Death, Taxes, and a Satin Garter

by Kelly, Diane

“Oh, Morgan! I’m so sorry to hear it.” I reached across the table to give his hand a squeeze, already looking forward to the time when I’d get to slap cuffs on it—assuming, of course, that he didn’t karate chop me in half before I got the chance.

  He returned his phone to his pocket. “It was a horrible loss, but I know she’d want me to move on and find happiness. I’m trying to do that.”

  Yeah, right. All you’re trying to find is a trusting woman to take advantage of. “Good for you.”

  He served himself some salad and tore a bit off a breadstick. “Relocating to Dallas is part of my plan to get a fresh start. Oklahoma City has too many memories.”

  “That’s understandable,” I said, selecting a breadstick for myself. I tore off a bite and put it to my mouth. Ow! The garlic coating burned my injured lip. Great. I opened my mouth wider and popped the bread inside, avoiding my lips altogether this time. “How long were you married?”

  “Just a few years,” he said. “We didn’t have any children of our own, but she had an adult son from a previous marriage.”

  “Are you close to her son?” I asked, knowing full well the answer would be—

  “No.”

  Yep. Just what I’d expected him to say. Ten points for Tara!

  Morgan looked down, as if with regret. “I treated Shane as if he was my own, but no matter how good I was to him he would never warm up to me. He’d hoped his parents would get back together. I guess some kids never move past that, even when they grow up. Shane saw me as an obstacle. Never mind the fact that neither of his parents wanted to reconcile. But enough about that.” He looked back up and waved a dismissive hand, as if wanting to clear the air of the ugly topic, despite the fact that he’d raised the topic himself, on purpose. “Your profile mentioned that you like mystery novels and romantic comedies. What are some of your favorites?”

  We spent the next few minutes eating salad and breadsticks and discussing our favorite authors and actors until our entrées arrived. We discovered that we both liked Carl Hiaasen’s books and Armie Hammer’s movies.

  “Looks like we’ve got some things in common,” Morgan said.

  I offered him a coy smile. “We do.” We also both like taking money from other people, though I do it to serve justice and you do it to serve yourself.

  As we dug into our ravioli, I eyed him across the table. Was he a kung fu master? A karate chop king? A jiu-jitsu genius? I debated hurling the saltshaker at him to see if he could successfully deflect it. Instead, I asked about his local accommodations. “Where are you staying while you’re in Dallas?”

  “At the Omni hotel downtown,” he said. “The central location makes it very convenient.”

  Also, mentioning the name of the exclusive hotel was sure to impress his dates. Not me, though. I knew the odds of him actually being a guest at the Omni were about as good as my odds of winning an Oscar for my acting performance tonight.

  I moved on to a related topic, asking about his plans to move to the area. “Are you looking to buy a house or condo?” I asked. “Or are you going to rent something?”

  “I’m definitely planning to buy,” he said. “With my income, I need all the tax deductions I can get.”

  Though I forced a smile, my ire rose. After the way he’d tricked those women out of their hard-earned money, this cheat didn’t deserve any deductions. Of course I also realized his comment was a subtle way of implying that he earned good money. I decided to let him think I’d taken the bait. “Is there good money in drug counseling?”

  He acted sheepish. “When celebrities are involved, there is. I work at a private rehabilitation center outside the city. It’s known for both luxury and discretion, so we get a lot of high-profile patients who will pay top dollar to maintain their privacy.”

  “Have you found a new job here yet?”

  “I’ve put out some feelers and gotten quite a few nibbles,” he said. “I’ll be able to make a quick and easy transition once I get things sorted out in Oklahoma.”

  “What’s left to sort out?” I asked. Might as well help him along, huh?

  He frowned. “My stepson is challenging my wife’s will. Everything’s tied up in probate court. Our house, our investments, our bank accounts. But I’m hoping it will all be resolved in a month or two so I can get on with my life.”

  He changed back to lighter topics, probably realizing if he hammered too hard on the alleged probate problems it could send up a red flag or turn me off.

