“Ten thousand dollars.”
“Oof. This guy has to be an amateur. Usually the asks start small: bus money, medical bills, cash for education, eventually leading up to a larger chunk for a flight to visit the victim. Asking for money to pay phone bills so they can keep calling is pretty common too. But ten thousand straight off? Kind of doesn’t mesh with what I wanted to tell you—that the photo is often associated with a fellow in Nigeria named Akin. He’s still active and we haven’t been able to nail him down yet. But I have his phone number.”
Beatrice paused. The call she’d gotten at three a.m. had come from a blocked number. Finally, she could speak to Bryan directly.
“That’d be perfect. Thanks for the lead Bob.”
Beatrice called the number straightaway, after Googling how to call Nigeria. It was surprisingly easy.
“Hello?” an accented voice in English answered.
Beatrice was silent for a moment, astounded that he’d actually answered.
“Is this Akin?”
“Sure is, American lady. If you’re mad about me taking your money, well, I’m done with all that. Haven’t taken a cent from anyone in months.”
This frank confession bowled Beatrice over slightly, but she forced herself to press on. “Listen, no one’s mad and no one lost any money, at least that I know. My friend Abigail in New Hampshire had a guy named Bryan after her. He just asked her for ten thousand dollars to clear some kind of customs mix–up in Thailand. That wasn’t you?”
“No way! Like I told you, I’m out. About eight months ago I was taking money from this single mom in Germany. She didn’t really have any money, but she gave me whatever she could. I mean, she had kids! That just didn’t feel right to me. I called her up and told her the truth, apologized.”
“Well, that was good of you,” Beatrice said uncertainly. The line crackled and fizzed, reminding her than an entire ocean separated them.
Akin laughed. “I guess. But she wasn’t even mad about the money! She was mad because I wasn’t this Jonathan fellow I was pretending to be. She wanted him to be real and she sure wasn’t going to accept me saying otherwise.”
Beatrice sighed. Another dead end. Akin could be lying, but it didn’t sound like it. “Why did you do it?” she asked. “Scam people, I mean. I’m just curious.”
“Well, partly it was like I was a spy or something. Trying on a new identity. It was kind of cool. And me and my buddies, we used to work together at a 24–hour Internet café. It was kind of fun, all being in this together. If one of us got someone to send us money, well that guy would take us out for pizza or burgers. I heard of some people who drove expensive cars and partied like rappers based on what they got. Not me, though. I just got by. And in the end, man, it wasn’t worth it. I wouldn’t want anyone doing that to me or my family. It just isn’t right, you know?”
“I know,” Beatrice said. “So how am I supposed to find this guy? My friend’s hired me as a private investigator. I’m all out of leads.”
Akin considered in silence for a moment. “Tell me everything first, and I’ll see if I can help you out.”
Beatrice gave him a rundown of Abigail’s contact with ‘Bryan,’ even reading some of his messages out loud.
“Well, judging from what you told me this guy’s an amateur, Beatrice. He has no game, none at all. His English is also really good—too good. You sure he isn’t just some twisted American guy playing with your friend? I don’t know, it doesn’t have the flavor of how we usually run things but hey, there are a lot of players in this game. All I can tell you is this: try and get his banking information. Maybe you can trace it.”
“That’s brilliant!” Beatrice said, sitting up straight. “Thanks Akin, it’s been really fun chatting with you.”
She dialed Abigail straight after. “Hey Abby, did you ever get Bryan’s banking information?”
“No, we never got that far. He asked for the money and I laughed at him. Why?”
“I have to trace his banking info. I was just talking to this guy in Nigeria who I thought was Bryan … never mind. I’m on the case, boss!”
Beatrice hung up, brimming with excitement. It may not lead to anything, but at least it was something to go on. Maybe she wasn’t so bad at this PI stuff after all.
A knock came at her door. The sheriff stuck his head in, hat in his hands, bulky winter jacket zipped up tight. His nose and the tips of his ears were red—it was a mighty cold day.
