The Trophy Wife Exchange

by Connie Shelton

  With Clint out of the country, none of his employees would arrive at the plumbing shop early. As she recalled, Debbie was the only one who’d ever shown initiative to put in even a few extra minutes, and that only when it was time for month-end closing of the books. Mary hastily dried herself and dressed, dropping her towel in the hamper on her way out.

  She ruffled her hair and slung her pack over one shoulder. Her short style dried quickly as she dashed for the bus stop. One of these days she really needed to find a car. Out of the question on the money she made now but, hey, one step at a time. She caught the Valley Metro northbound line, made the connection heading west, and got off at the corner two blocks from Holbrook Plumbing.

  The convenience store three doors down made a great lookout spot. She could see the front entrance to the plumbing shop from its wide windows. She went in and browsed the cinnamon rolls and fruit turnovers in their cellophane packaging, cringing at the amount of fat and calories in them. Once, not so long ago, she would have bought a couple and wolfed them down, simply because they were a cheap breakfast. Although not the healthiest alternative, she did find a packaged whole-grain bar and a bottle of fruit juice and carried them to the counter. The clock above the clerk’s head said it was ten minutes to eight.

  The store had a couple of tiny tables with attached chairs at the front. A man sat with a steaming coffee cup at one, busily scratching the silvery stuff off a lottery ticket. The other table was empty and Mary took it. She positioned herself to face Clint’s shop. She figured Debbie would arrive in five minutes or so, take a minute to switch on lights and turn on her computer. Another five to load and start the coffee machine in the break room.

  The guys would amble in over a fifteen-minute period, always a few of them running late. Their work orders would be all lined up and by eight-fifteen most of the trucks would be rolling, on their way to various customer jobs. Debbie and the two counter guys would hang around the coffee machine, finding out how each other’s weekend went.

  All Mary had to do was pick a time when no one was up front and pray like hell no one had taken the initiative to fix the inoperable doorbell. If she could make it past the counter and into the records storage room, she’d be nearly home free. No one ever went in there, other than Debbie stashing away computer printouts of the profit and loss statements at the end of each month, which was still more than a week away. Mary could quietly search boxes to her heart’s content, as nobody would question the door being locked.

  The clock over the convenience clerk’s head said seven-fifty-eight when Debbie arrived at Holbrook Plumbing and unlocked the front door. Mary smiled and drank more of her juice. A couple of cars pulled through the gate to the back lot. Fifteen minutes later, she’d seen three service trucks drive away. Clint would be pleased to know the business ticked along just fine in his absence. She forced herself not to grit her teeth.

  The man with the scratcher ticket had left and a young mother with two wriggling kids took his table. The kids wouldn’t sit. They kept zooming around the store and coming back for swigs from the milk cartons their mom had opened for them. Mary became impatient with the distraction. She took the final two bites of her cereal bar, crumpled the wrapper and capped her juice bottle.

  Outside, the sun was bright already, the day warming rapidly. She pulled her pink ball cap low on her forehead and crossed the street, walking a leisurely pace toward Holbrook. At the front windows, she paused as if she were interested in the display of toilets. She didn’t see anyone in the showroom or at the sales counter. Lingering over coffee in the back—she knew they would be.

  She pushed the glass door, listening carefully. No little ding-dong sounded. She edged in quickly and dashed for the counter. In under a minute she’d ducked through the opening and speed-walked past the tile display and into the storeroom on the east side of the building. She hadn’t considered what she would do if it was locked.

  She’d once had keys to everything here but no longer carried them with her. She should have thought of this ahead of time, dug around in her drawers back at the apartment. Oh well, it was too late for that now. She twisted the knob, breathing a sigh when it opened. Stepping quickly inside, her hand automatically went to the light switch. She flipped it on and locked the door behind her.

  Jail cells probably existed which were larger than this skinny rectangular room. Shelves rose to the ceiling along both side walls, flanking a narrow center aisle. A quick scan told Mary things were pretty much in the same places she’d left them. Thank goodness Debbie wasn’t a big innovator for change in the workplace. And she doubted Clint had looked in here more than twice in his life. He left mundane tasks such as filing to the women.

