Death, Taxes, and a Shotgun Wedding

by Diane Kelly

  Another possibility was that the person making the threats was associated with the Lone Star Nation, a secessionist group. I’d had a run-in last year with their elderly, gun-happy leader, August Buchmeyer, and his wife, Betty. Our interaction involved an exchange of gunfire and resulted in the man enjoying several months’ stay at a psychiatric facility. I’d also had a slew of the members arrested when they’d held a cockfight on the purported sovereign property of the Nation. Could one of them be after me? Again, maybe. Hard to say for sure. But without their fearless leader, the group had dissipated after Buchmeyer’s arrest, and my gut told me they’d moved on to other things. Still, the Buchmeyers weren’t in jail, and August had already proven he had both a short fuse and some loose screws. Better give them a visit, huh?

  In another major investigation, I’d taken down Noah Fischer, a popular pastor and televangelist who led the Ark church. The congregation worshipped in a huge building shaped like a ship, complete with a gangplank at the entry. Not only had Pastor Fischer cheated the IRS out of thousands upon thousands of tax dollars, he’d fleeced his flock as well, using their tithes for personal gain. And that was only the beginning of his sins. He’d also committed adultery, with both a pole dancer and a parishioner, the latter of whom bore him a child. As if that didn’t break enough of God’s commandments, he’d even tried to kill me in my own town house. I was certainly not sinless, but this guy took the cake.

  While Noah Fischer had ended up in prison, his wife Marissa got off scot-free. Though she’d also benefitted from the improperly used funds, she had not been directly involved in the financial shenanigans. The Fischers’ assets had been seized and the two divorced, but neither the financial nor emotional toll had likely hurt Marissa much. She’d gone on to give a series of paid interviews on TV talk shows and in tell-all tabloids, but her crocodile tears didn’t fool me. She loved the attention much more than she’d ever loved her husband. He’d been a means to an end.

  She’d gone on to star in the debut season of the program Do Over, which was essentially The Bachelorette but for divorced women to find a second chance at love. I hadn’t watched the show, finding much of “reality TV” to be too contrived to be believable. But according to the magazines I’d perused while waiting in the grocery-store checkout line last fall, Marissa, after much angst and deliberation, as well as many suggestive backrubs from the other contestants, had awarded her mended-heart medallion to a guy from her home state of Iowa. He owned a chain of farm-equipment dealerships and no doubt earned a nice living. I heard they’d gone on to get married. Being married to a tractor dealer was not as glamorous as being the wife of a celebrity, but no doubt the guy earned a pretty penny given all the farmland in Middle America.

  When the show’s season ended, Marissa had faded from the limelight. Presumably she was living large in Des Moines, enjoying her new life brought to you courtesy of Joove, the wrinkle-fighting face cream that rejuvenates skin and “gives women a second chance to enjoy their younger years.”

  Given that things had turned out well for Marissa, as well as the fact that she was living three states and seven hundred miles away, it seemed doubtful she’d come after me, even if she was angry at me for putting an end to the life she’d lived here in Dallas. But maybe Noah’s stripper girlfriend had decided to seek revenge. Surely Leah Dodd missed the luxuries Noah had been able to provide her. Then again, she’d had her time in the limelight, too, landing gigs on 60 Minutes, The View, and The Jerry Springer Show, not to mention interviews with People magazine and the National Enquirer. She’d earned a pretty penny for sharing her story.

  Like Marissa, Leah lived out of state, a three-hour drive away in Shreveport, Louisiana. Would she go to the trouble of coming all this way to try to run me down and personally deliver the coffin brochure to my door? Again, I had my doubts. I couldn’t imagine her relationship with Fischer really meant much to her. And weren’t sugar daddies readily available to attractive young women? She could have replaced him in a heartbeat. Still, given her line of work, she might have access to the type of unsavory characters who’d be willing to off a federal agent for a small fee. And I supposed it could be possible that she’d been genuinely in love with the fallen pastor. Hmm …

