by DiAnn Mills
“How long did she relieve you? I know Marsha cherished those times.”
“Almost two hours. She and I have an ongoing chess tournament. We use the computer up front, and when the facility is quiet, we play viciously.” He paused as though reflecting on the times with Marsha.
If the scammers had found a way inside the facility during the afternoons, jobs were on the line, and the chess games were on the computer. Abby stole a glance at the rear door. A camera panned the room. Could it be temporarily disconnected?
“I’m sorry Liz left you stranded.” Abby swept strawberry stems into a dustpan. “Maybe I can do more.”
“Thank you, Miss Abby. But I’m supposed to have new help on Monday. Maybe this one won’t be texting her boyfriend or playing games on her iPad.”
Interesting. “Did he ever show up here?”
“You sure are interested in the goings-on in my kitchen.”
She smiled and placed Waterford pitchers of lemonade on the cart. “Oh, just chatting.”
He handed her a tray of fruit. “And I’m picking on a precious lady. You can take these to the clients, and I’ll bring the tarts.”
He hadn’t responded about seeing the boyfriend, which said he had . . . and the boyfriend being inside the building without signing in could cost him his job. If the cook confessed to how Russell Jergon might have gained access to the elderly, he and Miss Leonard could be charged with neglect.
Or be charged as accomplices.
5:00 P.M. SATURDAY
Daniel parked his truck in Silver Hospitality’s parking lot and focused on his grandparents’ welfare. Tonight he’d talk to them again about safety precautions until this thing at the facility settled. When the Alzheimer’s diagnosis threw them for a spin, Daniel assumed their health would be the most critical issue for the future, not someone stealing their money.
The scammer must have a database of wealthy elderly with dementia. If he were looking to swindle defenseless people with dementia, what would he need to target them?
A medical database containing their health history, doctors’ names, hospital records, prescriptions, or insurance company details.
A bank database with account numbers.
Addresses where the victims could be found.
More than one database would have to be merged to compile the scammer’s targets.
After picking up his grandparents, Daniel listened to Gramps chatter while he drove home. He was a high school basketball star in love with a redheaded cheerleader.
Daniel glanced in his rearview mirror. A dark-green Dodge pickup had stayed on his bumper for the past several blocks. The driver wore a ball cap pulled down over his eyes. Daniel’s sixth sense had always been suspicion. . . . For the next few minutes, the pickup tailed him through a series of left turns.
He merged into the left lane, squeezing between two cars.
The pickup inched in behind him. Horns blew.
A quarter mile later, Daniel eased back into the far right lane.
The pickup moved with him.
“Gran, Gramps, duck down. Now. The idiot on my bumper is up to no good.”
Both must have heard the urgency in his voice, and they leaned down in their seats. The driver needed an attitude adjustment and a course in respect and courtesy.
That’s when he saw the gun poking out the driver’s window.
CHAPTER 12
5:25 P.M. SATURDAY
A bullet destroyed Daniel’s side mirror. Another pop burst the rear window.
“Stay down!” Daniel pulled his weapon from its holster and steered his truck to the right side, then whipped it ninety degrees toward the shooter’s truck. “Gran, you okay?”
“Yes. I have my gun.”
“Don’t use it. Both of you get out and move toward the front. Now. The engine will protect you from gunfire.”
The truck had stopped, which meant the shooter wasn’t giving up easily, whoever he was.
“You’re in his sights,” Gramps said.
Thank God, he was lucid. “That’s what he thinks. Go. Take care of Gran.” Daniel switched off the engine and opened the door, firing at the dark-green truck. His grandparents exited, and another bullet sped past his head.
A shot from his grandparents’ direction alerted him to Gran unloading her S&W. She always had his six. Daniel continued to pump bullets into the truck while moving around the open door to the front of his truck. Bending, he called for backup and glanced in the direction of Gran and Gramps.
That’s when he saw the blood drops.
“Who’s hit?” he whispered, adrenaline pumping through his veins, and returned fire again. Sirens sounded in the distance.
“Just some blowback shrapnel across my calf,” Gramps said. “Looks like gravel or glass.”
“Gran?” Daniel said. “Is—?”
The shooter backed up and raced in reverse to a hill leading down to a feeder, still shooting. The continuous fire stopped Daniel from sending a bullet into the tires or gas tank. The shooter bumped over the hill to the feeder. Vehicles slammed against each other to get out of the truck’s path.
No front license plate.
White-hot revenge burned through his gut. No one endangered his grandparents and got away with it.
11:15 A.M. SUNDAY
Sunday morning Laurel slept past eleven o’clock. Extremely late for her, but she attributed it to stress. It always knocked her out. Tossing off a quilt, she grabbed her laptop and brewed a cup of coffee, then crawled back into the comfort of her bed. With the thermostat in her apartment set at sixty-six degrees, she might stay there all day and snuggle. She spent over an hour working through her e-mails while drinking two more cups of coffee.
Next on her agenda were the latest reports on what was happening in the city, state, country, and around the globe. Before joining the FBI, media meant little to her. Now every event caught her eye. OCD and addicted.
