Stealing the Moon & Stars

by Sally J. Smith

  The reception area was small but neat. Nothing fancy. A large fern, possibly robust at one time, stood wilting by the door. Three wooden armchairs were lined up against one wall; a small table at one end hosted at least a dozen issues of Golf Digest and Sports Illustrated. A desk and credenza sat directly opposite the entrance.

  A young woman with a sandy-colored pageboy and thick-lensed glasses glanced up with a guilty expression then slipped the romance novel she was reading beneath a stack of papers.

  She gave Jordan a weak smile. “How can I help you?”

  Jordan handed her a business card. “Mr. Largo is expecting me.”

  The receptionist keyed the office intercom. “Jordan Welsh is here to see Mr. Largo.”

  In less than a minute, a second young woman with the wholesome good looks of a typical TV weather girl walked through a door behind and to the side of the reception desk.

  She offered her hand to Jordan. “Hello, Ms. Welsh. I’m Paula Thomas, Mr. Largo’s assistant. We spoke on the phone. He’ll see you now.”

  The two women passed through the second doorway into a large open area divided into cubicles. A few cubicles were occupied. Most appeared vacant. The overall effect was depressing.

  “It’s been real slow,” Paula said by way of explanation. “We’ve had to let people go. Morale isn’t good.”

  Jordan nodded. “It’s the same all over.”

  Paula agreed with a grim shake of her head. She was an attractive woman, the type to catch a man’s eye. Jordan hated tagging a sister like that, but she considered making an honest evaluation vital to an investigator and it had become her habit. She noted Paula’s short pixie haircut and sweet, even features, although—when all was said and done—the girl probably wouldn’t merit even a small footnote in her report, having nothing to do with the actual case.

  Paula stopped at an open door and rapped against the frame. “Mr. Largo, Jordan Welsh is here to see you.”

  He sat behind a desk. “That’s all, Paula.” His focus turned to Jordan. “Well, hello there. By all means, come on in.”

  Oh, swell. A wolf in wolf’s clothing.

  His shirt was open down to the third button. His sleeves were rolled up, even though there wasn’t a single thing on his desk to indicate he’d been working. When he leaned back, it was obvious his pants were at least two sizes too small.

  “Have a seat, my dear.” He seemed to have too many teeth for his mouth, and his five-o’clock shadow gave him a dirty, sleazy look—surely not the effect he was going for. He pointed to a worn leather armchair with a sagging seat. It was set at an odd angle in front of his desk.

  Jordan sat, sinking deep into the soft leather. Her knees were higher than her butt, and her skirt rode way up on her thighs. She tugged at it. Struggling to maneuver herself into a more ladylike position, she just sank deeper.

  “What can I do for you?” Vince leaned forward, looking straight down at her.

  She could only guess at how well he was getting to know her.

  Pervert thinks he’s so smart!

  “I’m a private investigator looking for information on a company named Lenncore Systems. I believe they rented office space from your company.” How could her voice sound so normal when she was so pissed off?

  “Wait a minute.” Vince frowned and held up his hand while still focusing on her thighs. “I can’t give you any information on Lenncore Systems. You ought to know it’s confidential stuff, sweetheart.”

  Sweetheart. It made her want to take a shower. Wasn’t it interesting how when Eddie Marino dropped the same endearment, her heart leapt? Of course, she wouldn’t let Eddie know that.

  Largo was still smiling at her thighs.

  Jordan narrowed her eyes and clamped her knees so tight a dime wouldn’t fit between them as the good nuns at Sacré-Coeur Catholic High School had taught her—so tight she might have bruises in the morning. “I’m aware of confidentiality, but Lenncore isn’t renting from you any longer. Couldn’t you make an exception?”

  Vince took one last look at her legs and sat back. “No. Not gonna do it.” He engaged the intercom. “Paula, could you come in here?”

  Paula appeared at the door.

  “Miss Welsh is leaving now. Show her to the lobby.”

  Jordan wrestled herself out of the chair and tugged down her skirt. Jerk uses that chair on purpose.

