by Rickie Blair
She screamed and someone yanked her to the side. Ruby pitched forward, her knees and wrists scraping along the sidewalk. She sat up, dazed, as the car veered around the corner and disappeared.
“Are you okay?” A young man in high tops, slouchy pants, and a blue Team Paris sweatshirt helped her to her feet. Ruby wobbled on rubbery legs and held a hand to her throat, unable to reply.
“I’m sorry I had to grab you like that, but that car—” Shaking his head, he looked around. “Did anybody get the license plate?”
A crowd had gathered and they all talked at once.
“Did you see the plate?”
“No, did you?”
“What a jerk.”
“Take her into the restaurant.”
“A real jerk, I’m telling you.”
The crowd pressed closer and someone held out a tissue. Ruby took it with a grateful nod, dabbed at the blood on her hands and legs, and tried to smile.
“Thank you, but please, I’m fine. I have a skinned knee, that’s all. I’m fine.”
Team Paris stood by the road, frowning as he stared in the direction of the vanished Town Car.
“That thing was really moving. Almost as if—” Shaking his head, he turned to Ruby. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine. Thank you so much for your help.”
“I’ll get a cab for you.” He stepped onto the street and hailed the nearest taxi. When it pulled up, he opened the door and helped her in.
Ruby sagged against the seat, sighing heavily, and closed her eyes.
“Thank you.”
“No problem. You take it easy.” Team Paris closed the door, and the cab pulled away.
* * *
In her apartment, Ruby dabbed hydrogen peroxide on her knees and wrists with a shaky hand, changed her trousers, and took Charlie’s leash from its hook in the hall. The terrier pawed excitedly at the door.
She trudged down the street with Charlie at her side, debating how much to tell Hari about her meeting with Quinn. The terrier’s pace quickened when he caught sight of the park. When Ruby stopped at the intersection he whined, his front paws tapping a staccato rhythm on the sidewalk.
“No, Charlie. Wait for the light.”
He sat beside her, his eyes riveted on a squirrel across the street. Ruby eyed his quivering haunches. If only she had the same focus as her dog. The ability to block unwanted thoughts must be a blessing.
There was no need to tell Hari about the Town Car. Why attribute a sinister motive to an obvious mishap? Although, given his current infatuation with Leta, he might not even be curious. She felt a sudden sting of … could that be jealousy? Certainly not. How absurd.
The light changed and they walked into Central Park.
Chapter Twenty-One
Jersey City
In the tiny kitchen of her Jersey City row house, Brigitte Perrine sipped a glass of wine, smoked a Gitanes Light, and dreamed of her imminent return to Paris. She yearned to visit the charcuteries and bakeries and flower shops, wander along the Seine, browse through the crowded booksellers’ stalls at Bouquinistes, and drink café crème in her favorite bistro. How many years had it been? She blew out a mouthful of smoke and stubbed her cigarette in the ashtray. Too many.
But now, she was going back. And this time with a new man on her arm, a new wardrobe, and a new apartment. They would hire a car and drive to Le Manoir de Roche Noire, where they would gather at the massive oak-and-walnut farm table and amuse her relatives with tales of the crazy rich people in Manhattan.
Brigitte hadn’t seen her beloved aunt and uncle in years. She had been too ashamed to get on a plane and go home. Too ashamed to admit that her dreams of a new life in a new world, where she could do as she pleased, had been flawed and her relatives had been right. Childish pride. Her new love had showed her how wrong that was.
She smiled as she imagined her relatives’ reaction to him. He was well dressed, successful, charming. So different from her last companion. Instinctively she tugged on her sleeve to hide the scars on her inner arm. Those days were in the past and would stay there. No one at Le Manoir would mention them. Instead, the happy couple would share their plans for the future, and perhaps there would be a job at her uncle’s investment bank. There was no need to reveal that her new man already had a wife, since they would deal with that after they settled in Paris. He had promised.