Thirty minutes later, after another cup of coffee and a pair of brown sugar and cinnamon Pop-Tarts, her mind swung into work mode. She logged into the secure FBI site for updates. Normally she’d catch up on news, then head to the stables on Sunday. Perhaps in a few hours, she’d visit her valiant stallion.
When she spotted Officer Daniel Hilton’s name on a report, she inhaled sharply and her chest burned. The driver of a dark-green Dodge pickup opened fire at him last evening while he was transporting his grandparents to their home in the Bunker Hill area.
Blinking, she focused on the news bulletin. The bullet shattered the rear window of his truck. An anonymous driver viewed the incident and reported the Dodge truck’s rear license plate, but the vehicle had been reported stolen. No reason was given for the shooting.
Laurel leaned against the pillow. She feared Daniel’s grandparents might be in the line of a scammer’s fire.
She pressed in Su-Min’s name on speed dial.
“Are you heading to the stables to see Phantom?” Su-Min said.
“I’m in bed. Haven’t brushed my teeth or combed my hair.”
“Doesn’t sound like you, but you must have needed the sleep. Are we having our regular Sunday night dinner at six or six thirty? I have soup started.”
Sweet friend. “Mandu?”
“Of course. Lots of dumplings. Can you pick up an apple pie for dessert? But you called me. What’s up?”
“Officer Daniel Hilton, the younger of the two men—”
“The dreamy guy with those incredible brown eyes.”
Laurel shook her head. “Yes, he’s the one.”
“He asked you out?”
“No. Would you hush and listen?” Laurel wished Su-Min would leave the dating thing alone.
Su-Min laughed. “I’m all ears.”
“He was involved in a shooting yesterday evening, and his grandparents were with him.”
“I read the report. They’re okay or I would have called. No arrests, though. I thought we could discuss it tonight. I want to think through this business wit
h Wilmington before we act on it.”
“I don’t think waiting is a good idea.” An inkling told her not to reveal her unofficial meeting with him.
“I’m calling the shots on this one. You have too much animosity to deal rationally where he’s concerned. Don’t cross me on this, or I’ll file a report.”
Shock washed over her. The call ended, and Su-Min’s threat repeated in Laurel’s mind. During their friendship, Su-Min had chosen the religion of the agency and didn’t care who got in the way. Laurel cared for her, but the warning flares looked like a bonfire.
She snuggled beneath the warm quilt. Glancing at her cell phone, she regretted the call to Su-Min. She should have called Daniel directly and bypassed her. His card lay on her nightstand, and she pressed in the number.
“Officer Daniel Hilton.”
His voice sent warmth from her toes to the top of her head. “This is Laurel Evertson. I read about the shooting yesterday and wanted to make sure all of you are okay.”
“Thanks for the call. We’re all fine. My grandparents are a little shook up, that’s all.” He paused. “Gramps had three stitches in his left calf. We were lucky.”
“Tell him I’m sorry. Any leads?”
“No.”
She wasn’t surprised. “Do you think the attack could be linked to the elderly scam?”
“Yep. We talked about the far end of this.”
She wouldn’t tell him about the eight-year history of supposedly the same operation or reveal any of the FBI’s investigation unless HPD was pulled into the case.
Change the subject, Laurel. She heard country-western music. “You’re off today?”
“Sunday. I attend church unless I’m called in. On my way home now.”
One of those. Forget it, Laurel. He’d never be interested in her—even if the thought had occurred to her. His faith just answered her question. “Grandparents in church too?”
“Yep.”
“I see.”
“Hungry? We could catch a pizza.”
Her stomach lurched, but not because of pizza. Was he asking her out? “To discuss yesterday’s shooting?”
“No, to share lunch.”
“I’d be poor company.”
“Can I take a rain check?”
Laurel trembled. She couldn’t handle the rejection sure to come when he learned about her past. “I . . . I don’t think so. Not a good idea.”
“Do you think I want to press you for FBI details regarding the case? Because that’s the farthest thing from my mind.”
“It’s better to keep our relationship professional.” She ended the call while her eyes pooled with tears. It was better this way.
CHAPTER 13
2:00 P.M. SUNDAY
Sunday afternoons usually gave Daniel time to rest, work out, do yard work, or his favorite—take a long ride in the country on his Harley. Ah, the life of the suburban cowboy. But Gran had asked him to spend a few hours with her and Gramps. Not because it was National Grandparents’ Day, but because she’d felt her blood pressure drop. He didn’t refuse.
Today Gramps’s mind slipped at church and hadn’t returned to the present. He’d talked about Gran when she wore bobby socks and black-and-white saddle oxfords. She was the prettiest cheerleader, and he played center on the high school basketball team, yet again. Those were good memories, certainly better than the harshness of good against evil. The morning’s sermon must have moved Daniel to philosophize.
No motorcycle ride today. Gran and Gramps wouldn’t always be with him, and he’d promised himself a long time ago that they’d always come first.
Some days Gramps’s stories wrenched Daniel’s heart, especially when he recalled the vitality and respect his grandfather once held in the community.
