Hot Money

by Sherryl Woods

  “True,” Molly conceded thoughtfully. “I wonder what Patrice MacDonald would have to say. She obviously knows about the affair. Do you suppose she was madly in love with Clark?”

  “Patrice? I doubt it. Clark was a convenience, someone who knew all the same people and was more than willing to escort her to all the right parties.”

  “Then why would she cut Tessa dead in that boutique?”

  “Well, I suppose there was some element of pride involved, but I still think we’re missing a key ingredient.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. It probably has something to do with money. It always does.” She grinned at Molly. “I saw that on TV once. Matlock, I think.”

  “I saw the same episode. Some guy kept telling him to look for the money trail or something.” Molly shook her head. “I can’t imagine that has anything to do with this murder, though. Everyone involved has enough money to paper their walls with it if they wanted to.”

  “Appearances aren’t always fact. Maybe one of them didn’t have nearly as much as they wanted everyone to believe. People go broke all the time, especially in this economy. A few bad investments and the whole kit and caboodle can go down the tubes.”

  “So how do we find out who’s in financial trouble?” Molly said, shoving aside the sudden vision of Michael’s reaction to his discovery that she was still trying to find out anything having to do with this case.

  “I can think of one person who’d know.”

  “Who?”

  “Jason Jeffries. He’s got his finger in every financial pie in town.”

  “How do you suppose he’d feel about us dropping by uninvited?” Molly asked, her curiosity fully aroused. “He thinks we’re a couple of tough cookies. He’d probably get a kick out of knowing that we’re sleuthing.”

  “Unless, of course, he’s the one who murdered Tessa.”

  Molly’s eyes widened at Liza’s matter-of-fact tone. “You don’t believe that.”

  “No,” Liza said thoughtfully, “I don’t. But who knows what the police think, and at the moment they probably have more evidence than we do. Maybe dropping in isn’t such a good idea until after we know more about the status of the investigation.”

  “And how do you propose we find out any more?”

  “You are dating a cop,” Liza reminded her.

  “I think that’s a pretty loose interpretation of what we do,” Molly said. “Not only that, Michael is definitely not inclined to feed my insatiable appetite for clues. I say we just go see Jason. We can tell him we’re there to talk about the fund-raiser.”

  “Wouldn’t we make an appointment to do that?”

  “A couple of tough cookies might not.”

  Liza nodded finally, glanced at the car clock, and saw that it was barely six, not quite the end of the day for a man like Jeffries. “Let’s do it,” she said.

  Jason Jeffries was still in his office in the penthouse suite of a Brickell Avenue high-rise. His secretary confirmed that the minute they walked through the impressive mahogany doors and stepped onto the two-inch-thick pile carpeting. She also confirmed that the odds of their seeing him without an appointment were similar to those for being granted an unscheduled audience with the Pope.

  “He has an hour on the twenty-first,” she told them, flipping through pages filled with precisely entered notations.

  “That’s two weeks from now,” Molly protested.

  The secretary beamed at her quick calculation. “Exactly. Shall I put you down?”

  “Perhaps we could wait until after his last appointment this evening,” Molly suggested, suddenly determined to see Jason Jeffries today, if she had to wait for him all night. Officious secretaries always firmed up her resolve.

  “I don’t believe that would be a good idea. When this appointment ends, he must rush to a benefit dinner.”

  “The appointment could end early.”

  “It’s already run over by ten minutes,” the secretary said, her expression disapproving. Clearly whoever was overstaying his or her welcome would not be granted an appointment so readily the next time if Miss Eloise Parsons had anything at all to say about it.

  “Miss Parsons, this really is important,” Liza said in the same gently coaxing tone she used to get big bucks for her causes. “If you would just let him know we’re here and let him decide.”

  Miss Parsons looked horrified. “I couldn’t possibly interrupt him.”

