Truth or Dare (6 page)

6

I
'm not concerned about her two female friends,” Grant Loring said into the pay phone. “From what you've told me, neither of them sounds like a potential problem.”

“Yes, sir, I agree,” John Branch said on the other end of the line.

Grant had to listen closely to catch the words. The dull roar of background noise in the huge mall made it difficult to hear clearly.

It was ridiculous having to conduct business on a pay phone in a shopping mall, he thought. It was also tiresome and inefficient. Over the course of the past few days he'd spent an inordinate amount of extremely valuable time in cabs coming or going from malls and sprawling Scottsdale resorts in order to make use of anonymous phones.

The communications difficulties were only part of the problem. He'd had to tell Branch to leave the copies of the photos and the file taped to the bottom of a toilet in a men's room because he couldn't risk having the data sent via computer. He was forced to use cash for everything, which was also a real pain in the ass. The most annoying aspect of the situation was that he was obliged to rely on third-rate personnel such as the elderly private investigator for data collection.

But he knew only too well that in an age when phones could be monitored from thousands of miles away and credit card transactions could be easily traced on the Internet, the low-tech approach was the only way to go if he hoped to avoid drawing the attention of some old and ruthless enemies.

Two years ago he'd lived his business life on-line and it had nearly gotten him killed.

He waited until a gaggle of boisterous teenagers had moved past the entrance to the phone lobby before he resumed the conversation.

“Like I said, we don't have to worry about the two females. According to Russell's report, one of them is a certified nutcase with a history of having been committed to a psychiatric hospital, and the other one is a single mother who works part-time in a library.”

“Yes, sir,” Branch said.

“If Arcadia Ames were to simply disappear, the only thing that either of those women could do would be to file a missing persons report,” Grant said, speaking more to himself than to Branch. “No one pays any attention to missing persons reports. Thousands get logged and ignored every year.”

“The PI, Truax, could be a problem, though. If Ames turns up missing, he might decide to go looking. He'd know how to do it.”

“Russell's report says that the crazy woman, the one called Zoe, is married to him.”

“Yes, sir.”

“That's damn strange. What kind of an investigator would be dumb enough to marry an escapee from a lunatic asylum?”

“I'm sorry, sir,” Branch said somberly. “I don't have the answer to that.”

Grant wanted to bang the receiver against the wall a few times in frustration. Branch was useful, but he had his limitations. The guy was very tightly wound. Privately Grant was starting to call him Weird John.

“Truax is an unknown and I don't like unknowns,” he said.

“Russell offered to do a more complete background check on him. I can give her a call and have her proceed.”

Grant considered that briefly. “No, let's not involve her again in this thing. She already knows more than she should. If Truax is legitimate, it won't be too hard to get a fix on him. I'll handle it personally.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Where are you now?”

“In my apartment,” Branch said. “I was planning to work out this afternoon. Want me to stay close to the phone?”

The guy was obsessed with his workouts, Grant thought. Or something. Definitely weird.

“Not necessary,” Grant said. “This will take a while. I'll call you at five-thirty. I should know by then whether or not Truax is going to be an issue.”

“Yes, sir.”

Grant hung up the phone and headed for the nearest mall exit.

Just what he did not need. Another delay. But he had to be sure of what he was doing. He could not afford any mistakes. Truax raised some questions that had to be answered before the plan could be safely executed.

Outside the mall he got into a cab. Branch assumed that he was the head of a government agency that was so secret it didn't officially exist. He was right about one thing, Grant mused. The agency did
not
exist. He had invented it and dug out the fake government ID he had saved from the old days to prop up the story for Weird John.

He had been warned that, although Branch was willing to kill, the man had his own bizarre code. He considered himself a patriotic warrior. He would only commit murder in the name of truth, justice and the American Way.

Getting some basic background on Truax would not take long, Grant surmised. All he needed was an anonymous computer. He knew right where to find one: the nearest branch of the Scottsdale public library.

The answers came up quickly enough and he did not like any of them. He redrafted the plan.

At five-thirty that afternoon he was in another mall standing in front of another pay phone.

Branch was right where he was supposed to be. Grant pictured him sitting in his seedy little by-the-week apartment. Got to give him credit. The man took orders well. In fact, obeying orders seemed to be something of a religion to Branch. Grant
had the uneasy feeling that it was one of the ways he kept himself semi-sane.