Brigitte glanced at her packed suitcase and sighed. He had also promised they would leave today.
A knock sounded on the front door and she looked up, startled. Pushing back her chair, she went to answer it. She held the door open and glared at the visitor.
“What are you doing here? I thought I told you to stay—”
Looking down, Brigitte gaped at the gun pointed at her chest.
“Non,” she said, backing into the hall. “Non, please.”
The door closed.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“That’s not a good idea, Ruby.”
Hari sat in their office and stared at her laptop, which they had found jammed behind a filing cabinet while clearing away the mess.
“Why? How can it hurt if we wait another day?”
Hari gave a pointed glance at the broken furniture and office equipment piled by the door.
“A lot can happen in a day.”
“At least let me listen to Benjamin’s interview before we give up. There could be something there. Now that I’ve been through his file, I might recognize it.”
Hari pushed back his chair and paced the room, running his fingers through his hair.
“We’re not giving up,” he said. “We’re acknowledging there’s more going on than we thought. Global TradeFair’s CEO should go to the police. And we should move on. I’m not happy about it, either, but we have no leads.”
He leaned over the desk, reaching for the phone. Ruby put a hand on his arm.
“I’m not disagreeing with you. I just want to listen to Ben’s interview. Ten minutes. Then you can call. Aren’t you worried about him?”
Hari pulled his hand back.
“Of course I am.”
“Then let’s listen to his interview. Ten minutes.”
With a sigh, Hari clicked on the saved folder. When it opened, he scrolled to number twenty-eight and pressed play. Benjamin’s voice filled the room.
‘These are damn stupid questions…’
Ruby watched, mesmerized. When the video ended, she pointed at the screen.
“Go back to that last part. After ‘to what fraud are you alluding?’”
Hari reversed the video and Benjamin’s voice resumed. ‘I told you. Check billing. It’s all there, a right royal screwup. You’re being robbed blind.’
Ruby closed her eyes.
“Again.”
‘I told you. Check billing. It’s all there, a right royal screwup.’
“Listen,” she said, opening her eyes and bending over Hari’s shoulder. “He emphasizes the word ‘royal’ and then there’s a beat before he resumes—”
Hari played back the sequence.
“Um, okay,” he said, tugging on his ear, “but what does it mean?”
“It means the word ‘royal’ is significant. It’s a clue. He’s giving us a clue.”
“Uh-huh. You’ve read too many bad scripts.”
“When you went through TradeFair’s books, did the word ‘royal’ come up in any of the names?”
“Not that I recall.”
“Show me the list of approved suppliers.”
“There are hundreds of names on it, Ruby. I told you, it will take at least a week to verify them all.”
“Just let me see it.” He called up the list, and she peered at the screen and pointed to a name. “I knew it. Look.”
“Wallis & Sons? What of it?”
“And this one.” She pointed to another.
“Spencer Imports?”
She chuckled and pointed to K. Edward Purchasing. “That one’s a dead giveaway.�
�
Hari peered at the name, shaking his head.
“I don’t get it.”
“My great-aunt Dot in Toronto is a fanatic about the British royal family, otherwise I wouldn’t, either. K. Edward could refer to King Edward VIII, who gave up the throne to marry Wallis Simpson. And Diana, Princess of Wales, was Diana Spencer before she married.”
His jaw dropped. “These are—”
“Fake names. I bet there’s more, too.”
They scoured the list of approved suppliers and found eight names with definite royal references and two possibles.
“Should we tell TradeFair?” Ruby asked.
“Not until we confirm these are fakes. Is that printer working now?”
She twisted her head to check.
“The light’s on. Try it.”
Ruby collected the printed sheets, set them on the table, and picked up a highlighter to underscore the potential fakes. Once she was done, Hari stood up, his face grim, and turned to the door.
“Where are you going?” Ruby asked.
“Road trip.”
She jumped to her feet, pausing to gather up the printed sheets.
