Chapter Fifteen
Several Days Later
Lola
I roll my chair out from under the desk and stretch my back and shoulders. My muscles are stiff from sitting in one spot for so long. I’ve spent hours poring over everything I can find about the four potential culprits for the robbery/burglary ring back home. But I can’t keep my thoughts from shifting to Cade.
The memory of his mouth on mine and the feel of his hands stroking my skin are never far from my consciousness. Stop thinking about him. I haven’t seen him since he left my house with his tail between his legs, and there’s no use trying to have a relationship with someone unable to handle my family’s over-the-top personalities.
I shake my head, leap out my daydreams, and I scour the page I’d clicked on before my mind slipped into a Cade coma. All four of the individuals were at the events during the time when something was stolen. Some items were taken from the victim’s homes while they were at the event. Others were pilfered while the party went on around them. And some had jewels lifted while they were at the event. However, no one can identify a suspect. The few incidents where someone was robbed, the lights were out, and no one saw anything.
The first of the four suspects, David Brown, is a man in his late sixties. He comes from old money and doesn’t appear nimble enough to slip diamonds off the neck of an unsuspecting socialite or maneuver his way through digital laser lights on his way to a safe. I shake my head. If it’s this little old, white-haired man with a handlebar mustache, I’ll eat a bar of soap.
I click on the mouse a couple of times and return to Randall Maitland’s investment website. The website displays several photos of a sharply dressed, middle-aged man with a sprinkle of silver at his temples. He’s likely approaching his mid-forties. The website’s banner is of him in a three-piece suit, resting his forearms against an enormous wooden desk with an American flag behind him. I’ve seen this type of photo numerous times in the political realm.
Another photo depicts him shaking hands with well-known entrepreneurs and celebrities, while another shows him playing tennis. At the bottom of the page is a large photo of him standing at the helm of an elegant yacht. His overall brand is of a powerful, physically fit, established businessman. The rest of the site is packed with testimonials and contact information. He has way too much money to be picking pockets or dabbling in selling jewelry on the black market.
The next individual is Leanne Bell. The only female of the bunch. She’s in her early twenties, and according to her social media accounts, she’s attending college at a New York University. Everything about her screams American beauty, long blonde hair, straight nose, high cheekbones, and a dark tan. Nothing about her shrieks thief, unless she’s dabbling in drugs and using the items she steals to supply her habit. I wrinkle my nose. Not feeling it.
I switch to the last name on the list, Chad Atkinson. This one seems to be the most likely candidate. He’s in his late thirties and has had to file bankruptcy on himself and his business. The man reeks of money troubles. I flip over to his social media account and scan through his timeline.
Six months ago, he finalized his divorce–the same weekend the first burglary occurred. Is that a coincidence? I think not. Early in the evening of the first burglary, he took a photo with Ava Barton, whose necklace is prominently tucked between her breasts and was later stolen.
After clicking on the image, I squint. I study the necklace and shift my attention to the man. His arm is around the woman’s waist as he grins for the camera. For a man whose divorce papers weren’t even dry, you sure seem happy with yourself. He has a photo of himself at all the events when items were stolen. Are these images his trophies?
I grab the folder Cade brought to me from Mr. Truman and flip to the list of people who had items stolen. I would call the client, but the insurance agent isn’t going to know any of the players. These are the types of people I grew up around.
As I wait for Ava Barton to answer my call, I scoot my chair under the desk.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Ma’am, this is Lauren Wilson from your insurance company. I wanted to check in with you to make sure you were satisfied with your insurance service.” If I use my birth name, she’ll recognize it. I’ve never met her, but she’s in my father’s circle. Anyone with money who lives on the East Coast is in my father’s clique.
“Is this a new service?”
Don’t sweat, or she’ll sense a weakness. Dumbass. It’s not like she can see you. “Yes, Ma’am. We’re under new management and checking in with all our loyal customers.”
“When did Fred leave? He was a doll.” Ava is in her early forties.
Shit.Of course, she knows the agent. “I’m so sorry for the confusion. I’m out of the regional office in Albany. As far as I know, Mr. Sadler is still operating your local office.” Thankfully, I researched the file before making calls, or I wouldn’t have known her local agent’s name.
“Oh, that’s wonderful news.”
“Do you mind going over with me again how the theft of your property occurred?” I’ve spoken with every one of the individuals who had something stolen. She’s the last one.
“Sure. That’s fine. I wore my mother’s diamond necklace during the charity event. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. I met with an old family friend, Chad Atkinson, for drinks.” That must have been the photo he placed on social media. “He was down on his luck after his divorce went through, so I gave him some business advice.”
“Business advice?”
“Yes, I’ve been investing with Randall Maitland, and he’s a wiz with money. Every quarter this year, I’ve doubled my investment.”
“That’s impressive.” Who doubles their investment? The man must have a magical unicorn horn growing out of his ass.
“Yes, it is. Anyway, Chad didn’t have much to invest, but I set them up to discuss his option, and they hit it off.”
“That’s good.” I click on Randall’s website again and scan it, looking for a testimonial from her or Chad, but I don’t run across anything.
“The last I heard, he was raking in the money.” Well, that tidbit of information makes Chad less likely to be a candidate. The twenty-two-year-old or the almost seventy-year-old? Ri-i-ight. Maybe it’s someone who’s not even showing up on the guest lists. My head bangs as frustration floods my brain. “Did anything else happen that night before you put your jewels in the safe?”
“Well.…”
“What?”
