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Authors: James David Jordan

Tags: #Fiction, #Christian, #Suspense

Double Cross (20 page)

BOOK: Double Cross
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“Oh, heavens yes. Did you see the look on his face? That was the most excitement I’ve had for years.” She fanned herself with her hand.
Something didn’t compute here. “What happened to,
We tell each other everything”?
She frowned. “Listen, the truth is that I’m a trophy to him. I know that. He’s not the type who ever dated a lot of pretty women. Then I came along.” She put her hands in the pockets of her robe. “Sometimes you take what life gives you. That’s what I’ve learned in three marriages.”
I reached over and squeezed her arm, but she just stood there. She didn’t even take her hands out of her pockets. I let my hand drop.
She straightened her shoulders. “I’ve got a right to know about his finances. I’m his wife.”
“Do you think he would tell you if you just asked him?”
“I doubt it.”
“Well, it’s worth a try. It’s certainly the easy way. That will be Plan A, but let’s work on a Plan B in case he’s not willing to talk to you about it.” I looked around the corner and down the hall. The door to his office was closed. I kept my voice low. “Let’s start with the basics. How much did you know about Stanley before you married him?”
“A lot. In the beginning he appreciated me.”
“How long did you date?”
“Two months.”
“You married a man you had only dated for two months? And now you’re telling me you knew a lot about him?”
“I knew he was rich and I knew he was nice to me. That’s enough. It’s a double improvement over my second husband, who was poor and hit me—until I got smart and started hitting him back.”
I could see that catching up on my mother’s life was going to take a long time. “Do you think you can find an opportunity when he’s not here when you can get on that laptop that we saw in his office? Maybe that’s where he keeps his financial records.”
“I told you, that’s not even his laptop.”
I drummed my fingers on the countertop. “Maybe it’s his laptop and you just didn’t know about it. Maybe he sold his stock in Dell and took a liking to Apple. It’s worth looking at. Anyway, do you think you can get your hands on his regular laptop? The Dell?”
A strand of hair had fallen loose from her bun and dangled near her cheek. She twirled her finger in it as she thought. “It would be difficult. He has it with him all the time. I’ll see what I can do, though.”
“Great.”
“You know, Taylor, Stanley didn’t have anything to do with blackmailing Simon Mason.”
“If you’re so sure, then why are you helping me?”
“This is exciting. It’s sort of like we’re a mother-daughter detective team, isn’t it?”
I put my hand on her shoulder. “Yeah, I guess, it is.”
“Sort of like
Crime and Punishment,
which is my favorite Dostoevsky book. I sometimes find
The Brothers Karamazov
a bit obscure, don’t you?”
I sighed. “Honestly, Mother, I’ve never read any Dostoevsky. Can we stick to the point?”
She nodded. “You’re right. Okay, I’ll keep my eyes open and see what I can do.”
I checked around the corner again, then turned back to her. “By the way, he’s not the violent type, is he?”
She laughed. “Stanley? Oh, honey, he’s a pussycat.”
I remembered the look he gave me when we were walking out of his study and wondered whether she really knew much about Stanley at all. One thing was certain, though, she knew him better than I did. So I demurred. “Okay. When you learn something give me a call.”
She walked me to the front door. Before she opened it, she did something I remember as if it happened five minutes ago. She reached up and put her hand on my cheek. It was warm, and I wanted to take it and hold it there against my face. Before I could say or do anything, though, she pulled it away.
“You really should try Dostoevsky, honey. Every well-educated person should be familiar with his work.”
“Sure, Mother, I will.” And that was that. She showed me a glimmer of hope, and she took it away. As I walked away from the front door, I resigned myself to the idea that this was how things would be. She had only the slightest hint of motherhood to give, and I was getting all that she had. If I was smart, I would accept that and stop wishing for more.
As I opened my car door, I turned and looked over my shoulder. She was still standing in the doorway; just standing there watching me. I wondered why, and I lifted my hand to wave. Before my hand rose above my waist, she turned and closed the door.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
THE NEXT MORNING TOM Petty was free-fallin’ on my car stereo as I headed to my office. Just before the vampires moved down Ventura Boulevard, my phone rang. I hit the button on my Bluetooth headset, cutting off The Heartbreakers and stopping the vampires in their tracks.
It was Katie Parst.
There was nothing unusual about that. Katie had called me every day since the shooting at Starbucks, wanting to know every detail of how I was feeling and how I was healing. And, honestly, I liked that. When she was satisfied that nothing about my condition had changed for the worse in the past twenty-four hours, she turned to business.
“I’ve got some news. The Southlake Police busted a prostitution ring yesterday.”
I honked at a pickup that cut me off as I was turning onto McKinney Avenue. “Just a second. I’ve got a cowboy here who’s trying to play bumper cars.” Once I had safely merged into traffic, I turned my attention back to Katie. “Prostitution ring in Southlake? You’ve got to be kidding me. That’s upper-class suburbia.”
“You’d be surprised. Not too many years ago they busted a sex slave ring in one of the other high-end suburbs.”
The light in front of me turned red. I pressed my foot on the brake. “How would a prostitution ring even operate in Southlake? It’s nothing but big houses and shopping boutiques. Are you telling me there were streetwalkers in front of Victoria’s Secret?”
She laughed. “Not quite. They operated out of a normal-looking house in a normal-looking neighborhood. I guess I should say ‘otherwise normal-looking’ neighborhood. The johns would just make an appointment, show up, and take their pick. Some of the girls were as young as fourteen.”
