Dying for a Deal

by Cindy Sample

  Her gaze roamed around the empty office. “Where are the investigators? I spoke with a Robert Bradford on the phone when I made the appointment.”

  “Robert was unavailable so you’ll be meeting with me.” I tried to put a positive spin on it. “Since we know one another so well, I’m more suited to help you with your problem.”

  Her pert nose crinkled as if smelling my bullsh** and not liking what she’d encountered.

  “Why don’t you have a seat in Tom’s, I mean, my office,” I said hurriedly. “Can I get you some coffee? We have an assortment of flavors.”

  She sighed, mumbled “French roast,” and stomped on her stilt-like heels into Tom’s office. I hoped he wouldn’t mind me confiscating his digs for the interview. Once our firm grew, we’d be able to expand to larger quarters, including an office of my own.

  The Keurig coffeemaker took four minutes—yes, I counted every second—to deliver Adriana’s dark roasted brew. I brought her mug of coffee and an assortment of creams, sugar and sweeteners, wishing there were a way to sweeten her up as well.

  I fixed a smile on my face, settled into Tom’s comfortable chair, grabbed a pen and one of his legal pads and began the interview.

  “So what type of situation can our agency help you with?” I asked, trying to maintain a professional demeanor instead of sounding like one of the Gossip Girls.

  Adriana picked at a manicured fingernail, the vermillion-red color matching the color of her artificially plump lips.

  “What I’m about to tell you is confidential, of course.”

  “Of course,” I parroted back. “Everything you share with me is confidential. Just like it would be with an attorney.” I couldn’t resist adding, “Or a therapist.”

  She frowned at my remark, took a deep breath, crossed her legs and began her story.

  “I got engaged two weeks ago.” She thrust her jawbreaker-sized diamond ring at me, apparently thinking visual aids would assist her storytelling.

  “Congratulations.”

  She smirked at me, but surprisingly the smirk morphed into an expression that could best be described as—sad.

  “Gino Romano, my fiancé, swooped into my life several months ago and swept me off my brand new Louboutins.” She threw me a half smile. “I’d never met anyone so bold, so exciting, and I have to admit, sexy. Obviously, I’m a great catch,” she added, throwing back her mane of dark curls.

  “Obviously,” I said with an internal eye roll. “May I ask how you met?”

  “On the Hello Cupid site,” she said, her color rising to match her lipstick. “It’s the most progressive and analytical online dating service these days.”

  In my opinion, there was nothing wrong with using a dating site or agency. As long as you didn’t use the one I’d signed up with two years earlier. Talk about drop-dead dates. Although, if I hadn’t joined the Love Club, I’d never have met Tom.

  “Many people have found the perfect match online,” I continued. “However, there are scam artists out there, as I’m sure you’re aware. Looking to take advantage of women, and men as well.”

  “I’m not an idiot, Laurel,” she replied. “I can take care of myself.”

  I remained silent, since there must be something she couldn’t take care of herself. Otherwise, why was she ruining my morning and depriving me of my daily donut fix?

  “Even though we recently became engaged, we don’t live together. Gino lives in Granite Bay and I live in El Dorado Hills. His firm is in Roseville, and I have the drive to Placerville every day.”

  I nodded and jotted down the geographical aspects of the case, wondering if they were truly relevant.

  “Last week I dined with a girlfriend in Roseville, at a restaurant near the Galleria, and as we were driving by R. C. Steakhouse, I noticed Gino standing by the entrance, his arm around a blonde.” Her dark eyes flashed with anger as she added, “A very young and very shapely blonde.”

  “You shouldn’t jump to conclusions. Perhaps he was meeting with a client.”

  “He’s a financial advisor, specializing in seniors and their investment portfolios.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “This girl was barely legal, much less one of his baby boomer clients.”

  “A relative, granddaughter of a client, masseuse?” I couldn’t stop throwing out possibilities, none of them likely.

