A shivery cold washed over me. “The hit man is from Vegas. What was Fletch doing there?”
“Could be perfectly innocent.” Grandpa slid the CD he’d copied from Shane’s computer into the laptop. “Vegas is a big spot for magicians.”
Gabe let that go. “I’m still tracking to see if he dropped his NRA membership as you thought he did, Sam.”
Grandpa turned and looked at me. “What does that mean?”
“Remember when you two joined the NRA and then tried packing your own bullets in the garage?”
A grin twitched his mouth. “Yes. I never actually joined the NRA, and Fletch gave it up after that little incident. We’d only taken the one shooting lesson.”
“What if Fletch didn’t give it up?”
Grandpa thought about it. “He hates blood sports like hunting. He hates most sports altogether. Maybe he’d do target shooting, but he would have told me.”
I shook my head. “Not if he was doing it to impress his dad.”
Grandpa sighed. “He would do that. But Sammy,” he fixed his gaze on me, “he has his House of Cards show next month. Why would he risk that by doing all this? Sending a hit man after Shane, killing the hit man, and then killing Shane? This is what Fletch has worked for. It doesn’t make any sense.”
It really didn’t. I frowned. “Shane’s exposing all Fletch’s illusions wouldn’t affect his House of Cards performance, would it?”
Grandpa shook his head. “No. It’s one of our highest honors, and we don’t acknowledge spoilers like Shane.”
I rubbed my forehead. “But who else could have killed Shane?”
Lola said, “So where is this Fletch right now?”
I looked up. “He’s supposed to be doing his wakeboarding thing, right?”
“That’s what he said,” Grandpa affirmed. “But let’s find out.” He pulled out his little cell phone, scrolled through his numbers, and dialed. “Hi, Fletch. How’d the wakeboarding go? Did you get the video?”
We all sat there and held our breath.
Grandpa said, “Oh. Well how’s that for disappointing? So how long will you be there?”
Where? I wondered.
“Okay. Bye.”
We all stared at him.
“Fletch is in the emergency room getting a fishing hook removed from his foot. Apparently there was one on the boat floor, and he stepped on it.”
“So where does that leave us?” I tried to bring this all together. “Someone killed Shane, after sending a hit man that failed. We think it was a magician, one who had enough to lose to try and kill him to stop him. Bo had his cartoon, Nikki may have wanted revenge, and Fletch?” I tapped my nails on Gabe’s desk trying to see it.
Grandpa picked up his Styrofoam cup of coffee. “From Shane’s point of view, he’d go after Fletch to spoil his show.”
I stared at him, seeing the pain etched into his craggy face. But his blue eyes were clear and determined. “Why?”
“Fletch attained the one thing Shane could not—a legitimate recognition. And Shane blamed me for removing him from the Triple M. So he came to my town to humiliate my protégé by doing a spoiler on Fletch’s act.”
That made perfect sense. It fit with Shane’s huge arrogance. “But that still doesn’t explain Fletch trying to kill Shane. Why not laugh it off, or file a lawsuit even, if he knew that’s what Shane was going to do?” I frowned and tried to think like Fletch. He was a talented comedy magician who was goofy enough to try extreme sports and videotape his attempts to use as a backdrop for his shows. All to impress his dad.
His dad.
Omigod! I sat up straight and said, “Grandpa, can you get into the other computer files from Shane’s computer?”
He shook his head. “They didn’t copy. His firewalls are excellent. I only got the ones I had opened with a password.” He looked serious. “I need to get back into that computer. I can crack those passwords, I know I can. If Vance hasn’t moved the computer, I’m going to try and get back in.” His balding head darkened with frustration and anger.
“No!” I shook my head. “That’s . . . tampering or something serious.” I didn’t want Grandpa arrested!
Gabe said, “Barney, you can’t break into a police crime scene. Besides, Vance most likely logged the computer as evidence for the computer expert. They don’t usually make crime scene calls but work out of their offices.”
Grandpa set his chin and squared his thin shoulders. “Where would that be? At the police station?”