  The IRS had made a concerted effort to curb the number of abusive tax preparers in recent years, and the Dallas Criminal Investigations team had arrested a number of unscrupulous practitioners who’d helped their clients defraud the IRS. The Deduction Diva. The Tax Wizard. A guy who dressed like Elvis and operated his tax business under the name Refund-a-Rama. Heck, Nick and I had ended up in a Mexican standoff with the owner of Bulls-Eye Taxidermy and Tax Processing. I wouldn’t put it past Jimmy John McClure to come after me again, to try to even the score. But as far as I knew, the guy was still doing time. Did he have someone else doing his dirty work? Maybe one of his taxidermy clients? The thought was unnerving. I’d hate for my head to end up mounted on someone’s wall or my hide to end up as a rug lying in front of someone’s fireplace.

  In addition to the fraudulent preparers, I’d gone after men who’d been funneling funds to terrorist groups, as well as the woman who’d unwittingly helped them. But all of them were still in jail, too. As was Donald Geils, the owner of a strip club called Guys & Dolls. He’d taken a shot at me once. He took four bullets in his leg in return. The incident had led to that excessive-force trial I’d mentioned, starring yours truly as the defendant. While waiting for the hearing, I’d worked audits and reconnected with a frenemy from college, Chloe Aberdeen-Jennings, whose family owned and operated a candy business. She hadn’t appreciated me showing up to audit the company. The two of us had taken a header off a catwalk and ended up in a vat of chocolate together, but she’d been contrite afterward. Or at least she’d seemed to be. Could she be the one who was after me now? She’d had a lot of personal problems, including marital ones, though I thought she’d worked through them. Did she begrudge me my impending wedded bliss? It was certainly possible. It couldn’t hurt to check in with both Don Geils and Chloe.

  Of course Brazos Rivers and his parents weren’t happy with me, either. The young country-western superstar had skyrocketed to fame and fortune, and it had gone to his head. He thought he was above the law, didn’t take care of his business. He’d forced me to take care of it for him. He, too, was in prison, singing the blues. Could his parents be behind the threats? I’d met them once and they’d made it clear they had no love and just as little respect for me. While hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, in my experience a parent could be even more hellacious and ferocious when someone attacked their precious baby. Hmm …

  I’d put members of a cartel behind bars, too, and one in the ground. My father had dispatched another member of the cartel. We’d had no choice. They’d had guns at the heads of Nick and Christina. Could one of their family members be after me? Or maybe El Cuchillo—the Knife—was still running the cartel from prison. Maybe he’d ordered someone to toy with and torture me.

  Unfortunately, El Cuchillo wasn’t the only violent offender I’d put away who potentially had a network of killers at his disposal. Guistino “Tino” Fabrizio, the Godfather of a local mob syndicate, had several enforcers in his group. In fact, we never tracked down an unknown man who’d come to Tino’s wife’s restaurant, posing as a safety inspector from the fire department checking on the fire extinguishers. When the building was later set on fire with Tino’s wife, me, and a chef inside, we discovered the fire extinguisher was empty and useless. Could that unidentified man be the one who was after me now? Was he angry that I’d foiled Tino’s plot to kill his wife for the life insurance money? Had he been in line to be paid some of those proceeds?

  My most recent cases had involved a crafty talk-radio-show host who’d formed her own bartering network, a guy who’d catfished women online and ripped them off, a human smuggler, and a young woman obsessed with a telenovela and seeking revenge on anyone who’d slighted her, just as the heroine of her favorite show did
. While members of the bartering network might have been upset that I’d put an end to the exchange program when they had unspent credits, I doubted any of them would be so upset as to risk jail time for threatening a federal law enforcement officer. As far as the smuggler’s group went, I was fairly certain we’d nabbed all the major players. But they hadn’t exactly been forthcoming with information. Hmm …

  I had a lot of possible suspects, but no sure answers. I also had a full caseload at work and not enough time to chase all of these leads. I supposed I’d have to go after the suspects that seemed the most likely, or the ones that I could pursue with the least amount of time and effort.