  Glaring at Largo one last time, she gave Paula a lame smile and followed her out into the hallway.

  It wouldn’t have hurt the jackass to answer a few simple questions. Maybe I should have flashed him.

  Paula detoured inside a small conference room, pulling Jordan with her. “I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation about Lenncore Systems.” She took a quick look around. “I can tell you some things.”

  Never look a gift horse in the mouth. “Really? Like what?”

  “Like they never moved in. Paid their entire lease up front in cash and every time this company sent someone to check on the property, the space was empty.” She looked around again. “The man who came to take care of the details was from some place called Cloverton Insurance. One more thing—the guy who came to Mr. Largo’s office walked with a serious limp and used a cane, a really cool cane.”

  “Really, what did it look like?”

  “Its knob was a dragon’s head. I admit I don’t know much about canes, but I think the knob was solid gold, the most expensive cane I’ve ever seen. His name was Tanner. Ray Tanner.”

  Speaking of gold, Jordan had hit the mother lode with Paula. “I don’t get it. I’m totally grateful, but why are you helping me?”

  “Let’s just say us girls have to stick together.” She met Jordan’s gaze. “Things are pretty shaky around here job-wise and I don’t figure to last much longer. I’m thinking of suing the slimy jerk for sexual harassment. I was hoping maybe you’d back me up, seeing as how you’ve now experienced it yourself.”

  Jordan smiled and offered her hand. “Paula, the pleasure will be all mine.”

  She sat in the car out in the parking lot for at least a half hour, making notes in her smart phone so she wouldn’t forget the smallest detail.

  She needed to call Eddie and get him involved. Nobody could work a case like Eddie.

  He answered on the first ring. “I was just thinking about you.”

  His velvet voice promised pure pleasure, but she was determined to ignore it.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Hmm. Is this like if I called you up and asked you what you’re wearing?”

  She laughed. “Not quite, you rascal. I need you to get everything you can find on a company called Cloverton Insurance.”

  “No problemo.” Sweet as molasses.

  She pictured him leaning back, his custom-made ostrich-skin boots propped on the desk.

  “Are you heading back to the office?”

  “No. I’m going to Mesa. Saguaro National Bank.”

  “Is this Cloverton thing part of the Brenner case?”

  “It is. I finally got a bit of a break, and from an unexpected source, too.”

  “Unexpected source, eh? Nothing like a free lunch, I always say. That rocks.”

  “It does rock.”

  “Okay, sweet cheeks. Hit you later if I get anything.”

  Jordan headed back to Mesa, whispering a prayer. “Please don’t let Paula get fired for helping me. Give her justice from the courts for putting up with such a lecher. Oh, and please set fire to the nasty chair in his office. Amen.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Downtown Mesa was charming. A stroll down Main Street offered a spectacular view of the Latter Day Saints Temple. The enormous house of worship and its pristine grounds covered four entire city blocks. Truly magnificent. Something you didn’t often see in Anytown, USA.

  The Saguaro National Bank building was three unassuming, utilitarian stories of red brick.

  The woman at the service desk greeted her with a perfunctory smile. The engraved badge
on her burgundy Saguaro National Bank jacket read: Laura Hoos.

  Jordan couldn’t help herself. “Hoos, as in all the Hoos in Hoosville?”

  Laura Hoos smiled and nodded.

  Jordan felt a bit silly. “Guess you’ve heard that one before?”

  “Maybe once or twice. Something I can do for you?”

  Jordan handed Laura her business card, making a mental note to call the printer and reorder. Her cards were going faster than free samples at a bakery.

  Laura looked at the card and then at Jordan. Her smile grew wider, even friendlier. “I bet being a private investigator rocks.”

  “Yeah. It kinda does.” Almost everyone assumed that the life of a PI was all danger and excitement, like on TV.

  “You’re like,” Jordon waited for the Veronica Mars comparison, “Jessica Fletcher on Murder She Wrote.”

  Really? “No, not exactly. I’m not a writer. I rarely have to solve a murder and—”

  “You’re not old like she is, either.”

