by Anna Burke
Like taking candy from a baby, Eric thought when he met the next day with Dr. Richard Carr. By that, Eric meant getting the guy to “fess up.” Pretending to know more than he actually did, he wheedled and then threatened the doctor into disclosing his scheme. The old candy-from-a-baby adage also applied to the fools Carr was fleecing with the racket he had going. It was genius, in fact—the scheme, not the man who came up with it. Carr was a small-minded, petty criminal. He had to give Carr credit for having the imagination to find a new way to put the squeeze on the rich and famous. Extortion, wrapped in the trappings of psychiatry, lofty degrees, glossy brochures and fancy digs, and using a wasted daughter to deliver the demand for money was innovative. But that’s where the doctor’s imagination had reached its limits.
The esteemed doctor was mainly interested in funding his practice by manipulating spoiled princesses into getting money to support endless hours of therapy at $300 bucks a pop and up, private pay. His setup got Daddy and Mommy to fund a lifetime of psychotherapy and med checks at his upscale office in the heart of Beverly Hills. That included a sizeable concierge fee paid to him upon receipt of their settlement, to ensure a place on his elite roster of clients.
Thinking of that first meeting, now, Eric wondered about the doctor. Maybe the guy was already using too much of his own meds. It had been awfully simple to get to the bottom of matters. Chatting him up, with apple-polishing about his “genius,” had prompted Carr to boast about his efforts. He even admitted he derived pleasure from ripping off the one-percent as he struggled to make ends meet on a meager two or three hundred thousand a year.
“Hey, you don’t have to explain it,” Eric had said. And he meant it. The upper middle class is still the middle class, squeezed from above and below. There was a twisted irony in Carr’s projection of predation onto the parents of the young women while the doctor himself preyed upon them. His bottom line was utterly self-serving.
“In my mind, I’m not doing anything untoward, really. These girls who come to see me are so screwed up. They want to believe their parents did something so they can blame them for their wasted lives. Who am I to argue with that? I just help them give those sentiments shape and substance and make sure they get the resources they need to get help—from me.”
It was Eric who had later revealed to the sleazy psychiatrist the untapped potential his scheme offered. To be honest, at first he had not understood the full value of Carr’s enterprising ways. It was only when Eric moved into the final stages of his own Personal Liberation Plan, that he had put it all together. Now, as the end-game approached, with Carr’s help that plan was about to be fully realized. He, not Carr, had figured out what could be done with the right leverage.
That idiot Carr had not bothered to reveal another secret until recently. There was more to his preying on the spoiled daughters of desperate housewives in Beverly Hills. When the Donnelly woman disappeared, Eric knew something was up. He confronted Carr and asked him point blank: was he behind the woman’s disappearance? From the way Carr blanched when asked, he did not need to know more.
“She gave me no choice, Eric. The self-centered dimwit lost it when she found out our romance wasn’t exclusive. Her roommate, Libby, wasn’t too happy about learning she wasn’t the only sun in my personal solar system either. Shannon was planning to go to her dad about our business dealings. Libby claimed Shannon had seen us together, Eric, and had gotten her hands on some damning information. Shannon was hysterical that night, and I had to intervene. Libby’s cool, too, now she thinks she’s won. I’ve convinced her to run off with me when she gets the payout from her parents. Like I’ll need her or her money,” Carr had said, laughing bitterly.
Eric’s inclination had been to end the fool’s life. Talk about dimwits, how could the man have been so stupid fooling around with both women? Dammit, they were roommates! Still, Carr had played a key role in convincing Ned Donnelly that he had plenty of reason to worry about his daughter’s claims against him. The doctor had stepped in, and validated the girl’s claims, saying that in his professional opinion her recovered memories of abuse were credible. Carr had even put his opinion in writing, in an official looking document, delivered to Donnelly by his beloved daughter. Carr had performed a similar role in other situations, helping to leverage the backing or silence of individuals who could influence the outcome of Eric’s Personal Liberation Plan. So he let it slide.