Jeez! “Grandpa! You aren’t breaking into the police station! I’ll think of another way.” My mouth was dry. I took a sip of coffee.
“Humph,” Grandpa said.
But Gabe zeroed in on me. “Another way to do what, Sam? What are you thinking?”
I met his dark gaze. “Fletch’s motive for going after Shane. Remember that Lola found that, at least for some of the magicians, Shane sent tickets to the magician or someone close to them?”
Grandpa jumped in. “That’s the whole reason I’m trying to get into Shane’s computer.”
I turned to Grandpa. “I know. But what’s the worst thing that could happen to Fletch, Grandpa? Or let me put this another way—if Shane did his spoiler on Fletch’s show, who is the one person that Fletch would go to any lengths to prevent from seeing that show?”
Grandpa’s milky blue eyes widened with comprehension. “His father.”
I nodded, feeling a heavy sadness envelope me. “That could motivate Fletch to murder.”
Grandpa sat back in his chair. “We have to find out if Fletch’s dad had free tickets sent to him.”
I nodded. “There has to be another way. . . .”
Lola sat forward. “How come you don’t just call his dad and ask him?”
All three of us turned and looked at her.
Well, duh.
17
“Lola,” I said from where I sat between her and Grandpa at Gabe’s desk, “you are both smart and useful. We’ll call him!”
Gabe said, “We can do a White Pages search in a search engine and see if his address and phone number turn up.” He signed onto his Internet service and pulled up the Web site he wanted. “Name?”
“Jim Bob Knight,” Grandpa answered.
Gabe pulled his mouth tight as if trying to hide a smirk. “We’ll try James Robert Knight.” He typed that in, then he looked at Grandpa. “What state?”
“Montana. Don’t remember the city.”
“Okay.” Gabe typed, then waited. “Four of them.” He hit a button and his printer started spewing. “We’ll do a little pretext calling and find our man.”
“Pretext calling?” I probably should learn these terms if I was going to be a private investigator. If.
“Lying,” Gabe answered. “It’s developing a story that gets the mark to tell you what you want to know. For instance, if I wanted to know if Barney lived alone, I might call and say I was doing a survey for health insurance, then ask a few questions including how many people lived in the household and how many of those people were covered by insurance.”
“That’s just creepy,” Lola said. “It never occurred to me that a survey taker might be lying.”
Gabe turned to look at her. “Never give out personal information on the phone. Ever. Not even what kind of car you drive. Simply hang up. Your bank does not call you and ask you your social security number or account number. They already have it. And no one is calling you to give you something for free.”
I hid a smile at Gabe’s passion, but his speech gave me an idea. “We should hold safety talks like this for my female clients,” I said. “Or all my clients. Men can have their identity stolen.”
“Babe, I sell my services, not give them away. Now, let’s figure out our pretext. Our goal is to find out who Shane sent free tickets to for this weekend’s show. We have to assume that Jim Bob,” his mouth twitched again, “has heard that Shane is dead.”
I thought about that. “So we can’t say we are maki
ng sure the tickets arrived. With Shane dead, there won’t be a show, so no one would care if the tickets had arrived or not.”
“Right.”
Grandpa said, “What if we were letting the ticket holders know the show is cancelled?”
“That could work,” Gabe said. “We want to get his attention and get him cooperative. So we’ll say we are calling Mr. Masters’s special guests to let them know the show is cancelled. We’ll use one of my throwaway cell phones.”
I tried to figure the reason for that.
But Grandpa was ahead of me. “Caller ID, right?”
Gabe nodded. “We never want our subjects to know they were contacted by a PI. And remember, we are looking at his son for a murder. Down the road, Jim Bob might figure a little revenge is in order.”
It all made sense. And damn, Gabe was good at this. I asked him, “Are you going to call?”
He pulled a cell phone out of his desk and handed it to me with the printed list of the four James Robert Knights. “No, you are. Men tend to think secretaries and assistants are female. And they are usually less threatened by a woman’s voice on the phone.”