“Came to say hi,” he said. “Well that and I had a hankering for your red velvet brownies. The missus has me bringing them home every day now. I swear Bee, you’re going to drain my bank account.”
Beatrice managed a smile. “Sit, sit. I’m glad you came.”
The sheriff sighed as he eased himself into a chair. “How is it that your office is so much nicer than mine?” he mused as he looked around.
“I think the Cozy Cat Café’s decorating budget is probably a smidgen higher than that at your office. Anyway, you didn’t come to talk about my window treatments, now did you?”
“No ma'am.” The sheriff dusted snow out of his bushy mustache. “And I haven’t come here to lecture you either. You sounded in a right state last night and I wanted to check in.”
Beatrice lifted her eyes slowly to meet his. “I texted Matthew. But he hasn’t responded. I know he read the message. Has he called you?”
“Yeah he’s called me, and he said something I never want to repeat to nobody. You hurt him Bee, I’m not going to lie.”
Beatrice brought her forehead down on her desk. “What am I going to do?” she groaned.
“Well, you know the phrase: time heals all wounds? That’s a good start. Let him be for a bit, let all the emotions settled down, and for heaven’s sake, get your head on straight. That’s probably the most important thing. You don’t want to be talking to him again until you’re clear on things. You hear me?”
“I hear you,” Beatrice said miserably.
10
If Beatrice couldn’t make her personal life right, at least she could catch the scammer. She spent a good part of the afternoon texting with Bryan who, post–Abigail, seemed to have a renewed interest in her.
She deliberately kept things light and it seemed to work. Bryan didn’t seem to have any reservations after striking out with Abigail. Maybe he figured Beatrice was his next best bet. Whatever the case, she kept the conversation going but let him take the lead.
This experience had taken the shine off online dating for Beatrice. She couldn’t wait to get back to regular life: Friday nights with friends, Saturday hikes, work evenings spent by the fire with the cats and a good book. Simple, uncomplicated fun.
When she wasn’t busily texting Bryan, Beatrice was trying to squeeze in everything else that needed doing: posting the server position online, calling her chief food supplier confirming payment for the discrepancy in her account, emailing her webmaster to take a look at the bug on the Cozy Cat Café website, researching where and how to get café merchandise made.
The work never ended for Beatrice but she loved it. It was as natural to her as breathing. Plus, when you work for yourself and ticking off the to–do list meant higher profits, there was a lot of incentive to get things done.
The cats were involved in their own drama that afternoon. Petunia had been blithely washing herself at the window seat, her furry leg stuck straight up in the air as she languorously cleaned it. The tomcat wasted no time in setting up audience in the alley below and yowling his tabby head off.
Hamish was on the offensive immediately, hissing and arching his back as he stood in front of Petunia and attempted to block the tomcat’s view. This went on for a good half hour before Beatrice, already frazzled, yanked up the window and yelled for the tabby to scram. Both Hamish and Petunia gave her dirty looks after that, as if she’d ruined all their fun.
The light was fading in the trees outside as five o’clock rolled around. The magic text finally came in shortly after, asking
to speak to Beatrice on the phone immediately. It was an emergency. She texted him to say that she was free and to call her whenever he could.
Her cell rang almost immediately.
“Beatrice?” said a warbling voice with a faint British accent. “I’m so glad you could speak now. I hate to call out of the blue but I’m in a real pickle.”
“I’m always happy to hear your voice,” Beatrice said, trying not to gag over the words. Her phone was already recording the conversation. “What’s happened?”
“Well, you know all the trouble I’ve had getting my goods out of Thailand. I’ve been trying to get the money sorted. But now the Thai police have seized me and thrown me in jail. There’s been some confusion and they want me to pay a bribe to get out. I don’t even care about my exports anymore, I just want out of here. This is my one phone call. Beatrice, I know we haven’t had a chance to meet yet but you’re the one person on earth I trust. I hope you feel the same about me.”
Not likely, Beatrice thought. Bryan must have picked up on her slight pause because he started talking again immediately. “Listen, I know how random this must seem. I have one of the guards right here. He can explain my situation much better than I can and he says he knows some English. Would you speak to him?”