  Molly gathered that they could spend another ten years dreaming up arguments, and the secretary would simply shoot down each and every one. She turned on her heel, walked over to the comfortably appointed reception area, and sat down. Liza followed. The secretary leapt up and came after them.

  “This won’t do at all,” she said, thoroughly flustered by what she obviously considered outrageous audacity. “Must I call security?”

  Suddenly the door to the inner sanctum burst open. “What the devil is all the commotion out here?” Jason Jeffries demanded. His gaze lit on Molly and Liza. A grin spread across his face. “You two. I might have known. Give me a minute and I’ll be right with you.”

  Molly shot a triumphant look at Miss Parsons. The secretary returned to her desk with a sniff, then turned her back on them and began pounding on the keyboard of her computer with a touch that threatened to bounce it off her desk. The last pieces of equipment requiring a touch that firm were the old standard manual typewriters.

  “I hope we never need to get past security around here again,” Molly observed in a whisper. “She’ll have us shot on sight.”

  “Not if his high holiness in there tells her otherwise. She is the sort of loyal minion who would never dream of going against her boss’s wishes. She’ll roll out the red carpet, even fetch us coffee, if he tells her to.”

  Unfortunately, the next time the door to Jason Jeffries’s office opened, the two men who exited with him were all too familiar—Miami’s Detective Abrams and Metro’s Detective Michael O’Hara. Molly’s mouth dropped open in astonishment.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked before she could stop herself.

  Detective Abrams apparently didn’t see the need to explain his presence. He glanced at Michael, his lips quirking with amusement, nodded politely, and kept right on going. To Molly’s regret, Michael showed no such inclination.

  “I might ask you the same question,” he said, studying her intently, then sparing a glance for Liza.

  “The fund-raiser,” Molly blurted. “We wanted to see Jason about the fund-raiser.”

  Michael glanced at the philanthropist. “You didn’t mention another appointment. I’m sorry if we held you up.”

  Jason Jeffries smiled benignly. “These gals took me by surprise, but I never turn down the chance to chat with a couple of pretty women.”

  Clearly offended by the patronizing tone, Liza glared at him. He winked at her. Molly envisioned the entire fund-raiser falling apart without Jason Jeffries’s backing, but before she could decide how to mediate, she heard Liza’s unexpected chuckle.

  “You old fraud,” she accused. “You just do that to irritate me, don’t you?”

  He grinned back at her. “Works every time, too.”

  Michael took Molly’s arm. “Why don’t you and I let them have their meeting,” he said in a tone that indicated it was an order, not a suggestion.

  “Liza needs me there,” she protested, then realized that for the moment her friend was perfectly capable of handling Jason Jeffries. That left her free to discover what the devil Michael O’Hara had been doing in Jason Jeffries’s office. Unless he and Abrams had been there collecting for the Police Athletic League, which she seriously doubted, then her favorite Metro-Dade homicide cop had been involved in interrogating a witness in a Miami murder case.

  “Oh, never mind,” she said resignedly. “I’ll come with you. Liza, you don’t mind, do you?”

  “No. You two go on ahead. I’ll see you at home later.”

  “Stealing on
e of my girls,” Jason Jeffries grumbled at Michael, but he winked when he said it. He turned back to Liza. “Okay, young lady, let’s get cracking. I’ve got things to do. You need a check or something?”

  Molly didn’t hear Liza’s response because Michael was propelling her through the door at a clip that could have earned her first place in the Miami Grand Prix. He didn’t say a word as they waited for the elevator. Nor did he open his mouth as the elevator doors slid shut. The silence was beginning to get on Molly’s nerves.

  “Okay,” she snapped finally. “Just say it.”

  “Say what?”

  “Whatever you’re going to say.”

  “I’m much more interested in what you have to say. You don’t for a minute think I believe that hogwash about stopping by to do some planning for a fund-raiser that’s not even on the calendar yet.”

  Molly seized the opening like a lifeline. “That’s just the point. We needed to set a date. All the best dates at the hotels in town are taken early.”

