He looked curious, but hopped out of bed and loped to the bathroom. “Back in a flash.”
I listened to the shower start up and stared at the phone again.
Ring, damn it. Ring!
Chapter 19
On the way to the lobby, I briefed Quinn about the bank heist and the photos I’d seen last night on TV. He stared at me and didn’t even notice the gorgeous birds fluttering in the aviary as we walked past. A green parrot fluttered on a perch near the door. Several purple finches swooped toward the ceiling behind the glass walls. Quinn’s eyes flitted sideways for a second, but returned to me. “You mean there really is a Ramona?”
“Uh huh. And her face seemed really familiar, but I couldn’t place it.”
We walked toward the Green Parrot for breakfast, past the concierge’s desk where Cromwell sat bent over his daily planner. I nodded and smiled to him. His warm face crinkled with compassion, and he reached to take my hand in his huge soft paws.
“Mrs. Hollister. How lovely to see you.”
Quinn sidled up beside me and shook Cromwell’s hand. “Cromwell.”
“Good morning, Mr. Hollister. I hope you’re faring well. Will you be dining with us this morning?”
Quinn was about to answer when an office door swung half-open behind Cromwell. I did a double take. Detective McCann sat inside, hunkered over a lemon donut and wearing a headset.
I spun around to investigate. Quinn was right behind me. “Detective McCann?” I said. We both pushed into the small office.
He stood. A red flush crept up his cheeks and he scowled. White powdered sugar coated his shirt and pants. The donut stirred my hunger, but I was too surprised to give it much attention.
“Mr. and Mrs. Hollister. I was just about to call you.” A blob of lemon filling dropped onto the floor. He grunted, tossed the rest into a waste can, and leaned down with a wad of napkins to ineffectually swipe at it.
A petite redhead in a dark blue skirt and white blouse sat beside him at the desk. She wore a headset, as well, and looked up with a polite expression.
McCann pulled a business card from his breast pocket and peered at it. “This is Agent Jaworski, from downstate.”
We shook hands, but I still kept a wary eye on McCann and gestured to the phone equipment. “What are you doing here, listening to our conversations?” I asked.
He put up a hand to fend me off and growled with exasperation. “We’re just getting set up. Jaworski thought you might get a call from the kidnappers, and we didn’t want to bust in on you while you were sleeping.”
Quinn muttered under his breath, “Very considerate.”
I elbowed him and turned to the woman. “So you think she was kidnapped, right?”
She looked at me like I was nuts. “Of course. What else could it be?”
I rolled my eyes and threw my hands in the air. “Finally, someone who gets it.”
McCann slumped back into his seat and mopped his forehead with a handkerchief. I realized I might’ve been a little too hard on him, assuming he had trivialized my mother’s disappearance yesterday. He had called the FBI, and they’d got on it immediately. His voice still sounded like he had a cold, but he must’ve taken DayQuil or something to deal with it, since he wasn’t honking his nose all the time. He sat up and pointed to the equipment on the desk. “We’re ready to record any calls that come in. But if you’re not in your room that will make it difficult. Someone’s got to answer the phone.”
Quinn stepped forward. “Wait a minute. Couldn’t we do call forwarding?”
McCann and Jaworski exchanged glances.
Quinn pulled out his sleek black cell phone and flipped it open. “I do it all the time at home. If I’m expecting a really important call, I have my home calls forwarded to my cell when we’re out. Why can’t we do that here?”
Jaworski stood up and straightened her skirt. “Let me check with Cromwell. I’ll bet we could work something out.” She returned in a few minutes, briskly rubbing her hands. “Give me your cell number, Mr. Hollister.”
I took mine out of my purse. “Let’s use mine. She’s my mother.” Quinn agreed and backed up a few steps. I enunciated the numbers slowly. “It’s 585-555-7356.”
“Thanks.” Jaworski jotted it down, then picked up the desk phone and arranged for the forwarding process to begin. “Okay. Let’s test it.” She dialed our hotel number, and my little pink cell phone chirped a bar from Fur Elise.