“Of course,” Beatrice replied.
There was a shuffling sound, as if the phone was being passed over.
“Hello, this is Chatri,” said a vaguely accented voice that sounded a lot like Bryan’s. Beatrice had to bite her hand to stop from bursting out laughing.
“Um hello Chatri,” she said as seriously as she could. “Could you please tell me what the problem is?”
“Absolutely. It is a very serious situation,” Chatri said. “This Mr., uh, Mr. Bryan we have here is suspected of trying to export smuggled goods. We have very strict laws in Thailand for this kind of crime: life in prison, hard labour, even, uh, beheading…”
“There’s no beheading in Thailand,” Beatrice put in. “They use lethal injection as their method of capital punishment.”
“Uh right. Well, we would inject him, then. With poison. Maybe.”
“Hm,” Beatrice said. “Sounds like you folks need to get your methods of capital punishment straight. You’re going to confuse poor Bryan as to how he’s going to die.”
“Yes well, no one said he’s going to die right now,” said Chatri, his accent rapidly fading. He was sounding more and more like Bryan, and was clearly getting flustered. “Listen, we need money to set him free and now.”
“How much are we talking about?”
“Five hundred American dollars.”
Five hundred dollars? Wow, Bryan’s price had come way down since he’d unsuccessfully tried to siphon ten thousand bucks from Abigail.
“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Beatrice said. “Five hundred dollars is pocket change for an old lady like me. And I wouldn’t like to see my darling Bryan hurt. He really is the light of my life. I would hate to see him beheaded. How should I send payment?”
“You send it to Bryan,” the voice said gruffly. “I’ll put him on again.”
There was the sound of shuffling again. Beatrice rolled her eyes at this ridiculous farce. “Hello, Beatrice darling?” came the bad British accent again.
“Bryan, my dear. I just heard the most disturbing things about your possible fate and I’m willing to do whatever necessary to keep you safe.”
“Really?” he said, sounding like he couldn’t believe his luck.
“Yes, darling. Do you have a safe way I can transfer the funds? I wouldn’t want them getting into the wrong hands.”
Bryan immediately rattled off his banking information. As she was copying it down, Petunia jumped onto her desk and started head butting her cell. Beatrice tried to kiss her away but the fluff ball relentlessly rubbed her head against the phone as if it was the tomcat himself.
That’s when Beatrice noticed the sound in the background of the call. It was the chiming of church bells to mark the hour. And they were ringing at the same time as the very bells she could hear—with the same frequency and tone.
“What’s that noise?” she asked.
“That? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Listen, I’ve got to go. Can you send me the payment right away?”
Beatrice promised and hung up, stunned. The door creaked. “Zoe, I know you’re listening,” Beatrice said. “Might as well come in.”
The petite pastry chef crept in. “Sorry, curiosity and the cat and all that stuff.
“It’s fine.” Beatrice sunk down in her chair. “Zoe, I think this Bryan is in Ashbrook.”
“What?” Zoe pulled off her hairnet and lay prone on the couch.
“Yeah, I heard the church bells chiming in the background at exactly the same time. That could just be a strange coincidence but you know how the Ashbrook bells have this kind of little chime in between the main ones? The bells I heard were doing the exact same thing, and right on the beat too.”
Zoe sat up. “You’re saying Bryan isn’t in Nigeria? He’s someone in Ashbrook? That we know?”
Beatrice grabbed her purse. “Seems so. I’d better pay a visit to the sheriff. He’s going to have me shot on sight if this case is in his jurisdiction and I don’t bring him on board immediately.”
The cats bounded ahead of her as she went out the front door and walked straight to the sheriff’s office. A bitter wind whipped down the street and the sidewalks were icy so Beatrice had to walk slower than she would have liked. As usual, though, the cats adapted to the conditions and ran ahead as nimbly as ever. Only Petunia, who hated to get her paws wet, waddled down the street, bringing up her feet sharply with each step in protest.
