Incognito

by Adrienne Giordano

  Lucie jumped to the Gs on the laptop screen. Nothing. Shoot. “Nope. Next one.”

  “Jefferson Davis, LLC.”

  Nothing. Dang it. “Nope. Next one.”

  They repeated the exercise two more times, each being a bust. They could be way off base here. Maybe Mattie’s father and Geoffrey Landon did indeed work on their own to defraud That Girl. But then who was after Mattie?

  “Luce,” Tim said, “We’ve got nine more to check. Next name: Dilford Management.”

  She stabbed at the arrow key, zipped up too far to the Cs. Shoot. She needed to settle in here, slow her brain down and focus on right now. This very second. No looking ahead. In the moment. That’s what she’d be. In. The. Moment.

  Nine more names. Nine more opportunities. Got this. She touched the arrow key again and tap-tap-tapped her way to the companies starting with D.

  DDC, Dawson, Denlin, Dickerson, Dilford.

  Whoa. Yes! She pumped a fist. “Kids, we have a Dilford.”

  Tim read off the address and Lucie nodded as she scrolled right on the spreadsheet. “Mattie, this doesn’t tell us who the owners of the company are or who authorized the payments. Do you have that somewhere?”

  Mattie paddled her hands and Lucie passed the laptop over. “We scan all the contracts.”

  She did her thing then handed it back to Lucie who scrolled to the document’s signature page. “Authorized signature is Anderson Bort. Do you know him?”

  “No.”

  Lucie jotted the name and corporation. “He doesn’t necessarily have to be the owner. He could be someone authorized by them. We’ll research him later.” She closed the file and clicked back to her spreadsheet. “Tim, give me the next name on your list.”

  It took two more names before they got another hit. “Fontina Capital, LLC,” Lucie said. “Got it.”

  Rather than pass the laptop back and forth, Mattie jumped up from her chair and joined Lucie and Tim on the sofa. Lucie angled enough for Mattie to find the pdf of the scanned contract. She read off the name of the authorized representative and Lucie jotted it down, the two of them working together with Tim to get through the list.

  Clearly inspired by their makeshift investigative team, Henry rose from the loveseat and sat on the sofa arm next to Tim. “I don’t know what I can do, but I’m here if you need me.”

  Lucie smiled at him. “Teamwork, people. It’s a beautiful thing.”

  By the end, they had four corporations from the Wyoming list that paid commissions to Mattie and her father’s agency. Some of Lucie’s angst over the earlier dead ends broke away. Four companies might not be a gold mine of intel, but they had a start.

  From his spot beside Lucie, Tim leaned forward so he could see Mattie. “Can we confirm if these deals involved That Girl?”

  Mattie perked up, cocking her head. “I can look at the property addresses and see if there are That Girl stores in those buildings.”

  “Store locator.” Lucie opened a browser and went to the That Girl website. “Give me the zip codes.”

  In the three minutes it took to match all the building locations with That Girl stores, the pieces started coming together. Only Lucie couldn’t quite figure out what they meant.

  “So, what we have,” she said, “is the same registered agent managing what could be shell companies that have bought buildings with valuable leasing deals involving That Girl stores.”

  Tim shook his head. “I need to put this on paper. Mattie, got a notebook?”

  Nearly leaping from the sofa, she hustled to the kitchen, her rear swinging in her tight jeans. In Lucie’s mind, burlesque music sounded, and she hummed along, receiving an odd look from Tim. Whoopsie. She rolled her lips in. Bad Lucie. But, holy moly, she might be looking at a version of Ro in twenty-five years.

  For some reason, it made her smile.

  Mattie walked back, minus the burlesque music—thank you very much—and set a pen and legal pad on the coffee table.

  Tim leaned forward and wrote That Girl at the top, circling it. “Here’s the retailer.” He drew a line off to the side. “Here’s Geoffrey Landon, in-house real estate exec.” He drew another below Geoffrey’s name. “Mattie’s father.”

  Lucie waggled her finger at the drawing. “Paul Landon. We need one for him.”

  Paul Landon was added with two lines connecting him to Geoffrey and Mattie’s father.

  “The developers,” Henry said. “Who do we connect them to?”

  We. Excellent. Go, Henry.