I took the phone and tramped down on the bundle of nerves that woke up in my gut. I didn’t want to screw this up. We needed to know if Fletch’s dad received free tickets from Shane or someone in his organization.
Gabe watched me. “Write down what you are going to say, if that helps you.”
I set the phone down, picked up a pen, and jotted down a few notes on the paper with the phone numbers. Then before I could dwell on it, I picked up the cell, turned it on, and dialed the first number on the list. I held my breath as it rang, then went to the answering machine.
I hung up and dropped my shoulders in both relief and frustration. “Answering machine.”
All three of them stared expectantly.
I used the pen to make a note of getting the answering machine by the first name. Then I took a breath and dialed the second name.
“Hello?”
“Uh, Mr. Knight?”
“I’m not buying.”
Panicked, I practically yelled, “No! Mr. Knight I’m not selling anything.” I talked faster. “I’m Shane Masters’s executive assistant. It’s my understanding that you’ve been sent some complimentary tickets to the show this weekend and—”
Click.
I sighed and said, “He hung up.” My hand was sweaty. It took a concentrated effort to unclench my fingers from around the plastic base of the black phone. I shifted the phone to my other hand and wiped my hand on my pants.
“Try the next one,” Lola said next to me.
“Right.” I dialed the next number. It felt like I was growing cotton in my mouth as I put the phone to my ear.
“Yeah?”
The voice was thick and rough. “Hello, this is Shane Masters’s personal assistant. I’m looking for Mr. James Robert Knight.”
“You got ’im. I heard on the news that Shane got himself killed. So what about my tickets?”
My heart kicked up. The cotton in my mouth doubled in size. “Uhh, yes, well that’s what I’m calling about, Mr. Knight. You received the complimentary tickets that Shane sent you, correct?”
“And the plane ticket for tomorrow. Can I cash them in for money?”
Hell if I knew. Or cared. We had our answer! If this was Fletch’s dad. I just wanted to verify that. “I will look into that for you, Mr. Knight. But in my records there’s a note that you were planning to bring your son, a Fletch Knight, with you to the show. Is the information correct?”
“Damn right I was gonna. The boy might of learned something. How do I cash in the show and plane tickets?”
I looked at Grandpa and felt a wave of sadness. “I’ll call you back with that information. Thank you for your time.” I disconnected.
“What did he say?” Grandpa asked, his voice low and quiet.
“Shane sent him two tickets for seats and a plane ticket to fly out here.”
His entire face sank. “Fletch.” He shook his head.
My heart broke. I put my hand on his arm. “Grandpa, it’s not your fault. If Fletch did all this, he made the choice. Not you.”
He put his hand over mine on his arm. “Don’t worry about me, Sam. Now that we suspect Fletch is behind Shane’s murder, and the hit man’s murder, we need to tell Detective Vance before more people are hurt.”
I stared at the man I’d loved all of my life. I hoped I’d be like him when I grew up. “I’ll call him.”
Gabe said gently, “Would you like me to call Vance?”
I kept my hand on Grandpa’s arm and turned to look at Gabe. “I’ll do it. I talked to Fletch’s dad so I can describe the conversation better.”
Gabe leaned across the desk and touched my hand resting on the paper with the phone numbers. “Good.”
It was all he said, but his intense dark eyes showed pride in me. Gabe had a remarkable sexiness about him. It was part in his hero streak that would rush in and fix things for me if I needed it, but the other part of him respected my ability to do things for myself, even if I screwed it up the first or second time. His gaze told me that he had complete faith that I’d get it right. That kind of belief from the hot and sexy ex-cop, for me the small-town soccer mom, was sexy as hell. I slid the disposable cell phone to him. Then taking my hand off Grandpa, I dug my own cell out of my purse on the floor. I had Vance’s number programmed in there.
I got his voice mail. Naturally. “Vance, it’s Sam Shaw. I know who Shane Masters sent the free tickets to. Call me ASAP.” I ended the call and said, “What now?”
“What about Michelle?” Lola said. “I think she knew it was Fletch’s show all along that Shane was spoiling.”
