Flat White

by Sandra Balzo

  ‘The fake Barry?’ Christy repeated.

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ I said to her. ‘And he knew they’d be leaving from Milwaukee, not Denver.’

  Helena was watching me. ‘But who is “they”? Not me, certainly.’

  ‘Yet, your passport was stolen,’ I said.

  ‘Are you suggesting somebody else planned to use it?’ Helena asked. ‘But why steal my passport and not Barry’s? It was still with his things at the Slattery.’

  ‘Maybe that’s why … they couldn’t get hold of it,’ I said.

  ‘It’s easy to make up a false passport,’ Christy said.

  Our heads all swiveled her way.

  ‘Or so Ronny told me,’ she said, turning red. ‘Once.’

  ‘The jailbait’s former girlfriend is right,’ Sarah said. ‘If somebody could plan all of this, they sure could come up with a false passport if they needed to. But who are they?’

  Who indeed?

  I was thinking back to the unexplained. The diamond in the plain manila envelope. The robbery of the bracelet and the diamond envelope the night after Barry’s death. The disappearance of both and then the reappearance of same – the one in Christy’s pocket and the other in the mail.

  An envelope reposted. Why? Because somebody was afraid it would be found on them and blow everything.

  And the bracelet. ‘Did you put the bracelet in Christy’s pocket?’ I asked suddenly.

  ‘What? Who, me?’ Helena stuttered.

  ‘Yes, and this is important. So please don’t lie.’

  She took a deep breath. ‘Yes.’

  ‘You told me you didn’t steal it,’ Christy said, looking terribly disappointed with the other woman.

  ‘And I told you that it was my money that bought it in the first place,’ Helena said. ‘But no, I didn’t steal it. I … this sounds crazy, but I found it in my coat pocket, too.’

  ‘And put it in Christy’s.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘When did you find it?’ I asked.

  ‘That same day as I was looking through everything for my passport. There it was.’

  I cocked my head. ‘But you realized the passport was missing at the airport. You must have gone through your pockets there, right?’

  ‘Yes, of course. I reached into my pocket as my ride-share driver was unloading my suitcase. My passport was missing but the bracelet was there.’

  ‘Did you have your coat on?’

  ‘No, it was too heavy, and the car was warm. I …’ She stopped. ‘I gave it to the driver to put with my suitcase.’

  ‘Then maybe it fell out in the trunk of the car,’ Christy said. ‘The passport, I mean.’

  ‘And the bracelet hopped in?’ I asked. ‘What did this ride-share driver look like?’

  ‘Very nice looking,’ Helena said. ‘Blond hair and a’ – her eyes flew open wide and met mine – ‘Canadian accent.’

  ‘I knew it.’

  ‘Knew what?’ Sarah demanded. ‘You two are being cryptic, and I hate cryptic.’

  Everybody hates cryptic. But it was kind of fun. ‘Canadians pronounce certain words differently. Words like—’

  ‘Prō-ject,’ Sarah said, comprehending. ‘Long “o” vowel sounds where we use short.’

  ‘But what does that mean?’ Christy asked. ‘Who is Canadian?’

  ‘You know him, Christy,’ I said. ‘We all do, and you even told me he’s driving ride-share these days?’

  ‘Who?’ Sarah had had enough.

  ‘Michael Penn.’

  ‘It all makes sense,’ I said, as we hurried down the block to what had been Penn and Ink. ‘I saw Rebecca hand Michael the two to-go cups so she could pull out an envelope and mail it Wednesday morning. I just didn’t put it together.’

  ‘The envelope with the diamond?’ Christy asked, trying to keep up in more ways than one. ‘But why did she have it?’

  ‘Because she stole it when she stayed with you Tuesday night,’ I said. ‘That and the bracelet.’

  ‘Are you saying that Rebecca and Michael did this all together?’ Sarah asked. ‘In—’

  ‘Cahoots, yes.’

  ‘But if that’s true,’ Helena asked, ‘why would she give it back?’

  ‘Because it was the least of what they’d stolen, but the most incriminating. Think of it, things were falling apart, but the money already had been siphoned off and transferred to offshore accounts. All they had to do was get out of here quickly and access the money while everybody was still looking at Christy. Nobody would be the wiser until it was too late.’ I led the way up Rebecca’s sidewalk and rang the bell.