Donnelly had been shaken that night, months ago, when he stumbled drunk and in disarray into Eric’s office. Ned hadn't been much better during subsequent meetings, although the “Saint Donnelly” philanthropist and all-around good guy campaign was going well. His daughter’s subsequent disappearance might actually have been a relief to the old guy, but even if it wasn’t Carr’s affidavit would keep the old gent cornered. When his daughter went missing, it was headline news. He had Donnelly’s back there, too. In a brief, televised interview, Ned Donnelly emphasized that he was fully cooperating with police in their investigation into his daughter’s disappearance. At his urging, Donnelly had offered a substantial reward for information about her whereabouts.
Donnelly was devastated by the whole ordeal, having aged ten years right before Eric’s eyes, since that first drunken appeal for help. He had tried to reassure Ned that Shannon’s disappearance worked to his advantage, making him more sympathetic in the public eye. Donnelly had taken that the wrong way. Dazed and confused, he had left their last meeting without even thanking Eric for the work he was doing. That was okay. Eric didn’t need his thanks; his continued cooperation was all that mattered.
Score! Eric mentally sank a three-pointer from mid-court, recalling the exhilaration he had felt when the votes were in, including Donnelly’s thumbs up on the IPO. More jubilation when the lead underwriter was unleashed to preach the good news. Evangelists of greed, they eagerly hit the road to sell, sell, sell, public shares of Pinnacle!
“My kind of guys,” Eric chortled to himself in the empty office.
If only he could hold it all together. It was a matter of days at this point. Maybe he should have done more when that arrogant bastard, Carr, went into take-charge-doctor mode before the latest mess in Palm Springs.
“I’ve got this covered, Eric. No one will find Donnelly before we want her to be found. Libby’s gloating about the fact that with Shannon gone she’s got no competition. That’s what she thinks anyway,” he folded his arms and chuffed.
“She better not have any competition, Doc, or else. Nix the Romeo thing until this is over and you’re sitting on some beach somewhere. You’ll have all the time and money in the world to chase as many women as you want. Until then, cool it—even with that Van Der Woert woman. Got it?”
“There is no reason to get worked up about this, Eric. What harm can there be in stringing Libby along at this point? Besides, I’m too old to be Romeo—Casanova, maybe,” Dick Carr had said erupting into guffaws at his cleverness. He had leaned back and put his clasped hands behind his head before going on.
Eric had wanted to wipe that grin off the bastard’s face, but he could wait. Learning there might be other clients-with-benefits, besides Shannon and Libby, was infuriating. Still, Carr might have been right about having it all under control, except for Jessica Huntington’s meddling. Carr had only mentioned Jessica’s name in passing. The name rang a bell, but he had mistakenly figured she was just another young woman with all the right neuroses and connections to make her a candidate for daddy-bashing. He had not given her much thought until Carr brought her name up again. As he was about to leave Carr’s office, the psychiatrist had finally responded to the admonition about cooling it with Libby.
“I suppose you’re right about Libby, Eric. Jessica Huntington is playing mind games with her. Thanks to that Huntington woman, Libby’s having a bout of ‘buyer’s remorse.’ After all I’ve done for her, too, the ungrateful little minx. She bought into the scheme to take down Daddy and claim what was rightfully hers, so what is her problem?”
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He sensed there was more to the story than Carr had revealed. When Eric checked Jessica Huntington out for himself, what he found had set his teeth on edge. He knew her name because the woman was a lawyer from a prominent family. Not just any lawyer, but a member of Canady, Holmes, Winston and Klein. Who was one of her clients? The Van Der Woerts! It was all too cozy to be coincidental. When he confronted Carr, the joker admitted he knew of the connection between Jessica Huntington and Libby’s parents. He had made it quite clear to Libby that Jessica Huntington was working for the other side after Libby had gone to her law office in Palm Desert—right before the sudden surge of conscience.
“I questioned Libby about that meeting. It was brief and uneventful, so maybe she’s just still ticked about Shannon. Women! Who can ever understand them?”
True, Eric had thought. Carr’s eyes were rolling around in his head so he guessed Carr had been dipping into the samples of pharmaceutical-grade, mind-altering substances kept in a bowl in his office. He had left Carr’s office grateful that the end game was underway. Soon, he’d never have to deal with Dr. Richard Carr or his ilk again.