  As we ate and chatted, I cast another casual glance at Eddie and Sandra. While they’d eaten slowly to give me and my date a chance to catch up, the waitress was now handing Eddie the bill and taking their plates. I didn’t like losing my backup. Morgan hadn’t given off a violent vibe, but I knew from experience that even the most seemingly calm and harmless person could snap under pressure. It never hurt to be careful. And I still wasn’t sure whether my date was merely a catfisher or also some type of judo master. It’s not like I could throw a punch at him and see how he reacted.

  “Dessert?” the waitress asked as she stepped up to our table.

  “None for me,” I said, putting a hand on my tummy. “I’m stuffed.”

  “Me, too,” Morgan said. “Just the check please.”

  chapter eighteen

  Deconstructed

  Morgan paid the bill in cash, probably dirty money he’d stolen from one of his victims. This guy was smart. If he’d paid with a credit card the waitress might have referenced his last name and given me a clue as to his true identity. I eyed him over the table as he handed the payment to the waitress. Who are you, you rat bastard?

  Our date over, Morgan walked me outside, stopping on the front walk. I briefly toyed with the idea of trying to pick his pocket. Surely he carried his real driver’s license in his wallet in case he got pulled over, right? I decided against it, though. The only pickpocket experience I had was watching Oliver, and the movie implied that the crime could best be committed while singing and dancing. I didn’t have the skill set necessary to pull it off.

  Though I couldn’t see Eddie, I knew he still lurked somewhere nearby, keeping an eye on things, watching my back.

  “I had a nice time, Sara,” Morgan said.

  “Me, too.”

  He cocked his head and gave me a hopeful smile. “Want to do it again?”

  “Sure. When?”

  “How about seven next Tuesday?”

  Tuesday? Really? My face flamed at the insult. Everyone knows a weekday date is for someone you aren’t truly interested in. It was one thing for Morgan to take me out on a weeknight for our first date. After all, Fridays and Saturdays were special and not to be wasted with someone you weren’t sure you’d enjoy spending time with. But for him to relegate me to weekday status for a second date was an obvious insult.

  He eyed me intently. “I would’ve suggested the weekend, but unfortunately I’ve got to be back in Oklahoma City. I’m on the schedule at the center.”

  He must’ve read my mind. My face flamed once more, this time with embarrassment. Sheesh. I hoped I could do a better job of hiding my true identity than I did hiding my feelings. Besides, it was ridiculous for me to be insulted by this guy when I had a man like Nick in my life and no intentions of pursuing a romantic relationship with this con artist.

  I forced a smile. “Tuesday’s great.”

  “Your profile mentioned that you like sushi, right?”

  “I do! How sweet of you to remember.” Especially when he surely had several other profiles to remember, too. This guy must have a good memory.

  “Why don’t you name the place?”

  My mind reeled. I had several favorite sushi places, but all were near my town house or downtown, near the entertainment venues. Given that I didn’t actually live here in Lewisville, I didn’t know the area well and had no idea where a sushi restaurant might be. “Sure,” I said, deciding to evade the question for now. “I’ll e-mail you with the name and address of the restaurant.”
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br />   “Great.” He pulled his keys from his pant pocket, then patted his shirt pocket. “Looks like I’m out of business cards.” He gestured toward the right side of the building. “I’ve got more in my car. I’d like you to have one so you can get in touch with me if you’d like.”

  “Okay.”

  He led me around to the back of the building, heading out to where the restaurant’s parking lot merged with that of the adjacent shopping center. This part of the lot was too far out to be reached by security cameras on any of the surrounding buildings.

  In my peripheral vision, I spotted Eddie’s car easing around the other side of the restaurant where he could keep an eye on us.

  Morgan pushed the button on the fob. The lights flashed and doors unlocked on a Mercedes parked nearby. However, unlike the car he’d driven on his dates with his three victims, this one was not a convertible. It also had Oklahoma plates rather than Colorado plates. I made a mental note of the license plate number, repeating it in my head three times to commit it to memory.

  “Why are you parked way out here?” I asked.