  ‘You think this Michael planted the bracelet in my coat when he took it out of the trunk and handed it to me?’ Helena asked.

  ‘And stole your passport. He’d already re-mailed the envelope to arrive a day or two later. Or depending on the mail carrier, be returned to sender. Either way, it wouldn’t lead to them.’ No answer forthcoming from within, I lifted the lid of the mailbox and peeked in. Empty. ‘I even saw Rebecca on your porch checking for the mail the day it was re-delivered.’

  ‘She was going to re-steal it?’ Sarah tried the door. ‘Open.’

  ‘You can’t go in,’ Christy said.

  ‘The hell I can’t.’

  I followed her in and up the stairs to the living quarters. ‘Maybe to re-steal it. Or just see if it had been delivered.’

  Sarah had gone down the hall and now stuck her head out of Rebecca’s bedroom. ‘No sign of anybody, but the drawers are open like the place was searched.’

  Or somebody packed in a hurry. I joined her in the bedroom, Christy and Helena on my heels. ‘No suitcase in the closet,’ I said, opening the door. ‘Though she may not—’

  Christy gasped. She was pointing at something on the floor of the closet.

  I reached in and fished it out. A single blue and black striped sock.

  ‘Oh, Rebecca,’ Christy wailed, hand to her mouth.

  I turned to Helena. ‘Do you have the airline app on your phone? Could you pull up Barry’s reservation to Heathrow?’

  ‘No, I don’t think—’

  ‘I’ve got it,’ Christy said, having gathered herself. She pulled out her phone. ‘Let’s see, reservation for MKE-ORD-LHR. Leaves today at five p.m.’ She did a double-take.

  ‘What?’ I asked.

  She held up the screen. ‘Two checked in.’

  NINETEEN

  ‘Rebecca is pretending to be me,’ Helena said. ‘You said she and I look similar, Christy.’

  ‘You do,’ Christy said, pocketing the phone to lean down to pick up her sock. ‘If I could be fooled, I don’t see how TSA will tell the difference between the real-life Helena and the photo on your passport.’

  ‘Which she has, of course.’ As I said it, I heard a car start up and went to the bedroom window in time to see a black SUV squeal around the corner to head east on Brookhill Road. ‘That’s them. We still have time to catch them.’

  ‘C’mon,’ Sarah yelled. ‘The Firebird is out front.’

  We ran for Sarah’s yellow 1975 Firebird, which she’d left parked on the street. It was closer than my Escape in the lot behind the coffeehouse, but significantly less roomy. And the other disadvantage of the Firebird was it was driven by Sarah.

  ‘Hurry,’ Christy urged, as Sarah searched her pocket for the key to unlock the driver’s side door.

  ‘Pretty car,’ Helena said, ‘but no keyless entry.’

  ‘Sure there is,’ Sarah said, swinging open the door. ‘If I don’t lock it, I don’t need a key.’

  ‘And she always locks it,’ I said, waiting at the passenger door for her to climb in and reach over to pull up the lock. When she did, I swung open the door and stepped back to let Helena climb into the back before I got in.

  ‘My God,’ Helena said folding the front seat. ‘There isn’t a back seat.’

  ‘There is,’ Sarah said, getting into the driver seat. ‘I just took out the cushions. It’ll ride a little rough
.’

  An understatement. Having experience with the Firebird, I pointed for Christy to take the back with Helena and took the shotgun position next to Sarah myself.

  ‘Michael looks nothing like Barry, though,’ Christy said, crawling in next to Helena. ‘Seatbelts?’

  ‘They’re there,’ Sarah said, firing up the Firebird. ‘Under the blanket.’

  Which she was using to cover the metal springs.

  ‘That means they would have had to fake Barry’s passport regardless,’ I said, fastening my own seatbelt. ‘Though they might have been able to change the picture on the original if they’d gotten hold of it.’

  ‘The ride-share guy was about the same build, but a blond, like I said.’ Helena grabbed the back of my seat to steady herself as we peeled away from the curb. ‘He could have dyed his hair, I suppose. But assuming it was this Michael, how could he be certain he got my fare?’

