Trigger Snappy (2 page)

"I did and they looked into it, and told me the IP address used on those orders came from my house! They didn't say as much, but they implied that I was obviously trying to wriggle out of the charges after regretting a wild, spending spree. I told them about the stalking and the other weird things, but they... they politely said I was paranoid. If I don't find out who's doing this, I could be liable for tens of thousands of dollars, but it's not just that... whoever is doing this is ruining my life! What if it escalates? I have my fiancé to think about and my stepson. What if someone hurt them to get to me?" Juliet stopped abruptly, her voice rushing to the point where she was barely breathing in her hurry to state her case. She drew a deep breath, reached for her purse, pulled out a tissue and dabbed her eyes. When she looked up again, she seemed more drawn, and not like the confident, curious woman who knocked at my door only minutes ago. "Do you believe me? Do you think I could be a stalking victim?"

I didn't need to take long to make my decision. "Yes, I think it's possible you're being stalked."

"Possible isn't definite," pointed out Juliet.

"I need to take a closer look at your life before I can give you a more definitive answer. And I also need to accept your case in order to prove you are being stalked."

"Please, I'm so afraid. I need you to prove it, find them, and stop them. Just tell me what you need me to pay and I'll pay."

Before I answered, I had another question. "How do you know I can help you? I don't advertise."

"I was referred to you. You helped a friend's friend. I remembered your name and looked for you. Her name is Elisabeth Fong."

I remembered Elisabeth, but it had been a long time since I helped her locate a missing close friend whom everyone else had given up on. It wasn't a case that I ever advertised, and rarely spoke about, so I figured Juliet's answer had to be legitimate. "Okay. You'll need to pay a retainer," I told her. "We can agree on the fees and a cap figure so you won't be overcharged. I'll only take instruction from you so you don't have to worry about anyone else interfering."

Juliet nodded quickly, not even curious as to what my fee might be as she pulled a checkbook from her bag and uncapped a small, silver pen. She wrote the check and handed it to me. I left it lying between us on the desk, although I snuck a glimpse at the number. It was more than I would have asked for. "When can you start?" she asked.

"Now."

Chapter Two

I met Solomon for lunch in a deli midway between Lily's bar and his agency. Since moving to my new premises, the deli was conveniently situated for us both to meet during the day, not that we always had time to meet. One or the other occasionally had surveillance, or other work commitments that scuppered plans but it was nice when we could get together. It also let me temporarily forget that I hadn't stepped inside the agency for months. I assumed I would go there again someday; I just couldn't decide when. Several times, I wondered if Solomon didn't suggest meeting at the agency, or at my office, for the same reason.

This day was particularly pleasant: sunny, a gentle breeze, and blue skies with barely a fluffy cloud. I looked particularly fabulous in my butt-hoisting, skinny jeans, long boots, and a tight sweater. Boosting my mood was an intriguing new case, a retainer check, and Lily's very early cosmo. I had to walk past three bench advertisements with mustaches on the models' faces on the way there, and I couldn't help wondering if I knew the culprit.

"You look happy," said Solomon, sliding into the booth opposite me, mere minutes after I arrived. He looked pretty pleased with himself too, but I doubted it was because three women at the neighboring table checked him out on his way in. Whether he noticed their appreciative glances was something I never figured out since he never missed anything, but failed to react. He was extremely good at making sure his attention was always fixed on me, which was exactly the way I liked it. Perhaps my early morning decision of skinny jeans and tight sweater figured into that.

"So do you. Good day?" I asked, in my usual ambiguous way. I had a vague curiosity about his work as well as an unwillingness to actually look too interested. That was just in case he thought I missed working with him. Frequently, I had to remind myself that I was the one who walked away from the agency, and the coterie of interesting jobs that arrived at its doors. Solomon never pleaded with me to return, and I wasn't sure how I felt about that. I was pretty sure, however, how I felt about his biceps under the rolled sleeves of his inky-blue shirt.

"Very. I've taken an intriguing new case."

"Too interesting to hand down to the guys?" I asked. I was referring to my former investigative colleagues, Fletcher, Flaherty and Delgado - first names optional. All three were seasoned law enforcement professionals, whose credentials trumped my own. However Solomon kept me on for my smarts, my intuition... and because people all too frequently treated me like I was dumb. Simply stated: I could get into the places three hard-assed men that people picked off as cops a mile away couldn't. People took one look at my style choices and shiny hair before losing all traces of suspicion. That ensured I was assigned a number of high profile, and occasionally dangerous, cases which I handled successfully.

"I have a client who suspects an employee of insider trading. Financial crimes interest me."

"Why is that?" I asked. "I mean, I know you enjoy cases with financial motives, but why this one insider trading case?"

"Something about it."

"Go on," I prompted as the waitress proffered a pair of menus and immediately launched into that day's specials. She spoke so fast, all I could do was gawk. "So what'll it be?" she finished.

"I have no idea," I told her. "What was the third option?"

"I don't know."