  “Nice try, but no dice. Care to take another shot at it?”

  “I’d rather hear what you were doing in Jason Jeffries’s office with Detective Abrams.”

  “I’m sure you would,” he said blandly.

  She surveyed his intractable expression. “But you’re not going to tell me, are you?”

  “Not until you tell me what you and Liza were up to.”

  Molly sighed in resignation. When it came to sheer stubbornness, Michael would win out over her every time. “Okay. When we were leaving the Lafferty house …”

  “Leaving where?” Michael said, his voice climbing ominously.

  “We went to pay a condolence call, for heaven’s sake. What could be more innocent than that?”

  “As I recall, neither you nor Liza were overly fond of Mrs. Lafferty. Doesn’t that make such a call hypocritical in the extreme?”

  “I didn’t ask for a lecture on manners,” she snapped. “Besides, Liza needed to talk to Roger about establishing a memorial fund in Tessa’s honor.”

  “And she required your assistance to make this request?”

  “Yes.” Again she was reminded of the oddity of that, but she saw no need to mention her reaction to Michael.

  It was his turn to sigh. “Go on.”

  “Anyway, when we were leaving, we started trying to figure out who in that crowd might be going broke.”

  “Why on earth would you be wondering about that?”

  “Because greed is often a motive for murder, but when everyone is rich, it gets a little trickier. We decided maybe not everyone in that room this afternoon was as rich as they’d want people to believe and we figured Jason Jeffries would know all about their finances.”

  “An interesting theory,” Michael admitted grudgingly. “Too bad you didn’t get there in time to hear Jason Jeffries’s comments on that very subject.”

  “That’s what you were questioning him about?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Why you, though?”

  “Abrams asked me to sit in. He had this crazy idea that since I was at that fund-raiser as a paying guest, I knew more about the players than he did. I considered explaining about Liza’s strong-arm tactics, but it would have ruined my image, so I just agreed to go along.”

  “You couldn’t resist, could you? Tell the truth, Detective. This case got to you, didn’t it?”

  “Every case gets to me, Molly. I get paid to investigate my own.”

  “I suppose that given the fact that this particular murder involved a charitable cause, you suddenly decided you could do a little poking around for free?”

  “Something like that.”

  She stood on tiptoe and gave him a peck on the cheek that brought an immediate flush to his olive complexion.

  “What was that for?” he demanded.

  “Because you’re such a soft touch.”

  Judging from his horrified expression, he didn’t consider her observation as the praise she’d intended it to be. “Don’t you dare go spreading that around,” he ordered.

  “I wouldn’t dream of it. It’s enough that I know. Now what did Jason Jeffries tell you? You and Abrams looked pretty smug when you were coming out of that office.”

  “Rumor has it that Roger Lafferty is up to his eyeballs in debt.”

  “Roger?” Molly repeated incredulously. “Are you sure? I thought he had oodles of stock handed down through generations of Lafferty investment geniuses.”

  “Maybe he did, but he’s broke now, or so the rumor goes. It’s also suspected that Tessa carried a very hefty insurance policy.” He grinned at Molly’s astonished expression. “Sí, amiga. The way it looks, that policy could be just about enough to bail him out.”

  CHAPTER

  NINE

  The morning headline reporting that Roger Lafferty was now officially a prime suspect in Tessa’s murder wasn’t unexpected, but it successfully drove all remaining thoughts of her ex-husband’s disturbing call out of Molly’s mind. That was her first big mistake. Her second mistake was in underestimating the depth of Hal’s outrage over her involvement in three murder cases in a row, or the extremes to which he might go to punish her for it.

  She had tossed aside the paper and was debating the merits of corn flakes over sugar-coated cereal with Brian when the doorbell rang on Tuesday.

  “I’ll get it,” he said, bounding away from the table like a child given a reprieve from finishing his spinach, rather than one who’d had a bowl of cereal and bananas placed in front of him.