  “Thanks for noticing.” Jordan paused. “So, tell me, who would I talk to about opening a business account?”

  “Dave Clark, our accounts manager. I’ll tell him you’re here.”

  Jordan sat in front of Dave Clark’s desk, wishing she had a plan. Maybe being winsome and charming will work. She reflected back on her experience at the leasing company—didn’t want to repeat that. However, after he shook her hand and sat down at his desk, the first words out of her mouth were, “Mr. Clark, I’m going to be straight with you.” So much for charming him.

  He just stared at her, blinking his big brown eyes.

  “Mr. Clark?”

  He smiled. He wasn’t exactly whip lean, a little stout but cute and cuddly, like Jack Black. Jordan liked him right away, but would he be willing to help her?

  He moved suddenly, slapping his hands down on top of his desk. She almost jumped out of her skin.

  “I’ll be darned,” his voice boomed. “You’re Jordan Welsh, the private investigator? That’s incredible!”

  Guess handing out all those business cards was getting the job done. Her fame and reputation preceded her.

  “My friend Kate Welsh’s sister is a PI. Don’t tell me it’s you?”

  She stared at his smiling face. “Well, yes. You know my sister? What a small world. I’m so pleased to meet you.” Holy smoke. Can this possibly be another break, something else to work in my favor? Two in the same day? Things are looking up. “How do you know Kate?”

  “We hike together at least once a month, sometimes more. Camelback Mountain and Papago Park, mostly. We belong to the same hiking club. She talks about you all the time.”

  “Saying only good things, I’m sure.”

  “Yes, actually.” He grinned.

  “Hmm. Are you sure it’s my Kate Welsh?”

  “Well, whoever she is,” he ducked his head, “I like her a lot.”

  “I’m just kidding. Katie’s the best. As far as older sisters go, she’s a goddess. She helped me escape a fate worse than death.”

  He squinted at her. “I don’t understand.”

  “Don’t pay any attention to me.” After all her sister had done to help, Jordan didn’t want to mess things up for her with this nice guy.

  They talked for a good fifteen minutes. The more they talked, the more she liked him. Sweet man.

  “So, you need information for a case?”

  “I hope you can help me. I seem to be getting nowhere fast on this case. I need a name, the name of the person who opened an account here for Lenncore Systems. I have this list of possible—”

  He interrupted her. “Do you have a release form?”

  Jordan bit her lip and leaned in closer. “I don’t. It’ll take days to get it and time is really tight. What’s at stake here are hundreds of thousands of dollars of charity funds, money for sick children. Can you help me out?”

  Dave frowned. “Confidentiality is the law. I don’t have to tell you that. I could lose my job.”

  Stonewalled again. “Sure. I get it. Is it verboten to say whether or not the account is still open? Active?”

  He didn’t speak for a long minute. “Just a second.” Dave turned to his computer and clicked his keys awhile.

  She held her breath.

  “The account is still open,” he paused, “and still active.”

  “Really?” Jordan sat up straighter. Dare I? “Any recent activity?”

  Dave simply nodded.

  “How recent?” She craned her neck to see the computer screen.

  Dave hit a key and the screen went blank. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

  “No problem. It’s okay. Really. I’ll tell Kate I ran into you. What a coincidence, eh?” Jordan stood to leave.

  Dave stood too. “Charity money, huh?”

  She nodded.

  He pursed his lips. “You know, it’s time for my coffee break. I’m a regular next door. Can I treat you to a cup of Joe?”

  “No, but I’ll buy you one.”

  Dave sipped his coffee, pulled a face, added two more spoonfuls of sugar and tasted again. He must have finally gotten it just right, because he sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. “I was thinking maybe your sister isn’t the only person we have, you know, like in common?”

  Where was he going with this? “Sorry?”

  “You said you have a list of names. I thought maybe you could show it to me and maybe there’d be another mutual acquaintance on the list.” He raised an eyebrow and smiled.

  He was going to help her! This could be true love. Kate’s friend was a prince among men.

