Show Me the Money
Heist Ladies Caper Mysteries, Book 5
Connie Shelton
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In memory of Shirley Shaw, my longtime editor. In addition to the professional connection, ours became a good friendship with numerous chats about our dogs and families. I loved sharing recipe ideas and hearing about the accomplishments of your grandsons. Such fond memories. I miss you greatly, my dear.
As always, I am indebted to so many who help each of my books come together. Dan Shelton for keeping our personal lives in perfect working order; Stephanie Dewey, ditto, with the business side of publishing, promotion, and editing; and my team of beta readers who dropped everything and gave their invaluable assistance on this one—Sandra Anderson, Susan Gross, Marcia Koopman, Judi Shaw, and Paula Webb. I couldn’t manage it all without you—thank you!
Chapter 1
Nine p.m. Eighty-seven degrees. The 747 emptied slowly. Those in business class were allowed through while the jumbo jet’s coach passengers were still fumbling bags from the overhead bins, gathering personal items from seat pockets, and attempting to stretch legs that were horribly cramped from the seventeen hour flight. Paris, London, Phoenix.
Amber allowed the good-looking flight attendant to pull her new Louis Vuitton bag from the bin and flashed him a smile of thanks as he set it on the floor for her. Looping the strap of her messenger bag across her body, she followed a business-suited man with gray hair as he descended the stairs toward the jetway. Traversing a couple of long corridors, she felt her muscles stretch pleasantly by the time a final escalator deposited her in the International Arrivals Hall at Sky Harbor. Home.
She approached a kiosk and tapped the screen to answer the prompts, scanned her passport, and received her immigration slip. Customs would review her declaration form, she knew. Considering the trip had started as business, she’d certainly made the most of the last few days in Paris. After all, what was the point of spending fifty hours a week at a desk in a downtown high-rise if a girl couldn’t splurge a little of her six-figure salary on gifts for her friends back home? She waited behind the red mark on the floor for the next officer to wave her over.
The gray-haired businessman was ahead of her and he breezed through with no more than a half-minute’s conversation at the desk.
Amber waited for the immigration officer’s signal, then wheeled her bag along as she stepped up and handed him her passport and declaration form.
“Amber Zeckis?” he said, eyeing her papers and flashing a glance at her face, comparing. “How long were you in Paris?”
“Five days. Before that, London and Amsterdam.”
“Business or pleasure?”
“Business in London and Amsterdam. I work for Blackwell-Gorse Tech, based here in Phoenix. The Paris portion of the trip was vacation.”
“Anything to declare?” He repeated the usual items—alcohol, cigarettes, cash over ten thousand dollars …
She indicated the list she’d written out on the plane. “It’s all there. I’m sure I owe some duties.”
“Collect your luggage then step over to Window 3.” He gave a vague wave to his left.
She knew the drill. Her large blue suitcase had seen a lot of travel and was a little worse for wear, unlike the new carry-on bag Cody had bought for her. She felt her mouth curve in a smile as she tugged both pieces toward Window 3. Cody. Wow. Fun days. Would she hear from him soon? He’d tried to get on the same return flight but that hadn’t worked out. He would be along within a day, he’d promised.
Her mind was still on her new boyfriend—his neatly styled chestnut hair, green eyes behind dark framed glasses, his trim body—as she approached the customs official, hoping this would go quickly. The time difference was beginning to tell; her limbs felt draggy, her brain fuzzy. She hefted both bags to the inspection table and reached into her purse for her wallet. She’d already calculated that she would need several hundred more than she had in cash.
The officer, a weary-looking woman in her forties whose name badge simply said Abbott, glanced over the list. “Looks like you hit the high-end stores. Mind if I take a look?”
Whether Amber minded or not, Abbott began unzipping the larger of the bags. After she flipped through shopping bags from Hermes, Chanel, and Tiffany, she unzipped the new purple Louis Vuitton with the distinctive logo in orange.
“The bag is new, too.”
“Yes, ma’am. It was a gift, and I understand I’ll need to pay duty.”
Abbott was mauling the packets of specialty foods from Harrods. A puzzled expression crossed her face, and she began tapping the bottom of the case with a fingernail. She found the edge of the cloth liner and pulled it up.
“What’s this …?”
Amber looked up from her wallet where she’d been fumbling for the credit card. Before she knew what was happening, Abbott had signaled another official, a guy who looked about eight feet tall and wasn’t wearing a smile.
“We’ll need you to come with us, ma’am,” he said, closing and picking up both of Amber’s bags effortlessly, and turning toward a door that seemed to blend into the wall behind him. Abbott was right with him, carrying Amber’s passport and declaration form.
“What’s the matter? What’s this about?” Amber asked, hurrying to match her steps to his gigantic stride.
“Just step inside,” Abbott said, standing aside to let Amber follow the tall guy. The moment they were inside the room, the door clicked shut with a dreadfully final sound.