  “Don’t want to risk the car getting damaged. I bought it for my wife for her birthday last year. She insisted it was too much, but she’d never had nice things. She grew up poor and her first husband hadn’t been in a position to provide well for her. I only wanted her to have the things she deserved.”

  A clever response. It made him sound both responsible and generous. “Why are you driving her car instead of your own?”

  He frowned. “Her son snatched the keys to my Porsche and took off with it.”

  “Did you report it stolen? Maybe the cops could get it back for you.”

  He let out a soft breath. “As difficult as Shane is being right now, I don’t have the heart to have him arrested. He might be in his twenties, but in so many ways he’s still a child. He’s having a hard time dealing with his mother’s passing. Besides, my attorneys have advised me to let things play out through probate court. I’m sure it will all be resolved soon.”

  He opened the door to the Mercedes, reached inside, and grabbed a business card from a slot on the dash. He handed it to me. I took a quick look. It was a basic gray card with black printing.

  Morgan Walker, Therapist

  Specializing in Substance Abuse and Addiction

  The card also included an e-mail address and phone number that began with a 405 area code.

  He rested his left arm on top of the open door and cocked his head. “Do you have a card, Sara? I’d love to be able to contact you directly rather than having to go through the Perfect Couple site. That is, if you’re comfortable giving me your information.” He raised his palms. “No pressure.”

  I reached into my purse and fished out one of the business cards I’d had made for Sara Galloway months before. “Here you go,” I said, holding it out to him.

  “Where are you parked?” he asked.

  I gestured to the far side of the building. “Around that way.”

  “Can I give you a lift?”

  “No thanks. It’s not far.”

  The thought of climbing into this criminal’s car frightened me, even if Eddie had me in his sights. Nonetheless, I wanted to see if there was anything in the car that might give me a clue as to who this man really was. “Mind if I take a look inside your car? It’s so nice.”

  “Sure.”

  While he extolled the interior features—surround sound, over half a dozen speakers, leather seats, blah, blah, blah—I stuck my head in the driver’s door snuck a peek into the backseat and at the floorboards, inspecting every cupholder. I saw nothing. No martial arts uniform. No gym bag. Not even an errant nickel or rock-hard French fry. Damn.

  I stood back up. “If I wasn’t looking at tuition, I’d be tempted to use my savings to put a down payment on a car like this.” Did you get that, Morgan? I’ve got savings. Yep, might as well dangle that carrot.

  “Get that degree,” he replied, “and you’ll be able to buy ten of these.”

  I offered him a final smile. “True.”

  He leaned down and for a split second I feared he might try to kiss me. Instead, however, he gave me a loose one-armed hug that involved no body contact other than his hand on my shoulder blade. He might be a con artist, but he wasn’t a letch. I had to give him that.

  He stepped back. “Good night, Sara.”

  “Good night, Morgan.”

  As he climbed into his car, I made my way around the side of the building. Eddie cruised past me on his way to follow Morgan’s Mercedes. I gave Eddie a subtle thumbs-up as he passed.

  I climbed into my car, buckled the belt, and immediately called Eddie’s cell phone.

  Sandra answered. “Hi, Tara. I’ll put you on speaker.”

  I did the same, jabbing the speaker button and dropping the phone into the ashtray to free my hands for driving.

  Eddie’s voice came over the airwaves a moment later. “I’m on him. Looks like he’s heading toward the on-ramp for the interstate.”

  I started my engine. “I’m heading after you.”

  Morgan hadn’t seen my car, and besides, it was dark now. All he’d see in his rearview mirror was headlights. Still, I’d hang back just to be safe. I was dying to know whether he actually lived in the Dallas area or was truly from out of town somewhere and staying in a hotel.

  I caught up with Eddie at a light on the frontage road. “I’m right behind you, buddy.”

  “Walker is two cars ahead of me,” he said. “How’d the date go?”

  “It was good,” I said. “He asked me to meet him for dinner again next Tuesday.”