  “Good question,” Tim said.

  Lucie studied the names on the diagram. What’s missing? Something. Some connection that linked it all together. She glanced at the list of thirteen companies Tim had set on the table and…yep. She snapped her fingers. “Helen Craft. She’s the registered agent for the shell company Mattie’s dad created, plus the other four companies that have leasing deals with That Girl. They’re all connected to Mattie’s real estate firm.”

  Tim added Helen Craft’s name with spokes to Mattie’s father and the four developers. “You said Paul Landon arranged for your dad to meet developers. Could he have arranged these deals? I still think it’s too convenient to be him, but the fact that Sonny’s money drop happened at one of Landon’s buildings makes me think someone connected to him is involved.”

  “It seems logical,” Lucie said.

  “We need proof. Mattie, is there anything—anything at all—connecting Paul Landon to your father?”

  Mattie let out a long breath. “I don’t know. I’m such a fool. All this was going on right in front of me and I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know.”

  Lucie slipped an arm around her. “Ssshhh. It’s okay. We just need to connect the dots.

  Tim sat back, scrubbed two hands over his face. Mental and physical fatigue was obviously setting in.

  Beside Tim, Henry’s shoulders drooped. Her A-Team needed rest. Lucie closed the laptop. “I think we’ve made great progress here. Why don’t we take a break? All of us get some sleep and we’ll reconvene in the morning. Our minds will be fresh, and we’ll be able to think.”

  Tim picked up his pen again and tapped it against Paul Landon’s name. “We need to connect him to—” he tapped the area where he’d written the four developers businesses, “—them. That’s the goal.”

  “Good mornnnnn-ing!”

  Lucie, snuggled quite nicely with Tim curled against her back, squeezed her eyes closed. Had to be a dream. Had to be. How else would Roseanne be screaming inside Henry’s house?

  “Buongiorno! Bonjour. Guten morgen. Wakey-wakeyyyyy.”

  In Henry’s house screaming in foreign languages.

  “Kill me,” Tim muttered, his voice hoarse from sleep.

  “I’m sorry. I was hoping it was a dream.”

  “Nightmare is more like it. What the hell time is it?”

  Lucie forced her crusty eyes open and blinked against the sunlight peeping through the curtains. Lawdy, that hurt. She peered at the green glare of the digital clock, blinking until it came into focus. “Eight twenty-three.”

  “Why is she here so early?”

  “You know her. She wants to get as much in as she can. And, in her defense, she doesn’t know we were up half the night.”

  “Helllooooo! Where is everybody?”

  “Can you get rid of her? I gotta sleep another hour. At least.”

  Lucie tossed back the covers and patted his arm. “I’m on it. Go back to sleep.”

  Her suitcase sat on the floor near the windows. She grabbed the first bra, shorts, and T-shirt she found in case Henry was out there somewhere. She didn’t need Tim’s uncle staring at her in her ripped Notre Dame sleep T-shirt.

  After jamming her feet into her favorite fuzzy slippers, Lucie whipped the bedroom door open. She strode down the hall, passing Henry’s bedroom. Bed made. Where the heck was he with Ro yelling like that?

  “Luuucccieeee?”

  For the love of God. She swung around the wall and came face to
face with Ro in the living room, looking stunning in a pair of white silky shorts, a teal tank top, and a lightweight sweater. All paired with six-inch man-killer heels. Throw in her coiffed hair and perfect makeup and Lucie looked like a schlump by comparison. One who just rolled out of bed. “Ssshhh. Tim is still sleeping. We were up late.”

  “Is that code for you were banging each other all night? You know I love the details.”

  Leave it to Ro. “Uh, no. It’s code for Mattie is in a mess and we were trying to figure out how to get her out of it. Where’s Henry?”

  “No idea. I knocked, but no one answered. The door was unlocked so I came in.”

  A flash of blue beyond the rear door caught Lucie’s eye. She moved closer and spotted Henry, wearing a navy shirt, pacing the yard, cell phone to his ear.

  “He’s on the phone out back.”

  “What’s up with Mattie? And, dear God, Luce, really, you should brush your hair before meeting guests.”

  “You’re not a guest. You’re Ro.”

