by Cindy Sample
“You should have tried harder.” She mumbled something under her breath about getting tetanus and hepatitis shots, then flounced off, heading for the back door of The Gray Goose. The bartender followed behind her. Even as disgusting and angry as Adriana was, she still managed to put a little wiggle in her waggle.
I shook my head and started to follow her, but Derek stopped me. “I know you’d like to clean up,” he said, “but I really need a word with you.”
“Alone?” Was I about to be assaulted again? And why was my pepper spray never close at hand? From now on, I was only wearing clothes with pockets for these expeditions.
He pulled two business cards from his pressed jeans and handed them to me. Surprisingly, one of the cards was mine.
“Where did you get this?” I asked.
“I saw it lying on the hallway near your purse. Probably fell out. I noticed you’re a private investigator.”
I nodded and then nodded again to myself as I glanced at his business card. FBI agent. Well, well. That certainly put a different spin on things.
“Are you conducting an investigation?” I asked. “Or just slumming?”
He chuckled. “I can’t go into details, obviously, but I picked up on some of the conversation you two had earlier with those two men. And I noticed the photo your friend showed them. Gino Romano, right?”
“Right.”
“Can I ask what you’re investigating? And does the other woman work for your agency, too?” The expression on his face was a mixture of confused and appalled.
“No, thank goodness. She’s merely an extremely bossy and interfering client.” I smiled, wondering if the time I’d spent stuffed in the dumpster could be considered billable hours. “This little incident might have taught her a valuable lesson. As you can see, subtlety isn’t exactly her forte.”
He nodded. “And your case?”
I tapped his card against my palm. “Tell you what, how about we save our chat until after I’ve cleaned up a little.”
He reluctantly agreed and followed me back into the bar. I picked up my purse and joined Adriana in the ladies’ room. After looking at myself in the mirror, I couldn’t wait to wash up. But first things first.
There was someone I needed to call.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Tom arrived at The Gray Goose in under forty-five minutes, unshaven, hair mussed and eyes tired. My heart still leapt as he walked inside the bar. His eyes opened wide when he saw me.
He raced to my side before stopping and grimacing. Despite as thorough of a cleansing as I could manage in the bathroom sink, I basically reeked.
Then he grabbed me in his arms and showered me with kisses.
Did I have the best guy or what?
He stepped back. “I love you to death, but you stink, honey. We need to get you home ASAP.”
“I agree, but we have to chat with the FBI guy first. He’s hoping I can help him with his case and vice versa.”
Tom looked over my shoulder. “So where’s our friendly fed?”
“He went to walk Adriana to her Uber lift, which will take her back to her car. Derek wanted to talk to her more about Gino tonight, but she said she wasn’t speaking to anyone until she shampooed and showered.”
The door to the bar opened and the agent walked in. When he noticed Tom standing with me, he smiled and walked over. They shook hands and Derek said, “Well, I’ll be. I didn’t realize you were this woman’s husband. How the heck have you been?”
Ah, the old boys in blue club strikes again. It seemed no matter what case we were on, Tom knew at least one of the officials involved. Which, from my perspective, was a good thing. Most of the time. Except when one of the officials was an ex-partner and possible ex-girlfriend.
Putting my feelings about Detective Ali Reynolds aside, I tuned into the guys’ conversation and caught the tail end.
“… signs of money laundering,” Derek stated.
“You mean Gino’s been laundering money?” I asked.
“We think so, and the fact someone took him out of the picture made us even more certain.”
“Is that why you were in the bar tonight?” I felt tired and confused, not to mention disgusting. But I wasn’t going home until my questions had been answered.
Derek blew out a breath. “I guess it can’t hurt to share at this point, particularly since the subject of our investigation is now deceased. One of the operations staff for Fidelity Wealth Management noticed discrepancies in some of Gino’s accounts and reported it to their supervisor. Financial firms are constantly on the watch for money laundering.”
“That’s a high priority for your agency, isn’t it?” Tom asked.
Derek nodded. “These thieves are becoming more and more sophisticated, but they still need to find a way to get their cash into the system.”
“What kind of discrepancies did they find?” I asked, my financial background making me curious.
“Gino brought in several new clients in the past six months, and all of them purchased very large annuities. Worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. But then they cashed out the annuity fairly quickly, turning it into a liquid investment. And one we normally wouldn’t catch.”
“Clever stuff,” I commented.
“Yep, and the only reason the firm caught it was because of a new staffer who had just seen a documentary on money laundering. She found it odd so many of Gino’s client transactions were so similar in nature.”
“Does this mean Gino was killed by some drug lord?” I asked.
Derek shrugged. “We haven’t traced his activities that far. I’ve communicated with a Detective Reynolds at the SLTPD about our interest in his murder. She mentioned a couple of eyewitnesses saw the supposed killer jump off the gondola shortly before his body was discovered.”
I raised my hand. “Yep, I’m one of the witnesses.”
Derek blinked. “You get around, don’t you?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” replied my husband. “But I think it’s time I took Laurel home. How about we follow up on this conversation tomorrow.”
“You got it,” Derek said. “Hopefully our next meeting won’t involve any unintentional dumpster diving.”
