“Next item of business goes to you, Pen. Were you able to learn anything about Clint’s dealings by chatting with the golfing buddies at the club?”
Pen sat a little straighter on Amber’s futon. “I must say, I did have a lovely lunch at the club. Benton readily agreed to take me there and even provided introductions to Roy McDonald and Stanley Piccard. The other name Mary gave—Joseph Rose—he wasn’t about.”
“How did you approach the subject with them?”
“Oh, I made it sound as if I’d known Clint Holbrook many years ago from a kitchen remodeling job, and I’d heard he had divorced—sadly, because I’d enjoyed working with his wife on the planning and cost estimates for my job. When I mentioned his remarriage, you should have see the eyebrow-wiggles from the two men. Apparently, Kaycie Marlow Holbrook is every bit as fetching in person as she is on television.”
She shifted in her seat again—she would avoid the saggy futon on future visits. “I moved the subject to the rumor I’d heard that Clint had greatly expanded his business, dropping the hint that one of the charitable boards I sit on has raised a great deal of funds for a new concert hall and we’ve been wondering which contractors we might want to solicit bids from. Perhaps Mr. Holbrook’s company would be interested, I suggested.”
“Any nibbles?”
“Roy McDonald was clueless. He went off on a tangent about where the concert hall would be located. I had to steer him away from what would have become a full hour’s discussion. Stanley Piccard picked up my hint and told me he felt certain Holbrook Construction would be interested in bidding, making it sound as if Clint was a great admirer and supporter of the arts.” She made a little face. “He did give me Clint’s personal cell phone number, which is something even Mary did not have.”
“Good job,” Gracie said.
“Mr. Piccard did say Clint apparently won a sizable bid recently, but he didn’t know the details. Seems Clint is being rather mysterious about the whole thing.”
“There have to be records. Huge construction projects don’t happen without a lot of paperwork and communications going back and forth,” Sandy said.
“The thumb drive,” Amber suggested. “It’s gotta have something of value. I mean, surely he’s not keeping all of it at home.”
Sandy hoped the thumb drive would provide the key. Breaking their way into the penthouse suite of offices downtown or the gated condominium at Vandergrift Towers would not be nearly as easy as their first foray into crime.
Chapter 11
Sandy looked up from the pages spread over her dining table. Her head pounded and she wondered—not for the first time—why she’d given up a beautiful Saturday to delve into Clint Holbrook’s accounting shenanigans. Practically on schedule, the first day of October had brought milder temperatures and she itched to be in her garden, setting out some winter vegetables and simply enjoying the feel of earth between her fingers. But no—she’d assured Pen she would have something to report by this afternoon when they’d all agreed to meet at Brimmer’s for tea.
She wanted to make time for a call to Mary, as well. None of them had seen her for a couple of weeks now, in keeping with their plan to avoid being publicly seen together, but Sandy had spoken with her friend almost every day and was pleased to hear a chipper note in Mary’s voice, especially when she talked about her job.
She looked out the window, sighed and turned back to the paperwork. So far, the flash drive had yielded some letters between Clint and an attorney, Derek Woo, who’d corresponded about contracts. Everything between them was couched in language Sandy found obscure—references to other business entities in addition to Holbrook Construction Inc. So far, she had a hard time knowing if these others were owned by Clint Holbrook or were simply other clients with whom he dealt.
The men’s references to building contracts were seldom backed by other documents. Either Clint didn’t keep the contracts on his own computer or Amber had not copied them, understandable in their haste to get in and out of his plumbing company office quickly. Or, most likely, he kept separate files and records at the downtown high-rise. It would make sense that he compartmentalize his various business entities. If only the Ladies could find a way to get into those offices.
She glanced again out the dining room window to her garden. Enough of this head-pounding over paperwork—I deal with paperwork all week. She quickly stacked the profit and loss statements in chronological order with the most recent on top; the correspondence went in another pile and the remodel bids in another.
I’ll spend one hour in the garden and still have time to shower and make the meeting at Brimmer’s.
As it turned out, a quick recon of the garden told her she would need a lot more than an hour to put it in shape. The shrubs needed pruning, a spikey old agave had died and would have to be dug out, plus the raised beds where she planned to plant the winter vegetables needed some work on the soil first. She checked the heads on the drip watering system and made a list of things to purchase at the garden center before stowing her gloves and heading inside.
Her cell phone, sitting beside the stacks of pages on the dining table, reminded her of the call she’d intended to make before the afternoon meeting. She could run some of the information past Mary and see if any of Clint’s recent dealings rang a bell with her.
“Hey, how’s things?” Mary sounded breathless when she answered. Music with a heavy beat played in the background.
“Moving along at a glacial pace, I’m afraid. I’ve started going through those reports we got but I’m not finding anything that jumps out at me. The earnings from the plumbing business seem in line with what you remembered from several years ago.”
In the background she caught the lively voice of an exercise instructor.
“I’m sorry—did I catch you in the middle of a class or something?”
“No worries. There’s always something going on here. Let me just step out—”
At once, the music and voices became muted.