“It worked!” I flipped it opened. “Hello?”
Jaworski whirled a finger in the air to keep me talking while McCann leaned over the recorder to be sure he was getting it. She smiled when he nodded. “All set, Mrs. Hollister.”
I flipped it shut and directed my question to Jaworski, not McCann. “We planned to get a quick breakfast in the restaurant, and I have a few things to do in town. That’s okay, right?”
McCann answered anyway, and waved a hand as if it didn’t matter. “Go about your business, and we’ll check in with you from time to time. We’re going to be here for the next few days, anyway, until the call comes in. The first twenty-four hours are crucial in a case like this.”
Quinn perched on the edge of a chair and cleared his throat. “I have a question.” Jaworski looked up from her note pad, and McCann turned to him with an impatient expression on his face. “What if these creeps aren’t going to ask for a ransom? My mother-in-law isn’t known for her wealth. Why would they call us? We’re just an average couple who struggle to make the mortgage each month. What would they hope to get from us?”
Jaworski stood and closed her leather notebook. “I’m not sure, Mr. Hollister.” Her clear gray eyes met his with an earnest stare. “Until we hear from them, we’re pretty much in the dark.”
McCann turned to me. “You said your mother lived on social security. Is there anything of great value she owns? Something she could sell? Something she inherited?” He cocked his head slightly and gestured toward the chair on the opposite side of the desk.
My stomach rumbled piteously, but I settled in a white French Provincial chair next to Quinn. I noticed the back slats were decorated in the proverbial orange and green parrot design. “She has some silver. And some jewelry. And my stepfather was eligible to draw on his retirement money just before he passed. I’m not sure how much it is.”
The detective and agent exchanged a glance.
“How many years did he work?” McCann asked. He pulled out his pocket notebook and clicked a ballpoint pen four times.
Quinn answered. “I think it was forty. And his last salary was about ninety thousand. Figure it at about 12 percent of his income.”
McCann did a quick calculation. “The retirement could be in the millions. Even with an average salary of fifty thousand, he worked through the seventies, eighties, and nineties, when double-digit interest was the norm. It would have added up fast.”
I tapped the desk with my pink fingernails to get their attention. “I could check her bank balances. She put me on the accounts last year in case she got sick or there was an emergency. I normally wouldn’t stick my nose into her banking, but I think this qualifies as an emergency.”
Jaworski swiveled on the office seat. “Excellent idea. Can you access it online?”
I was starting to really like her. “I have the username and P.I.N. in my purse. How about we order breakfast in our room instead of going to the Green Parrot as we’d planned? While we’re waiting, I’ll check the balances on my laptop. I only need about five minutes.”
Quinn’s stomach growled, even louder than mine. He hopped up and opened the door for me, but I hesitated and turned back to the detective and agent.
“How do we contact you?” Again, I addressed Jaworski.
She scribbled a number on the back of her business card and handed it to me. “Here’s my cell. Call me when you get through to the bank.”
***
After ordering pancakes, bacon, eggs, and toast from room service, I booted up the laptop. I dug into
the secret pocket in my purse and pulled out a tiny scrap of paper where I’d written my mother’s bank information. Of course, I didn’t write “HSBC Bank” on the page, or anything else remotely related to banking. It simply said, “TJ14,” which stood for “ThelmaJean14” and “R2S,” which stood for my mother’s favorite password, “Ruby2Shoes,” her nickname for Ruby, a takeoff on “goody two shoes.” She thought it was very clever, and used it everywhere. Of course, the fact that our bird had claws instead of toes didn’t faze her.
The screen blinked alive. I ignored the dozens of emails that greeted me and clicked over to the T Rowe Price home page. After selecting “Retirees” and “401K Plans,” I finally wound my way to the login screen.
Quinn looked over my shoulder when I typed in the user name and password. I think he even crossed his fingers.
Incorrect Password.
