Cold Call (Iris Thorne Mysteries Book 1)

by Dianne Emley

  “This is Teddy. Is Carl there please? Carl, I’m Teddy Kraus from McKinney Alitzer and I—”

  Carl of Fresno hung up in Teddy’s ear.

  Teddy went to the next name. “Is this Mrs. Abel? This is Teddy Kraus from McKinney Alitzer. You don’t know me and I’m sure you’re very busy but my firm comes up with investment opportunities from time to time that are tailor made for people like you—”

  Mrs. Abel said, “No, thank you,” and hung up.

  Teddy went to the next name. “… who want to get into the stock market but just don’t know how and don’t have a lot of money to risk. You are of course familiar with McKinney…

  “… Alitzer? We’re a full-line investment firm with seventy-five years of experience and an excellent track record. My personal credentials speak for themselves. You’ve seen the firm’s ads? Good. Then you know who you’re dealing with.”

  The A’s weren’t panning out. Teddy turned to the B’s.

  “I have a customer who just canceled a buy order for a stock called Advanced Products. It’s already gone up in price and I can offer you part of the trade the other investor canceled but only if you act right away. Could you handle a hundred thousand shares? How about fifty thousand at two cents a share?

  “Sammy. Hi. Teddy. I have a buy order for the two hundred thousand shares of Advanced Products you just bought at a penny for two cents. You just made two grand, buddy, sitting on your butt watching T.V. Isn’t America great? Let’s roll that over into another penny stock.

  “Mr. Lystrum, just think, you could own a hundred thousand shares of stock for just two thousand dollars at four cents a share.”

  It was 12:00. “Bill, I can sell your hundred thousand for two cents.”

  Teddy filled in the grid on his yellow pad. Salvatore Lambertini. Buy five hundred thousand at one cent. Sell two hundred thousand at two cents. Two-thousand-dollar customer profit. Sell three hundred thousand at four cents. Nine-thousand-dollar customer profit. Same profit for Teddy plus the commission on the sales. Sammy’s two-thousand-dollar profit rolls over into another stock. Bill takes out his thousand profit. Teddy tracked the buys and sells down the page.

  The customers who bought early at a low price made money on the trades that Teddy made with others at a higher price. After he found buyers at four cents, Teddy stopped cold calling.

  “Mr. Lystrum,” Teddy said to himself, “lotsa luck finding a buyer for your hundred thousand shares of Advanced Products at four cents. Maybe you can find out what they do for a living.”

  Iris returned to her desk with a salad. “Lunch wagon’s here. Aren’t you eating?”

  “Not hungry.”

  “What the hell have you been doing all morning?”

  “Making the American dream real for a few at the expense of many.”

  “What?”

  Teddy took the grid and put it into the top drawer of his desk. “Never mind.” He put his jacket on and patted his inside pocket, feeling for the vial. “I’m going out for a few minutes. See ya, cowgirl.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Iris peeked over the short wall separating her cubicle from Teddy’s and scanned his desk to see if she could figure out what he’d been doing. The marked-up pink sheets were folded in a corner. Other than that, his desk was clean. Teddy was exceptionally tidy for an excessive man.

  She speared lettuce and tomato on her fork and dipped it in the ranch dressing she’d ordered on the side, putting a miserly coating on a small corner. She crunched on the salad and glanced around the office to see who was nearby.

  Most of the sales reps were working through lunch. Billy Drye had his ear to a phone, a sycophant’s grin on his face. Smile, they were taught, and you’ll have a smile in your voice.

  Iris opened the bottom drawer of her desk, pulled open the drawstring on the Rodeo Drive shopping bag, dug her hand around, and dragged out one of the EquiMex stock certificates. She glanced behind her again and put the certificate on her desk.

  She tapped EquiMex into her terminal.

  No response.

  She tried EqiMx, EqMx, EqM, and EM.

  Nothing.

  She typed EquiM and jumped when her phone rang.

  It was Stan Raab. “Iris, can I see you, please?”

  She moved her salad on top of the stock certificate and walked to the corner office.

