Gypped (20 page)

J
ack was driving Zelda’s Mercedes up the 405 freeway with Regan in the passenger seat. Zelda had insisted on getting in the back with Norman.

“I’m so excited,” Norman announced. “But what do we do when we get there?”

“Don’t worry,” Jack told him. “If Zelda were a two million dollar investor in these vitamins, she’d have a right to stop by the commercial shoot.” Jack winked at Zelda in the mirror. “Right, Zelda?”

Zelda grunted. “Right.”

“She also has a right to ask Rich a few questions about the company. Then we’ll move on to other interesting topics.”

“Like wire transfers,” Regan said flippantly.

Zelda patted her bag. “The statements are right here.”

“Maybe we’ll follow Mr. Willowwood home tonight,” Jack suggested. “See where he lives.”

Norman clapped his hands. “That’d be good!”

“We’re not going to let him off the hook,” Jack promised, putting on the blinker and changing lanes. “Not with what he tried to pull today.”

R
ich and Heather were closeted in the back office at the warehouse, afraid to show their faces. Not with that girl who worked at the party last night in their midst. What bad luck to have her send in Glady’s picture! How can Gladys be in the commercial? It’s too dangerous. When these vitamins fail, and we know they will before long, you don’t want the company bookkeeper onscreen. No. You want the business to fade away without a trace. A new venture is just around the corner.

“He hasn’t called back,” Rich said nervously.

“He will,” Heather said, trying to sound confident.

“It’s never taken this long for a wire transfer. Why didn’t it go through yet?”

“There’s probably a good reason.”

Rich’s phone rang. It was his contact at the bank, the one who always made sure things went smoothly. For a price.

“Hello,” Rich said.

“I’m sorry, Rich,” he said in a hushed tone. “The transfer was canceled and the bank was informed that you are no longer the financial adviser for Zelda Horn.”

Rich’s face crumbled.

“And I’m afraid that our friends are not going to be happy when the two million doesn’t arrive. Maybe you should abandon ship.”

A
fter they exited the 405, Jack followed the instructions given by Zelda’s GPS. Five miles later they found themselves in a remote, poorly lit industrial neighborhood.

“You have reached your destination,” the GPS informed them.

“It’s got to be one of these warehouses,” Regan said, looking around.

To the right they saw a car pull out of the parking lot, make a right, then sail past them.

“That was Rich!” Zelda cried.

“We’ll follow him.” Jack stepped on the gas.

“He’s going so fast!” Norman observed.

“I hope he doesn’t recognize the car,” Zelda said.

“We’ll be okay,” Jack assured her. “He’s not looking back.”

“Rich, oh my God!” Heather wailed. “Oh my God.”

“We’ll get the money we stashed, then head to the airport and get away until this blows over. It will, don’t worry. We’ll have the other money soon.”

“I hope my parents aren’t home.”

“If they are, make up a story. You’re good at that.”

“Look who’s talking.”

Rich was reaching speeds that were much too dangerous to keep up with. Jack could see the car in the distance as he asked Regan to call 911. “This guy is bad enough. We don’t need him crashing into a vehicle full of innocent people.”

Rich sped into the driveway of his destination. Heather jumped out, keys in hand. Rich followed, leaving the car running. Heather unlocked the door and they ran into the house.

“Hi, Daddy,” she said, rushing past her father. He was watching television.

“Hi,” he grunted, barely noticing.

Heather swung around the corner and started down the stairs to the basement, surprised the light was on.

Her mother screamed.

“Mom, what are you doing?” Heather asked as she ran over to the bookshelf, reached for a secret latch, and pulled the unit away from the wall.

Petunia, a yellow highlighter in her hand, had been sitting at her desk reading
The Chiseled Chiseler.
“What are you doing? I didn’t know we had a secret closet!”

“I had it installed before you moved in. I just have to grab a few things and we’ll be on our way.” Heather started stuffing cash in a bag.

I was wrong about the recessive gene, Petunia thought.

“Hello, Mrs. Hedges,” Rich said as he flew by her desk. “Heather, let me help you.”

“Mom, what have you got going on down here?” Heather
asked as she looked around, trying to decide what else she should take with her.

“Nothing special.”

There were two police cars in the driveway. Jack asked the officers to give him a minute before they went in. One of them had clocked Rich at 100 miles per hour.

Regan, Jack, Norman, and Zelda hurried up the walk. The front door of the house was wide open. Zelda knocked.

“Door’s open,” Clarence grunted, never taking his eyes off the baseball game. San Francisco was ahead by one run.

“Are Heather and Rich here?” Zelda asked.

“Downstairs.”

“Thanks.”

Zelda, Jack, Regan, and Norman filed past him, then hurried down the basement steps.

Petunia screamed again.

Rich turned and glared at Zelda. “What are you doing here?” he spat. Heather was crouched down inside a small closet. A closet that you’d never know existed. When you closed the door it disappeared behind a bookcase.

“What are
you
doing here? What were you planning to do with my two million dollars?” Zelda demanded.

Two million dollars! I’m in the wrong business, Petunia thought.