“Better,” Mary said. “Sorry. Go ahead with what you were saying.”
“Well, I’m meeting with the rest of the group later and I don’t have much to report. I wonder if you recognize any of these names? Do you have a minute?”
“Sure. I’m taking a short break anyway.”
“There’s a lawyer, Derek Woo, whose name comes up in some letters.”
“Hmm … I don’t know of him. We always used Arnie Monroe for pretty much everything to do with the business. Although I suppose he’s getting up there in age now. Maybe he retired.”
“What about these business names—MRH Enterprises Inc. or Redwing Holdings?”
There was a pause. “The letters MRH, that’s Clint’s initials—McClintock Ray Holbrook is his full name. His buddies from childhood called him Mack, but he always liked Clint better—thought it was more grown-up.”
Sandy had guessed about the initials, since Amber had already ferreted out Clint’s background.
“The other one—did you say Redwing?”
“Yes, Redwing Holdings.”
“No clue about that. The only slight connection I can think of is his high school baseball team was the Redwings. And I only remember that because he kept a team photo on his desk for a long time. But, geez, it was more than twenty years ago and I can’t imagine what it would have to do with his business today.”
Sandy couldn’t either except she knew when inventing names for things, people often reached for a name or symbol which meant something to them.
She caught sight of the clock on her oven. “Thanks, Mary. I’d better grab a shower before I leave for the meeting. I feel badly you aren’t coming along. I’ll run it past the rest of the group to get a feel for when it would be safe for you to be seen with us. I’ve missed seeing you around.”
“No sweat. I’m doing great, and everyone’s been really good about telling me what’s going on with the investigation.”
“So, life is moving in a better direction for you?”
> “Way better. I’ll show you some new things when I see you next time.”
Chapter 12
Pen bustled into Brimmer’s Tearoom with a book tucked under her arm. Sandy noticed it was Pen’s latest title in hardcover and there were a number of scrap-paper bookmarks tucked between the pages. She wore a tailored dress in a shade of lavender that set off her violet eyes and, if possible, made her platinum hair look even more elegant. Adding to the look was a stunning silver brooch on her left lapel and a heavy bracelet of the same style.
“On my way to a signing,” Pen said, breezing her way to the far end of the table. “A good, bracing cup of Darjeeling is just what I need.”
Sandy, Amber and Gracie had decided to share a pot of something with passion flower, so Pen ordered hers separately. A plate of delicate cookies already sat on the lace tablecloth. Sandy mentioned the phone call with Mary and laid out the names of Clint’s various business entities: MRH Enterprises Inc. and Redwing Holdings in addition to Holbrook Plumbing and Holbrook Construction Inc.
“The problem is, these other businesses are barely mentioned in the documents we have—only as side notes in a couple of letters. Without financial statements we have no way of knowing if they generate any income or are merely for show. We can’t possibly know where to find the missing cash if we don’t know the names under which he’s likely to have hidden it.”
“Mary didn’t know anything about them?” Gracie asked.
“Not a thing, other than to verify the names are some Clint would be likely to have chosen.” She picked up the fragile china cup of tea Gracie had poured for her. “I feel like I’m spinning my wheels, since there’s nothing conclusive among the information we have. I guess the banker in me is used to having clients come in with all their financials in order, ready to present, and they are normally trying to show off their assets to the max. Clint, obviously, would be doing the opposite. He’s hiding things.”
“That, in itself, is information,” Pen pointed out. “The fact his documents are so obscure—doesn’t it prove he’s hiding cash?”
“Good point. And if I were betting, I’d say any real documentation for these businesses and for his construction firm will be somewhere in that high-rise downtown.”
Amber’s eyes sparkled. “Maybe we need to get in there some night, too.”
Gracie grinned at her. “What? With grappling hooks and bungie cords as we dangle off the roof?”
Sandy cleared her throat. “You both watch too many action-adventure shows. There will be no dangling off the roof.”
She noticed their server standing off to the side, probably taking in each juicy detail. She sent a warning head-tilt toward the others. Gracie signaled the waitress over and asked for a plate of sandwiches for the group. When the girl was gone, they put their heads together.
“So, how will we get in there?” Gracie asked.
“Do we really need to get in? Can we find what we need online?” Sandy posed the question to Amber.
Their youngest member shrugged. “I gave you pretty much what I came up with already. The bank balances, the bank offshore. But it’s nothing Mary can take to court.”
“I’d be willing to steal the money back for her but robbing a bank in another country isn’t exactly practical,” Gracie whispered.
“Why don’t we go with the direct approach?” Pen suggested, looking cool and unflappable. “I’m due downtown in an hour for my signing. When it’s done I’ll simply walk into Mr. Holbrook’s high-rise office and ask for the information.”
Gracie sputtered and Sandy felt her own eyebrows rise.
“You actually think he’ll give it to you?”
“If I’m on the board of a large charitable organization looking to obtain bids for a multi-million dollar project, of course he will. I’ll simply explain that we’re required to perform due diligence and a complete background check on any contractors we hire. If the job sounds tempting enough and he wants it badly enough, he’ll come through. There’s probably a secretary who can put his or her hands on the information without even batting an eye.”