  Outside, she heard voices. Her breathing stopped. Two men. One walked past the storeroom, most likely on his way to the parts room farther back in the building. The other must have picked up the phone because a one-way conversation ensued. Mary gingerly set her pack on the floor and began scanning the shelves. A flood of memories as she studied her own labels, handwritten in black marker.

  She ran her fingers along the rows of boxes, searching for those containing profit and loss statements and tax returns. The markings changed, Debbie’s slanted cursive on boxes representing the past two years. Mary targeted four boxes—the last two years she’d prepared the documents herself and the two ensuing years since she’d been away.

  Reaching for the first one, she cringed when the cardboard squealed against the metal shelf. Held her breath.

  The phone conversation beyond the door continued without a pause.

  She lifted the box from the high shelf and set it on the floor, thankful for her recent fitness classes. The thing must weigh twenty pounds. Her fingers skipped along the tabs of the hanging folders that filled the box. Sales receipts, rubber-banded by month, filled half the space. Why hadn’t they gone to digital record storage years ago?

  The voice outside the door rose slightly as the man thanked whoever he’d been speaking to and hung up the phone. The ensuing quiet was worse, Mary decided. She couldn’t tell where he was or gauge whether he’d heard her. She moved quietly in the small space as she pulled another box down.

  Debbie’s voice caught her attention. She asked the counter clerk a question about a customer’s order and they discussed it for a couple of minutes. Mary held still. If Debbie heard any sound at all from the storeroom she would know something was up.

  Eventually, the bookkeeper went away and the clerk greeted a customer who’d come in the front door. Mary resumed her search, more eager than ever to find what she needed and get out. It took another ten minutes of prowling through the folders but she located four years’ worth of detailed profit and loss statements, balance sheets and company tax returns. There was no time to study them here. She stuffed the papers into her pack.

  If there was ever an audit of the business, this would play havoc with Clint’s ability to answer questions and provide evidence. She zipped the pack closed. Heh-heh. Too damn bad.

  Chapter 31

  Sandy reached into her freezer, spatula in hand as she tried to scrape a stubborn hunk of ice off the uppermost wire shelf.

  “Sorry about this,” she said to Mary. “Everyone in the nation has frost-free freezers now, but I inherited this one from my grandmother … and it really does keep food better than the other kind.”

  She wore stretch capris and an old T-shirt with the logo of a charity Fun Run she’d done a dozen years ago, and a headband held her hair away from her face.

  “It’s just a pain in the neck those couple times a year when I have to defrost the thing.” The ice fell off in a chunk. She picked it up and plopped it into a plastic mixing bowl. “Almost done. Anyway, you were able to get into Holbrook Plumbing’s records?”

  Mary perched on a stool at the kitchen counter and watched her friend through the open door to Sandy’s small utility room. “Getting in was the easy part. I thought I was home free—the place was quiet when I got ready to lea
ve—until I opened the door. Debbie was standing right there, right by the sales counter.”

  Sandy’s eyes went wide.

  “I just kind of melted back into the storeroom and hoped neither she nor the guy she was talking to had seen the movement. I guess they didn’t because they kept on talking. I thought that conversation would go on forever but, finally, they walked to the back. I guess they went into Debbie’s office. I tell you, my heart was pounding so hard I’m surprised they didn’t hear it.”

  “Mary, it sounds pretty chancy.” Sandy dumped the bowl of ice clumps into the sink. She noticed the folders Mary was pulling from her backpack. “But it looks like you got some reports?”

  “Yeah, the financial records from the past four years. Judging from the two years when I was there with an eye on the business, I don’t think things look quite right. I’d love for you to take a look, especially in the banking sections.”

  “Sure.” Sandy carried an old towel, saturated with water, to the kitchen sink where she wrung it out. “I shouldn’t be much longer at this job.”