  ‘Probably just waited for someone wanting a ride from the Slattery to the airport,’ I said. ‘And jumped on it.’

  ‘It’s not that hard,’ Christy said. ‘I’ve never driven ride-share, but I’ve done grocery delivery.’

  Sarah’s head twisted around, even as she was making a squealing left turn onto Brookhill Road. ‘And the relevance of that would be?’

  ‘It uses an app, too,’ Christy said, shifting her bum a bit. ‘The order – or fare, in the case of ride-share – pops up and you decide whether to take it based on size of purchase, maybe, or the store to be shopped. For grocery delivery, I like to cherry-pick people I know because they tend to increase the tip when they see it’s me.’

  ‘That’s kind of awkward, isn’t it?’ Helena asked. ‘Shaming your friends into giving you a bigger tip?’

  Christy shrugged. ‘No different than if I was serving them in a restaurant. Girl’s gotta make a living.’

  ‘But what if the person looking for a ride wasn’t Helena?’ Sarah asked from the front seat. ‘There are probably lots of requests for rides to the airport from a hotel.’

  ‘He might get the first name before he agrees to give the ride,’ Christy said, her brow wrinkled. ‘But if not, once Michael did accept the fare, he’d get the name. If it wasn’t Helena, he could just cancel. Or say he couldn’t find them.’

  ‘Wouldn’t he get in trouble for that?’ Helena asked. ‘I mean with the ride-share company.’

  ‘You are nice,’ Christy said, pivoting to look her straight in the face. ‘I’m sorry about the whole husband-stealing thing.’

  ‘Thanks for that,’ Helena said. ‘But—’

  ‘Ooh! Ooh!’ Christy was raising her hand, like she was in class.

  ‘Yes, Christy?’ I said.

  ‘Was it Michael’s car that dropped off Barry that day, too?’ She turned away from Helena and whispered, ‘Before he was … you know.’

  ‘She knows he was killed,’ Sarah said, gunning the car from the right lane of Brookhill Road onto the entrance ramp of the freeway. ‘You don’t have to whisper.’

  ‘I’m just trying to be as nice as she is,’ Christy said, pouting a little.

  ‘I’m not that nice,’ Helena said. ‘Maggy, did you see the car Barry got out of?’

  ‘Not really,’ I told her. ‘Christy?’

  ‘A black SUV, but I was more focused on the man who got out of it.’ Her face reddened. ‘And the snow was really coming down hard.’

  ‘It could have been Michael driving the car,’ I said. ‘He’d have to monitor the ride requests from the Slattery like we think he did the Morrison.’

  ‘It’s a much bigger hotel,’ Sarah said, flooring the Firebird to get around a pickup. ‘And how would he and Rebecca know Barry was there? Or even in Brookhills?’

  ‘She’ – Helena nodded to Christy – ‘gave them access to our accounts and charge card bills. First thing a hotel does when you make a guaranteed reservation is put a pending charge to your account.’

  Christy opened her mouth to protest and then closed it. And opened it again. ‘I may also have written down the username and password you and Barry use for pretty much everything.’

  ‘In your notebook,’ I said. ‘Rebecca saw it?’

  ‘I might have shown it to her.’ Christy seemed about to cry. ‘But I don’t understand. Rebecca was lying to me this whole time?’

  ‘Like a rug,’ Sarah said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Yes, Rebecca was lying,’ I told Christy, not bothering to explain. ‘She used you to steal Barry and Helena’s money.’

  ‘But Barry gave me the account numbers,’ she protested. ‘Or … are you’re saying it was Michael who did?’

  ‘Michael was the one you – we – were talking to,’ I reminded her gently. ‘Helena said the voicemail wasn’t Barry, so it had to have been Michael.’

  ‘But wouldn’t I have recognized Michael’s voice?’ Christy asked.

  ‘How well do you really know him?’ I asked. ‘Besides, he could have used a cheap voice changer.’

  ‘There are even apps for that,’ Sarah said. ‘Free online.’

  I wasn’t surprised.

  ‘Oh, my God,’ Christy said, putting her hand over her mouth. ‘All the private things we said to each other, the plans we made.’

  None of us knew what to say to that.

  When I turned, I saw Helena had her arm around the redhead. ‘Get angry, sweetie. It’s easier than being sad.’