Chapter 2
Gracie Nelson pulled into her suburban Phoenix driveway, happy to see lights on in both of her teens’ bedrooms as well as the usual glow from the kitchen and family room. She couldn’t wait to get out of the navy blue business suit and heels she’d worn for her presentation at the Rotary Club meeting and to let her shoulder-length hair out of the tight bun. A pair of cotton shorts and a tank top would feel so good right about now, especially if Scott would hand her a beer and massage her shoulders as they settled on their big sectional sofa.
She’d no sooner stepped inside the front door when her phone rang. She pulled it from her jacket pocket and peered at the screen. Amber? Wow, it had been months since she’d heard from her younger friend.
“Hey girl, what’s up?” Gracie said, setting her briefcase on the console table near the door.
“Gracie—I need help.” Stress, fear, borderline tears.
“Amber, what’s wrong, sweetie?”
There followed some babble about the airport and a giant of a customs agent and some money that Amber didn’t know about.
“Calm down a second, Amber. You need to tell me exactly where you are.”
Gracie jotted a few words on the back of an envelope on the table. Her husband walked up beside her, a questioning look on his face.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can, Amber. Just hold tight.”
“Problems?” Scott never asked for details when it included Gracie’s group of women friends.
“You gathered that was Amber. I have no idea what’s going on but she’s really scared. Airport officials have detained her. I’d better get down there and see if I can help. Hopefully, it’s some kind of simple mix-up.”
He gave her a kiss and turned her toward the front door. “At least you’re dressed like you mean business.”
She sent him a weak smile and didn’t mention how much she’d wanted to get into comfy clothing and snuggle for an hour or so before bedtime.
Back in the car she debated calling the others—Pen, Sandy, and Mary. But it was already after ten p.m. and Amber’s little emergency could turn out to be something minor. If she was in the Customs area at the airport, she must hav
e come in from an international flight. No doubt she was exhausted, and most likely what seemed like a disaster now would be nothing tomorrow in the light of day. Their youngest member had probably called Gracie because she lived closest to the airport, and maybe because Amber had been the Nelson’s family babysitter back in her college days. The girl felt a closeness to Gracie that the others didn’t share. It was as simple as that.
She hoped.
She found parking in the East Economy lot, rode the Sky Train to Terminal 4, the largest at the vast airport, and went to an information desk. There was no point in going to the greeters’ area for incoming international flights—she would never get past security to the inner sanctum where only ticketed passengers could be. She would need an escort.
It took some talking, including dropping the name of the customs officer Amber had mentioned in her string of nearly incoherent words—an Abbott—but she finally had a uniformed TSA agent at her side. They took an elevator to another level, went through a keypad-guarded door, and traversed a corridor behind the scenes, the kind with exposed ductwork and pipes.
When she walked into the room where Amber waited (and yes, there actually was a gigantic uniformed agent), Gracie’s young friend burst into tears. Her curly hair was wilder than ever, dark smudges showed under her eyes, and her cotton slacks were rumpled.
“What’s going on here?” Gracie addressed the agent with the name badge Abbott.
“Are you representing Ms. Zeckis?” Abbott asked.
Sort of … The woman hadn’t actually asked if she was an attorney.
“Your client is being detained for giving a false customs declaration.”
“False, in what way?” Gracie stood a little taller in her heels and hoped her business suit still looked somewhat fresh.
“Failure to declare more than $10,000 in cash among her personal effects.”
Amber sputtered but Gracie put out a hand to quiet her.
“How much more?”
Abbott stepped over to a new-looking carry-on bag and raised a flap to reveal neatly banded packets of hundred dollar bills. Gracie did a quick count of the packets—it was a hundred thousand dollars. She felt her eyes widen and her breath whoosh out, but she quickly caught herself.
“It’s not illegal to carry large amounts of cash.”
“No, but it is illegal not to declare it.”
Gracie fumbled for a second. “Sorry, this isn’t my specialty. So, what happens next?”
“We confiscate the money and start an investigation. If it’s determined that your client is transporting cash obtained through illegal activities, there can be fines and imprisonment.”
“What!?” Amber sprang to life once again. “I didn’t even know it was in there.”
Abbott gave her a withering look, meaning that’s what they all say.
“I’m serious. I had no idea. I was getting out my credit card to pay duty on some scarves and perfume. Would I have done that if I could have just pulled out a couple of those?” Amber said with a glance toward the stacks of bills.
Gracie turned to her and whispered, “It’s better if you don’t say anything right now. We’ll get this figured out.”
Turning back to the customs agents, she said, “Has the money been fingerprinted? Unless you can do that right now, there is nothing to tie Ms. Zeckis to this cash.”
“Not exactly true, ma’am. It’s in her possession. Until this is straightened out, she’ll remain in custody.”
As if to prove the agent’s point, the door to the small room opened. A middle-aged man in a rumpled suit entered, followed by a uniformed Phoenix PD officer. Abbott indicated Amber with a nod of her head, and the officer stepped over with handcuffs. The suited man presented his badge and informed them he was a detective with the major crimes division. From an inner pocket he pulled several plastic bags with red Evidence tape across the tops.
“All of this goes into evidence, at least until we figure out what’s related to the crime and what’s not.” With a look toward Amber he added, “You’ll get your personal items back.”