  “No rush. Since I couldn’t make copies of the documents with no one the wiser, I darn sure don’t intend to break back in and put them away. Keep them as long as you want.”

  “You sure? Will it look bad to the court that you got these papers without permission?”

  “Does it look worse to the court that Clint basically embezzled from our company and that he lied to the attorneys about it at the time of the divorce?”

  Sandy had to admit Clint’s crimes were the greater of the two evils. She stepped to Mary’s side and looked at the folder on the countertop.

  “For instance, right here where it shows the gross sales for year before last.” Mary pointed at the line item on the profit sheet. “I know, I mean I’m virtually certain we had about double that amount of sales.”

  She flipped to the balance sheet. “And this—the cash in the bank at year end. It’s way off. I remember being shocked when Clint’s attorney presented these figures, but I guess I was too stunned to argue. I can’t believe I just sat there in that meeting and let him get away with it.”

  “Do you have any proof to the contrary?”

  Mary’s expression looked bleak. “I don’t think so. I don’t know. There was some paperwork that I stashed away when I moved out of the house. I left a few boxes with a friend. I’ll see when I can go by there and get them. We might find something.”

  “Well, from what I remember of the tidbits Amber has come up with, I’d say this is suspicious. Clint moved a lot more money than this between his banks, and if he didn’t earn it here, where did all that cash come from?”

  “Exactly.” Mary seemed mollified. “Thank you for believing me.”

  Sandy put an arm around her shoulders. “Why wouldn’t I believe you? Clint’s the guy I don’t trust one bit.”

  “Sad to say, but I’ve lost all faith in that man. Let’s just hope the judge is willing to take a serious look at all of it.”

  The phone rang as Sandy went back to her dripping freezer. “Can you get that?”

  Mary picked it up and looked at the caller ID. “Hey, Gracie. How are things on the other side of the world?”

  “Mary! You’re at Sandy’s house?” Gracie took a deep breath. “Well, I’ve been in acting classes for two days.”

  “Seriously?”

  Sandy came in, drying her hands on a towel.

  “I’m putting you on speaker so we can all talk,” Mary said. She handed the phone over to Sandy, looking a little out of her depth with the buttons on the unfamiliar phone. In a moment Gracie’s voice came into the room.

  “So—acting?” Mary asked.

  Gracie laughed. “Not actual classes—just whatever Pen and Amber decided to throw at me.” She went on to explain that the next day she would be tailing Kaycie Marlow, in the guise of being her escort, as she went in for surgery. “You should see my disguise. Well, actually, you can’t because it’s a surprise for the others tomorrow morning.”

  “Sounds exciting compared to what we’re doing,” Mary said. “Going through paperwork to figure out how my slimy ex managed to keep two sets of books without my ever figuring it out. I tell you, water torture is too kind a treatment for that man.” She cleared her throat. “Never mind. Tell me what kind of place Kaycie Marlow is trusting her life to. Sorry, but having elective surgery in Shanghai sounds pretty iffy to me.”

  “Oh, you should see this place, Beautiful Life Haven it’s called. The facility is huge. You walk into a reception area where you see nothing but gorgeous women—and some men—sitting around a large room on very modern couches. It’s all done in soft colors, gray and pink with touches of sage. Once you pass through these double doors there’s a whole warren of offices and rooms, doctors’ offices and meeting rooms. Mirrors, nice furniture, plants.”

  “Is this doctor super wealthy or what?”

  “It’s way more than one doctor. I counted at least five, all milling around, each with a half-dozen assistants. I was worried about walking in there pretending to be an employee, but I don’t think anyone will know. A bunch of the assistants are foreigners—Americans and Europeans—since that’s where a lot of the clients come from. I was posing as a potential client and met with a ‘beauty expert’ who sat me in front of a mirror in a room with this ultra-clear lighting. When I said I was thinking of having my nose done, she tried to upsell me on eyelids, cheekbones and jawline.”

  “Ugh, that sounds creepy.”