“Truax is definitely a problem,” Grant said. “A big one. In fact, what I found out this afternoon puts this entire operation in a whole new light.”

“Yes, sir?”

“My contacts in LA tell me that Ethan Truax was involved in the money laundering business there. They were never able to prove it, but they're sure that he ran errands for his brother, Drew Truax, who headed up a very big operation. Ethan did all the dirty go-between work. He's the one who met with the drug runners and the terrorists and arranged for the cash to be transferred across the border and deposited in various banks.”

“What happened?”

“LA thinks there was some kind of internal power struggle,” Grant said, following the script he had mentally prepared. “When it was over, Drew Truax was dead. The hit was evidently ordered by a man named Simon Wendover. After Truax's death everything started to come apart. Looks like Ethan Truax decided to cut his losses and get the hell out of Dodge. But apparently he got rid of Wendover first.”

“He did Wendover?”

“Offically Simon Wendover drowned in a boating accident. There were no witnesses so there was no case against Truax. He was never charged.”

“What's Truax doing in Whispering Springs?”

“I think it's safe to say that he's gone back into the family business.”

“Money laundering?”

“Right. New location, but still within easy driving distance of the border.” Grant paused before delivering the zinger. “Given those photos, we can assume that he's also found himself a new partner.”

“Arcadia Ames?”

“Yes. This thing is a lot more complicated than it appeared at first. Truax is definitely a problem. But I've come up with a way to kill a couple of birds with one stone.”

He outlined his revised plan, keeping it very simple out of respect for Weird John's mental limitations.

“Can you handle the, uh, revised mission?” he asked when he was finished. Weird John was very big on the word “mission.” It seemed to be some sort of Holy Grail for him.

“Yes, sir. No problem at all with the mission, sir.”

“It's got to look like an accident,” Grant emphasized. “Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

Grant hung up and went to buy himself an espresso. What he really needed was a martini. Talking to Branch always left him feeling tense and jumpy.

He'd had to call in an old favor to get the professional muscle for this job, and as a result, he had not been in a position to be choosy. He'd been forced to take what was offered because he could not afford to miss this window of opportunity.

The Bitch had unknowingly tripped the one and only tripwire that he had been lucky enough to have on her, a bank account that she had established under a different name and ID. For nearly two years he had kept an eye on that account,
watching for any hint of activity. When a year and several months had passed with no sign that she had accessed the account, he had begun to wonder if she really had died that night in the lake.

But on the second of November, eight thousand dollars had been transferred out of the hidden account, and he had been forced to deal with his worst nightmare. She was alive and she had the damned file.

He had done what he did best. He had followed the money, all the way to Whispering Springs, Arizona.

7

S
he started Ethan on the new cereal the next morning.

He did not notice until after he had obligingly swallowed the calcium tablet and the super-fortified vitamin pill with minerals and antioxidants that she had placed beside his glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice.

He picked up his spoon and studied the cereal. “What's this?” he asked mildly.

“Muesli. I thought it would make a change.” She poured tea into her cup. “It's got three different kinds of whole grains, several types of dried fruit and a variety of nuts. I mixed it up with some live-culture yogurt and added a little milk.”

“Live-culture yogurt, huh? I don't know about this. I usually like my food to be real dead before I eat it. Seems safer that way, you know?”

“You're a PI. You live for danger, remember?”

“Oh, yeah, right. Almost forgot.” He dug into the cereal.

She held her breath.

Ethan chewed, swallowed and scooped up another spoonful of the muesli, all without further comment. He opened the morning edition of the
Whispering Springs Herald
and scanned the headlines.

She relaxed. He was taking the switch in breakfast cereals the same way he had dealt with the addition of the antioxidant vitamins to his menu—in stride. She was learning that was the way he handled most things.

The start of a new marriage was probably not the best time to introduce healthy lifestyle changes into a man's routine but she could not seem to help herself. Lately she had found herself spending more and more time in the organic foods aisle at the supermarket and browsing through the vitamin and high-SPF-sunscreen selections at the drug store.

Her new obsession was getting worse.

Three days before, she had bought Ethan a special key chain at a high-tech gadget shop in Fountain Square. It had a tiny flashlight and an emergency whistle attached. The next day she had gone back to the store to purchase an emergency weather radio that could be cranked by hand in the event that a tornado struck Whispering Springs and they lost all electricity.