His grandparents ended up napping, so Daniel googled elderly scams, not necessarily focusing on Texas, but all over the US. It was elementary compared to the FBI’s realm of investigation, but it gave him a better snapshot of what was going on.
He pressed in the number for Silver Hospitality. Marsha Leonard normally worked during the afternoon. The facility was her home away from home. The only other staff person with the same commitment was Chef Steven.
“Miss Leonard, this is Daniel Hilton. Am I catching you at a bad time?”
“These are the quiet hours. But I’m a little preoccupied at the moment.”
According to Gran, this was her time for online chess with Chef Steven. “When should I call back?”
“Goodness, I nearly forgot about y’all being chased by a crazy man. Are Abby and Earl okay? How can I help you?”
“They’re fine. Napping actually. Does the FBI have a copy of your computer files?”
“Not yet. I asked for a subpoena. Have to be careful, you know.”
Could he be wrong in his evaluation of Miss Leonard’s sincerity? Far out there, but wouldn’t she want to cooperate with law enforcement? “I’d like a copy of all who’ve visited my grandparents in the past year.”
“I can have the list pulled and printed for you in the morning. Or do you want it e-mailed this afternoon?”
“Thanks. Electronically would be great. I have a few other questions. Do you mind?”
“What do you need, Daniel? This whole situation makes me physically ill. In fact I’m glad you’re working aside from the FBI to find who’s responsible.”
“I’m on board with their investigation and will do anything to help.”
“I have no doubt of your commitment. I’m simply upset with all that’s happened.”
“Do you purchase your supplies through a service?”
“Everything comes from Sysco, paper to food. The items unique to our clients are purchased from a health service company.” She gave him the name and number. “All prescription medications are furnished by the client. Daniel, those things are listed in the handbook.”
He chuckled. “Fine investigator I am.”
“You simply care about Abby and Earl and the other clients. Can’t fault you for having a good heart. I’m not sure this is permissible, but whatever I learn from the FBI, I’ll pass on to you. They probably have lots of red tape, and I could get it to you faster.”
“I may have to take you to dinner.”
She giggled like a young schoolgirl. “That might be bribery.”
“Call it appreciation for putting up with my moods. Are you afraid people would talk?” At least he interested one woman, even if she was older than his mother.
She giggled again. Marsha Leonard had never been married. She’d spent twenty years as caregiver for her own parents, and now her life’s work was directing the day-to-day activities at Silver Hospitality. He thanked her and ended the call.
More questions zipped through him. He started a spreadsheet using questions surrounding the scammers’ operations. Where would they find trained men and women who could get in and out of the victims’ homes or facilities undetected? How would the money be laundered through legitimate means that had nothing to do with the elderly? He knew the popular methods, and it would take time to investigate each one. Sophisticated hackers and people working on the inside of the crimes could pull it off. He could be standing in a Starbucks line, and the person next to him could download info from his smartphone. Scary, but true.
Miss Leonard forwarded the list of Gran’s and Gramps’s guests. Church people and old friends.
He studied the website of the church they attended. It mentioned Silver Hospitality as one of their outreach ministries. He googled Alzheimer’s care and the church’s name popped up.
That meant anyone looking for a way to gain access to the facility could find information online. Serious predators could join the church and volunteer. He assumed other churches and charitable organizations offered similar opportunities. This was a common way to victimize the helpless, and it worked. The process took time to build trust and credibility and required people to infiltrate churches and charity organizations. Except establishing a large p
ayroll wasn’t a smart business practice, and it increased the risk of getting sold out to the law. The scammer must have a few people who worked a city, then moved on.
Liz Austin struck his thoughts. Was he fishing, or could she be a part of the scam? She’d given him her phone number many times. He pulled out his cell and pressed in her number. Disconnected.
Giving Laurel Evertson information on Liz Austin was a step forward. He texted Laurel with Liz’s name, employment status, and a possible FBI query.
CHAPTER 14
9:35 A.M. MONDAY
Abby finished her workout, showered, and grabbed a bottle of ice-cold water. Time to do a little snooping before lunch while Marsha cheered on the TTT: table tennis tournament. Abby had seen Earl lose enough of them, and they were utterly boring.
She walked to Marsha’s office, where the director kept her files, both paper and computer. Abby wanted to take a look. After all, the FBI team could have missed something important on Friday. Her first job would be a walk-through of employee files. They were alphabetically listed, one drawer with current staff and a lower drawer with previous employees. Abby made a list of every person. She leafed through the current ones, noting Marsha hadn’t made any derogatory notations. Next she searched through the older staff. Liz Austin’s file was missing. Neither was it on the desk or in another drawer. She finished the files with none of the others arousing suspicion. Had the FBI taken Austin’s information?
If Abby could figure out how to access the computer-based visitor logs, she might find something. Visitors keyed in their info and obtained a stick-on badge to wear while on-site. Daniel claimed she was computer savvy, but how fast could she find the information and not get caught?
“Abby, what are you doing?”
She swung around and plastered on a smile for Marsha. “Looking for you and going to leave a note.”