  “Seriously? Plus, the only reason I chose to meet with Beth that particular evening was because Gino told me he had a dinner meeting in San Francisco and wouldn’t be home until close to midnight.”

  I tapped my black Bic against the desk. “Is that the only time he’s misled you?”

  She shifted in her chair, crossing her left leg over her right and then switching once again. “I don’t want to seem like one of those paranoid girlfriends always worried their boyfriend is going out on them.”

  “You’re cautious. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “Earlier this week, he informed me he had another meeting in San Francisco. After work, I drove to his house.” She paused, looking reflective. “I’m not really sure why. Intuition, I suppose. A red convertible was parked in his driveway. The house was lit up, so he was obviously home and entertaining someone.”

  “Did you see who he was with?”

  She shook her head. “His nosy next-door neighbor waved at me as I drove past. The guy is always outside pruning and planting. I waved back and took off, terrified Gino would learn I was there. Spying on him.”

  “You haven’t said anything to Gino?” I asked, knowing I would have been hard-pressed to keep quiet if I’d been in her situation.

  Her eyes downcast, Adriana mumbled, “I don’t want to rock the boat. I love him, Laurel.”

  “I understand,” I said and meant it. Love can do strange things to people. Like turn an assertive female bank executive into a lovesick teenager. “But how can the agency help?”

  “I’d like you to, um, I guess, tail him. Like they do in the movies. Take photos of him and whatever woman he’s with. He’s already told me he has to spend a couple of nights in Tahoe next week on business. I want to find out if it’s legitimate business or monkey business.”

  I attempted to maintain a professional demeanor, but internally I was jumping up and down. My first surveillance job. So cool.

  I quoted our rates, which given the newness of our agency, were very reasonable. Adriana reviewed our client agreement, skimming past the fine print, including our requirement of a fifteen-hundred-dollar retainer. She pulled a checkbook out of her purse, wrote the check without batting an eyelash and handed it to me.

  “You’ll ensure Gino will have no idea someone is following him, correct?”

  “Of course,” I replied, wondering how hard this tailing thing could be. It was a good thing I’d given my periwinkle Prius to my daughter. Not the best car for blending into the scenery. But my almost new silver Subaru Forester would be ideal for this type of operation.

  Adriana gave me all the information I requested: Gino’s home and business addresses, the dates of his Tahoe trip, as well as all of her contact information. I ushered her to the front door, closing it behind her.

  I walked back to Tom’s office and relaxed in his comfortable leather chair, a wide smile on my face as I stared at my first retainer check, as pleased as if I’d won the California lottery. Then the front door flew open, and my husband burst into the office, his tie askew and his eyes frantic as he searched for me.

  I rose from the chair, puzzled, as he raced to my side.

  “What’s wrong?” I questioned him.

  “Have you talked to Jenna?” he asked. “Is she okay?”

  Only three little words, but they were enough to make this mother’s heart drop to the floor.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I grabbed Tom by his firm bicep. “What do you mean?”

  “You haven’t heard?” he asked.

  “Heard what? I just finished a client meeting.”

  “There’s been a single-car a
ccident on Green Valley Road. A Prius was run off the road. I was afraid it might be Jenna.”

  I staggered to a chair and fell into it. “Do they know what model or color the Prius is?” I asked. “There are a ton of them on the road these days.”

  “I’m not sure. I heard it on my police scanner just a few minutes ago. I thought I’d check with you first to see if you heard from her. After I dropped the kids off this morning, I stopped at Home Depot to pick up some irrigation supplies. I caught the tail end of the announcement so I didn’t catch the license plate number.”

  I glanced at my watch. Jenna would still be in class, assuming she wasn’t the accident victim. I didn’t want to turn into one of those overwrought mothers who race to the school every time they hear a siren in the distance. But still, I’d feel better if she confirmed she was okay. I grabbed my cell out of my purse to see if there were any messages. None.

  That was a good thing. Unless she was injured and couldn’t contact me. My stomach clenched at the realization. I texted her in all caps.

