by Diane Kelly
She leaned over and called an order into the speaker.
Once we received our food, I shoved several fries into my mouth at once, moaning in taste bud bliss. Will I ever get tired of these things?
A few miles out, my cell phone rang, the caller ID indicating it was Ajay on the line. I jabbed the button to put him on speaker. “What’s the news, doc? Am I dying?”
He snorted. “Not hardly.”
Good to know. “What’s my problem, then?”
“You’ve got carotenoderma carotenemia.”
Huh?
Hana cast me a suspicious glance and flattened herself up against the passenger door.
“Carota-what-a?” I said to Ajay. “That sounds complicated enough to kill me.”
“It’s a long term that simply means you’ve got high levels of carotenoids in your system. You’ve ingested too much beta-carotene. It’s a harmless condition that doesn’t require treatment. We see it a lot in babies and young children who tend to be picky eaters and don’t vary their diets enough.”
I wasn’t a picky eater at all. “How did I get it?”
“Good question. Have you been eating a lot of carrots lately?”
“No.” I shoved another sweet potato fry into my mouth. “I have a salad with carrots now and then, but no more than usual.” I reached for another fry.
“Pumpkin? Maybe pumpkin pie?”
“No.”
“Butternut squash?”
I bit off half the fry. “I like butternut squash, but it’s been ages since I’ve eaten any.”
“It must be something else, then,” he said. “Most of the foods that are high in beta-carotene are orange in color.”
Uh-oh. I looked at the remaining half of the sweet potato fry in my fingers and hesitated a moment.
Hana asked the question I didn’t dare. “Could it be sweet potatoes?”
“It certainly could. Have you eaten an unusual amount recently, Tara?”
Only a bushel or so in the last week. “Define ‘unusual.’”
Hana snorted. “I’d say it’s whatever amount you’ve been eating.”
Dang. I looked down at the remaining fries and sighed. “How long does it take to get rid of the weird color?”
“Not long,” he said. “A few days at most.”
At least that part was good news. “Thanks for calling,” I told him. “See you at the airport tonight.”
I jabbed the button to end the call. Still hungry, I eyed the fries again. Damn, they looked good. What the hell. Might as well finish them off, right? They’d just go to waste otherwise, and I’d already be orange in Ajay and Christina’s wedding photos anyway. There wasn’t time to get all the beta-carotene out of my system before tomorrow. Besides, orange was the new black, right?
I finished off the fries, pulling into the parking lot of the SBA a few minutes later. Before heading in, I figured I’d try Robin Beck’s cell number again, see if maybe she’d answer today. No such luck. Rather than receiving the standard automated reply inviting me to leave a voice-mail message, this automated reply indicated the cell phone customer was temporarily unavailable and suggested the call be attempted again later. In other words, Robin was out of minutes on her prepaid cell phone plan. Sheesh. The girl seemed to be the queen of the deadbeats.
Sliding the phone into the pocket of my blazer, I rounded up my purse and briefcase, climbed out of my car, and headed into the building with Hana in tow. Inside the foyer, we approached the middle-aged man working the counter.
“Hello,” he said. “You here for an appointment?”
“Not exactly,” I told him. “We’re from the IRS. We need to see Laurie Murphy.”
While he looked a little leery, he didn’t question our reasons for needing to see her, having been around the block enough by his age to know it was none of his business. “Let me see if she’s available.”
He picked up his phone and typed in a two-digit number. A few seconds later, he said, “Hi, Laurie. There’s two women from the IRS here to see you.” He listened for a moment, said, “Okay,” and hung up the phone. “She’ll be right out.”
Our butts had just hit the chairs in the waiting area when the door to the back offices opened to reveal a woman around my age. She had long brown hair worn straight, no bangs. She was dressed in typical conservative government employee attire, much like me, though she’d had the fashion sense to tuck a cute polka-dot hanky into the breast pocket of her blazer.
She spotted me and Hana and said, “You’re looking for me? Laurie Murphy?”