“Excellent. About time we took a break.” She clutched the documents to her chest and squinted at him. “What about the police?”
“The hell with the police. This is a simple break-and-enter to them. But to me…” Hari pressed his lips together and glanced around the room. “Somebody ransacked this apartment. What if you had been here? What if Zelda had been here? Someone tried to shoot us. And Terrell Oakes attacked me in my own home.” Hari gingerly patted the back of his head, wincing. “I am really pissed off. I wanted to give up because it was pointless to carry on with no leads. But now we have a chance to solve the TradeFair case and discover who’s been stalking us. After that, we’ll have plenty of time to go to the police.”
Ruby nodded, trying not to smile. Pissed off?
“I can see the movie poster now.” She lapsed into a mock baritone. “‘Bhatt is back. And this time, it’s personal.’ And there would be a photo of you in a trench coat and fedora, pointing a gun.” She struck a pose. “Oh wait, that would be a photo of you holding a permit.” She adjusted her stance, grinning.
“Laugh all you want, but I’m checking out those fake suppliers to find out what the hell is going on.” Hari pocketed his phone, squared his jaw, and headed for the door. “Are you coming?” he called over his shoulder.
“Are you kidding?” She grabbed the printed list and fell into step behind him. “I wouldn’t miss this for anything.”
* * *
Parked on a side street in Brooklyn, they stared through the Fiesta’s windows at a vacant, run-down tenement with a demolition notice on the door. “Is this the right address?” Hari asked.
“Yep.” Ruby checked the list. “This should be ‘Wallis & Sons.’” She lifted her phone and snapped a photo.
‘Spencer Imports’ was a former boarding school that had closed two years earlier. ‘K. Edward Purchasing’ was a gas station whose proprietor had never heard of Global TradeFair. ‘Hats by Beatrice’ was a vacant lot in Queens strewn with garbage, where a large sign proclaimed the future site of a thirty story condominium complex.
At the last address—‘Windsor Imports,’ which turned out to be a bowling alley—they discussed what to do next.
“Now that we’ve identified the fake suppliers, we can find out who at TradeFair approved them,” Hari said, checking his watch. “The super is coming to fix my broken door lock. Let’s go back to my apartment to search through the papers that Martin Burke, TradeFair’s CEO, gave me. The approval forms for the suppliers will have the signatures we need.”
An hour later they sat on Hari’s sofa, sorting through the list and separating out the fakes. When they finished Hari riffled through the stack of phony suppliers, set them on the coffee table, and tapped the pile with his fingers.
“Keller and Durand approved every one of these.”
“Does that mean they’re in it together?”
“Maybe. It could also mean that one of them is lazy, and my money’s on Durand. If Keller vouched for these suppliers, it would be easier for Durand to sign his name than to do any due diligence of his own.”
“Do you have any other reasons to think Keller’s the embezzler?”
“Two. First, he’s the one who gave me the USB stick with TradeFair’s financial records. He could have doctored it before he handed it over.”
“And?”
“I don’t know too many comptrollers of small Jersey City-based companies who wear four-thousand dollar hand-tailored suits, do you?”
“Keller wears bespoke suits? Wow.” Ruby’s eyebrows lifted, remembering how much her ex-husband’s custom-made wardrobe had cost. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to meet this guy. We can’t tell TradeFair without tipping him off then, can we? Is the CEO in on it?”
“No, I’d bet my last dollar that Keller’s working alone. But we can’t accuse him while Ben’s still missing.” Hari rubbed his chin. “Ben could really be in trouble this time, Ruby.”
Her throat ached at the look in his eyes.
“I never thought I’d say this, Hari, but maybe we should go to the police.”
Shaking his head, he pointed at the list of fake suppliers.