  CALL ME ASAP.

  I stared at my phone, willing it to beep or ring. While we waited, Tom called one of his buddies at the El Dorado County Sheriff’s Office to see if they had the name of the victim or the specific year and color of the car. The only response was it was a young female driver, no passenger, and an ambulance was on the way.

  I didn’t think my stomach could get any more nauseous, but I was wrong. I dashed off to the bathroom, locked the door and stood over the sink gasping for air. I kept telling myself to settle down, but my maternal instinct had kicked into high alert. Tom pounded on the door to see if I was okay. I decided I wouldn’t be okay until I knew my daughter was safe at the high school, so we locked up the office, jumped into Tom’s car and headed for Green Valley Road.

  It was a good thing Tom handled the driving. Despite the gravity of the situation, he maintained a speed barely above the speed limit, a wise move because the two-lane country road contained more twists and turns than the current mystery I was reading. Although I mentally urged him to speed it up, I tried to relax and concentrate on something pleasant.

  If only I could think of something.

  We zipped down the road on the lookout for signs of an accident. Just as we passed North Shingle Road we caught up to a canary-yellow tow truck from a Placerville body shop. Tom followed the truck while I checked my phone once again.

  Nada. And Jenna’s calculus test should have been over by now. Although she would have switched off her phone before class began and might not have turned it on again.

  The tow truck rounded a bend, with us trailing a few feet behind. The right indicator light on the truck blinked red and Tom slowed, but not before I caught a glimpse of a black-and-white CHP patrol car, a dirty white county sheriff’s car and a very smashed Prius.

  A periwinkle Prius.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  It was a good thing I hadn’t snacked on any donuts this morning, because there is no way I’d have been able to keep my breakfast down once I saw Jenna’s totaled vehicle. Despite my desire to view the damage and find out any pertinent facts, like where my daughter was, the spot where we’d parked wasn’t exactly safe for any pedestrian activity.

  Tom clicked on the emergency signals before opening his door and checking for traffic in either direction. After walking behind the car, he carefully helped me out so I didn’t slip on the gravel-lined sloping path that paralleled the ditch alongside the road. We traipsed through dried leaves and twigs that crackled underfoot until we reached the squad cars.

  Tom hailed the deputy who was deep in discussion with the tow truck driver. “Hey, Bill,” Tom said to the officer. “This is my stepdaughter’s vehicle. Can you tell me what happened and where we can find her?”

  “Do you know if she’s okay?” I asked as a waterfall of tears cascaded down my cheeks.

  “The ambulance took her to Marshall Hospital. The airbag hit her pretty hard and she might have a sprain or two.” He looked at the Prius—the passenger side completely smashed into the hill alongside the road. “Your girl was mighty lucky.”

  “What happened?” Tom asked.

  “She was still pretty freaked out when I questioned her, but from what she said, I guess a car whipped around that curve,” Bill said, pointing twenty feet ahead of us, “halfway in her lane. She veered to the right, but he hit her front bumper and sent her crashing into this hill.”

  I shivered. Bill was right. Jenna was mighty lucky.

  “I can’t believe the other car just kept on going,” I said, indignant that someone could leave the scene of an accident they created.

  Bill shrugged. “Probably some young kid afraid he’d get in trouble or lose his license.”

  “I presume Bodyworks will tow her car to the shop,” Tom asked the driver of the tow truck, who nodded in response.

  I elbowed Tom. “Can we go to the hospital? I need to see my daughter. Now.”

  Tom handed his business card to the deputy in case they uncovered any evidence regarding the car that caused the crash. Jenna had given the Bodyworks driver her contact and insurance information, so he was good to go.

  I took one last look at the car. I didn’t know much about auto repair, but it looked like my ancient Prius might have taken its last ride.

