by Pamela Tracy
Oscar decided not to mention that Jack left Tiffany on her own all the time, like right now. As far as Oscar could tell, Tiffany liked being away from Jack unless he was indulging her.
Oscar said, “One of the neighbors reported seeing her living room light was turned off a little after midnight.”
“Doesn’t mean she turned it off,” Aunt Bianca pointed out.
“She always stayed up late when Cody was gone. Said she couldn’t sleep without him,” Jack mused.
Oscar was aware of the fact. What time had Larry Wagner entered Candace’s home? Just thinking that Shelley was across the street and his aunt just down the street had him losing even more sleep than his duty hours could be blamed for.
“Who did this Shelley Wagner see going in and out? I investigated her, you know, called in a few favors.”
Oscar wished he was surprised.
“Was she what you were expecting?” Oscar asked. She certainly hadn’t been what Oscar had expected. He’d expected the eight-year-old daredevil from his childhood to have turned into an ice princess or hard-as-nails diva. She’d been taken in by Larry Wagner. By rights, she should have been bitter, broken. Instead, she was...
Perfect.
“I—” Jack hesitated. “Yes, she surprised me. From what I read, I expected someone weak, someone who not only allowed her husband to steal from the people she knew but also accepted it. She’s got more spunk than I thought.”
Oscar nodded, thinking about their walk home, about her being so close, sitting in the interrogation room—a room she hated—and implicating the person she feared most.
“The only one she’s mentioned who doesn’t live in the neighborhood is the garbageman, and collection doesn’t happen on Sunday night or Monday morning. Still,” Oscar said, “I went out to Sarasota Falls Public Service and spoke to the man whose route is our neighborhood. I spoke to a long-term employee. He said that the Livingstons always put their trash out and they never left things piled up in the yard. I got the idea not leaving things piled up in the yard earns the respect of our garbageman.”
“Had he noticed any change in what they were leaving out? Were they leaving out more? Less?” At least now Jack Little was asking a question that pertained to the case instead of looking for blame.
“He didn’t know. His truck has one of those arms that picks the bin up, dumps it and then sets it back down. He said he’d know what the trash was only if it spilled.”
“And it didn’t?”
“No, but he did say that he always knew when Candace’s husband was out of town.”
“How?”
“Apparently Candace would leave the bin on the sidewalk. Easy for him to pick up but against the rules.”
“It gets in the way of pedestrians,” his aunt explained.
“Yes, and in our neighborhood, we have a special-needs boy in a wheelchair who gets walked by his mother quite often. She’s the one who gave us the time the living room light was turned off. If the bin is left on the sidewalk, she complains. The garbageman says he left a note twice.”
“What else?” Jack asked.
“Everything we’ve got is pure speculation that needs verification. Not worth reporting yet.”
“Everything’s worth reporting,” Jack retorted.
“I’m glad you think so.” Oscar rubbed Peeve behind the ears until the dog lay down, stretched out and relaxed. Oscar wished he could relax. “Did you find out anything on Shelley that I should know?”
“Oscar!” Aunt Bianca protested. “This isn’t the way—”
“Yes, it is. And—” he gave her a pointed look “—the only way I can keep her safe is to know what’s going on in her world. Finding your daughter’s...” Oscar almost said body, but both Bianca and Jack seemed to pale, so Oscar backed up. “Finding your daughter has put Shelley back in the spotlight, in danger, and she’s terrified.”
“Then leave her alone,” Aunt Bianca said.
“What did you find out?” Oscar asked Jack.
“She’s broke, completely wiped out. Someone did a bank transfer, emptied her account, and when she went to the bank to question why, they figured out that whoever took the money had already closed the account where the funds had been moved to.”
“Oh, dear,” Aunt Bianca whispered.
Oscar knew this from Townley’s updates, but Shelley’d shared this piece of information, too. It was interesting that Jack knew. Apparently, Jack didn’t know the money would be returned.
“My investigator says the bank has reason to believe it was her ex-husband. There’s no way to prove that she didn’t provide him with the details he needed to make the transfer. So, there’s no recourse for her.”
“Not fair,” Aunt Bianca said. “Anyone who’s been watching the news knows that six months ago she turned her husband in and soon after divorced him. Wasn’t easy, either. No way could that—” she frowned at Oscar and cleared her throat “—no way could that husband of hers be served. She had to do a default divorce. Cost a pretty penny for the attorney.”
“Plenty of people go back to their spouses time and time again,” Jack said. “Even after they pay out all kinds of legal fees.”
“Shelley hasn’t.” Oscar knew it was the truth. She was someone who’d been dealt a bad hand and couldn’t seem to step away from the poker table fast enough to escape the players. He needed to mention the default divorce and attorney to Townley. Maybe a process server had tried to find Larry Wagner.
“Here’s the thing,” Jack said. “It was only two thousand dollars. But if my source is correct, it was all she had.”
The information silenced the table. Jack, judging by the woebegone expression on his face, was thinking about how inconsequential two thousand dollars was and that no amount of money could bring his daughter back. After a moment’s hesitation, Aunt Bianca patted his hand, then got up and started cleaning the already spotless kitchen. Oscar wanted to move, do something, so he headed up to his room and called Townley.
