by Sara Rosett
Jenny dropped her red pen and swiveled to the corner of her desk away from Brenda, who shared the other half of the cubicle. “And...”
He swallowed noisily. “There’s a joint investigation—local police are handling the business partner’s homicide and...,” he paused as if waiting for a drum roll, “the FBI is investigating the company. Looks like a pump and dump scheme.”
Jenny had been hunched over her phone. Now she sprawled back in her chair. “I already knew that,” she said. There goes my exclusive, she thought. If Victor knew about the FBI and GRS, then the word was out.
“So, no new galleys? John Black has a new book out in two months.”
As fond as he was of Cheetos, Victor loved books even more. He had a textbook Pavlovian response to the thought of getting his hands on a galley or advance reading copy of one of his favorite author’s upcoming books. Jenny kept him happy with discarded review copies from the Arts and Living Section. Despite the fact that the newspaper’s book reviewer was a victim of budget cuts last year, review copies still arrived from major publishers and piled up in a corner of the newsroom. “I’ll check the stack for you anyway,” Jenny said. No sense in irritating him, just because he had old news.
“You’re a star,” Victor said. “So, you already know about the search warrant and the person of interest? I swear the judge signed the search warrant not two minutes ago.”
“You are sly—holding that until the end,” Jenny snatched up a pen. That was Victor. He loved the drama of being an “informant.”
If she could get a jump on everyone else...she scanned her stack of work. She could probably palm off the last few obits on Brenda, especially if she threw in the spa gift card she’d gotten for her birthday. “Go.”
“The search warrant is for a home in Vinewood, the missing guy’s place. Person of interest lives there, a Zoe Hunter.”
Jenny frowned. “That sounds familiar.”
“She’s the ex of the missing guy. Apparently, they still live together.”
“Interesting. Any idea what they’re looking for?” Jenny asked as she looked up Mort’s number on her cell phone.
“I didn’t see it myself, but I heard it was something about papers and a gun.”
“This is great, Victor.”
“Don’t forget...Black. Look for John Black.”
“I won’t forget. And if this pans out, I’ll bring you a boxful of review copies.” Within five minutes, she was in her car sitting at a red light, anxious to merge onto the Beltway. But when her light turned green, brake lights flared ahead of her on the overpass. She quickly changed lanes to take another route.
Forty-five minutes later, she parked at the curb and double-checked the house number, her heart sinking. Yep, it was the right address. She was too late. The street was too quiet. No activity at all. She’d missed it. She dropped her head back on the headrest and blew out a sigh. Great. I gave away an hour massage so that I could get a “no comment” and a door slammed in my face.
Nothing she could do about it now. She straightened and dug her camera out of her purse. She wanted a picture of uniformed officials knocking on the door or agents carrying sealed evidence out of the home, but it didn’t look as though that was going to happen. She clicked off a few boring shots of the exterior, then went to the front door.
Dallas
Thursday, 11:57 a.m.
ZOE glanced out the peephole, saw a young woman with straight brown hair and glasses on her doorstep holding some paper, and assumed it was the new assistant for the realtor she often did contract work for.
Zoe opened the door. “Hi, I’m Zoe. You must be Candice’s new assistant. Got something for me?”
The woman frowned. “Ah...no.”
“You’re not with Realty One?” Zoe’s glance swept the street behind the woman.
“No, I’m Jenny Singletarry with the Sentinel.”
Zoe quickly stepped back and swung the door shut, but the woman put her hand out and braced it open. “Wait. Please, wait. Wouldn’t you like to tell your side of the story?”
“What are you talking about?”
“About you and Jack Andrews and this pump and dump scheme. All the police are going to tell me is that you’re a person of interest in the fraud case, but you know what that means...most people will think you were involved—whether that’s true or not.”
Thoughts flew through Zoe’s mind, but no words came out. The woman on the doorstep seemed to sense how truly stunned Zoe was on hearing the words “person of interest” and pressed closer to the door as she said sympathetically, “It must have been awful to have them invade your house and take your things.”