“Damn. My stupid fingers.” I tried again.
Incorrect Password.
I slammed my hand on the desk. “What the hell? Did someone change the password?”
Quinn reached over my shoulder and typed slowly. “Let’s try lower case.” When the screen rolled over, he whispered, “Bingo.”
I clicked on the tab for “Account Balances.”
“Click ‘Account Summary’,” Quinn said, still leaning over my shoulder.
“Here we go.”
Three million, two hundred dollars.
“Marcella?” His voice sounded as if it came from inside a tin can. I struggled to stay upright, bracing myself on the desk. The walls bulged in and out. The room fan grew very loud.
“Marcella!” He patted my hands and face. “Stay with me.”
Slowly my eyes cleared. And when they did, my stomach convulsed. I read the total in my mother’s savings account one more time, to be sure I hadn’t misread the zeroes.
“My God, Quinn. My mother has over three million dollars in her savings account.”
Chapter 20
I sat with my legs drawn up in the wingchair by the fire, turning Agent Jaworksi’s card over in my hand. Natalie Jaworski, FBI. Her primary office was in Manhattan. McCann must have called her up immediately for her to have arrived this morning. As much as I didn’t take to his gruff attitude, I kept underestimating the man.
She showed up with McCann a few minutes after Quinn and I had devoured our breakfast.
I refreshed the T Rowe Price page and reentered the passwords, then showed her the retirement account balance.
“Hmm. It’s a substantial amount. It could prompt a kidnapping. Especially from small time hoods.”
“What about Earl Tiramisu?”
She snapped her head in my direction as if I’d surprised her. “Who?”
Quinn poured another cup of coffee and answered before I could. “He’s a jerkoff fancy pants who wears patent leather shoes, reads birds’ minds, and stole thirty-five dollars from us.”
I snorted a laugh. “Well, that, too. But I saw his photo on the news last night. His real name is Sidney Blount. He was convicted in the biggest bank heist in history and wrote a book about it. Ever heard of him?”
McCann looked up from his notebook and reported the words as if from memory. “The Green Valley Heist, 1965. Fifty million dollars disappeared with a female Brinks driver. Neither were ever found.”
Jaworski didn’t look surprised. “I know the case well. I’ve followed it for my entire career. Tell me more about this Tiramisu character. You’re sure he’s Blount?”
“He lingered around us at the bird show and the Bird Lovers Ball. The next day, he held a psychic reading with Ruby,” I pointed to our red-feathered friend who happily swung inside the balcony aviary. “After a few minutes of sham discussions, asking us about money we might have just come into, and about my mother and father, he abruptly stopped the session.”
“And charged us a ridiculous fee,” Quinn grumbled. “For nothing.”
Jaworski texted on her Blackberry. “Hmm. Well, it’s unlikely Thelma was involved in the heist. Don’t you think you’d know if your own mother was a bank robber?”
I laughed. “Of course I would. My mother can’t even go through yellow lights she’s so afraid of being sent to prison.” Quinn chuckled as I continued. “And she looks nothing like Ramona Mendoza. She’s fair, and Ramona appeared to be Latino; very beautiful.”
Jaworski put her Blackberry down. “And don’t forget. The bank robbers got fifty million. Your mom’s account comes from your dad’s 401K, right?”
McCann interrupted. “Raoul Rodriguez wasn’t Mrs. Hollister’s real father. He was her stepfather.”
I looked at him, wondering why he thought it important to correct Jaworski on the point. “Well, sure. But in all ways that mattered, he was my father.”
Jaworski stood and slid into her suit jacket, buttoning it neatly up the front. “Anyway, I don’t see how Sidney Blount could be involved. He’s looking for a lot more money than your mother has in her account.”
A few warning bells went off in my mind, but I let it go. Maybe she was right. Maybe Tiramisu wasn’t involved. But if not him, then who?