After breakfast, Ethan kissed her goodbye, taking his time about it. Then he left for the office, new key chain in hand.

She reminded herself that a man like Ethan probably did not want a woman fussing over him. But lately she seemed unable to resist any advertisement that contained words such as
“safety,” “emergency,” “healthy,” “fortified” or “protective antioxidants.”

 

The door of the manager's office opened just as Zoe walked past it on her way to the parking lot. Robyn Duncan stuck her head out of the opening.

“Good morning, Mrs. Truax. I thought I heard you on the stairs. Got a minute?”

Robyn's tone was perky. Everything about Robyn Duncan was perky. Zoe tried not to grit her teeth. The new resident manager of the Casa de Oro Apartments reminded her of an anal retentive pixie.

Robyn was somewhere in her late twenties, small and daintily made with sharp features. Her light brown hair was streaked with a wealth of golden highlights and cut in a very short, artfully ragged style that emphasized her bright eyes and elfin ears.

As Zoe and the other residents of Casa de Oro were rapidly discovering, the perkiness was merely a veil for what was proving to be an extremely rigid approach to apartment house management. Robyn Duncan was very keen on rules. Some of the tenants, led by Hooper in 1B, had begun to call her Sergeant Duncan behind her back.

“I'm on my way to an appointment, Robyn.” Zoe made herself smile. “Can it wait?”

“Not really.” Robyn looked regretful but resolved to do her duty. “I'm afraid it's quite important.” She cast a quick,
searching glance around the lobby and the stairs, apparently making certain that no one else was in the vicinity. “Would you mind stepping into my office for just a second?”

Damn. She did not need this. She had enough on her plate these days. She glanced pointedly at her watch. “I'd rather not. Is this about the new parking lot assignments?”

“I'm afraid so.” Robyn drew herself up. “The problem, Mrs. Truax, is that I can't assign a parking stall to Mr. Truax because he is not on the lease.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The lease is in your name, Mrs. Truax. To be precise, it is in your former name, Zoe Luce. I'm afraid the agreement is very specific. It states that only one resident shall occupy the apartment on a full-time basis. The occasional overnight guest is allowed, of course, but it appears that Mr. Truax has moved into your unit on a full-time basis.”

“He moved in because we got married,” Zoe said evenly. “Believe it or not, people often share a living space after they get married.”

Robyn's bow-like mouth tightened. “I'm aware of that.”

“In any event, this is a temporary situation. Ethan and I have a house. It's being repainted inside. We'll be moving into it when the work is done.”

“I see.” Robyn was evidently taken aback by that news, but she recovered quickly. “I hadn't realized that you were planning to terminate your lease. When do you intend to give notice?”

“It depends.” On how long it takes Treacher, the painting contractor, to start work, she added silently. She had been
nagging him for two weeks but so far the only sign that anything might be about to happen was the fact that the interior of Nightwinds was covered in drop cloths.

“We require a month's notice,” Robyn reminded her.

“I'm aware of that.”

“Yes, well, the thing is your personal circumstances and the change in your marital status do not alter the terms and conditions of the lease.”

“What do you want me to do?” Zoe asked, exasperated. “Sign a new lease?”

“Modifying the lease is certainly an option.”

“Fine. Draw up the paperwork and Ethan and I will sign it this evening.” She turned to go.

“You do realize that there will be an increase in your monthly rent?”

That did it. Zoe swung around again, outraged. “You can't arbitrarily increase my rent.”

“It's not an arbitrary decision at all, Mrs. Truax.” Robyn smiled. “May I call you Zoe?”

“Call me Mrs. Truax,” Zoe said between her teeth.

“Very well.” Robyn looked hurt. “It's all right there in your lease, Mrs. Truax. If you will take the trouble to read paragraph nine A, you'll see that adding an additional tenant will mean a one-hundred-and-fifty-dollar-a-month increase in the rent.”

“Over my dead body. Ethan and I will camp out in Fountain Square before I pay you one hundred and fifty dollars more a month. This place isn't worth what I'm paying now.”

“It's not me you're paying,” Robyn said primly. “I just collect the rent. The money goes to the owners of the Casa de Oro.”

With a supreme effort of will Zoe managed to resist the urge to pick Robyn up by her pointy little ears and toss her into the trash bin out back.