I turned to look at her. “Would Fletch know that? How would he know that?” I was trying to think it out and determine if Michelle was in danger.
“I can answer that,” my mom said.
I swiveled around in my seat. My mom stood in the doorway of Gabe’s office wearing linen pants and a black silk blouse with an exquisite scarf draped around her neck. “Mom! What are you doing here?”
She walked into the office. Her wedge-cut blond hair barely moved, but her brown gaze swept around the room and finally landed on me. She reached into her purse and pulled out what looked like a check and handed it to me. “This is for your skirt that security brute ruined.”
I took the check and looked at the amount. “A hundred dollars! That skirt didn’t cost that much!”
She stood at my left shoulder and looked down at me with her shrewd businesswoman gaze. “Samantha, there’s your mileage and time in buying a new skirt to be considered.”
“Sheesh, Mom, you’re a shark.”
“Thank you,” she answered, nodding as if it were a compliment. “While I was at the security company’s offices discussing your skirt, I also got some other information. They had a man there today asking all kinds of questions, particularly about Shane’s trailers at Storm Stadium, and if they knew where Shane’s office computer was. He pressed the security people to find out if the contents of the trailers had been removed by the police, if the trailers were scheduled to be moved, stuff like that.”
Gabe made a noise. “The security detail isn’t privy to police information.”
My mother nodded. “Indeed. However, the description of the man asking the questions matched Fletch. I was curious about that and tracked down Louis.”
“Louis?” Gabe and Grandpa said at the same time.
I was too busy staring at the woman who had invaded my mother’s body. “You tracked down a grounds maintenance person?” My mother, the snob who refused to acknowledge that she grew up in a trailer? Later, Grandpa had built the house on the land, but for many years, they all lived in a trailer.
“Louis was working on the grounds of Storm Stadium when Samantha and I were there yesterday. And yes, Samantha, I tracked him down. I am not a private investigator, but even I can see that Dad is in danger here.�
�� She put her hand on Grandpa’s shoulder.
My mom rarely showed affection. Who was this woman? But I knew, this woman was scared that Grandpa was going to get hurt or killed. She didn’t show affection easily, but I never doubted that she loved us—Grandpa, me, TJ, and Joel. My mom had some deep scars, I understood that. It made her constantly try to change our lives to fit her view of a perfect life, and it was frustrating and annoying. But she did love us. “Sorry, Mom,” I muttered. “What did Louis have to say?”
“He’s cleaning up all those leaf piles at the stadium. He said that the policeman who guarded the trailers had to run off a man lurking around.”
“And that man looked like Fletch?”
My mom nodded. “So to answer your question about how Fletch might know about whoever this Michelle is, I’d say he’s been conducting his own investigation.”
My insides went icy. Unease crawled up my back. “Then Fletch isn’t at the hospital like he told you on his cell when you called him, Grandpa.”
Lola stood up. “I’m worried about Michelle. I’m going to go over there.”
Grandpa got up. “I’ll go with you.”
“Hold on,” Gabe said. “First, no running off half-cocked. We need to plan this out. We’ll get Vance up to speed, then Sam and I will go check on Michelle. In the meantime, Barney and you,” he turned to Lola, “can try to find out where Fletch is by phone.”
I looked at my watch. It was one-thirty. “Joel gets out of school in a half hour. Then TJ will come home on the bus an hour after that.”
My mom spoke up. “I’ll get the boys.”
Relived, I looked up at her. “Thanks, Mom.”
She smiled, a real smile that reached her eyes and softened the businesswoman shark into a grandma. “That you don’t have to thank me for. I’ll head over to Joel’s school now. You be careful,” she said, then left.
I looked at Grandpa.
He shrugged. “That’s Katy. But she’ll watch out for the boys.”
Vance returned my call while we were in Gabe’s black truck on the way to the campground. I told him how we’d come up with the idea of calling Fletch’s dad and that we found out he had received free tickets from Shane to his show. Then I added what my mom had learned about Fletch nosing around.
Thrilled To Death Page 21