  “Tuesday?” Eddie snickered. “If he planned a second date on a Tuesday it did not go well.”

  My face blazed for a third time. Much more of this and I’d suffer heatstroke. “It wasn’t even a real date, you know! Not for either one of us.”

  “That’s a good thing,” Eddie said, “because he’s clearly not into you.”

  I was tempted to shove the gas pedal to the floor and ram Eddie’s back bumper. Luckily for him, the light turned green before I could do it. We proceeded straight through the intersection and onto the entrance ramp for Interstate 35 north.

  “He told me he was staying at the Omni downtown,” I said. Downtown was south of our current location.

  “Either he’s got a bad sense of direction,” Eddie replied, “or he fed you a line of bull.”

  My money was on bull. Is anything the guy told me true? Does he even have a cat named Marmalade?

  Eddie followed the Mercedes and I followed Eddie. We continued on for several miles before a solid wall of red brake lights appeared before us.

  “There’s road construction ahead,” Eddie said.

  I groaned. Seemed like the interstates in North Texas were always under construction. Our tax dollars, ironically slowing us down in the name of progress. As I pressed the brake, the acrid smell of asphalt infiltrated my car, causing my nose to twitch. Looked like the road crew was repaving the lanes.

  We crept along for several minutes, everyone merging to the right lane and making little headway. Eddie’s brake lights flashed bright, his car rolled to a complete stop, and his voice came through the speaker; “Dammit!”

  I eased my car to the side and looked past Eddie’s hood. A construction worker in a bright orange safety vest stood in front of Eddie’s car, holding up a red sign that read: “STOP.” Morgan’s Mercedes continued on, the last car to make it through before a steamroller backed into the lane.

  “Hurry up!” I shouted. “Go!”

  Eddie’s voice came back, his tone tight. “What do you expect me to do? I can’t go anywhere, Tara.”

  “Sorry!” I called. “I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking to the steamroller.”

  “He can’t hear you.”

  “I know, but yelling makes me feel better.” Blasting off a few rounds at the firing range always calmed my nerves, too. But I couldn’t very well pull out my gun here on the highway
.

  A couple minutes later, after the steamroller had smoothed out the new asphalt in the blocked lanes, the worker turned his sign around. The other side was yellow and read: “SLOW.” Eddie and I eased past the construction zone, then sped up once we were out of the work area, zooming past the other cars in an attempt to get back on Morgan Walker’s trail.

  “See the Mercedes anywhere?” I asked Eddie.

  “Nope!” he called back.

  “I’ll keep an eye on the frontage road,” Sandra offered.

  We continued on, putting the pedal to the medal, hoping to catch Walker. But when we’d gone ten miles and hadn’t caught up with him it seemed clear that the pursuit was pointless. We weren’t sure whether he was still on the highway or had taken an exit. We weren’t getting anywhere other than farther from our homes. I banged a hand on the steering wheel in irritation.

  “Let’s try again on Thursday after his date with Hana,” I told Eddie.

  “All right,” he replied resignedly.

  “Thanks for your help.”

  “Anytime,” he said.

  “Thanks for dinner!” Sandra called back.

  chapter nineteen

  Courting Disaster

  As Nick had requested, I went to his place after attempting to trail Morgan Walker. And, as promised, Nick marked me head to toe. The intimate interlude allowed me to work off some of my frustrations as well as calories. Four breadsticks was two too many, wasn’t it?

  Nick turned his head on his pillow and looked over at me. “You haven’t told me how your date went.”

  “We’re meeting for dinner again on Tuesday.”

  A snicker escaped him. “Tuesday?”

  I sat up, grabbed my pillow, and whomped him with it. “Would you rather he’d fallen head over heels in love with me?” Whomp! “That he’d decided I was too wonderful to steal from and wanted to pursue a real relationship?” Whomp! I ended by throwing my pillow over Nick’s face. Maybe that would shut him up.

  He made no attempt to remove it. “I didn’t mean to offend you,” he said, his voice muffled by the pillow. “You’re a unique and challenging woman, Tara. Not every man can handle you.”