“With my wife,” Tom replied as he ushered me toward the door, “always expect the unexpected.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
After a long, hot shower the night before, I’d tumbled into bed and slept for nine solid hours. I woke to an empty bedroom and the smell of coffee wafting its way up the stairs. I threw on a clean T-shirt and shorts, ran a brush through my curls and entered the kitchen, anxious for my first cup of java to kick start my day.
My wonderful hubby had not only brought his disheveled wife home last night, but he’d brewed Kona coffee, walked the dog and made sure all three kids caught the bus to school. A Post-it note on the coffeemaker informed me he’d be at the D.A.’s office until noon.
The note also said: Take a break this morning. Smell the roses for a change. XO, Tom.
I sniffed the air, but my excellent sense of smell did not detect any flowery fragrances. I followed the scent to the family room, where a pile of fresh doggy doo doo awaited me. A grinning Scout sat on his haunches, the proud Prince of Poop.
I wondered if Costco sold pet stain remover by the case.
Once that unpleasant duty was taken care of, I could finally enjoy a cup of coffee. Or try to enjoy my coffee, since Scout was determined to climb on my lap, all one-hundred-fifty pounds of him. I finally seduced him with a doggie treat and eventually he lay under the table, his head resting next to my feet. I scanned the paper, happy to see our dumpster foray did not make the news.
Derek had told us he planned to interview Adriana in the morning. It would be interesting if she knew anything of importance about Gino’s money-laundering clients. For her sake, I hoped not because that could be dangerous for her. So dangerous she might end up in witness protection.
Somehow I couldn’t visualize Adriana agreeing to be dispa
tched to some tiny town hundreds of miles from the nearest city.
Did Gino’s meeting with Louie mean the pawnshop owner hired Gino to launder money from his enterprise? Was the money laundering tied to Gino’s death? Or was he killed for some other reason? Given the FBI was now probing Gino’s murder, did that mean I was officially off the clock as far as Adriana was concerned?
While it would be nice to bring in more revenue for the agency, even I could tell when it was time for me to step back from an investigation. But I still wanted to find out what was up with Jake and his biker friend. Our questions must have hit some kind of nerve last night.
Or else the two bikers needed some dating tips.
I drummed my fingers on the table, which woke Scout from his slumber. He tickled my toes with his tongue before scooting out from under the table. It only took two woofs for me to realize he needed a potty break. I let him out into the yard figuring he could enjoy the fresh air while I got dressed.
As I was getting ready to drive to the agency, my cell played Adriana’s theme song. I debated letting it go to voicemail, but I was concerned how she was holding up after last night’s events and revelations by the FBI agent.
“How are you doing?” I asked her.
“Not great,” she said in a low tear-drenched voice.
“Last night was tough,” I commiserated. “But thank goodness that agent was there to rescue us.”
A sound that was half sigh and half sob echoed over the phone. “I wish the agent had left me in the dumpster. I have nothing to live for. A dead fiancé who was also a criminal. How could I have been so stupid as to get involved with him?”
“Stop berating yourself. You are not alone when it comes to bad choices. Especially choices involving men. Aren’t you grateful you didn’t marry Gino before this all came out? You could have lost everything.”
“I suppose,” she muttered. “I guess we won’t be solving his murder after all. Or will we?” Her voice almost sounded hopeful. Maybe Adriana needed some kind of closure. Something more definitive than our dumpster rescue.
“Now that federal agents are involved, I’m sure they’ll figure out what happened. But if I run across anything helpful, I’ll be sure to let you know. Okay?”
“Fine,” she said in a soft voice before clicking off.
Poor Adriana. I truly felt sorry for the woman. One blow after another. Maybe I should take her out for a drink sometime to cheer her up.
Although considering our previous night out, perhaps Starbucks would be a better choice.
The next day I holed up in the office phoning the timeshare resale companies that had guaranteed Iris the sale of her timeshare. I pretended to be a timeshare owner who was desperate to unload my timeshare points. The salespeople couldn’t wait to help me out. They showered me with so many assurances and testimonials from grateful customers that I almost believed their sales pitch.
I still wasn’t certain how to get Iris’s money back without hiring a legitimate attorney, which meant even more money would need to be expended. I had pages and pages of notes but no practical course of action.
I nibbled on my pen before realizing my bottom desk drawer contained something far more nibble worthy. I yanked out the bag of M&M’s and popped a few of the colorful candies into my mouth. Ah, just what I needed. Nothing like chocolate to rev up my little gray cells.
I could really use an expert to help me out on this. Would Kimberly be willing to give me some advice on how to get the money refunded from the Florida firms? I’d somewhat bonded with her at our last meeting. And she’d been kind enough to research Gregg’s angry customers, the Lankershims, for me.
If I called Kimberly ahead of time, she’d probably come up with some excuse not to meet with me. It was only half past ten, so I could easily reach their office before lunchtime. I texted Tom and told him I was heading back to Tahoe for more research. I assured him I’d be back in time to cook dinner.
That text would probably have him quaking in his shoes. Not the fact that I was driving back to Tahoe. The threat that I would actually attempt to cook!