“But will the information they hand out be the truth, will it give us what we need?”
“Those are two separate questions,” Pen told Gracie. “The first answer is most likely no, it will not be the truth. Will it give us what we need? Quite likely. The report will contain enough nuggets of truth to get him past my organization’s background check, and we can mine the data between the lines for what’s not been said.”
“That’s brilliant,” Amber said in a rush. “Not as much fun as rappelling down the side of the building and using gadgetry to get inside and bypassing an alarm system …”
Their waitress came with the sandwiches and conversation went generic until she walked away.
Pen pulled out her cell phone. “Let’s set this thing in motion,” she said, tapping a number she’d already programmed.
“Mr. Holbrook?” Her British accent became even more pronounced as she introduced herself. “I was chatting with Stanley Piccard the other day at the club and he thought you might be of help to me. I’m on the board of the Opera Guild and perhaps you’ve heard … well, I’m sure you’re so well connected that most certainly you’ve heard … about plans for the new concert hall. No? Well, it’s all very early days yet and we’re keeping the details under wraps so I’d appreciate your discretion. We’ll soon begin soliciting bids and, you see, your name rose to the top of the list.”
A pause while she listened.
“Naturally, we investigate every contractor, and I thought perhaps having your financial details and company background information ahead of time would assure we give you primary consideration.”
She rolled her eyes as he talked for a full two minutes non-stop. Before he finished she was sitting up straight, giving him full attention.
“Of course, of course, and I wouldn’t be asking on such short notice but the committee meets Monday. I’m stepping out on a limb a bit here, but I thought if I had your dossier in my hands for that meeting … well, it might speed things along, especially as reaching you will become a bit more difficult in the coming weeks.”
She sent a slightly panicky look toward Sandy.
“Of course, if it’s inconvenient … I’m sure we will be receiving other bids … Oh, then perhaps this afternoon?” Pen said to the phone. “I’m downtown and could stop by your offices, say, around five? Six is even better. Yes, I’ll see you then.”
Her violet eyes flashed as she ended the call. “He admitted he’s leaving the country. There’s apparently a big project beginning soon.”
“Where?” Sandy felt alarm bells go off. What if he completely absconded?
“He didn’t say. I shall try to discover during my visit. Maybe I can get him to brag about it.”
Chapter 13
Clint Holbrook hopped out of his golf cart and teed up for the tenth hole. The phone call from that British lady had piqued his interest. He’d heard nothing about a new concert hall to be built but that didn’t surprise him. He and Kaycie weren’t exactly patrons of the opera. Still, she worked at a news station and he’d have thought some big fund-raising effort might have been noticed.
He hit the ball, chiding himself because he hooked it. Stan Piccard was up next and he let the man take his shot before bringing up the phone call.
“Yeah, I kind of remember her. Classy woman on the tall side, older than you’d be interested in since you like ’em young.”
“Did she ask about me?”
Stan shoved his club into his golf bag and walked around the side of his own cart. “Let me think … she did bring up your name, said something about some charity project she’s tied in with. I gave her a little spiel, told her you were a big patron of the arts.” He hit the pedal and the cart took off toward his ball, which had gone perfectly down the middle of the fairway. Clint hustled to where he’d seen his own ball go into the rough.
Okay, so the woman’s story sounded l
egit, and Clint supposed he could name a few art events he’d attended if the need arose to sound as if he cared. He found the ball, took his time and sent it back on track, although he’d probably end up two shots behind Stan on this hole alone. Ah well, if the guy’s mentioning his name resulted in another big contract, Clint decided he could throw a golf game or two his way. He pulled out his phone again and instructed his secretary which documents to gather.
“Make ’em look good, all in a nice folder or something,” he said. “And if I’m not back by six, entertain the lady until I get there. I want to meet her in person.”
So I can give her the razzmatazz about what a great company we are. He’d love to have another contract in the bag by the time he finished the current job. His mouth literally began to water when he thought of all that lovely cash going into his private account.
“Hey, you’re up,” Stan called out. He’d knocked his ball neatly on the green about two feet from the cup.
Clint dragged his mind from visions of money piles back to the golf course. He topped the ball and gave up any hope of winning. The rest was a matter of concentrating well enough to finish short of total humiliation. Stan was the kind of buddy who wouldn’t drop him after a bad round or two, but he also wouldn’t hold back mocking him thoroughly over this lousy streak.
By the time he walked into his office at 5:49 he’d graciously bought a round of drinks at the Nineteenth Hole, showered in the club locker room and thought of nothing else but how on earth he would manage to handle a project as large as a concert hall. Special acoustics plus all the considerations for a performance venue were completely beyond his experience. But the money … he couldn’t refuse the job until he knew more.
Promptly at six o’clock a statuesque woman in her seventies walked through the door. She wore a lavender dress and jewelry that whispered of quiet, good taste. Penelope Fitzpatrick extended a hand and introduced herself.
The Trophy Wife Exchange Page 5