I stood. “Yes.”
Hana stood, too, narrowing her eyes, flaring her nostrils, and gritting her teeth as she did so.
The woman cast Hana a bewildered look as she backed up against the door to hold it for us. “Come on back.”
She led us down the hall to an office barely bigger than a closet. At least it had a small window to keep her from feeling claustrophobic. We sat down in two fake-leather-covered club chairs positioned so close together they touched. She closed the door behind us and slid into her seat behind her desk. “How can I help you two?”
I handed her one of my cards. “I’m Special Agent Tara Holloway with IRS Criminal Investigations.” I raised a hand to indicate Hana. “Agent Hana Kim is assisting me today.”
Continuing to glare, flare, and grit, Hana likewise handed Laurie a card.
She looked the cards over, set them down on her desk, and stood up partway, extending a hand over the desk to shake first mine, then Hana’s. “Nice to meet you. What can I help you with? Is there a problem with one of our loan applicants?”
Really? She didn’t realize we were here to talk about her? “What do you know about Bethany Flagler?” I asked.
Her expression didn’t change though her hands moved to her keyboard. “I’m not familiar with that name. If you spell it for me, I could look up her file.”
“No need,” I said. “What about Robin Beck?” Again, there was no flicker of recognition when I mentioned the name. “Amelia Yeo? Gwen Rosenthal? Jocelyn Harris?” Nothing, nothing, nothing. Either this woman had incredible self-control, or she didn’t know any of these names.
“Are they loan applicants?” she asked, looking from me to Hana. “You know that’s what I do here, right? I review loan applications for small business owners.”
“I understand,” I said. “Actually, I’m looking into a tax fraud case, and your name came up.”
Her face puckered in puzzlement. “My name? Why?”
“One of the victims said you might have a grudge against him.”
“What?” Her mouth fell slack. “Who would have said that?”
I watched her closely. “Thomas Hoffmeyer.”
Her mouth gaped even further for a brief second before it began to flap at record speed. “Thomas Hoffmeyer?” She grabbed the arms of her chair and squeezed them so tight her knuckles turned white. “That rude, insulting jerk! I can’t believe he’d do this! Get the IRS after me for no reason? That man is—” She caught herself before she said something she’d regret, but she chewed on the words she didn’t dare spit out, her mouth working as her cheeks flamed red with rage.
Hana arched a brow. “I take it there’s no love lost between you and Thomas Hoffmeyer.”
“Hardly!” the woman spat.
“So you’re saying you didn’t issue a false tax report in his name?” I asked.
Her face puckered again, even more this time. “A false tax report? What…? How…?” She raised her palms in question and squinted in my direction, as if by narrowing her eyes she could squeeze an explanation out of me. “I don’t get it. What exactly are you asking me?”
Her confusion seemed sincere. My gut told me the trip out here had been yet another waste of my time. But might as well see things out. “He said you called him a bad name when he fired you.”
“I was extremely upset,” she said. “I worked as hard and fast as I could but he was on my back all the time. He never let up. S
o, yes, I called him an asshole.”
The fact that she’d admitted exactly what she’d called him without any hemming or hawing told me she could be trusted. “I’m in complete agreement, by the way,” I said. “He’s an absolute ass.”
Her face showed surprise for a moment, then broke into a smile. “Asshole,” she clarified.
“I stand corrected.”
Eyes still narrowed, Hana looked from one of us to the other. “Gee. You two are making me sorry I never met him.”
Laurie turned to Hana. “May I ask why you are looking at me like that? It’s very disconcerting.”
Hana glared even harder. “I’m supposed to look tough and intimidating.”
I waved a dismissive hand. “You can relax now.”
“Thank God!” Hana cried, her facial features relaxing. “I think I sprained an eyebrow and pulled a muscle in my septum.”
I leaned forward, resting my arms on my knees. “Here’s the deal, Laurie. Somebody filed reports with the IRS indicating that Thomas Hoffmeyer and several others had won prize money. We’re trying to figure out who did it. It seems to me it has to be someone with a vendetta against the victims.”