  Her BFF gave her a sugary smile. “Awww. Sweet. You’re still a disaster.”

  “Why are you here so early?”

  “We’re in Florida. We should walk on the beach. Get a little girl time. Plus, your brother is driving me crazy. Do you know he’s horny all the time? I swear, I can’t get a break with him.”

  Who was she kidding? She loved it. “Um, no. Can’t say I knew that about my brother. I mean, ew!” Lucie gagged. “And, really? Walking on the beach in that outfit? The heels might be a problem.”

  “Oh, hardy-har. I’ll take them off, smartass. I swear, you Rizzos. Everything is a debate.”

  Obviously she and Joey had yet another fight, because suddenly all Rizzos were included in whatever nonsense the two of them had going on. And one thing Lucie didn’t like was being lumped in. At least not when she wasn’t even sure what she was being lumped in with.

  “What happened this time? Another remark about the size of your ass? Making lewd comments in public? Some stupid theory on why women should stay in the kitchen?”

  Joey may not have been the face that launched a thousand ships, but he was definitely the mouth that launched a thousand wars.

  Ro circled a hand in the air. “I don’t know. He’s so…so…alpha. All the time.”

  “I thought you liked that about him.”

  “I do. But it’s irritating.”

  Lucie laughed. “You two are nuts.”

  “What else is new?”

  Outside, Henry still wandered the yard, phone to his ear, his free hand occasionally lifting and then flopping again. Despite his slow movements, his shoulders appeared stiff. Forced. A man carrying the world’s weight. And who would he be talking to this early?

  Ro stepped up beside Lucie, the two of them watching Henry. “What’s going on with him? Don’t tell me there’s another Sonny Peppers.”

  “No. At least not that I know of, but you make a good point. With Sonny out, whoever sent him might dispatch yet another empty-headed loser. This thing has totally hijacked my vacation. All I wanted was pina coladas and Tim for ten days and here we were up the whole night for all the wrong reasons.”

  “What happened?”

  Ha. Where to start? Lucie gave Ro the three-minute summation of last night’s activity, even showing her the chart Tim drew connecting all the participants.

  “Luce,” Ro said, “how do you get into this stuff?”

  “Tell me about it. All I know is it’s no coincidence Helen Craft is the registered agent for a group of companies that leased or bought commercial real estate with That Girl stores inside.”

  “So, what now?”

  “We have to find the link between all the companies. It all seems to hang on Paul Landon, but Tim thinks he’s too convenient. That it’s a frame-up.”

  “His son is the real estate buyer for That Girl. This guy would have to be an idiot, which—” Ro waved a hand, “—is not out of the question with men. Still, he’d have to be a top-tier idiot to do funky real estate deals involving his son’s company.”

  “Idiot or not, his name isn’t on any of the incorporation papers. I think they formed a shell company, so they could hide his identity. Shells make it easy to do that.”

  “Ha! You’re telling me? I learned the hard way with that damned stripper-banger of an ex-husband.”

  Lucie blew air threw her lips. The rat-bastard stripper-banger.

  When Lucie failed to respond, her majesty the Drama Queen flapped her arms. “Luce! Tell me you forgot. You’re my bestie and that was a major part of my divorce!”

  Stripper-banger. Shell company. Divorce.

  Got it.

  “Of course I didn’t forget. It just took me a second.”

  “Good.” Ro brought her fists up, squeezing so hard she might pop something. “All men are scum.”

  A long sigh sounded, and Lucie angled back to find Tim shuffling toward the kitchen, more than likely in search of coffee.

  He held up a hand in greeting. “The stripper-banger, I presume?”

  “Good guess,” Lucie said.

  “Scum,” Ro cried.

  Divorce. Shell Company. Hold on. Lucie paused, letting her mind circle whatever idea might be forming. Come on, come on. What is it?

  Divorce.

  Shell Company.

  Hiding assets.

  In the kitchen, Tim grabbed a mug from a cabinet and must have found the coffee pot full. “Nectar of the gods. Thank you.”

  “Wait,” Lucie said. “She’s got something here.”

  He held the mug up. “Aside from men being scum?”

  Smart-mouthing so early. Excellent. Rather than encourage that behavior, she’d ignore it. “During their divorce, the stripper-banger tried to hide assets.”