  “Who are you?” he said a moment later.

  “I’d like to speak to your mother,” a strange male voice responded.

  Trying to imagine how the man had talked his way past the condo’s security guards, Molly approached the door warily. Her first glance at the bland face, dull gray suit, and shifty, evasive gaze warned her that the unexpected visitor was not here to turn over a sweepstakes check for a million dollars. Equally uneasy, Brian hovered protectively by her side.

  “Yes?” she said.

  “You’re Mrs. DeWitt? Mrs. Hal DeWitt?”

  “I am Mrs. Molly DeWitt,” she said firmly. The sudden knot forming in the pit of her stomach was a reminder that lately she regretted that she had to admit to that much. “Can I help you?”

  Just like in the movies, the man whipped an official-looking envelope out of his pocket and handed it to her. He turned on his heel and fled down the hall before she could even scan the return address.

  “What is it, Mom?”

  With her heart suddenly thudding, Molly gave Brian a distracted glance. “Go and finish getting ready for school.”

  “I am ready.”

  “Get your books.”

  “I don’t see why—”

  “Just do it, Brian. Now!”

  His expression hurt, he slunk off, leaving her with no more excuses to avoid opening the letter from Hal’s attorney, a senior partner in the firm that sprawled over two entire floors of a downtown office building.

  The usual salutation was followed by a terse announcement.

  Given the unusual circumstances of your involvement in several murder investigations over the past several months, we feel we have no choice but to file a request with the court to review the custody arrangements for Brian Alan DeWitt. Mr. DeWitt will be asking for full custody of his son, though naturally he will be willing to permit supervised visitation.

  The letter went on with legal jargon and what looked at first glance like an outline of the timetable for this action. Molly didn’t read it. The first sentence had made her blood run cold. The second made it boil. She was shaking as she punched in Hal’s office number, knowing he would be there even though it was barely 8:00 A.M.

  “How dare you?” she demanded the instant he picked up his private line. “Have you lost your mind?”

  “You got the letter.”

  “You’re damn right I got the letter and if you want a war with me over our son, you’ve got it,” she said, her fu
rious words tumbling out uncensored. It was not the way to win an argument with Hal, but she was too angry to care. “I will not allow you to use this sudden, misguided concern for his welfare to snatch him away from me.”

  “Oh, really?” he said.

  Molly ignored the sarcasm. “What exactly do you intend to do once you have him, Hal? Will you occasionally try to get home from the office before midnight to help him with his homework? Will you see to it that the maid takes him to Pizza Hut once a week? Will you hire someone to go to his soccer games in your place? Goddammit, what are you thinking of? Don’t you give a damn about his feelings? He’s an eight-year-old boy, not some pawn in a goddamn chess game. If you’re angry with me, take it out on me, not Brian.”

  “I will not talk to you when you’re out of control like this,” he said.

  Since he sounded almost satisfied by her loss of temper, she drew in a deep breath, forcing herself—somewhat belatedly—to sound every bit as cool and rational as he did. “If you think this is out of control, pal, you haven’t seen anything yet. My lawyer will be in touch. I suggest you start now if you plan to manufacture a few excuses for the way you’ve ignored Brian for the past two years. Believe you me, it is not something he or I have forgotten.”

  She slammed the phone down so hard the table shook. It took everything in her to keep from bursting into hot, angry tears of fear and frustration.

  “Mom?” Brian said, his voice tentative.

  Molly drew in yet another deep breath, then slowly turned to face him, praying he hadn’t heard everything. His terrified expression, freckles standing out against too pale skin, told her that he had. It nearly broke her heart.

  “Dad’s not going to make me go live with him, is he?”

  She saw no point in avoiding the truth. He’d have to know sooner or later. “He’s going to try,” she admitted.

  “He’s tried before,” Brian said. “He came after me last time and tried to talk me into going with him, remember?”

  “I remember.”

  “Is this the same thing?”