“That makes sense,” she said. “But if you’re trying to figure out who all might have a vendetta against Mr. Hoffmeyer, you’d have an awful long list. Nobody liked that man.”
“Can you think of anyone at Snippy’s who might have filed a false tax report on him?” I asked.
She mulled things over for a moment. “Honestly? No. I mean, a lot of the staff hated Mr. Hoffmeyer, and I’ll admit that we even did some stupid things like put ketchup packets under his car tires when we came back from lunch. But filing a false tax report with the IRS could get the person who filed it in trouble, too, right? I don’t think anyone would have gone that far.”
“All right.” I stood. “Thanks for meeting with us. If you happen to think of anyone who might have filed the reports, I’d appreciate a call.”
“Okay. Should I walk you out?”
The stack of files on her desk was nearly as tall as the stack on mine. “No need,” I said. “We can see you’re busy. We’ll see ourselves out.”
Hana stood, too. We walked out of Laurie’s office and were heading down the hall when I spotted an older woman ahead of me stop and call through a doorway. “¡Ponte las pilas!”
A laugh came from within the office and the woman continued on. Looked like that phrase was catching on everywhere, even among non-Latinas in their sixties.
A glance at my watch told me that I, too, needed to put in my batteries. It was nearly three o’clock and I had the drive back to Dallas plus a plane to catch soon. ¡Ponte las pilas, Tara!
chapter twenty-six
Singles and Doubles
Nick stepped into my doorway a few minutes after five o’clock. “Ready to go?”
“Heck, yeah, I’m ready!” I grabbed my purse and out the door we went.
We drove to the expansive Dallas–Fort Worth airport, leaving our car in long-term parking. It would have been cheaper to park off-site and take a shuttle, but we were shorter on time than we were on cash. Plus, the car would only be there for forty-eight hours. The parking fee wouldn’t break the bank.
After weaving our way through the security line, taking our shoes off and putting them on again, we made our way to the gate. There was no sign of Ajay or Christina.
I sent Christina a quick text. Where are you?
A duet of “over here!” sounded in response. Nick and I turned toward the voices to see Ajay and Christina sitting at the bar in one of the small restaurants tucked among the gates. Three other couples sat with them.
We walked over to join them.
Nick shook hands with Ajay, who was grinning ear to ear. “You’re looking awfully chipper for a man who’s about to lose his freedom.”
“Don’t make me hurt you, Nick.” Christina stood from the bar stool next to Ajay, looking gorgeous as always with her long, dark hair and generous curves tucked into a cute miniskirt and halter top. Dressed like that, she looked more like a cocktail waitress than an agent for the DEA. Still wearing my beige dress pants and basic black blazer, I felt relatively frumpy, but as soon as we got to our hotel I’d shed these work clothes and join everyone else in their party attire.
She gave Nick a hug and turned to me, giving me one, too. “I’m so glad you two could make it!”
I gave her a smile. “I wouldn’t miss your wedding for the world!”
She introduced us to the other couples. One included a fellow DEA agent. The second included a good friend from Christina’s childhood in Houston. The third were Ajay’s older brother and his wife, who’d been sworn to secrecy.
“If my mother knew I was eloping,” Ajay said, “she’d fly out to Vegas and give me a spanking.”
The bartender, who’d been pouring drinks nearby, couldn’t help himself. “If I gave your mother a call, you think she’d spank me?”
Ajay raised his near-empty glass. “You can count on it.” He tossed back what little alcohol remained.
Nick pointed at Ajay’s drink. “Ready for another?”
“You buying?”
“Hell, yes!” Nick said. “The wedding couple never pays for their own drinks.”
“In that case,” Ajay said, “make it a double!”
By the time the ten of us boarded the plane, we were already flying high. The three-hour flight to Vegas passed in a flash, and with us gaining two hours between the central time zone in Dallas and the Pacific time zone in Sin City, we arrived only an hour after we left. That meant there was plenty of time for fun tonight!