  “I suppose. But the lady herself was so beautiful and she had such a friendly manner. You come away feeling that you want to be exactly like her.”

  “Gracie …”

  “Me? No way would I sign up for that stuff. All I have to do is get Kaycie in there tomorrow.”

  “Isn’t she worried about being recognized—being sort of a celebrity?”

  “Well, for one thing, no one over here knows who she is. But they’ve thought of that. There are private entries and exits for the day patients on the opposite side of the building. A lot of them opt to stay in the adjoining spa facility where they have private rooms and nursing care in addition to pampering beyond belief. They assure the clients no one will see them until every bandage and bruise is gone.”

  Mary and Sandy exchanged a long look.

  Chapter 32

  Pen and Kaycie stood in the lobby of the Grand Plaza Peace Hotel. Dawn hadn't yet penetrated to street level in this part of the city where skyscrapers rose in solid ranks. The early hour must be part of the reason for Kaycie’s jitters, Pen thought. The younger woman wouldn’t let go of Pen’s arm.

  “Are you certain you want to go through with this?” Pen asked, not for the first time.

  “Oh, yeah, I do. It’s just kind of … Well, it’s also that I didn’t sleep much. With Clint gone, it’s amazing all the noises I heard in the night.” Kaycie’s gaze kept flitting toward the windows at the hotel entrance, her fingers fiddling with the handle of the small suitcase by her side. “I mean, it’s weird being in a foreign country by yourself.”

  Pen knew she’d better steer Kaycie’s thoughts in another direction. “So, your husband got away on his fishing trip all right?”

  “Yeah, he was so excited. Deep sea fishing is something you don’t get much of where we live.” She laughed nervously. “And he needed a break from work. I think dealing with the language barrier and such different customs and food is starting to wear on him too. It was such a nice thing for Mr. Tong to introduce him to his friend from the Philippines, the man with the fishing charter business. Supposedly, the fishing spots are great there, although I personally didn’t see why he had to go all that way. There’s ocean all around the coast of China too.”

  Pen nodded absently, only half listening to Kaycie’s babble. “Oh, here is your car, dear.”

  She pointed toward a long gray car that had pulled under the hotel’s portico. Gracie stepped out of the limo, and Pen almost didn’t recognize her. With her long da
rk hair pulled sleekly back into a bun, Gracie’s high forehead and elegant cheekbones were accentuated. She wore more makeup than usual and had added designer eyeglasses with frames that accentuated her deep brown eyes. She wore the sage-green suit they’d found in a department store yesterday, and she carried a fabric-covered portfolio under one arm.

  She walked up the two steps to the hotel’s grand entry doors and allowed the doorman to hold one open for her. When they stepped toward her, Gracie greeted Pen like an acquaintance she hadn’t seen in a long time—cordial but not chummy.

  “And you must be Mrs. Holbrook?” She held out a hand toward Kaycie. “Or do you prefer Ms. Marlow?”

  “Holbrook,” Kaycie said. “Marlow is just a professional name now.”

  “I looked over your registration records on the way here, so I think we’re all set.” Pen had to admit, Gracie had the role down pat. She could earn a place in the hospitality industry quite easily.

  Pen turned to Kaycie. “Well, my dear, you don’t need me anymore—you’re in good hands now. You have my number … We’ll speak in a few days, once you’re feeling up to it.”

  Kaycie hugged Pen as if she’d known the older woman all her life.

  Gracie touched Kaycie’s shoulder, gently guiding her toward the door and Pen watched as they got into the limo and it drove away. Ignoring the curious glances of the bellmen, she hitched her purse strap up to her shoulder and walked out, heading toward the Hyatt where Amber would be waking and ready to have breakfast together.

  * * *

  Gracie directed the driver to the back of the Beautiful Life Haven building, watching for door number three, the one Kaycie had been assigned. From the outside, she realized how much like a warehouse the back appeared—a place to receive and ship, only this time people were the commodity and vanity was the business’s mission. She shook off the feeling and made sure her smile was in place when the driver pulled up at the assigned door.