I pulled onto the side street that led to my building’s parking garage. “That’s sick. I hope they put the johns in jail along with the pimps.”
A dog launched into a frenzy of barking on her end of the phone. “Just a second, Taylor. Bandit, no! Sorry, I’m still at home. Our dog is at the back window fooling himself into thinking he’s intimidating a squirrel.”
When the barking stopped, I said, “What does a prostitution ring in Southlake have to do with me?”
“I’ve got a source in the Southlake Police Department. I’ve known her for a long time. She tells me there’s a list.”
I pulled the car into my office building’s parking garage and wound my way down the serpentine ramp toward my parking spot. “A list of what?”
“The johns. Apparently the guys who ran the whole thing kept books: names of customers and in some cases phone numbers. Even some e-mail addresses. I guess they e-mailed notices when they were running a special. As my dad used to say, every job is a sales job at some level.”
“Gag me.”
“I know. It makes me feel dirty just talking about it. Anyway, I think I’m going to be able to get a copy of the list.”
“Whoa, your friend is a really good friend.”
“I didn’t say I’m getting it from her. Let’s just say that I’ve got my ways. The reason I called, though—and you’ll probably think this is crazy—is that I’ve had this uneasy feeling. Like a premonition.”
“What?”
“Okay, it’s probably nuts. I know that. And I know how highly you thought of Simon Mason; but I think that his name is going to be on the list.”
I pulled into my parking space. “Simon Mason? Using hookers? Katie, I don’t know whether to hang up on you or burst out laughing.”
“You’re that sure?”
“That sure.” I pulled into my space and turned off the ignition. “I’m telling you with one-hundred-percent certainty, he was not that kind of man, and he will not be on that list.”
“Okay. I’m probably being an idiot. I should know better than to believe in premonitions. I’m sorry I called.”
“It’s all right. By the way, what would you do if his name were on the list?”
There was silence for a moment. “I wouldn’t publish it. It would hurt Kacey. And, besides, I owe you too much. It might come out, but not from me.”
I swung the car door open. “I never thought I’d hear myself say this to a reporter, but you’re okay, do you know that?”
“Thanks.”
“Are the cops still hanging out at your house?”
“Still here. I don’t know how long the Coppell taxpayers are going to be willing to foot the bill, but for now no one seems to be complaining.”
I locked the door, put my keys in my purse, and slung it over my shoulder. “You can laugh about it, but I hope you’re being careful. I didn’t get shot for nothing. I want you to stay alive.”
“Believe me, so do I.”
“Will you call me?” I headed toward the elevator lobby. No one else was on that floor of the parking garage, and my footsteps echoed off the concrete walls.
“Call you for what?”
“When you get the list. Call me just to ease my mind.”
“Sure, I’ll call you.”
“Thanks. I’ll talk to you later.” I hit the End button and stuck the phone in my purse. While I waited for the elevator to the building lobby, I couldn’t erase the thought in the corner of my mind: What if Simon really was on the list? The rational part of my brain knew that the notion was ridiculous. It also knew that that was what people had thought about many televangelists who were caught up in scandals. Those televangelists were not Simon Mason, though. Simon just wouldn’t do it. I was convinced of it.
Nevertheless, as I stepped onto the elevator and punched the lobby button, I was chewing my lip and thinking bad thoughts about Katie Parst for putting such a stupid idea into my head.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
LATER THAT AFTERNOON I was in my office typing a security plan for a new client, when my mother called. She was panting.
“I did it!”
I hit the speaker button and put the handset in its cradle. “Did what?”
She practically squealed. “I got into his laptop!”
I saved the document I was working on and spun my chair away from the credenza. “You’re kidding me? Where did you find it?”
“In his study. It was right where you left it.”
“Oh, you mean the Apple.”
“Yes, of course, the Apple. I’ll never get to his Dell.”
“Well, what did you find out?” I rested an elbow on my desk.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? What do you mean?”
“There was nothing on it. Nothing on any of the drives. No documents; no photos; nothing.”
I leaned toward phone. “It was a blank computer?”
“Blank.”
I ran my good hand through my hair. “Why would he keep a blank Apple computer when he always uses Dells?”
“Honey, I have no idea, but I must say that this was the most excitement I’ve had for years. Here’s how I did it: I waited until he’d been gone to the university for a half hour. Then I snuck into the study. I went in barefoot, but I tied plastic freezer bags over my feet so I wouldn’t leave any prints.”
I shook my head. “You did what?”
She was practically hyperventilating. “I saw that in a movie—the one with Leonardo DiCaprio and Mark Wahlberg. It’s apparently the thing to do.”
“Mom, it’s your own house. Your footprints are all over it. In fact, our footprints are in his study from the other day.”
There was silence for a moment. “It added to the excitement.”
I drummed my fingers on the desk. “I’m sure it did.”
“I took a closer look at the printed financial statements in his drawer,” she said.
“Did you wear latex gloves?”
“Yes.”
“I was joking.”
Silence again. “You can get a hundred of them for less than six dollars at the warehouse store.”
“What a value.” There was clattering on the other end of the line, and then a door slammed. “What are you doing?”
“I just walked out onto the porch to smoke a cigarette.” The lighter clicked. She exhaled.
“What financial statements did you look at?”
“The ones you pulled out of his drawer and some others that were misfiled in one of the other folders. He had more than three million dollars invested in two mortgage companies. The statements weren’t current, though.”
I opened the drawer of my credenza and propped a foot on the edge of it. “He could have sold those investments long ago.”
BOOK: Double Cross
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