Zoe realized the woman was inching her way inside. “What?”
“The search warrant. Did they find what they were looking for today?” The woman asked, again with the solicitous tone of voice.
Was this some strange scam? Was the woman just plain loony?
The woman faltered. “You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?”
Zoe shook her head, and the woman backed away from the door and retreated down the steps. “They’re not here yet.” Zoe was able to catch the whispered words as the woman swung around to survey the street. “I beat them here,” she said in amazed tones, then she groaned. “They’re caught in the traffic on the Beltway.”
Zoe’s heart began a steady thump in her chest. They were coming back—the police. And this time they’d have a warrant.
The woman spun back toward Zoe, pushing her glasses up on her nose and gripping the paper in her hand tighter.
“What—”
“No comment,” Zoe said and quickly closed the door, then slammed the deadbolt home. She paced into the kitchen in a daze and walked in a circle, her hand lightly tracing along the top of the island as she muttered, “Person of interest. I’m a person of interest.” In Jack’s disappearance? In Connor’s murder investigation?
It didn’t really matter, she decided as she made another circuit, this time her hand over her mouth. Whatever had spurred the search warrant, whether it was related to Jack’s disappearance or Connor’s murder, it was for this house, and they were interested in her.
She scanned the exposed rafters of the kitchen ceiling and the cabinets lining the walls. She hadn’t even looked around in here. Had Jack put something deep in one of the cabinets? She had searched, but what if she’d missed something?
Who knew what else Jack had hidden around the house? She never would have thought he would hide money and passports. What if he had hidden a gun? What if it was the one used to kill Connor? She hadn’t seen a gun at the office. Where was the gun the police had asked about, presumably the gun that was used to kill Connor? If the police found a gun here...her heart skipped up another notch.
She whirled around and sprinted out of the kitchen to her bedroom where she grabbed the pile of passports. She hesitated for a second, her hand hovering over the envelope with the rolls of money and photos. The money wasn’t hers...but she couldn’t leave it out and she didn’t think she had time to put it back before the police arrived.
She stuffed the passports into the envelope and put it in her leather messenger tote, then dumped the contents of her purse into the bag. She wiggled her feet into a pair of strappy tan sandals with a low heel, the first pair of shoes she came across, and threw on a loose-weave turquoise sweater that dipped over her shoulder, revealing the white tank she already wore. She tucked her phone into the back pocket of her jeans, picked up her keys, and Jack’s sunglasses. At the kitchen door, she stopped abruptly and backtracked to her bedroom where she pawed through the pillows and comforter, then shoved everything on her dresser in different directions until she spotted Jack’s phone behind her perfume bottles. She snatched it up and hurried to the door.
She backed out of the driveway into the quiet street. No sign of the reporter and no official-looking cars were closing in on her house, but she still swallowed hard. Her hands were slippery on the steering w
heel as she drove down the tree-shaded street through the flickering patches of sunlight and shadow. She almost missed the brown car as she cruised past it. It was parked on the opposite side of the street from her house, tucked up under a droopy mimosa tree behind a large black van. She kept her gaze focused forward, but couldn’t help slouching down a little in the seat. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a woman on the sidewalk, bent down to the open passenger window. Zoe transferred her gaze to the rearview mirror and saw that it was the reporter. She held her cell phone in her hand and was shaking it as if making a point.
The car’s brake lights flared and Zoe realized they had seen her. The woman stepped away, and the car surged backward, then forward in a half arc, but a slow jogger picked that point to trot across the street and interrupt their U-turn. The brown car rocked as the driver slammed on the brakes. Zoe licked her lips as she made a sedate right turn, then stepped on the gas as she exited the neighborhood and merged onto a major road, which was busy with traffic, but not clogged. She slipped in and out of the cars, never going over the speed limit despite an urgent longing to press the accelerator to the floor, until she reached the Beltway, the road that encircled Dallas and Fort Worth.