The trip to Tahoe took less than an hour. I was so wrapped up in my thoughts I barely noticed the scenery flying by me. I pulled into the Timeshare Help parking lot and looked around for Kimberly’s black SUV, hoping I hadn’t missed her. Although if Marty or another salesman were in, they might be able to give me a few tips.
My throat felt parched so I decided to stop at Palomino’s. I could attempt another try at a drug buy or I could purchase a diet cola.
I went with the soda.
With my cup of diet cola in my left hand, I opened the door to the timeshare company. I heard voices coming from Marty’s small office but neither Marty nor anyone else approached me. I hated to be rude, but I needed to get some questions answered and fairly quickly.
Just my luck—the one time I wanted to chat with Kimberly, she didn’t appear to be around.
I headed toward Marty’s office and as I drew closer he glanced away from his visitors. He beckoned to me, so I entered the office, where he introduced me to his wife, Veronica, and his eldest daughter, Meghan.
The two women stood. His wife, a graying blonde, shook my hand while his daughter merely nodded at me before walking out of the office without a farewell look or goodbye to her father. The older woman sent a fleeting smile to her husband, then scurried out after her daughter.
Marty motioned for me to sit while apologizing for his daughter’s rudeness.
“Don’t worry about it. You know how teens can be,” I said. “My daughter’s mood can change from one minute to the next.”
“It’s been a difficult year for Meghan,” he said. “Boy trouble.”
“Isn’t it always,” I said sympathetically. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you while your family was here. I was actually looking for Kimberly.”
“Kimberly’s in Reno, but I’m more than happy to help. Were you ready to purchase one of the timeshares we looked at the other day?” His eyes lit up and I was halfway tempted to buy one of the timeshares just to put a smile on his face.
“Not yet. I’m working on my husband, though.” I went on to explain Iris’s situation. Marty was familiar with the types of scams some of the out-of-state resale firms engaged in.
“In California, timeshare salespeople are regulated by the Department of Real Estate,” he said. “We’re licensed the same as regular real estate agents and paid a commission on the sale of each timeshare. But in these other states, Florida in particular, these fly-by-night resale operations keep cropping up, taking advantage of timeshare owners. They set up boiler rooms with a hundred employees making telemarketing calls to people all over the country who have purchased timeshares. Occasionally there are enough complaints to shut them down, but then a few months later they pop up again using a different name.” He sighed. “It gives the entire industry a bad reputation.”
I couldn’t agree more.
My cell pinged and I pulled the phone from my purse. A text from Liz stating she was with Adriana on her way to Reno.
“Excuse me a minute,” I said to Marty. I went into the hallway and dialed Liz.
“Why are you and Adriana going to Reno? Shouldn’t you be resting at home?”
“Adriana called and wanted company to drive to Reno and check out some pawnshop. I was bored and said I’d go with her. Maybe I can find a good deal on some china,” said my British friend, who collected sets of china like some people collected stickers.
“Is she going to Louie’s? Put your phone on hands free and let me talk to her,” I ordered Liz.
“Hi, Laurel,” said Adriana.
“What do you think you’re doing driving up to Reno?” I asked, trying not to shriek at my client.
“Well, you said you were off the case after last night, and I kept thinking about Gino and that loan he had with the pawnshop. I thought I might learn something if I went up there and questioned them.”
“That is the dumbest thin
g I’ve ever heard,” I said hotly. “Actually, the second dumbest. The first is dragging a pregnant woman along with you to Louie’s Loans.”
“You’re sure not doing anything to help me. It’s my life and my fiancé who was killed.” The phone clicked off before I could reply.
I stomped back into Marty’s office and told him I needed to leave.
“I overheard part of your conversation. You mentioned Louie’s Loans in Reno. That’s where Kimberly is, in case you wanted to catch up with her. Maybe she’ll have some ideas for you to help out your friend with the timeshare problem.”
“Is Kimberly having financial difficulties?” I asked, thinking it might explain why she was always in such a bad mood. Maybe the timeshare business wasn’t as lucrative as I suspected, and Kimberly was having to pawn some of her valuables.
He shook his head. “Naw, at least not that I know of. The woman owns more businesses than I can keep track of. Louie’s Loans is one of them.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
The drive up and then down the Kingsbury Grade contained more hairpin curves than this harried mother needed. And while I loved my Forester, the boxy SUV didn’t appear to like the serpentine turns any more than I did.
Once I reached Highway 580 heading north to Reno, I relaxed my tight shoulders, although mentally I remained tense and annoyed with both Adriana and Liz. The thought of the two of them trying to pry information out of Louie was enough to make me nauseous. It was like Lucy and Ethel trying to interrogate the Godfather.
Yet if Kimberly was the actual owner of the pawnshop, I shouldn’t have anything to worry about.
Should I?
My thoughts ping-ponged around my brain while I tried to concentrate on the highway and the speed limit. I hadn’t tabbed Kimberly to be quite the entrepreneur Marty described. Although she had confided Gino handled her investments, so she obviously had money coming in from several sources.
As I reached the Reno city limits, I tried to remember the way to the pawnshop district and failed. I fiddled with my navigation system while I waited at a stoplight and the address popped onto the screen.