We said goodbye to Jaworski and McCann and settled ourselves in front of the fire. I took a sip of lukewarm coffee and placed it on a ceramic parrot coaster on the side table. The china mug clinked against the tile, causing Quinn to look up from the newspaper he’d just unfolded to the business section.
I thought back to my stepfather’s illness and sudden demise. He’d been diagnosed in November, treated with chemo and radiation through the winter, and had been pronounced free of cancer. In the spring, he and Thelma took day trips and spent almost every day fishing. By late April, however, he had trouble breathing. And by the second week in May, he’d been sent home to die. It had only taken one day after they set up the downstairs for hospice. One day. One night. He died the next morning while I was making a pharmacy run. The cancer had returned with a vengeance and wiped out the only father I’d ever known in nineteen days.
My mother had been strong at first. I think she felt she had to be brave for us. But in her private moments for two months following the funeral, she’d fall apart. She sobbed at night, and tried to hide it from us, but she couldn’t. Her eyes remained perpetually bruised and puffy.
I thought back to the funeral. The closed casket, the white lilies. The church had been empty except for a few local friends and associates. My stepfather had never given us the names of his relatives, but I vaguely remembered hearing something about a sister up north. When my mother got out of this mess, I planned to ask her more about Raoul’s history.
I rose and walked to the fireplace to rub my cold hands in front of the flames. Crazy thoughts ran through my mind. If my mother wasn’t a bank robber, what about my stepfather? Could he have done something foolish in his youth? Met up with Ramona before he met my mother?
“Quinn? I know it sounds crazy, but do you think Raoul was capable of being involved in something illegal? Like that bank heist?”
He crossed his legs and leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes. “Nothing’s impossible, but I honestly can’t picture him doing such a thing. And if he was involved somehow, then he’d have hidden the loot somewhere, right?”
I’d known him since I was three years old. My father had died, and my mother met Raoul at a therapy group for those who’ve lost loved ones. She said he’d been mourning the sudden loss of his fiancée in a car wreck, and she’d been grieving for my father. Within the month, they were engaged. Within two, they were married in a quiet civil ceremony.
Raoul had been an excellent father, and I’d never wanted for anything. I especially remembered the love and support he gave me when I sang. He always encouraged me when I was feeling despondent about my talent and future and had seemed pleased to pay for my singing lessons.
With a sigh, I turned to Quinn. “No one’s going to call, are they?”
He beckoned for me to come nearer, and pulled me onto his lap.
“Patience, babe. I
t’s still early.”
I sat up straight and stared him in the eyes. “I can’t sit around here all day. It’s driving me crazy!”
“You’ll be fine.” He gently pulled me toward him. I lay against his chest, feeling his heart beating against mine. He stroked my hair.
I started obsessing about thoughts of Raoul, imagining him and Ramona in some kind of romantic tryst. The longer I waited for the phone to ring, the crazier my thoughts became.
Quinn held me for a long while. I shifted on his lap and felt the prick of the silver stud on my thigh. I dug it out of my pocket and sat up. “This is our only evidence.” I stood and paced before the fire. “We could ask the hotel staff here if they recognized the design. If they don’t know anything, we’ll go into town to the nearest jewelers. Or the gift shops.” I turned the silver bear head in my fingers under the light of the lamp. “And if we can’t find anything, then I’ll turn it over to McCann and Jaworski.”
Quinn stood. He rubbed one hand on his chin, and his mouth twisted to the side. “I don’t know, Marcella. Maybe we should have given it to them when they were here.”
“One day of searching. Then I promise I’ll turn it over.” I gave him my best puppy dog eyes. “Please? I can’t stand being cooped up in here any longer.”
He sighed and smiled. “Okay. One day.”
I grabbed my purse and the keys from the table. “Let’s go.”
He stretched and rubbed his lower back. “Right now?”
I opened the door. “Right now.”
Chapter 21
When we were two steps outside the door, the phone rang. I tried to steady my thumping heartbeat before I ran back inside and snatched the receiver.
Tall Pines Mysteries: A Mystery/Suspense Boxed Set Page 10