  As we were driving to Marshall Hospital, my cell pinged with a message from Jenna. It was brief, basically saying she was okay but to come to the hospital right away. Please. Followed by a very sad-faced emoji. I kept my reply short, informing her we were on our way. Tom dropped me off at the emergency room entrance and went off to park. I almost crashed through the automatic doors into the hospital, which were not moving as quickly as my feet were.

  The front desk directed me to Jenna’s room, where I broke into tears again. At the rate I was blubbering, I could lose three pounds in water weight today.

  “It’s okay, Mom. I’m not hurt bad.” Jenna’s lower lip quivered and it looked like she might start bawling as well. “But I missed my calculus final,” she wailed.

  You had to admire a daughter who prioritized academia over accidents.

  I bent over and gently kissed her forehead, smoothing out her matted hair. “Don’t worry about your exam. I’ll stop at the school and speak with your teacher. I’m sure he’ll let you do a makeup test.”

  “I still can’t believe those boys didn’t stop. They must have seen me crash. I could have been killed,” she said with the eloquence of an Oscar-winning actor.

  “There were two people in the car? Did you recognize either of them?”

  “No, but I had a very close visual of the driver who tried to sideswipe me. I won’t forget him or his car,” she emphasized. “And once I’m out of here, I’m going to track him down.”

  “You let me handle it. The most important thing is that you’re okay.” I stroked Jenna’s arm and wondered if she’d seen herself in a mirror yet. The large bruise on her forehead would soon turn the same color as her indigo jeans.

  A nurse entered the room and greeted us. “How are you doing?” she asked Jenna.

  “Much better, thanks. The ibuprofen helped.”

  The nurse turned to me. “And how is Mom doing?”

  “I’ve been better, and I could definitely use something stronger than ibuprofen.” When the nurse frowned at me, I elaborated. “I was thinking of chocolate.”

  “It calms her down,” Jenna said to the nurse. “Even better than Xanax. So can I go home now?”

  “The doctor wants an X-ray of your ankle as well as your ribs to make sure nothing is broken. But after that, you should be good to go. Although we highly recommend resting all weekend.”

  Jenna frowned. “But it’s Katie’s senior party this Saturday night. I can’t miss it. How long do you think it will take to fix my car, Mom?”

  My phone beeped, saving me from giving a reply that could lead to more angst for my daughter. Then I chastised myself for having such a negative outlook. The body shop m
ight be able to repair her car.

  And I might lose ten pounds by tomorrow.

  As the nurse loaded Jenna into a wheelchair for her X-rays, I glanced at my phone. Multiple messages from multiple family members who had heard about an accident involving a periwinkle Prius. Probably the only one in the county.

  I called my mother first and assured her Jenna would be fine, although her car was most likely fatally injured.

  Gran had also left a message since her phone network occasionally outpaced Twitter.

  “Is my great-granddaughter gonna be alright?” she asked when I called her back.

  “Yes, she was very lucky.” I gave her a CliffsNotes version of Jenna’s accident.

  “Do you need me to come down there?”

  “Nope.” My bossy grandmother was more likely to alienate the medical staff than assist in any way. After her last hospital visit, she’d annoyed the nurses so much they’d recommended she switch to another medical group, one that didn’t include Marshall Hospital as a designated facility.

  “I’m sure they’d be thrilled to have you help out,” I said, then switched to a diversionary tactic, “but how about we work on Iris’s issue instead?”

  “Good point. We can’t let the fact that scumbag was murdered interfere with our case.”

  Technically, it was my case, but since Gran referred Iris to me, it wasn’t worth arguing over.

  “Correct. Let me do some more research, then I’ll visit their office and try to get Iris her money back.”

  “That’s my girl detective. I wouldn’t mind hitting the craps table again neither. We can multitask while we’re up there.”

  “I’m not sure you should visit the timeshare office again. Especially since Gregg was murdered. We don’t want you to get into trouble with the police in Tahoe.”

  “Don’t be silly, Laurel. There’s no reason anyone would suspect me of killing that twit.”