  When she stood in the doorway, Stan got up from behind his desk and moved to one of the two matching antique chairs facing it. He gestured for her to take the other chair. This meant he either had something great to tell her or she was going to get blasted. Come from behind your desk, the textbook says. It removes the barrier between you and your employee. Use his or her name frequently, make eye contact, and periodically touch him or her on the arm or hand to convey sincerity.

  Iris braced herself. She casually rested her hands in her lap without clasping them—too girlish—crossed her legs at the ankles, not at the knees—too floozyish—tucked her legs under the chair, sat straight, smiled benignly, and assumed the recommended posture and attitude of the executive woman, somewhere between shrinking violet and castrating bitch.

  “Iris.” Raab dropped his clasped hands between his knees, and leaned toward her on his elbows. “I had a complaint about you from Joe Murphy over at Birmingham Brothers.”

  “Oh?” She was going to get blasted.

  “He thought you were unsympathetic the other day when you refused to cancel that deal.”

  “I’m a little confused Stan. I told Murphy what you told me to tell him.”

  “Iris, clearly there’s a misunderstanding.”

  “You said the company doesn’t make refunds.”

  “Iris, I said we have to evaluate each incident on a case-by-case basis. If we’ve made a mistake, it’s our duty to right it. I said that refunds are not our policy but we have to consider this situation on its own merits. It’s the only responsible way to run a business.”

  Iris’s skin felt hot. She was blushing from anger but knew he would think she was embarrassed. A little voice told her to sit quietly. A more insistent voice egged her on.

  “Stan, you said I wanted to give away the store. You said Murphy was a hothead and that everything would blow over in a few days.” She crossed her arms over her chest and immediately uncrossed them. Too defensive.

  The corner of Stan’s left eye started to pulse.

  Iris wished she’d listened to the little voice. Too late. She kept forgetting—honesty is not always the best policy.

  “I should have been clearer in my communication.” He touched her on the forearm. “I’ll accept that as my mistake.”

  His eyes didn’t leave hers. “Iris, you’re an asset to the firm, but you need fine-tuning in handling difficult client situations. It’s your Achilles’ heel. You put your ego in front.”

  “All due respects, Stan, but I don’t think that’s true.”

  The eye pulsed. “With your ego out in front, you only hear what you want to hear. Like the guy who’s putting in the Jacuzzi at my Tahoe house. I wanted the dark gray bottom but he insisted the white was better.

  “So what does he do? Pours the white! He thought I said white. It was what he wanted to hear. He had to redo it in gray… at his expense, of course.” Stan looked out the window. “Had to be at his expense. I’ve already spent a fortune.” He turned back to her. “I see this as a growth opportunity, Iris, not as a problem.”

  She nodded. She’d try to redeem herself for the mistake she hadn’t made by being cooperative. “What’s our next step?”

  “Well, we’ve canceled the deal, like we should have done in the first place. And”—he paused—“Murphy’s asked for another sales rep. I’m giving him Billy Drye.”

  Iris nodded, her jaw tight. “Murphy’s satisfied?”

  “Yes. He’s fine now.”

  “Whatever’s best for the firm.”

  “I knew I could count on you to be a team player, to see the big picture.” He stood. It was his sig
nal the conversation was over.

  She stood.

  He rested his hand against her back and guided her to the door. “Everyone makes mistakes, Iris. The tragedy is not learning from them.”

  “I learn something new every day, Stan.”

  “That’s the spirit.”

  Outside, she saw Billy Drye standing over her desk, browsing. He casually nudged the salad aside and looked at the EquiMex stock certificate underneath.

  Iris turned back to Stan even though she wanted to run out and wring Drye’s neck.

  “You’ve come a long way since you came aboard, Iris. I’m proud of you.” He gave her a sincere-looking smile and extended his hand.

  She shook it firmly. “Thanks Stan.”

  “Say… Drye says you know one of the detectives who were here yesterday.”

  “Did he?”

  “The tall one. John Somers?”

  “We went to college together. Small world.”

  “Sure is. Did you have a chance to catch up on old times?”