  “Right.” She was a little giddy.

  Dave glanced around the coffee shop and then leaned forward to whisper, “This is kind of exciting. Don’t you think? I mean I’ve got this James Bond vibe going on.”

  “James Bond?” She cut her eyes at him and handed over the list from Nick Brenner. “Seriously?” She handed him a pen. “Just checkmark the name there. Any old name you think might be a person we both know.”

  His hand shook as he took the pen.

  She held her breath. Please don’t back out.

  He met her eyes and then shifted his gaze to the list. Still shaking a little, he moved the tip of the pen from top to bottom, checking only one name about halfway down.

  Jordan took the list back and looked at it. Dave had marked the name Milo Wachowski, who was listed as integration and data management department head for the foundation. Karla Simpson had mentioned the same name and connected it directly to the work Lenncore had—as Karla put it—allegedly done.

  Their eyes met again over the table. She nodded her sincere gratitude before picking up her things to leave.

  They stood together outside on the sidewalk. “I want to thank you. Solving this issue, stopping the theft, getting some or maybe even—hallelujah—all the stolen money back, well, it’s just a very good thing.”

  He smiled with his sweet, honest face. “Most excitement I’ve had in years.”

  “Thank you again.” She gave in to the urge to hug him.

  He stood back from her, shuffling his feet. “Say hi to your adorable sister, will you?”

  So that’s how it was with Kate and this terrific guy. “I will, and Dave, in my book, you’ve got James Bond beat all to heck every day of the week and twice on Sunday.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Jordan was jazzed and anxious to share her discoveries with Nick Brenner. She called ahead to make sure he’d be at the office and then drove straight there.

  By the time she made it across town to the foundation offices, it was late afternoon and the employees were wrapping up and getting ready to go home for the day. Jordan took the elevator to the twelfth floor and Nick’s office.

  Nick’s secretary, a middle-aged woman whose permed carrot-colored hair, red lipstick and myopic squint made her a dead ringer for Lucille Ball, guarded the door to her boss’s inner sanctum like a she-lion at the gate.

  Jordan
stopped in front of her desk. “Mr. Brenner is expecting me. I’m—”

  “Yes, Ms. Welsh. He is expecting you.” She stood and ushered Jordan down a short passage, knocking on the door at the end.

  “Yes?” Nick’s muffled voice came through the closed door.

  Opening the door, I-Love-Lucy leaned in, announced, “Ms. Welsh is here,” and stood aside.

  Jordan walked in.

  Nick was already coming around the desk. “So?” He sounded impatient.

  “Here’s what I have so far.” She stopped when she got a look at his office. “Holy smoke, Nick. This is beautiful.”

  Jordan was no stranger to amazing rooms, but Nick’s office was just—for a moment the words escaped her—sumptuous.

  The furniture was new but made of very old and interesting wood full of wormholes and notches. The fabrics were lush and rich, of deep, vibrant tones. The art was Italian renaissance. The feel was opulent, yet comforting.

  “Thank you. Can’t take credit. It’s all Connie. You were saying?”

  She told him all of it, everything from Lenncore’s leased unoccupied location to Ray Tanner and Cloverton Insurance, leads she planned to follow very soon. She held back only the identity of her contact at the bank. She ended by naming Brenner’s own employee.

  “Milo Wachowski?” Nick Brenner’s voice was full of so many things—surprise, anger, hurt. “So it was an inside job after all.”

  “It’s beginning to look like it, but we shouldn’t jump to conclusions. I have the second name to follow, and there could be others. It wouldn’t be the first time someone borrowed an identity for fraudulent purposes.”

  “Milo Wachowski. Dammit. Let’s go talk to him, see if he can look us in the eye when we confront him.”

  “There is no we. He can’t know we’re closing in, not yet. I wanted you to know we’re making progress. But we should keep this to ourselves for now. It’s too soon to confront him.”

  “Why? Do you think I’m just going to stand by while they keep draining the accounts? No. Not going to happen.” He went back to his desk and sat. He seemed to be just barely holding it together.