  Tim grinned. Lucie knew that look all too well. As much as he liked to pretend Ro annoyed him, he secretly enjoyed winding her up and watching the explosion. “I guess he didn’t want to fund Ro’s Gucci obsession.”

  Ro gasped. “Scum! Ooh, just thinking about it burns me up. That cheap bastard. He formed a company, put his friend’s name on all the paperwork to shield his identity, and made fake invoices to show the IRS the company was losing money. Meanwhile, our assets were parked there, waiting for my divorce settlement to be final.”

  Mug in hand, Tim walked back to the living room and settled into Uncle Henry’s favorite chair. “Wow. He is scum.”

  “Thank you, O’Hottie.”

  “You’re welcome. I’m guessing by your wardrobe you busted him before the divorce was final.”

  “You know it. My lawyer was good. He hired a forensic accountant to audit our books. The shell company was accidentally mentioned in an email between the stripper-banger and his friend. The accountant was curious and jumped on it, but the fine state of Delaware wouldn’t tell us who the owner was. As if their privacy laws were more important than me getting my fair share.” Her fists came up again and she pinched her face tight. “Ooh, that filthy weasel.”

  “Ro,” Tim said, “focus.”

  Sure. Now he wanted her to focus. After he lit her up. Lucie shook her head. “When Delaware wouldn’t cooperate, she got a subpoena that forced them to release the information.”

  “You know it, sister. We cracked that shell into a million pieces.”

  Subpoena. Ooh, ooh, ooh. Lucie shot her hand straight up and wagged it like a third grader trying to get the teacher’s attention. “We should get a subpoena.”

  Tim set his mug on the chair’s arm and stared at it with squinty eyes. “A great idea. But we’d need a prosecutor for that. And a DA doesn’t just hand those out. We’d have to give them information Mattie won’t want to reveal. Such as her identity. You want to take that chance? After the press conference the Boston DA did, how do we know Mattie isn’t on his list of persons of interest?”

  “Ew,” Lucie and Ro said.

  “Yeah.”

  Henry chose that moment to swing the back door open. He spotted Ro and Lu
cie and headed straight through the kitchen to the adjoining living room. “What ew?”

  Tim glanced over at him. “Hey, Unc. Good morning.”

  Henry eyed them all, shifting from one foot to the other. “Good morning. What ew?”

  Tim took a long slug of his coffee. “We’re tossing ideas around. About Mattie.”

  “What ideas?”

  When Tim held up his mug and studied the logo on the bottom, she knew she’d lost him. Chicken. It always took a woman. She cleared her throat, gave Tim the stink eye, and sacrificed herself for the cause. “We need to find out who owns those four companies we found last night, but with the privacy laws in Wyoming, they won’t reveal that information.”

  “I’m assuming you have a solution.”

  They sure did.

  “We sure do,” Tim said.

  Again, she glared at him. Her man was pushing it this morning.

  “Yes,” Lucie said. “We have one. It’s not ideal.”

  Henry rolled a hand for her to continue.

  “A subpoena would force Wyoming to tell us the owner of the company. We could take what we’ve found to the Boston prosecutor, but that more than likely means Mattie would have to be involved.”

  Henry cocked his head, staring at Lucie for a long moment while he pondered the idea. “You’ve lost your mind.”

  Thirteen

  “Really?” This from Ro, whose posture went rigid as she propped both fists on her hips. “She’s lost her mind? Lucie? No offense, Henry, but your girlfriend is on the lam, running from a fraud charge. She’s lied to you for months and has now completely wrecked Lucie and Tim’s vacation. And Lucie has lost her mind?”

  As much as Lucie wanted to puff her chest out over her best friend’s loyalty, she couldn’t have her insulting Tim’s uncle. “Ro,” she said, “it’s all right.”

  Ro gave her the oh-no-you-didn’t lip curl. “If so, then we need to redefine what’s considered all right.”

  “You know,” Tim said. “Nutty as this is, I’m gonna agree with Ro.”

  “Thank you, O’Hottie.”

  “Hey, when you’re right, you’re right.” He peered at his uncle. “When you think this through, you’ll realize Mattie doesn’t have a ton of options. And you might want to apologize to Lucie.”