“All we have is a minor billing fraud at a small company in Jersey City. And an inside job at that. We can’t prove it’s Keller, and we don’t know yet how much money is missing. It’s a circumstantial case at best. It would go to the back of the fraud squad’s caseload and they might not get to it for months. Besides, the TradeFair CEO insisted we not involve the police. As for Ben…” Sighing, Hari leaned back against the sofa. “The Securities Exchange Commission has a voluminous file on his complaints.”
“Meaning?”
“They think he’s a crackpot. And if the police were to investigate that’s what the SEC would tell them. They wouldn’t take his disappearance seriously.”
“What if I approach Keller? Incognito, I mean? He’s never met me and I can pretend that I know about his scheme. I can draw him out somehow, or imply that I’m interested. Or … no, I’ve got it. I’ll threaten to blackmail him. He’ll have to respond to that.”
“Obviously, that’s not a good—”
She held up both hands.
“No one will recognize me, I guarantee it.”
Hari lowered his head and looked over his glasses at her.
“That’s not what worries me.”
“I’ll go to Global TradeFair, confront Keller, and leave. First thing tomorrow. It’s a working office and there will be other people around. I won’t be alone with him.”
“I’ll think about it. Meanwhile—” A rap sounded on the apartment’s unlocked front door and it swung open to reveal a burly man with a toolbox. Hari got up and walked over.
“Thanks for coming up, Taylor. You can see the problem.” He pointed at the broken lock.
Ruby ducked past the two men who were bent over the lock. As she walked down the hall, Hari looked up.
“Don’t go anywhere tomorrow without talking to me first,” he called.
Ruby waved a hand behind her without turning around. In the elevator, she transferred the Fiesta’s keys from her pocket to her purse. She would be back from TradeFair’s offices tomorrow before Hari even noticed them missing.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Paris
Jourdain de Montagny had spent the past three days apologizing, making excuses, smiling, and being generally sympathetic. He mollified the Leclercs with promises of a full portfolio review—although how he would accomplish that, he had no idea—and convinced the Michauds to hold off until the end of the month. Tonight he had stayed late to go over the books one more time, hoping he had missed something.
He put his elbows on the desk with his head in his hands and stared at the calendar on his desk pad. The month ended in two weeks. Nina had added a notation in red ink a few days before the d
eadline, ‘Jour Memorial!’ It was a reminder to call the Fultons with his best wishes. They would be at the house in Southhampton for their annual Memorial Day celebration. He had forgotten all about it.
Jourdain walked to the mantel, picked up the photo taken in Southampton on a Memorial Day two decades earlier, and returned with it to his desk. He and Thérèse had taken along her niece, Brigitte, that year. It was her first visit to America. In the photo she stood with her feet apart and her hands on her waist, elbows sticking out on either side, beaming at the camera. But who was that next to her? He peered at the photo. Ah, yes, Edwin’s daughter. They had been about the same age.
The phone rang. Jourdain reached over and switched on the speaker.
“You son of a bitch!” the caller screamed. “I’ll get you for this, you bastard—”
Jourdain dropped the photo, fumbled to turn off the speaker button, and grabbed the handset.
“—you bastards!”
He glanced at the door to his office, but Nina had gone home hours earlier. Jourdain’s hand shook as he held the handset to his ear.
“Who is this?”
“Gregory Keller. In New Jersey.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t—”
“You know who I am. Global TradeFair. In New Jersey. I work with—”
“Bien, bien, I remember now. But why are you calling me?”
“Because I found her. I found her. Wasn’t that the plan? To scare me off?”
“Please, slow down. What are you talking about?”
“You bloody liar.” Keller sobbed. “You’re all bloody liars.”
“Please. Tell me what happened.”
“Brigitte,” he wailed. “Why did you do it?”
“What are you talking about? Has something happened to Brigitte?”
Ragged breathing filled the silence. Jourdain waited, his chest tight.
“I know what you’ve done,” Keller said. “I know what you and Fulton have done. All we wanted was our money and we would have been gone.” Keller sobbed again. “Your own niece.”