His boss at the FBI wasn’t in a good mood. “I’m not sure how long we can keep Larry Wagner from realizing we’re onto him. I’m going to send a few more agents to Sarasota Falls. You need some help.”
“If you send agents,” Oscar argued, “he’ll know. Either we need to put Shelley in protective custody or we have to wait.”
“I don’t think we can wait,” Townley said. “We know he’s in the area.”
“He’s like a top quality cat burglar,” Oscar agreed. “He’s here, then he’s gone. No one sees him. It’s as if he’s invisible. You’d think,” Oscar said, “between the three different agencies looking into his activities, and all of us knowing he’s somewhere nearby, we’d be able to find some trace of him besides the destruction he leaves behind.”
“You check your email lately?”
“What did you send me?”
“A video. I told you that we knew he was in the area. Well, we’ve got something new. Take a look.”
Oscar went to his desk, set his phone to speaker and propped it against the computer. Then he logged on. It took him only a minute to find Townley’s email and start the video. The bank looked like every bank he’d ever been in. However, he noticed the Runyan branch sign behind the tellers. The line at the counter wasn’t that long. Maybe five people: three women, two men. It was the last man who drew Oscar’s attention.
Standing about five-ten with a baseball cap, dark hair curling from its edges, and a goatee, the man took off his thick glasses and cleaned them at least three times. He wore gray overalls and looked like a blue-collar worker. His shoes were wrong. They were white tennis shoes and way too clean. He wasn’t carrying it off; he looked serious.
“What time was this taken?”
“Noon, Saturday.”
The day after Candace’s funeral. The v
ideo still ran. The man took off his hat to scratch his head, but his face was still obscured from the camera.
“He’s clean,” Oscar said. “And the shoes are wrong. If he’s wearing overalls, he’s some kind of laborer or repairman. At noon, he should have already put in six hours. He’d be dirty, or at least rumpled. It’s Larry Wagner, isn’t it?”
Townley let out a snort. “Can you believe it? He was in your hometown. Two days ago, Saturday morning, he checked into the Runyan Lowland Motel. Clerk said he paid in cash under the name of John Butler. He had identification. The clerk didn’t make a copy. We have footage of him in the parking lot getting out of a white Camry.”
Oscar’s aunt had seen a white Camry in the neighborhood a few days ago.
“What we do know is after he checked in, a few hours went by and then he went to the Commerce Bank at noon.”
Oscar recognized the name. It was in the hub of downtown, and lots of local businesses used it.
“Then Saturday night, he met a woman at the October Terrace restaurant.”
“I’ve been there,” Oscar said.
“Pricey joint.”
“You know who she was?”
“No, but we’re sure it was him because he paid with a stolen credit card. We talked to the server and showed him a few pictures. He spotted Larry almost immediately—it was Larry’s bald spot and chin. He also mentioned that his customer cleaned his glasses more than once.”
“What do you know about the woman?”
“Whoever he met was probably about his age, dressed to the nines and acted like it was a first date. Waiter said she was blonde, thin and laughed a lot. The waiter got the idea she was excited about something.”
“Maybe he’s picked his next victim?”
“That’s what I’m afraid of. But he’s already gone.”
Oscar said a few choice words. “He should be states away. This is not how he usually operates. I’ve gone over his history a hundred times. How did you figure out he was in Runyan?”
“It’s worse,” Townley said. “Are you sitting down?”
“What? I am sitting down. What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Zoom in on the bank photo. Really look at the overalls. Do you recognize them?”
“No.”
“Well, the logo just under his left shoulder says Rudy’s Garage Repair and Sales. He pretended to be your uncle Rudy.”
Now Oscar knew why Townley wanted him to be sitting.
“Larry Wagner pretended to be your uncle, went to your uncle’s bank and cashed a counterfeit cashier’s check.”
More choice words.
“This morning, your uncle was notified that he needed to pay back the money the bank gave him. That’s when everyone realized they’d been had. Your uncle hasn’t gone to the bank in over a year. He does everything over his phone and the computer. The police were called, and I happened to recognize your uncle’s name. I’m in Runyan now.”
“I’m amazed my uncle hasn’t called me. I—”
“Your uncle hasn’t called you because we asked him not to.”
“Why?”
“We believe he picked your uncle because of you.”
Townley’s words sent a chill down Oscar’s back. “Why?”
Townley didn’t respond.
Oscar tried to wrap his mind around the sudden shift, the involvement of his family besides Aunt Bianca. “You think it has to do with my relationship with Shelley.”
“Not just me,” Townley said, “but the Bureau. We’ve kept track of how close you’re getting to his ex-wife. Maybe he’s asking himself the same questions and doing something about it.”
“That makes no sense,” Oscar argued. “It’s not like he wants her back. Like she’d take him.”
“No, but it’s becoming clear he sees her as a threat and so sees you as a threat. Which is why I want to send at least two more agents. We need to keep her safe.”