  “We chatted for a while.”

  “Did you?” He looked at her meaningfully and said nothing.

  This was her cue to spill her guts. She knew the technique. He had taught her. Simply stop talking. People can’t stand silence in a conversation and will chatter to fill the uncomfortable void. Stan loved gossip. He was always trying to pry into her personal affairs and dish the office dirt with her. She’d throw him a bone every once in a while, but she wouldn’t give him that satisfaction today. Information is power. She was holding hers. Three long seconds passed. She met his stare, smiled sweetly, and batted her baby blues.

  He broke the silence. “Let’s hope they find out who did that hideous thing to Alley.”

  She left Stan’s office in time to see Drye casually slide the salad back where she had left it and cruise into the lunchroom. She passed her desk, scooped up the salad, slid the certificate into a drawer, and walked in after him. Drye, Joe Campbell, and a few other sales reps were looking at a newspaper that was spread on a table.

  “Iris, seems like I was right about your boy,” Drye said. “Listen to this: ‘Local Man Murdered on Street in Broad Daylight. North Hollywood resident Alejandro Muñoz, twenty-two, was stabbed yesterday in view of dozens of witnesses on Lankershim Boulevard near Burbank Boulevard as he walked home from work at about five o’clock Wednesday evening.’ They describe the murder, blah, blah, blah, ‘Mr. Muñoz was an employee of McKinney Alitzer, the investment services firm, at their downtown Los Angeles offices…’ blah, blah… here we go… ‘The police currently do not have any suspects. One of the investigators on the case, Detective John Somers’”—Drye looked up at Iris meaningfully—“‘would not discount the possibility that the murder was gang- or drug-related.’”

  “Bastard,” Iris said. “One Mexican kills another and the police assume it’s gangs or drugs.”

  “Sounds like a clear-thinking individual,” Drye said, “your buddy the cop.”

  Iris blushed.

  Drye opened the door to leave.

  “Drye? Let me know if I can help you find anything.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You know what I’m talking about.”

  “I wasn’t looking at anything on your desk. I was just walking by.”

  “Then how do you know what I’m talking about?”

  Drye’s face reddened. The group laughed and started to file out, pushing Drye in front of them. He stuck his head back in the doorway.

  “Iris. Sorry about Joe Murphy. Raab says he’s confident I’ll be able to turn your mess around.”

  “Screw you.”

  “Promises, promises.” He closed the door.

  Joe Campbell was still in the room, pouring coffee into a mug.

  Iris met his eyes, then looked down at the newspaper.

  “Those guys really give you a hard time, don’t they?”

  She looked up at him. “Yeah. It’s mostly Drye, but the others don’t discourage him. It’s a herding instinct.”

  “You handle it well. It’s a tough situation.”

  “Thanks. I have to be on my game all the time.” She sighed at the newspaper. “All everyone’s done since Alley’s murder is Alley bashing. Stupid cops. Gangs and drugs weren’t Alley.” She dropped the newspaper. “At least it’s Friday.”

  “It’s been a tough week.”

  “Tell me about it. On top of everything else, Stan just read me the riot act and took away one of my accounts and gave it to Drye. I don’t get Stan. Sometimes I think we’re communicating and other times I feel like we’re on different planets. I think I’m doing what he wants me to do, then he changes the rules.”

  “I’m sure he hated to take your account away.”

  “I just did what he told me to do.”

  “Maybe a difference in interpretation?”

  “That’s what he says. Why am I telling you this?”

  “It won’t leave the room. I’ve known Stan a long time and I know he comes off wrong sometimes, so I feel an obligation to put in my two cents about him whenever I can. He’s really a great guy. He’s always spoken highly of you.”

  “You knew him before McKinney?”

  “We met at Dartmouth. Two L.A. boys in New Hampshire. We kept contact through the years and when Stan moved to McKinney, he recruited me from my other firm.”

  “Nice.”

  There was an awkward moment of silence when they just looked at each other. She thought he looked tired.

  “Don’t worry.” He gave her a big smile that she thought was forced. “Everything’s going to turn out fine. Have a good day.” He left the lunchroom.