  Christy sniffled, thinking about that. ‘But if Michael was the one who gave me your accounts and all, where did he get them?’

  ‘I guess we were the victims of identity theft after all,’ Helena said. ‘It just wasn’t you.’ She sat up straight. ‘In fact, we got a notification … oh, it must be a year ago, that a local hardware store was hacked, and our information might have been compromised. Nothing happened and we just forgot about it.’

  ‘Until now.’ I pointed. ‘Take this exit, Sarah.’

  Sarah veered hard right onto the ramp over the complaints of the butts in the back. ‘So how did this work? Christy makes contact with Barry on the dating site and Helena and Michael go hunting for his hacked information on the dark web?’

  ‘The other way around,’ I said. ‘Christy and Barry never made contact, or at least I don’t think they did.’

  ‘Then Barry—’ Helena started.

  ‘Never went onto the dating service, never intended to cheat on you. Rebecca and Michael had your account information and created a dating profile in Barry’s name. Then Rebecca made sure that Christy put up a profile. Fake Barry responded.’

  ‘All this time …’ There were tears in Christy’s voice. ‘Rebecca and this Barry were playing me?’

  ‘Fake Barry,’ Helena reminded her. ‘If my husband had been cheating with you, I’m sure he would have been a real gentleman.’

  Christy sniffed. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You know what I don’t understand?’ Sarah asked, making another scooting right off the freeway and onto the airport spur. ‘Why did they need Christy at all? They had the information, why not just steal the money?’

  ‘Christy seemed the perfect scapegoat,’ I said. ‘The transactions would be traced back to her. Unfortunately for them, Christy is a little compulsive—’

  ‘A little?’ from Sarah.

  ‘And couldn’t help but add security questions and tidy up the accounts.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Helena said. ‘Barry said he couldn’t get into the credit card site. Maybe that’s when he decided to take a closer look at the charges.’

  ‘You would have noticed big items like the bracelet and diamond eventually when the paper bills arrived at the house,’ I said, ‘but Rebecca and Michael planned to be well away by then. Instead, Barry called the charge card company for current charges that hadn’t been billed yet.’

  ‘And printed them out,’ Helena said. ‘Which is when I saw them.’

  ‘Allowing both of you to track Christy down,’ I said.

  ‘Then both of you came to Brookhills for the sa
me reason?’ Christy asked.

  ‘Independently, but on the same day,’ Helena said. ‘I thought he was cheating, and he thought I’d think he was cheating.’

  ‘You were perfect for each other.’ Christy sighed.

  ‘We thought so.’ Helena gave Christy’s shoulder a squeeze.

  Christy leaned her head against her new buddy.

  ‘There’s still the snowplow, you know,’ Sarah said. ‘Who flattened Barry?’

  ‘It almost has to be Rebecca,’ I said, ‘if we’re right that Michael had just dropped Barry off. Though I guess Michael could have parked the car and climbed into the plow as we were talking. It would have been tight timing, though.’

  ‘Then you think this was premeditated?’ Helena asked. ‘They planned to kill Barry? What about me?’

  ‘It couldn’t have been planned,’ I said, thinking about it. ‘Or Michael could have easily done away with Barry on the way over.’

  ‘True,’ Sarah said, turning onto the final approach to the airport departures. ‘Why wait to commit murder by snowplow?’

  ‘That’s why I think they were just tracking him at that point, trying to figure out how much … There they are!’ I pointed to the skywalk from the parking garage to the terminal. ‘Stop!’

  ‘What, here?’ Sarah slammed on the brakes, sending all of us lurching forward.

  ‘Good enough,’ I said, throwing the door open.

  I ran for the terminal door without waiting to see if anyone else was in pursuit with me.

  Inside, I did a quick scan of the airline ticket windows. Nothing. But Rebecca and Michael had been on the skywalk, meaning they’d enter the terminal on the same level as security and the departure gates, which was one floor up.

  Glancing at the people with strollers and wheelchairs backed up at the elevators, I sprinted for the escalators. Annoyingly, there were travelers on them, too. Dodging around the stationary people and bags, I ran up the moving steps hoping I wouldn’t pass Rebecca and Michael going the opposite direction down to ticketing and baggage check. Though at least that would give me more time to stop them.