“There was one young girl. She’s a friend of my son’s.” She chuckles. “I caught her and my son making out in the study where the safe is located. I’ve told Donavan to stay out of that room, but he said Leanne insisted.”
“Leanne?” It can’t be the same person. Can it?
“Leanne Bell.” What is the likelihood of that? Apparently, it is greater than one would think. A tryst and diamonds. A woman’s two best friends. The only one not mentioned in this story is David Brown. Shit. Maybe they’re all in on it together. Don’t be stupid. This isn’t a Hollywood movie.
“Do you know a David Brown?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
Oh, well. It was worth a try. “Thank you for taking the time to chat with me. I believe we have everything on file, and if we find the missing jewels, we’ll get them straight to you.”
“Thank you so much.” The phone clicks in my ear.
Randall’s smiling face is still squarely in the middle of my computer. He’s been in the tanner so much that his skin is almost orange. The Rolex on his wrist is oversized and encircled with diamonds. It would be remiss if I didn’t at least consider him being responsible for the thefts.
What can Patricia tell me about him? If she’s investing through Randall’s business and potentially dating him, she should have a good idea of what all he’s into. We were never friends, but we had a bunch of classes together in college. She’s the safest bet to talk to about him, but with her, I can’t pretend to be anything but myself.
On the fourth ring, a breathless female voice answers the phone, “Hello?”
“Patricia?”
“Yes, who is this?”
“This is Lola Sutherland. Do you remember me? We were in college at the same time. If I remember right, we were in Social Psychology together.”
“Oh, yes. Hello, Lola. It’s good to hear from you. By the way, thank you for the floral arrangement for my parents’ funeral service. It was beautiful.”
“You’re welcome. I was so sorry to hear about their passing. If you need anything, let me know.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it. How have you been?”
“I’m good, thank you for asking.” After a slight pause, I say, “I’m sure you’re wondering why I called.”
“I have to say, I’m a little curious. Not that I mind hearing from you, but it’s been a couple of years.”
I tap my pen on the desk calendar as heat floods through my body. I should have run this past, Mr. Truman. Fingers crossed, he doesn’t get pissed. “I recently saw a photo of you and Randall Maitland on the front page of the society pages. I think you were at the Danner Benefit.”
“Sure. Sure. Randall and I have gone out a few times. He’s a great guy. Why do you ask?”
“I heard from a friend that he’s big into investments. I don’t know if you remember or not, but when I turn twenty-five in January, I’m due a large bequest from my grandparent’s estate.” The safest way to keep this story straight is to tell the unvarnished truth.
“No, I didn’t remember that.”
“Anyway, I’ve been researching some ideas for investing my assets. Once I heard his name, I started researching his website to find out more about him. Everything I’ve learned is impressive.”
“I’m glad you called.” Her voice is full of excitement. “When I met him, it was right after my parents’ estate was settled. He presented his stock options and explained everything.” She giggles. “Not that I understood a word he was saying. The most important thing was that I didn’t have to do anything. I give him money, and more money starts rolling in. It happens every time.”
“Do you think that’s a good idea? Putting all of your assets in one place.” I twist in my chair, and my elbow knocks into a stack of files, causing my stapler to land with a thud in the trashcan. Shit. Anxiety crawls up my back like someone’s walking over a grave. I really don’t know her, but hearing someone say they’re putting all their eggs into one basket has me on edge.
Toby Garrett, the man assigned to the cubicle next to me, glares. After I cover the speaker part of the phone, I mouth, ‘Sorry.’
He nods and returns to his work. I gather the files into a neat pile and retrieve the wayward stapler to its rightful place.
“Yes, Randall makes things look so easy. You know me. I’ve never had a head for business. I know he can do a better job than I could on my own.”
“Has he pressured you?” I’m supposed to be investigating a robbery/theft ring–not worrying about a ‘sort of’ friend investing money. But everyone knows you should diversify your portfolio to keep from losing your shirt. Randall looks like he could lose millions and not blink an eye, but Patricia doesn’t have that large of a portfolio. Does she?
“Oh, no. He isn’t like that. He never pressures anyone.”
“Thank goodness. I hate when people try to manipulate me. Especially men who use bullying tactics to get what they want.”
“I know what you mean, but he’s nothing like that. He’s so sweet. He calls to remind me of important dates, holds doors open for me, and always shows an interest in what I’m doing. He’s the ultimate gentleman. Do you want me to tell him a little about you? Maybe you could meet sometime.”
This is the perfect opportunity to ensure the first of the players is at my father’s charity event. “That would be wonderful. Father and I had a huge falling out, so right now, I’m out of town, but I plan to be back for my mother’s benefit. Do you think the two of you could attend? I’ve met Randall before, but it was only in passing.” I hold my breath, lean forward in my chair, and rest my elbow on the desk.
Being introduced to Randall, rather than contacting him myself, would lead him to be less leery of my motives. Not being in my father’s clutches and with money to burn should be an opportunity to bring the big players out of the woodwork.
“I’m sorry to hear you’re fighting with your father. Having lost my parents, I know how important it is to put aside your differences.”
“You’re right.” I ignore the twinge of guilt over lying to her.
“I received an invitation. I’ll see if Randall can come and give him some background information about you. You’ll love him.”
After excusing myself from the telephone conversation, I gaze for several minutes at Randall’s image. Get busy. You’ve got to get the rest of the players on the hook and make things happen. In less than a week, you’ll be making the trip home. All that’s left to do is fill Mr. Truman in on the plans and make my reservations.
Patricia’s right–while I’m there, I need to work things out with my father.