No brown cars in sight behind her. She pressed down on the gas and switched to the far lane, twisting her tense shoulders to work out the kink that seemed to be tightening the muscles into a knot. She drove for twenty minutes with no sign of the brown car or flashing lights in her rearview mirror. The intense need to get away had receded, and she could breathe easier, but she had no idea of where to go. Helen’s house had been her immediate thought, but she passed Helen’s exit without even changing lanes. She couldn’t go there and involve her. Besides, it would only delay the encounter with the police. Friends and family were the first places they’d check.
She whipped by another exit, this one for 35, an Interstate Highway, and a thought slipped into her mind. What if she kept going? Just stayed on the road until she was out of Dallas? Out of the state, even?
The thought bloomed into a plan. What if she kept driving...all the way to Las Vegas? Eddie was never going to talk to her over the phone, but maybe face-to-face she could get some answers. If she went home now...well, she could imagine the reaction of the police if she stated she’d found the passports and money. The FBI agents clearly hadn’t thought she was clueless about Jack’s activities, and that reporter person was talking about fraud. Did it have something to do with all that money in Jack’s account? She felt her heart rate jump as she gripped the steering wheel tighter. What if they turned up something incriminating during their search...no, it had to be Vegas, Zoe thought as she hit her blinker and took the next exit for Denton.
Chapter Ten
Las Vegas
Friday, 12:42 p.m.
ZOE pulled into the parking garage of the Venetian Hotel early Friday afternoon. She spun the wheel, maneuvered into a slot near the door labeled “Casino,” and stretched her arms over her head, running her fingers over the fabric that lined the roof of the car.
She let her arms fall back to her side and closed her eyes for a moment, reveling in the fact that she’d made it. And in good time, too. She’d only stopped a few times, including once in Amarillo to fill up with gas and grab a cup of coffee. She’d hesitated over using the fat rolls of money for her purchases. It wasn’t her money.
Instead, she’d dug in her purse and used her last two twenties. She’d found an ATM at another gas station and, with the wind whipping her hair around her face, she’d cashed the last rent check from Kiki. Zoe had used that cash to pay for other times she’d filled up the car. One gas station had been located next to a Cozy Choice Hotel, a mid-range national chain. Zoe strolled into the hotel, took a seat at the computer tucked in a corner of the lobby, and used the complementary Internet access to set up a free Gmail account, from which she e-mailed Helen a note that only she would understand.
“Heading out for my own serenity break. May join mom.” The e-mail would clue Helen in that Zoe was out of town, but Helen would know that Zoe would never go on a serenity break in the first place and joining her mom at the spa would never happen either. Later, Zoe caught a few hours sleep at a rest stop in the mountains near Flagstaff where the air was crisp, then drove the rest of the way, a short four hours, straight through.
The dry heat, so different from Dallas’ sticky atmosphere, hit her as soon as she stepped out of the car. It seemed as if she could almost feel her lips beginning to chap and her skin wrinkling. Chilly air swept over her, making her break out in goose bumps as she pushed into the casino where she could hear the constant ding of the slot machines. Marble columns lined the hallways, richly colored frescos edged in heavy gilt decorated the ceiling, and intricately patterned marble tiles created geometric patterns on the floor. Like everything else in Vegas, it was over the top—excessive grandness and opulence to the extreme. It was too much, especially after twenty hours on the road.
Zoe blinked and rubbed her eyes. The patterns of the floor tiles were making her eyes cross. She’d been in The Venetian before, but she had been much more interested in Jack than in the casinos during that trip. Besides, they’d spent most of their time in their room. She flinched away from thoughts of those heady days—almost embarrassed to think how naïve she’d been. She’d fallen for Jack hard and had believed everything he’d said.
She ignored the lavish décor and picked up her pace, moving by the people hunched at slot machines and the circulating waitresses. She bought a coffee at a snack area in the casino, then made her way to the second floor with its simulation of a Venetian canal and St. Mark’s Square. Lined with shops, Zoe figured the canal with arched bridges and gondolas was a good place to look for “cousin” Eddie’s store. Zoe didn’t spare a glance at the strolling, costumed Venetians decked out in Renaissance finery, the singing gondolier, or the unmoving, yet human statue dressed head to toe in a white nun-like getup, who posed on a small dais and stared impassively into the distance as tourists with fanny packs snapped pictures of themselves beside her. Zoe strode briskly along the canal with its Aqua Velva-tinted water, the caffeine reenergizing her until she spotted Murano Glassworks and halted so abruptly that a woman with gray curls above her sun visor bumped into her.