The sheriff was in his office as usual, shaking his fist at his computer and saying some very unsavory things about it. Big bunches of helium balloons were tied to the back of his chair in pink and red. They said: ‘I Wuv You!’ and ‘You’re the Apple of my Eye, Valentine!’ Pink streamers were taped to the particleboard ceiling. The cats immediately ran to their beds that Beatrice had brought in for them—that was how much time she spent in his office.
The sheriff fixed her with a frustrated glare. “Maybe I would like computers if the department bothered to buy us machines that didn’t run on steam and wind power. I swear, I spend half my days just trying to get this thing to send an email.” He ran his hands through his thinning hair so it stood straight up.
“Nice decor,” Beatrice commented. “Really gets me in the Valentine’s spirit.”
“Courtesy of Mrs. Roy. You hate Valentine’s Day.”
“For the millionth time, I do not hate Valentine’s Day. It is impossible to hate a holiday that centers so much on chocolate, eating nice dinners, and drinking expensive wine. Unfortunately, life seems determined to make a cynic out of me. This ‘Bryan’ who was after Abigail just might be an Ashbrook resident, thanks to a little slip–up during his latest phone call to me. Meaning, this case is now officially ours, not just mine.”
She explained the ask for money and the bells she’d heard in the background of the call.
The sheriff sighed deeply and slumped back in his chair. The balloons bobbed wildly behind him. “Extortionists, rogue Santas, and now a romance scammer in Ashbrook? This town has truly gone to the dogs.”
“At least the people here keep their crimes interesting,” Beatrice replied. “Listen, I’ve got this fellow’s banking information. Can we find a way to run it? Find the source? Then we might be in business.”
11
After ordering Chinese takeout, Beatrice and the sheriff immediately got on the line with Bob Tucker.
“Bob, we’ve got bank account information and intel that it may belong to an American citizen,” the sheriff said over speakerphone. “You able to trace this fella for us?”
“Sure, I have people who owe me a favor or two. You think this Bryan is American, you say?”
Beatrice passed along the banking information and all the background on her conversation
with the scammer.
“You realize that this case is now going to be the FBI’s jurisdiction?” Bob asked.
Beatrice stiffened. “Oh no they don’t! This is my first case! I have to solve it myself.”
“Bee, wouldn’t you want to put on your CV that you solved a case in conjunction with the FBI? That would look pretty impressive, I’d think,” the sheriff asked slyly.
She couldn’t deny logic like that. Beatrice Young, PI, special contractor to the Federal Bureau of Investigation. It had a nice ring to it.
“Alright, alright.”
“I’ll let you two know as soon as I know something,” Bob’s voice said, crackling over the line.
The call ended and sheriff and Beatrice got down to the serious business of eating Chinese food and speculating who in Ashbrook could possibly be scamming Abigail. The cats, who had been asleep in their beds, woke up once they smelled food and began to circle the humans with dinner plate–sized eyes. Beatrice put out kibble and water in their collapsible containers and the cats worked on that, though still eyeing the food on the table out of the corner of their eyes.
They decided to call it a night after all the chow was gone. Beatrice drove home on that starless night, her headlights barely making a dent in the dense darkness, and rolled into bed almost immediately. She fell into a deep, dreamless sleep and was surprised the next morning to discover that she’d slept past her usual hour, six o’clock.
Her cell phone was out of batteries but her bedside clock showed that it was after seven. Beatrice pulled her pillow over her head. She wasn’t ready yet to face the world. The cats, however, were definitely ready. Beatrice felt little needle paws walking up her back and then a kitty nose sniffing at her neck. Whiskers tickled her and Beatrice suppressed the urge to burst out laughing.
“Mraw?” came from close by her ear. It was distinctly Petunia. Beatrice rolled over suddenly, surprising the big cat, grabbed her and held her high in the air.
“Got you!” Beatrice crowed. Petunia’s ears were flat, her expression annoyed as her feet dangled down. “Oh you don’t like looking so undignified, do you?
The Unfur-tunate Valentine's Scam (Beatrice Young Cozy Cat Mysteries Book 6) Page 6