“Where are you taking her?” Gracie demanded, hating the desperate sound in her voice. A real lawyer would be so much cooler under pressure.
“She’ll be questioned downtown. Probably booked and held at the station on First Avenue. You can go there for your allowed attorney/client meetings. Wait until morning, though. Nothing much will happen tonight.”
And with that, Amber was taken away in handcuffs. Gracie stood there, numb, clearly dismissed, as the detective and the customs officers counted out the stacks of money and put them in a bag. The designer suitcase was shoved into another large plastic bag. She was about to turn and leave when it occurred to her to get the detective’s business card. Mark Howard.
She stumbled from the tiny room into the bustle of the Arrivals hall and walked numbly toward the exit.
Chapter 3
“Why didn’t you call us last night?” Penelope Fitzpatrick, the Heist Ladies senior member and the reason the women had banded together in the first place, seemed a little put out with Gracie. It didn’t mean her chin-length gray hair was ruffled or her trim black slacks had a wrinkle.
“It was late, I was taken completely by surprise when the cops came in with handcuffs.” Gracie had called the Heist Ladies together in her living room as soon as her kids had left for school.
“It’s all right,” Sandy Warner hastened to assure her. “We know now, and we need to decide what to do.”
Gracie had lain awake all night, pondering that very question. What to do? This was the first time one of their team had been arrested. Usually, it was the five of them against a real criminal.
Mary Holbrook piped up. “Amber has been there for each of us, no matter how silly our needs might have seemed. My ex, really? All of you jumped right in to help me that time.”
“First, we must secure proper legal counsel,” Pen said. “Not to undermine your efforts last evening, Gracie. I’m sure you were brilliant.”
“I was terrified. I walked in there as a friend, offering to give a friend a ride home. How was I to know they would assume I was her attorney?”
Mary Holbrook laughed out loud, her spiky white-blonde hair catching the light. “I can just picture it.”
“I propose that I contact Benton and get a referral.” Benton Case was a retired district attorney, a close friend of Pen’s who still had a lot of connections in Arizona courts and politics.
“That’s excellent,” Sandy said. “We also need to let her parents know what’s going on.”
Gracie grimaced. “I should do that since I know them fairly well. Edward will want to jump in and take charge. Rich people are like that. No offense, Pen. It’s just his way, from working with everyone from movie makers, to investment sharks, to gurus in that ashram where they lived for a while.” She noted puzzled looks around the room.
“That’s another thing that puzzles me about what’s going on with Amber,” Gracie continued. “She has traveled internationally since she was a little kid. They lived in Paris when she was a child. She knows the drill, and she surely knew it would be stupid to try to smuggle in that kind of cash.”
“And Amber is anything but stupid,” Sandy agreed. “The girl is brilliant.”
“It’s what got her that plum job at Blackwell-Gorse.” Mary looked a little wistful. “I’ve missed her since she took that job.”
Nods all around. Amber had been with the mega corporation headquartered in downtown Phoenix since the first of the year, and in these ten months the group had been all together only a handful of times. All they really knew of her new career was that she was doing what she loved best, something to do with computer technology that was difficult enough to challenge her; it paid enough that she’d moved from her tiny digs near the university into an upscale condo in Scottsdale; she traveled fairly often with the job.
Pen had her phone out already, and her call to Benton went right through. Once she’d quick
ly recapped the nature of the legal emergency, her end of the conversation consisted of nods, the occasional “all right” and a quick note scribbled on a page from Gracie’s kitchen scratchpad.
“He will make the call,” she reported. “Mariah Kowzlowski is a tiger, in his words, with a reputation for taking the sorts of cases where she shines at protecting her cubs. She’s got experience in criminal court and with the US Customs Service, and she owes him a favor.”
“She sounds perfect.”
“He will ask her to meet with Amber this morning, and he feels fairly certain Ms. Kowzlowski can get her released.”
Gracie let out a pent-up breath. “I hope so. I couldn’t think of anything else all night but our little Amber, cold and lonely in a cell somewhere.”
“It’s ninety-four degrees already,” Mary pointed out. “Doubtful she’s cold.”
“And knowing Amber, she’s bewitched a guard into bringing her extra breakfast and, while he had his back turned, she’s figured out the keypad code to the cell door.” Sandy said it with a grin that showed off her dimples.
A nervous chuckle went through the group.
Gracie cleared her throat. “Okay, well, then. I guess I’m up. I don’t look forward to telling her parents about this, but—”
“Then don’t,” Mary said. “Yes, they’ll need to know sometime, but it’s really up to Amber to inform them, don’t you think?”
“I don’t want Amber to think I didn’t do everything I could to help.”
“The best help will be this tiger of an attorney,” Pen said.
As if by telepathy, Pen’s phone rang. Recognizing the number Benton had just given her, she grabbed it.
“Ms. Kozlowski, thank you for calling.” She put the phone on speaker so the others could hear.
“Ms. Fitzpatrick. Benton Case says you’re my contact regarding this new client, Amber Zeckis.” The voice hinted at a lifetime of cigarettes and a New Jersey upbringing.
Show Me the Money Page 1