“Get out of here,” Heather barked, pushing herself up. “This is private property.”

“How about my property?” Zelda moved toward the closet.

Heather blocked the doorway. But she couldn’t hide the row of shelves on the back of the open door, lined with neatly labeled binders. Zelda turned. “What do we have here? Oh, how interesting. Last Will and Testament of Florence Natalie. A binder with my name. A binder with Norman’s name?”

Norman jumped. “What did I do?”

A book on a table caught Regan’s eye. She inched closer. Other books, CDs, and autographed photos from celebrities were also neatly displayed. AUCTION ITEMS (FOR THE INTERNET!) was written in bold red letters on a piece of computer paper. Regan smiled, picked up her mother’s book, and tapped Petunia on the shoulder.

“Yes,” Petunia said, turning away from Zelda and Heather and Rich’s argument.

“You like her books?”

“Very much.”

“She’s my mother.”

Petunia screamed once again.

On the stairs they could hear footsteps. Two police officers appeared.

“We’re here to arrest the driver of the vehicle outside that reached speeds of....”

You can run, Rich, Regan thought, but you can’t hide. We got you.

A
ll the files and cash in the hidden closet were seized from Petunia’s basement. Not her auction items, she was given a pass on that. They weren’t included in the search warrant the police had obtained.

“I told Maggie we would head back to the commercial shoot,” Regan said as their group got in Zelda’s car. “I want to look for any evidence Rich and Heather may have left behind.”

“The more evidence the better!” Norman said. “I can’t wait to see them in court.”

When they walked into the warehouse, Maggie came running over. She’d been on the lookout for them.

“Rich and Heather ran out the back door,” she whispered excitedly. “They told the director they had an emergency. I can tell the director thinks they’re jerks. And Gladys took off right after they left. She called a cab! One of the crew members did my scene with me. We’re almost finished.”

“Where’s the office?” Regan asked.

“In the back. Follow me.”

Quietly they crossed the cement floor, avoiding numerous cables and wires. In a far corner, bright lights were shining
on an actor holding up a bottle of Victorious Vitamins. You’re wasting your time, Regan thought.

Maggie stopped in front of the office door, slowly opened it, then flicked on the light.

The room was small, with cement block walls, a harsh overhead fluorescent light, a metal table, and four chairs. Two empty paper coffee cups had been left on the table.

“They cleared out,” Regan said, “except for the cups.”

“I bet we wouldn’t find any trace of a sedative in those,” Norman sniffed.

“OKAY, THAT’S A WRAP!”

“That’s the director, Frank,” Maggie told them. “He’s really nice. I feel sorry for him.”

“Would you introduce us?” Regan asked.

“Sure.”

Frank Bird was tall and attractive, with dark hair and a boyish face. He was wearing jeans, a black T-shirt, and a baseball cap. When Maggie made the introduction he was friendly, but preoccupied, and seemed stressed out. When he heard Rich and Heather had been arrested, he became even more so. “I knew it!” he said, folding his arms across his chest. “I’m afraid that all these people won’t get paid.”

“One way or the other we’ll make sure they do,” Zelda told him.

Frank turned to her and suddenly took notice. There’s something about her, he thought. And she’s so pretty.

“I want to have a wrap party at my house tomorrow night,” Zelda continued. “Anyone who survived working with Rich and Heather should help celebrate their downfall.”

Frank gently touched her arm. “I’ll be there.”

“Great. Let’s get everyone’s attention.”

When they got back in the car, Zelda looked at her watch.
“My father must have gotten to the house a while ago. I wonder how he’s doing.”

“We’ll be there soon,” Jack told her.

In the back seat, Norman was in heaven, looking out the window and envisioning Rich in a cold dank cell.

Jack had just turned off the 405 when his phone rang. It was his office. The phone wasn’t programmed to Zelda’s car so he pulled over to take the call.

“Hello.”

“Jack, it’s Tom.”

“Hey, Tom. What have you got?”

“We didn’t find any criminal record for either Rich Willowwood or—”

“You will soon,” Jack interrupted.

“Okay,” Tom said with a slight laugh. “We didn’t find a criminal record on Bobby Jo Bartinger but we do have other information about her.”

“Just a second, Tom.” Jack turned to the others and told them. “Okay, Tom, do you mind if I put you on speaker?”

“Not at all.”

Zelda held her breath.

“After you called before, I phoned my wife at home. She loves to go on the Internet and search for information that wouldn’t come up easily in a background check.”

“What did she find?”

“Apparently Bobby Jo’s grandfather was a notorious criminal in New Mexico, who did time for armed robbery. Time and time again I should say. He’d get out of jail and then rob another bank in six months. The family tried to distance themselves from him. They didn’t want people to discover their connection to such a morally corrupt individual. It’s understandable. People make snap judgments and think behavior like that is in
the genes. The article my wife found was written thirty years ago for a small town paper in northern California. Bobby Jo’s mother, also named Bobby Jo, was interviewed on her deathbed. She talked about her father and how hard he’d made life for the family. Young Bobby Jo was at her bedside. Her husband had just died in a tragic accident. She was quoted as saying she’d never love again.”