Zoe apologized and moved to lean against a barrier that enclosed the “outdoor” tables at one of the restaurants. Murano Glassworks was a small storefront in a prime location, just off the replica of St. Mark’s Square. She sipped her coffee. Customers filled the store, but it looked as though most of the people were browsing. Two salespeople circulated through the store, one a tall, lean guy who couldn’t be more than twenty and a slightly older, petite woman with dark blond hair cropped in a pixie cut.
Zoe tossed the empty cup in the trash and went into the store, her heart beating a little faster. She strolled by the blond woman and saw her nametag: Eddie. Zoe picked up a translucent dome-shaped glass paperweight, which encased colorful geometric patterns that looked like flowers. They were similar to the paperweights GRS gave to clients. She stole a glance at the woman. With her pointed chin and the long bangs of her boyish haircut brushing her brown eyes, she was nothing like the person Zoe had mentally pictured when she’d spoken to Eddie on the phone. Zoe hadn’t realized she’d made some assumptions about Eddie, but she had. She’d expected Eddie to be like her voice, full-bodied and curvy, probably with masses of dark hair.
“That’s an excellent example of a vintage millefiori,” Eddie said, gesturing to the paperweight Zoe held.
“Oh. Yes...I suppose so,” Zoe said. She had been studying Eddie so closely that she’d forgotten she was holding the paperweight. She tilted it, caught sight of the price tag, and hastily replaced it on the shelf. She couldn’t afford a seventy-five dollar paperweight.
“The small shapes inside the paperweight are actually glass. It’s shaped into long tubes and cut into tiny pieces, which reveals the interior pattern. We also have millefiori jewelry as well as more vin
tage paperweights, if you’re interested.” Her gaze skimmed over Zoe, and she was sure Eddie was noting the dark circles under her eyes and the crumpled clothes that didn’t have designer labels. “Or,” Eddie continued as she tidied the display, aligning the paperweights, “we have some nice contemporary paperweights at a lower price.”
“No, thanks. I’m interested in Jack Andrews.”
Zoe had to admire the woman’s poise. She didn’t falter or show any surprise. She continued to neaten the table. As she leaned across Zoe to straighten the last few items on the table, one eyebrow shot up, disappearing under her fringe of bangs. “You must be Zoe.”
“Yes.” Zoe crossed her arms. A customer, a stout woman, breathed out an impatient sigh, clearly wanting to move through the narrow aisle, but Zoe planted her feet and stared at Eddie.
Eddie’s gaze flicked to the woman, then back to Zoe. “Let’s step out side.”
They walked across the prefab piazza to the canal. Eddie rested her elbows on the balustrade running along the canal and looked into the turquoise water. “Your area code, two-one-four, that’s Dallas.”
Zoe gripped the decorative iron. “Yes. I drove straight through.”
“I can tell how important this is to you,” Eddie said as she turned her head to look at Zoe over her shoulder, and Zoe noticed how long her eyelashes were. “But I don’t know this Jack guy.”
“I have an e-mail from him to you. He traveled here regularly,” Zoe said, wishing she’d brought the e-mail. “You don’t understand—this is incredibly important. I have to get some answers. I’m in trouble because of him, and you’re the only link I have to finding answers. He’s missing. He could be dead.”
Eddie was shaking her head. “I really wish I could help—really. You seem sincere but,” she shrugged, “I can’t.” Zoe started to speak, but Eddie cut across her words and said quietly, “I don’t know anything. Please don’t make any trouble. I don’t want to call security and make things worse for you.” With her lips pressed together, Eddie gave Zoe a regretful half-smile and pushed off from the balustrade. She walked quickly to the store and immediately went to help a customer.