New questions nagged at Eric now. If Donnelly was taken care of, and the ‘fix’ was in on Libby Van Der Woert, too, what had happened after that? There had to be some reason for that meeting of loose minds up there at the top of the tram, but what? He could feel his blood pressure rising.
“Let it go, damn it,” he thought, stretching his neck and shoulders. Another week, two at the most, and it would all be over. No way would the board do anything to disrupt the IPO process. A change in course at this point would shake Pinnacle to its foundations. Maybe, knock it down altogether. That would happen, anyway, but not until after the IPO.
The rest of his plan was already in place, too. A simple one: take the money and run. The jerry-rigging he and the CFO had done to get their S1 past those desk jockeys at the SEC might not stand up to another round of scrutiny, but it shouldn’t have to. The Pinnacle Enterprise financial documents, backing up the S1, were a skillfully written work of fiction. Pinnacle was the mother of all holiday turkeys. A turkey all right, but one they could sell, raising a billion dollars almost overnight. It was lights, camera, and action, as the road show rolled out before the IPO. Game on!
“Yes! Game, set, and match,” Eric said. He slammed his fist down on the desk again. This time it was an act of triumph.
6 Tiramisu
Frank Fontana had more flowers. A bouquet of bright orange daylilies mixed with sprays of deep blue columbine and other wildflowers. Wild, like the man, himself. As usual, his dark brown hair was a little too long. He needed a haircut, but money and time were scarce for the hard-working single father of two. As he dashed into the room, he never took his dark eyes off of Jessica, even while giving his cousin, Tommy, a pat on the back. He nodded to Jerry Reynolds as he leaned in and placed the flowers next to Jessica before bussing her cheek with a kiss.
Jessica’s heart did a little flip-flop as Frank bent close enough for her to catch a whiff of the outdoors that hung about him. Detective Frank Fontana, with the Riverside County Sherriff’s homicide division, had no official business with Jessica Huntington. There was plenty of unfinished personal business between them though.
She had sworn there would be no new men in her life for at least a year after divorcing her two-timing ex-husband. The most traumatic aspect of the split was betrayal by a man she had trusted and pledged to love for a lifetime. For several months, now, her mind could stumble upon the ghastly image of Jim’s betrayal without wanting to vomit or stomp the man into the ground wearing five inch Jimmy Choos. An awful thing to do to those shoes, she thought.
Before Frank retreated, she placed a kiss on the ruggedly handsome detective’s cheek. He could use a shave, she thought as he squeezed her hand. Not that she minded his being a little rough around the edges. In fact, she liked it.
An image of her ex floated before her. James Harper, in tennis shoes and a t-shirt, sitting on the floor of their apartment in Palo Alto, his hair shaggy and in need of a shave as they studied together for the bar exam. That image vanished as a more polished, but less wholesome, version of Jim appeared. This one, clean shaven and sporting a $300 haircut, was also naked, running for his life as Jessica hurled objects at him from their bedroom. The shrieking, silicon-enhanced Hollywood ‘Barbie’, his partner in crime, was dashing ahead of him.
That image of Jim was sobering. It put a damper on yearnings to find out just what it was about Frank Fontana that smelled so great. Along with the fact she was lying in a hospital bed, with a body too banged up to do anything about it even if she discovered the secret of his allure.
“How is she doing?” Frank asked. “I’d ask her, but she’ll give me the invulnerable Wonder Woman version and I want the real scoop.” Frank had a rueful grin on his face. Jessica stuck out her tongue at him as Jerry answered his question.
“Well, I’m sure she thinks she’s doing better than she is. It's too soon to know how good a shape she’s in. That’s why they still have her trapped here. I can tell it won’t work much longer. She’s champing at the bit to get out of here. Wait until she tells you how she fought off Carr, with both hands tied, before he and Libby Van Der Woert tossed her off a boulder overlook.” That worried look was back on Jerry’s face.
