said Kitty. She tugged nervously on the hem of her Chanel jacket.
“Then the woman who hired us to steal the necklace? And then came here to get it—”
“I don’t know,” said Kitty, throwing up her hands. “An imposter.”
Holy crap. “A damned clever imposter,” I said, flopping down on the leather couch.
I started to laugh then. Not a nice laugh. The sort that escapes you when you realize you are totally screwed and there is nothing you can do about it.
“Oh lordy. What a con. She just got us to steal a three-hundred-thousand-dollar necklace for her.”
Kitty sat down, more gracefully than I had, in the cream chair opposite.
“It would seem so.” Her voice held a coarse note I didn’t hear often.
“And the hell of it is, we can’t even report her to anyone.” Certainly not the police. Tell the police we had stolen a necklace for the wrong person?
Dang. It was the perfect scam. I groaned out loud.
“Does Ritz know yet?” I asked.
Kitty shook her head. “No one knows.”
“Let’s keep it that way for now.” I wasn’t looking forward to telling Ritz.
This totally sucked. I prided myself on being particularly wily. It was too bloody galling to be outsmarted by a stranger.
Kitty cleared her throat. “We need more checks and balances, obviously.”
Closing the barn door after the horse had bolted. Poor Kitty. She was having a hard time keeping her emotions in check. Me, I never bothered trying. I said a few more choice words. “What are we going to do now?”
Kitty shrugged and looked miserable.
That put me in battle mode.
“Okay, where does this leave us? Let me think.” I shot up from the couch and started pacing. “One. The necklace has been reported stolen, right?”
/>
“Probably. We don’t know that for sure.”
“But. The person who hired us to steal it is not likely to tell anyone we did it.”
Kitty perked up. “No, she won’t. As we speak, the necklace is probably being pulled apart so that it can be fenced.
“So. As long as we stay out of the frame, we’re okay.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“As long as the police don’t find a trail leading to us, we should be safe.”
Kitty frowned. “Maybe.”
And as long as Mac didn’t spill. I didn’t think he would. Maybe I should keep in touch with him, just to make sure. I’d worry about that later.
I had enough on my mind right now. A despicable broad had bested me. Bad enough to get beat. I’m just fine with a fair fight though. But this smooth-faced imposter had deliberately pulled a fast one and was leaving us to take the blame if things went wrong.
I did not like that, not one bit.
I plunked back down on the couch. Then I got to thinking about who the imposter could be. I voiced this to Kitty.
“Someone who knew about the necklace, obviously,” said Kitty. “And knew that it had belonged to Angela Morton’s grandmother.”
“Who would know that? Angela, of course. Maybe some of her relatives and close friends.”
“The ex-husband,” said Kitty.
“Cindy. The second wife would know. Probably her close friends too. Probably she gloated about it to them,” I said.
Here’s what I’ve learned about the sort of women who steal husbands. They view it as a challenge. See if they can win the man away from the home gal who has the advantage. So that necklace would be something like a trophy to Cindy Morton. She not only got the man, but she also robbed the first wife of something else that belonged to her. Something that went back even further than the husband. What a coup.
Wait a minute. Something was sitting at the back of my mind, tingling, trying to find its way out. Work with it, Del, I told myself. Let it come free.
I left the couch and started pacing again. “Kitty, we’re missing something.”
“Huh?” She looked up.
“A necklace worth several hundred thousand dollars? From your grandmother? Would you forget to include that in the divorce settlement?”
She shook her head. “I wouldn’t forget any of my good jewelry. Not ever. Not even for a weekend.”
No kidding. I only had two surplus diamond engagement rings, and no way would I forget—
Wait a minute.
And just like that, I had it. “Who told us about the necklace?” I spun to look at her. “The imposter wife, right?”
She was staring at me now. “Er…right.”
“So who told us that tale about it being inherited from the grandmother?” I paused. “Also the imposter wife.” I let it sink in.
Kitty straightened her back. “You mean…”
“Think about it.” I picked up the pacing. It helped me think. “We bought this story about a poor ex-wife being robbed of her grandmother’s jewelry. What if it wasn’t the grandmother’s? What if it wasn’t the ex-wife’s at all?”
Kitty rose to her feet. “You mean that…”
I nodded. “Would we have taken the case if it wasn’t a sentimental story about dear granny leaving a necklace that got pilfered by the new wife? Of course we wouldn’t.”
“So,” said Kitty, trying to work through it, “if it wasn’t the real Angela Morton’s grandmother’s necklace, whose was it?”
“Cindy’s, of course. The second wife’s. We stole a necklace from the rightful owner and gave it to a complete stranger. And now we are all going to hell.” If not prison first. I dropped to the couch with a groan.
I sat comatose for about thirty seconds. Then anger kicked in. “I’m going to get it back,” I said.
“How?” asked Kitty, waving a hand in the air. “We don’t even know who she is!”
“I’ll find out,” I said between gritted teeth. “Just watch me.”