We checked into Caesars Palace and went up to our rooms to freshen up. I slid out of my boring work clothes and into my jeans and a brightly colored blouse paired with a pair of cute wedges. Everyone met downstairs by the craps tables, where we split into two groups, the girls and the boys.
“Don’t be too naughty!” Christina called over her shoulder to Ajay as we girls headed out.
“You’re not the boss of me!” he hollered back. “At least, not yet!”
We took a cab for the short ride from Caesars to the Excalibur, securing yet another round of drinks before taking our seats for the show. The Thunder from Down Under proved to be a perfect choice for an impromptu bachelorette party. The male dancers sure knew how to entertain. We whooped it up, took our photo afterward with a group of the dancers, and headed back to Caesars, all of us wiped out from the travel and excitement.
As we traipsed past the sports book, Christina threw out an arm to stop us. “Look!” she cried. “There’s the guys.”
Rather than go out for a show, they’d apparently opted to hang out and watch sports on the dozen or so oversized television screens that covered the walls. At the moment, all of their eyes were locked on two enormous sumo wrestlers engaged in combat on one of the screens. Japan was one of the few countries televising live sports at this late hour.
Ajay’s older brother and Nick leaped from their seats, cheering. “Go, Kanji!” they yelled. “Take him down!”
In response, Ajay and the two other men pounded their fists on the arms of their club chairs, chanting, “Tom-o-yor-i! Tom-o-yor-i!”
I exchanged glances with Christina. Looked like our men were growing up and settling down, more interested in sports than peep shows.
I nudged her with my elbow. “You know we have to give them crap for this.”
“Of course!”
The five of us women entered the sports book and stopped in front of the men.
Christina plopped down on Ajay’s lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I thought you boys would be at a topless show.”
“We are.” He gestured to the screen. “Those guys have the biggest bare breasts in town!”
One glance at the screen told me he was right.
A few seconds more and Tomoyori defeated Kanji.
Nick and Ajay’s brother booed the screen, while Ajay shifted Christina off his
lap and went with the others to the counter to collect their winnings. “Half of that’s mine!” she called after him.
When they returned, we all agreed to call it a night.
“See y’all in the morning!” Nick called, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.
We went up to our room. As I took off my makeup and slipped into my nightgown, I couldn’t help but think of Nina, Larissa, and Yessenia. Where were they tonight? Held captive in a cave somewhere, hoping a bear, mountain lion, or coyote wouldn’t get them? Or had they succumbed to the intense desert heat and been left to decompose somewhere in the expanse of west Texas?
Nick eyed me intently. “You’re thinking of those girls, aren’t you?”
“I’ve been trying not to,” I said. Thanks to the alcohol and half-naked men, I’d been fairly successful at pushing the kidnapping to the back of my mind for most of the evening. But it was harder now.
Nick stepped over and enveloped me in his arms. “It’s going to be okay.”
“You don’t know that,” I said softly, grabbing his T-shirt in both fists and burying my face in his chest as if to hide from my feelings.
“You’re right,” he acquiesced. “But I do know this. You’ve done everything in your power to help those girls.”
It was true. I only wish I knew if it was going to be enough.
* * *
I spent a restless night worrying about the girls, but when I woke the next morning I was determined not to let it ruin Christina and Ajay’s special day. I forced a smile to my face, and soon it became a real one. The wedding was a beautiful event.
Ajay wore a stylish three-piece suit, and Christina looked stunning in a strapless satin ivory gown that hung to mid-calf. She’d chosen to forgo a veil, instead wearing a headband of fresh white roses. While Caesars offered a variety of wedding venues for ceremonies of all sizes, the two had opted for the smallest chapel, the Romano, given the circumstances. We headed down to the chapel en masse and, as we approached the room, we discovered both Ajay’s and Christina’s parents and extended family waiting, broad smiles on their faces.
“Surprise!” they called.
Christina gasped, and she and Ajay stopped in their tracks.