  “Who was that masked man?” she said to no one.

  She left the lunchroom and spun through the doorway of Jaynie’s office, the plastic salad container still in her hand, and sat on one of the chairs facing Jaynie’s desk.

  “Hi, I. How’s your day going?” Jaynie asked.

  Iris moved some of the papers scattered across Jaynie’s desk to clear a space for the salad.

  “You know what? Bucks-up probably told the Jacuzzi guy to pour white and forgot about it. Either that or he’s believing his own bullshit.”

  “What are you talking about?” Jaynie rearranged the papers that Iris had moved. “Put this back. If something isn’t sitting right in front of me, I forget about it. You mean Stan?”

  “Yep. He hung me out to dry for carrying out a decision of his that backfired.”

  “Does it involve Joe Murphy from Birmingham Brothers?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Murphy called here wanting to know the phone number of the head of the division.”

  “I knew it. Stan’s boss came down on him and he offered me as the sacrificial lamb. No wonder that eye was twitching. If I were Stan, I would have admitted I made a mistake.”

  Jaynie shrugged. “Put yourself in his shoes. Maybe it’s more important for him to save face. He is the boss.”

  “You and Joe Campbell. He was in the lunchroom telling me what a great guy Stan is. I don’t know. I might have done the same thing in Stan’s position.”

  “Did you put your makeup on in the car again? C’mere.”

  Iris leaned across the desk and Jaynie thumbed a peach-colored gash on Iris’s cheek. “You actually had a conversation with G.Q. Joe?”

  “He’s nice. After you get past that aloofness and”—Iris sighed—“that face and that body and those eyes and… You mean I stood there and talked to him with screwed-up makeup?”

  “Is the office rumor mill going to start churning?”

  “It’s already whirling like a dervish. Drye saw me talking with that cop, John Somers, last night—”

  “The tall one? He’s cute.”

  “Yeah… well… he doesn’t seem too cute to me today. He and I had this… thing… in college and he wasn’t exactly discreet in front of Drye. Even Stan asked me about it today. I guess it’s all over the office by now.”

>   “Why am I always the last to know? So what happened?”

  “We were pretty involved. Then he dumped me, and I didn’t even know it. In college, I spent a year studying in Europe. He couldn’t go because his grades weren’t good enough. So, I didn’t hear from him for a while. Then my girlfriend writes me… he’d dropped out of school, moved away, and married someone else.”

  “Wow.”

  “I’d figured he just wasn’t a letter writer.” Iris laughed without amusement. “So, he shows up here last night. I hadn’t seen him for years. Told me he knew I worked here… been keeping tabs on me.”

  “I knew no one had sent him an employee roster,” Jaynie said.

  “He used Alley’s murder as an excuse to reopen a dialogue with me. My friend’s dead, right? Then I read in the paper that he said Alley was involved in gangs or drugs.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Alley.”

  “That’s what I would have told him last night if he wasn’t so busy putting the make on me that he forgot about Alley. We went out to eat and I walked out on him, I was so pissed off.”

  “You sound kinda hostile.”

  “Hostile? I’m not hostile.”

  “Not much. He seemed like a nice guy.”

  “My ass.”

  “There are two sides to every story. Maybe he thought you weren’t coming back from Europe. Maybe he felt he wasn’t smart enough for you.”

  “There’s only one side to this story. He’s a jerk. And I don’t want him in my life.”

  “Is he still married?”

  “No. It was all for nothing.”

  “That’s how he might feel. It’s shattering when a marriage breaks up. It was for me. He was probably embarrassed to tell you about it. He might feel he made the wrong decision about you. C’mon, Iris. You were kids then.”

  “Don’t make me feel sympathetic toward him.”

  “Eat yourself up. I don’t care. He seemed like a nice, genuine person. Throw him my way if you don’t want him.”

  “I had some information about Alley, too. Then when he acted like such a jerk, I changed my mind about telling him. After that thing in the paper today, I can’t risk trusting him. He’d just use it to crucify Alley.”