  I closed my eyes and rolled onto my side. Anne curled up against my chest, purring. Henry refused to join us on the bed, furious that he’d not only been forced to move without his consent but that he was also now forced to share his digs with an inferior species. He opted to sleep atop the dresser. I could only hope he’d be a little more receptive in a few weeks when Nick and I officially blended our two fur families in our new home next door.

  While I was grateful to have Nick with me tonight, if pressed I’d have to say I was even more grateful Daffodil was here. If anyone snooped around Bonnie’s house tonight, her sensitive ears would pick it up and she’d alert us to the intruders. I’d always been more of a cat person, but dogs certainly did more to earn their keep. No doubt about it.

  chapter nine

  Hard Lessons

  Other than me tossing and turning nonstop, the rest of Monday night was uneventful. Honestly, I wasn’t sure whether to be grateful for that fact or not. I was glad to be alive when I woke Tuesday morning, but I’d have been even more glad if the Dallas PD had apprehended my would-be killer sneaking up the driveway with clear evidence of murderous intent that would put the creep away for years to come.

  Judging from the sound of water running in the shower, Nick had beat me into the bathroom this morning. But it was just as well. The siren scent of coffee lured me toward the kitchen, Anne trotting after me.

  Bonnie had risen with the sun and fixed a full breakfast. Scrambled eggs. Blueberry pancakes with maple syrup. Biscuits and gravy. Fresh-squeezed orange juice and fresh-brewed coffee. Yum! Daffodil sat at Bonnie’s feet, looking up hopefully while she watched Bonnie flip a pancake. Henry, meanwhile, lounged on the countertop a few feet away, unceremoniously cleaning between his spread toes. The cat had no manners whatsoever. Fortunately, Bonnie didn’t seem to mind.

  “There you are,” I said to Henry. “I was wondering where you’d been all night.”

  “He was with me,” Bonnie said. “He climbed up on my bed and slept right next to me the whole time.”

  Ungrateful brat. I pampered the spoiled beast yet he rarely gave me the time of day, let alone willingly cuddled with me. I had to force my love on him, giving him kisses while he stiff-armed me, trying to keep me at a distance.

  Bonnie waved the spatula at the spread of food. “Help yourself, hon.”

  “This looks delicious, Bonnie. Thanks.”

  I retrieved a plate from the cabinet and a fork from the drawer and proceeded to fill the plate with food. She did the same. We’d just taken seats at the table when Nick wandered in, dressed in work clothes but his hair still damp from the shower. With my soon-to-be mother-in-law sitting next to me, I tried not to think of how sexy he looked.

  Nick cut me a glance and gestured to the breakfast. “Is this the kind of morning meal I can expect you to cook once we get married?”

  I shot him a pointed look in return. “This is the twenty-first century. I could ask you the same thing.”

  Bonnie silenced us with a pshaw. “Any time either of you want some home cooking, all you’ll have to do is come next door.”

  I saluted her with a gooey, syrup-covered forkful of pancake. “Good to know.”

  As we headed to the garage after breakfast to retrieve our cars, I noticed my shotgun leaning against the wall next to the front door. If anyone came looking for me here today, Bonnie would give them a double-barreled greeting.

  * * *

  Will was my safety buddy on Tuesday. He walked with me to the courthouse, where I planned to seek a search warrant for the financial records of Teacher’s Pet Tutoring Center.

  On the steps of the courthouse stood reporter Trish LeGrande, her microphone at her glossy pink lips, her oversized breasts pulling her pink dress taut across her chest, her butterscotch hair pulled up into a pile of loose curls on top of her head. She looked down at her cameraman two steps below her as she spoke about the ongoing trial of a former county commissioner on racketeering charges. Seemed there was always some elected official getting themselves in hot water in Dallas. A former police chief. School board members. Heck, I’d recently arrested a judge who was on the take from a gas company. She’d accidentally shot her innocent husband in the melee at their home. Fortunately, he’d survived.

  Will and I made a wide circle around the reporter, walking up the far edge of the steps so that we wouldn’t be visible in the background of the recording.