“I am not an idiot,” she said, instead. “I am well aware that a couple by the name of Shipley owns this place. But in the entire time that I have been here they have never once, as far as I know, paid a visit. They have invested nothing in the property. There have been no improvements, whatsoever. The Shipleys do not deserve a hundred and fifty bucks more a month and you can tell them that I said so.”

“The Shipleys have a number of rental properties in the Phoenix area. They are far too busy to oversee each one personally. But I have had several conversations with them regarding our needs here at Casa de Oro, and I assure you that they are very receptive to my plans for this apartment complex.”

“I insist that you contact the Shipleys, wherever they are—”

“They live in Scottsdale,” Robyn said, ever helpful.

“Fine. Contact them in Scottsdale and make it clear to them that Ethan and I are a married couple, not roommates. Remind them that I have been an excellent tenant for more than a year.”

Robyn cleared her throat. “Well, not exactly.”

“
What?
How dare you imply that I have been anything less than an ideal tenant.”

“I was going through the files the other day and I noticed that there was an incident in your apartment last month that resulted in police being summoned to Casa de Oro.”

“That was not my fault. I was the innocent victim of an attempted kidnapping.”

Robyn tut-tutted sympathetically. “Yes, I read about it in the
Whispering Springs Herald
. It must have been a terrible experience for you.”

“It was.”

“When I discussed it with Mr. and Mrs. Shipley, they felt that it was something of a red flag, however.”

An ominous feeling descended on Zoe. “Red flag?” she repeated very carefully.

“The Shipleys expressed some concerns regarding Mr. Truax's profession.”

“Concerns.”

“They are worried that the nature of his profession might tend to encourage other such incidents, if you see what I mean.”

“No, I do not see what you mean.” Zoe struggled to keep her voice under control. “My husband's business had nothing to do with that
incident
, as you call it. It was a personal matter involving me. Explain that to Mr. and Mrs. Shipley.”

Robyn stiffened. “Are you saying that there is something about you that might attract more criminal activity to this property?”

“No, I am not saying that. The earlier issue was resolved. There won't be any more problems. Make sure the Shipleys understand that. Make certain they also understand that I refuse to pay extra rent simply because I got married.”

“I'll talk to them.”

“You do that.”

“Really, there is no need to lose your temper with me, Mrs. Truax. It is my duty to enforce the rules.”

“Yeah, right.” Zoe dug her keys out of her purse and, for the second time that morning, started toward the lobby door. “All I know is that the former resident manager was a lot more flexible.”

“His excessive flexibility is the reason he is the
former
resident manager.” Robyn lowered her voice to a confidential tone. “The Shipleys implied that he had a drinking problem.”

That probably explained a few things, Zoe thought, such as why the Casa de Oro had always looked so down at the heels. Maybe there was something to be said for the rules-are-rules type.

But she was in no mood to admit that to Pixie Ears.

She went outside and got into her car.

 

She was still fuming an hour later when Tabitha Pine, flamboyantly ethereal in a dress that looked as if it had been fashioned from a lot of expensive silk scarves, floated into her office. The tiny bells stitched to the bottom of her skirts tinkled.

“Zoe, dear, I hope you don't mind me dropping in on you without an appointment.” Tabitha smiled, serenely sure of her welcome. “I would have called but I had to come into town this morning to do some shopping so I thought I'd see if I could catch you. I only need a moment.”

“Of course I don't mind.” Zoe immediately switched into client mode. “I don't have another appointment until eleven. Please sit down.”

“Thank you.” Tabitha settled into one of the two chairs on the other side of the desk. The scarves fluttered for a few seconds and then obediently went still. “I will come right out with it. I had one of my psychic visions last night while I was traveling on the astral plane. I felt that I had to get in touch with you and Lindsey Voyle as soon as possible so that I could tell you both about it.”

“I see.”

Zoe reminded herself that she was in no position to doubt Tabitha's psychic visions. Nevertheless, it was difficult to take seriously a woman of some sixty years who dressed like a hippie from the latter half of the last century.

Tabitha's hair was her most arresting feature. It was silver and gray and it fell down her back and around her shoulders in long, flowing waves. Zoe had heard that there was a fashion rule that dictated that the older a woman got, the shorter her hair was supposed to be cut. Obviously, Tabitha did not believe in following that law of nature.