TEN
I was still fuming when I got back to the animal shelter. The cheery sound of yipping puppies greeted me as I pulled open the door. I peeked in on them and waved to Wanda before heading to my office. I was almost a pleasant human being again by the time I sat down in the worn desk chair.
“Hi,” I said to Pepé, who had commandeered my guest chair. “You wouldn’t believe what happened today.”
Pepé Le Pew is an enormous fluffy black cat. He is called Pepé Le Pew for good reason—he has a bushy white tail and also has a tendency to toot very bad smells. This is the reason he is still at the shelter. He’s been adopted twice and returned both times. Luckily, this is fine with him. He treats my office as his home and this whole building as his kingdom.
As office buddies go, he is neat and undemanding.
I called Ritz and told her to get over here when she could. I had news that wasn’t suitable for the phone. Then I busied myself with paperwork. Pepé was totally occupied with napping. As I said, the perfect office buddy.
Ritz knocked on my office door about an hour later. She was about to sit down in the guest chair when I stopped her.
“Wait. Don’t sit there.” I pointed to the sleeping cat. “And don’t try to move him.”
“Why not?” asked Ritz. “Does he scratch?”
“Worse,” I said. “A lot worse. There’s a reason he’s called Pepé Le Pew.”
I saw the light dawn in her eyes. “After the cartoon skunk?”
I nodded. “Skunk being the operative word. Particularly bad if you try to lift him.”
She leaned back against the wall. “I’m good here then.”
I lost no time telling her about the imposter situation.
“Bummer,” she said. “So the first wife was a fake. You need to locate her. Put a gun down her throat and make her cough up the necklace.” She dropped her backpack of tools on the floor.
“Not quite so bloodthirsty, but that’s the general picture.” On second thought, nix the not quite so. I was feeling pretty bloodthirsty.
“Do we know her name?”
I shook my head sadly. “I was thinking we could check the pawn shops. And the fences known to the family. See if anyone contacts them. But it’s a long shot, I admit. Chances are, she’ll go far away to sell the necklace.” If she sells it at all. Maybe she just wanted to sit on it as a trophy. I groaned.
Ritz shrugged. “It’s an idea. But I have a much better one.”
I waited.
“You still got that connection who works for the license bureau?”
“Not sure. Why?”
Ritz grinned. “’Cause I might have a license plate she can look up.” She unhooked the smartphone from her belt and started thumbing it.
I sat up straight. “You took a photo of her car? When we were at Kitty’s?”
“Damn straight. Here’s the plate.” She handed me the phone.
Sometimes Ritz surprised the heck out of me. “Oh darlin’. You are worth your weight in gold.” I copied down the letters and numbers.
“How about diamonds,” she said. I gave her back the phone. She hooked it to her belt. “Can’t stay. I’m on a job.” I watched her pick up her bag and go.
What job? I nearly yelled after her. Then I shook myself. Don’t even think about it.
Things were looking up. I had the imposter’s license-plate number. That meant I could probably trace her name and address. With any luck, she would be in the area.
Of course, I wasn’t going to do the trace myself. That would take forever. Sometimes having a big happy family comes in handy. Okay, not necessarily happy. But big.
I got out my drugstore untraceable phone and called Gina. I used her burner phone number, not t
he smartphone. I knew she had both. When the burner phone buzzed, she would know it was family. She would know it was business, if you get my drift.
We didn’t bother with pleasantries. “It’s Del. Does your cousin Theresa still work at the license bureau?”
“Yup,” said Gina. “I’ll tell her to call you at this number.” She rang off. That was the good thing about Gina. She didn’t have to know everything.
Through her job, Theresa had access to a lot of interesting intel. This was particularly valuable if your extended family was into car theft.
My smartphone rang. It appeared I didn’t need to think about how to keep tabs on Mac. He’d beat me to it.
“It’s Mac,” said the voice on the phone. My heartbeat seemed to stumble. “I’ve suddenly got a lot of new requests for building security work. My sales team is going mad with quotes. Just looking at the names on here, it’s clear I have you to thank for it.”
“Me?” I was baffled. I hadn’t said anything to anyone. So it must have been Kitty who’d mobilized the family to give Mac more business. But I couldn’t tell Mac about Kitty. As far as he knew, only Ritz and I were involved in the burglary.
“Well, hey!” I said with a little laugh. “Friends help out friends, you know.”
“Glad to hear we’re friends,” Mac said easily. His voice seemed to do something to my insides. “I think friends should meet for dinner. You free tonight?”
I gulped. “Let me check. Oops, I have an incoming call on my other phone. Call you back.”
Okay, that was cowardly. I was a complete coward around men these days. But I really did have an incoming call. It was Theresa. I told her the license-plate number, and she told me to wait. Within minutes she was back with the goods. I rang off with satisfaction and called Kitty with the news. She said to be at her place at six, and to come alone.
Mac phoned back twice before six. I didn’t answer. Coward, coward, coward…
The Case of the Angry First Wife Page 4