  When Trish finished speaking, she snapped her fingers in our direction. We kept going because, hey, we weren’t dogs about to pee on a rug. If she wanted our attention, she could be more professional about it, at least treat us like human beings.

  “You!” She waved her hand now and trotted toward us, teetering on her heels. “Wait!”

  Given that we were the only people on the steps other than her and her cameraman, it was clear she was speaking to us. While we might have ignored her had we not worked for the federal government, we knew as feds we had to play nice with the media as much as possible.

  “You’re from the IRS, right?” she asked when she reached us. “Criminal cases? Agent…”

  She waited for me to fill in the blank, but I didn’t. She should know damn good and well who I was and where I was from by now. The woman had interviewed me more than once before, reported on several of my cases. She’d even house-sat for my previous boyfriend. She and Brett met when he was doing some free landscaping work for Habitat for Humanity and Trish had come by to interview the volunteers and work on the project. Needless to say, their cozy little arrangement hadn’t sat well with me. She’d later flirted with Nick, too, when she’d interviewed him regarding a tax investigation. I didn’t trust the woman as far as I could throw her. I wonder if I could throw her all the way to the curb? Maybe in front of that oncoming bus?

  She stared at me, blinking, still waiting for me to fill in the blank.

  Though I’d been the one to attend Miss Cecily’s charm school as a girl, Will had more manners than I. “She’s Special Agent Tara Holloway,” he said. “I’m Special Agent William Dorsey.”

  She shook his hand. I extended my right hand as well, simultaneously raising my left to push back my hair in a veiled attempt to make her notice my beautiful engagement ring. I’d like to say I was above such petty acts, but obviously I was not. I got him. You didn’t. Neener-neener! I angled my hand one way, then the other, hoping the ring would sparkle in the morning sun and catch her eye. It didn’t. Or at least she pretended not to see it. Either way, I had to put my hand down now or it would just look weird.

  “What are you two doing here?” she asked. “Working a big case?”

  While some of our cases became matters of public record, the instant case was not yet at the public stage. Still, it couldn’t hurt to take advantage of this opportunity to make a public-service announcement about the rental scam, warn tenants to beware when they handed over deposits. Who knows? Maybe someone watching would call in with a clue as to the identity of the man we were after. Of course I didn’t want to show my face on camera or the guy I was after might recognize me.

  “We’re here on a minor matter this morning,” I told her, “but we do have a bigger case brewing. A widespread rental real estate scam.”

  At the word “scam,” her face brightened. Someone else’s misery was her breaking news, the story that would get her
face in front of hundreds of thousands of people in north Texas.

  She turned to her cameraman, who’d followed her over. “Start rolling.”

  “Wait!” I threw up a hand. “Let Agent Dorsey fill you in. I’m working undercover and need to keep my face off television screens.”

  Will looked to me. “What should I say?”

  I gave him the basic facts of how the rental scam worked so he could relay them on tape. “There’s been about forty victims in the scam I’m looking into. Over a hundred grand stolen.”

  He nodded. “Got it.”

  As soon as Will was ready, the cameraman got his equipment going and Trish cast the lens a serious look. “This is Trish LeGrande with Special Agent William Dorsey from the IRS Criminal Division. I hear there’s a real estate rental scam hitting unsuspecting people in our area. Could you give us the details?”

  She shoved the mic into Will’s face.

  “The IRS has partnered with Dallas PD,” he said, looking into the camera, “to pursue a person operating a fraudulent leasing scam. In a typical situation, the culprit posts a rental listing online for significantly less than market value. When he meets with the prospective tenants at the property, he poses as a rental agent. He tells them that there has been interest from other parties and that if they want to lease the place they need to move fast and get him a deposit right away. He suggests they obtain a money order and offers them a written lease when they return with the deposit. It’s not until weeks later when the tenants attempt to move in that they discover the man had no authority to lease the property.”

  Trish put the mic back to her mouth now. “How many victims have there been and how much money is involved?”