“Are you pulling me off the case? Because no one will work as hard to keep her safe as I will.” He swallowed, feeling the sweat form on his forehead, and realized just how much she’d come to mean to him.
“No, you’re still on the case. You’ve gotten a response from Wagner, and he’s taking risks that make no sense. At least to us. And he’s stayed in an area this long only once before that we know of.”
“Why did he stay this long once before?”
“He made off with millions.”
“By robbing a small town?”
“No, just one person.”
“Shelley doesn’t have money.” Oscar paused, his mind wrapping itself around the scenarios. “But Candace had money, lots of it. And there was a time when Shelley’s father worked for Candace’s father. Did you find a connection?”
“No, and we’ve looked.”
“And now,” Oscar said, “you have no idea where he is?”
“The motel clerk said he left early Sunday morning.”
“So he could be here in Sarasota Falls?”
“Could be, and if he’s not liking you being around Shelley, maybe you should hang around her more. It might inspire him to try something else. If he keeps it up, especially so close to where we are, we’ll catch him.”
“How much did my uncle Rudy lose?”
“Nothing, now that the bank knows it wasn’t him. But the cashier’s check was for two thousand dollars.”
“Must be his favorite number. That’s about how much he got from Shelley’s account.”
When the call ended, Oscar went to the front porch. Staring down the street, he considered his next move. Shelley wouldn’t let him stay with her, but maybe she could take a room with Aunt Bianca. That might put Bianca in danger, though.
A light went off in Shelley’s apartment, and he saw her come to the window. He waved, but she didn’t wave back. She probably couldn’t see him. Lately, though, he sure saw her. Even when she wasn’t with him, he was thinking about her.
* * *
THE NEXT MORNING, after driving Ryan to preschool and escorting Shelley to and checking out her apartment, Oscar stepped outside and sat on the bottom step to call and update Riley concerning Wagner’s whereabouts.
“You’re kidding” was Riley’s response. “How do you know this?”
Oscar answered honestly but not quite thoroughly. “Jack Little hired an investigator.”
“I’m amazed Wagner’s still in New Mexico, though sometimes it’s best to hide in plain sight,” Riley mused.
“He’s not hiding all that well,” Oscar pointed out. “We found him.”
“Finding and catching are two different things.”
Oscar knew that. “Keep sticking to her like glue,” Riley said. “She’s already starting to trust you.”
Oscar checked his watch. “Shouldn’t be too hard. She has baking to get done. I’m going to tell her about the Bike Fair the police are hosting at the First National Church next week. I thought I’d ask her to bake cookies or brownies for us to sell to raise money.”
“Good thinking,” Riley replied.
Oscar hung up and headed back up the steps. He knocked before entering and waited for her to come to the door. When she did, she sported a smudge of flour on her cheek.
“I can help,” he offered.
“I work better alone.”
He certainly hoped that wasn’t true. “I’ve got more baking orders for you.”
“I’ll call your aunt later on today.”
“The order is not from my aunt. It’s from Riley.” He followed Shelley through the door. The coffee table was no longer Ryan’s play table. It now had baked goods cooling as well as a few condiments.
“Efficient,” he commented.
“It’s the best I can do and it’s wo
rking.” And she kept working, breaking eggs into a bowl using just one hand.
His mother had done the same.
“You’ve heard about the Bike Fair?” he queried.
“There are posters all over town.”
“The police department’s involved. We’d like you to bake some stuff for us to sell.” Oscar quickly laid out how many cookies the police department needed her to bake.
She’d switched to measuring flour and baking soda into a mixture. Then she stopped, washed her hands and got out an order form. “Take this back to him, have him fill it out, and he can write me a check or pay cash.”
“What kind are you going to bake?” he asked.
“Chocolate chip is a favorite. So are snickerdoodles. I’ll need to go to the store.”
“Your car working yet?”
“No, it’s at the end of my list to fix. I need to repair my life first.” She actually laughed as she said the words. It was good to hear her laugh. It lit up her whole face. Her cheekbones looked more pronounced, and the combination brought out the deep brown color of her eyes.
“I can run to the store for you. I’ve got time.”
She shook her head, and Oscar thought that running to the store for her was what he wanted to do more than anything.
Great, thought Oscar. It was starting to look like the hardest part of this assignment was remembering that Shelley was the assignment.
CHAPTER TWENTY
A LOUD NOISE first alerted Shelley that something was happening out front. Then a clanking had her rolling from the couch. She hadn’t bothered to pull out the hide-a-bed. She’d worked in the kitchen well into the night.
Ryan slept through it all.
She grabbed her robe as she hurried toward the picture window and looked outside. A tow truck with two men standing behind it stared mournfully at her car.
No, no, no. She wasn’t double-parked, she’d earned no tickets, and surely if Riley had ordered cookies from her, he wouldn’t be impounding her vehicle.
With a quick look at Ryan, she dived for the dresser door, snagged a pair of jeans that refused to button and threw on a shirt. Still buttoning the jeans, she stumbled out the front door. “Wait!”