“I had my hands untied by then. I don’t get it, you guys. Miss Marple investigated dozens of heinous crimes, and about the worst thing that ever happened was that she dropped a few stitches in her knitting. Hercule Poirot, the punctilious little detective, almost never had more to complain about than sore feet or getting his spats dirty. Me, I've been punched in the face, thrown to the ground in a parking lot, accosted by gangbangers on the side of the road, kidnapped, drugged and shot at! Now, to top it all off, I get shoved off a mountain. What am I doing wrong?”
“Do you want me to answer that?” Frank asked with a glint in his eye, interrupting her rant. She was sure he was about to remind her of the many times he and his counterparts in other homicide units had urged her not to chase cutthroats and let the pros do the dirty work. She had to admit that she had been ill-prepared to face the onslaught of ugliness vented upon her as she plunged into sleuthing. That was all behind her, she thought, until this latest incident caught her off balance once again.
“Hey, I kept my promise not to go after Dr. Carr on my own. That was not my intention when I headed up there to talk to Libby. I also called Detective Hernandez and told him where I was going. Another promise kept, Frank Fontana.” He was getting her stirred up as he often did. The grin on his face said he knew what he was doing.
“Ooh, here we go again,” Tommy said, shifting his weight on the foot of her bed. It was like he was settling into his seat at the theater. “You realize a lot of this is just sexual tension, right?” Frank laughed, but Jessica and Jerry both shot Tommy a dirty look. Tommy didn’t care as he took full advantage of the special place he held in Jessica’s heart. He took delight in taunting her, like a mischievous younger brother, especially about Frank.
“What? I can’t help it if you heterosexual types require so much foreplay before you... ”
“Tommy, knock it off,” Jerry interrupted, shaking his head. That made Frank laugh louder. His laughter made Jessica angrier.
“Lack of foreplay has nothing to do with it,” Jessica blurted. “Wait, that’s not what I meant.”
As they had promised Frank’s dad, Jessica and Frank were taking things slow. Since their initial entanglement during the investigation into his cousin Kelly’s murder back in June, they had seen each other regularly. There had been a few knee-buckling hugs and several tantalizing kisses, but not what you could call foreplay. Okay, so maybe there was some sexual tension between them. What stressed her out more than that were the mixed feelings she had for Frank. The attraction she felt was undeniable. Still, he was a man and like most men, he could irritate—some of that was the cop thing. “Serve and protect” often seemed more like
“command and control!” Then there was the issue of money. It didn’t bother her she had a lot more than he did, but it irked him. Misbegotten male pride or another aspect of the machismo cop culture. When word got around that they were seeing each other, his cop buddies ribbed him. The classy lady lawyer who clobbered bad guys with expensive smart phones and high heels was renowned county-wide among police personnel. That wasn’t likely to get any better with all the “angel heiress” news coverage.
“There’s too much testosterone in this room at the moment. I haven’t decided yet if I even like men very much anymore, gay or straight!”
“Does that mean you’re thinking about switching teams?” Tommy had a wicked look on his face. He was blinking and ducking his head like someone might take a swat at him any second.
“You know that is not funny, right?” Jerry was growing red in the face with anger, or embarrassment, or both. Tommy often pushed Jerry to the brink with his outlandish statements even though they were mad about each other. That Frank’s wife had left him for another woman was the reason for Jerry’s distress at the moment. “It’s not very PC of you either” he added.
“Thomas, you are a brat and you are getting on my nerves. I just fell off of a mountain, for goodness sake. Give me a break. Frank and I are friends. We’ve made a promise to keep it that way until I can figure out whether I can ever trust anyone else, including myself. Maybe it’s the last vestiges of the Catholic schoolgirl in me, but I intend to keep that promise.”
Jessica made a quick little sign of the cross as the spoke that vow aloud. She stole a look at Frank who had quit laughing, but still had a smirk on his face. She couldn’t decide who she wanted to smack more, him or Tommy. Tommy had gone into “what me?” choir boy mode, playing the innocent as he did so often after he had stirred things up. The ability to feign a seraphic demeanor was a trait he had shared with his sister, Kelly. She had kept so much hidden from them all using that ploy. It did not work so well for Tommy. Deploying her Jessica Huntington version of the Vulcan mind probe she penetrated his veil of feigned innocence, and his face drooped.