"But you said it."

"I memorized the entire list, not each individual thing on it," she said, her chin thrusting upwards as she blinked before catching sight of Solomon. Her mouth dropped open a little. "I could recite it all again. I'm training to be an actress," she added breathlessly.

"The chicken salad and a soda," I told her.

"I'll take that too," Solomon said as he handed her the menu without looking up. She took it, but didn't move, blinking instead at him a couple more times.

"Today, please," I told the waitress, smiling hopefully at her, wondering if she'd even heard our orders.

"'Kay," she mumbled, sliding away. A moment later, she giggled something to the other waitress at the counter and they both glanced over.

"I think our waitress has a crush on you," I told Solomon.

"I have a crush on you," he said as he smiled.

I made a show of pretend giggling and twirling my hair around one finger. All the same, my heart skipped a beat as he looked at me. His dark eyes held secrets that he whispered to me and only to me. "You were telling me..." I prompted before getting any big ideas.

"Oh yeah. I don't know. Something a little off about the case. My client owns an investment firm, and he's concerned several illegal trades were made. He asked me to look first at his employees."

"I don't understand trading, but aren't there some kind of safeguards in place? And can't every trade be tracked back to a trader?"

"Technically, yes, but there's something very strange about the trades that were made. He wants to make sure he fires the right person."

"Is he losing money?"

"Yes." Solomon named a figure that made my blood run cold.

"That much?"

He nodded.

"Seriously? People can lose that much money?"

"Yes."

"On a single trade?"

"On a single trade, yes, sure, but that much was lost on multiple trades."

"Wow!"

"It's not a huge amount."

"It is to me!"

"Not to these people, but an illegal trade is an illegal trade. It involves ethics as much as recovering their losses."

"Does he know who did it?"

"He has his suspicions. He tracked the trades to one employee, but he says it can't be her. My job is to prove it unequivocally, one way or the other."

"Sounds tricky."

"It will be, but I'm looking forward to it. Surveillance starts tomorrow. I have a feeling this case might test me. This person is smart. They'll do everything they can to cover their tracks and avoid a jail term."

"How would it test you? You've investigated every kind of case."

"Don't forget we can be duped," he reminded me, "and we can let a perpetrator slip right past us."

"Only if they're really smart."

"I think this one is
really
smart."

We paused as the waitress slid large plates in front of us. The cook didn't scrimp with the salad ingredients and the plate groaned. I thought my stomach might groan too if I finished it all. I reached for the side dressing, peppering a liberal sprinkle across the leaves.

"I got an interesting new case today," I told him as I shoved the first forkful to my mouth. Flavor exploded on my tongue and I took a special moment just to enjoy it.

"What's the top line?"

"Stalking."

"Too many stalkers in this world."

"Absolutely," I agreed, swallowing before I continued, "my client is convinced she has one; but the people around her tell her it's just her stress and forgetfulness. I need to prove she has a stalker and make him or her stop. Or prove she doesn't have one so she can finally find some peace."

"Does this have the potential to get nasty?"

"I don't think so. She hasn't been approached, but..."

Solomon placed his fork on the plate. "But what?"

"From what she told me, this person could have been in her house, and possibly had access to her car keys."

"Does she have problems with anyone?"

"Not that she’s aware of; and she seemed very honest."

"Stalkers can be all kinds of people. Strangers, relatives, friends, even partners. Just about anything can tip them over the line from nosy and overly caring to obsessive and controlling."

"Tell me about it," I said, thinking of the stalkers I'd encountered in my tenure as a PI. My first stalker was an accountant in the office I worked for as a temp. He began following me around and leaving bizarre gifts. He definitely had one very big screw loose and was now, thankfully, serving time.

"Looks like we have two interesting cases on our hands." Solomon raised his soda glass and clinked it against mine, a salute to our way of life. I noted he didn't ask me to take a look at his case, or offer to go over the details of mine. I wasn't sure whether I should have been pleased that he seemed to be respecting the boundaries that neither one of us put into play, or just curious at his sudden indifference. Did he think I wasn't up to the job? Or was he merely being discreet, and not trying to barge into my new career path? I wasn't sure, but at least, I could be certain, given Juliet's reference, that he didn't send a pity case in my direction. Just as I was about to change the topic, my cell phone trilled. A text message from my mother appeared on screen. It read
I met a nice man today.

I frowned at it.

"What's up?" asked Solomon.

"Nothing. My mom says she met a nice man today."

"She knows she's married to your dad, right?"

"I don't think she forgot." I tapped on the screen
You're married.

Seconds later, another message flashed up:
For you. 35. Lawyer. Single. No kids. Hair AND teeth.

Solomon leaned across the table and I tipped the phone towards him. He shook his head and returned his attention to his salad. "She knows we're together."

I have a boyfriend
, I wrote back.

Did he propose yet?
texted Mom.

No.

Are you with child?

No.

I waited a full minute for the response. It read
Tick tock!

I sighed and dropped the phone onto the table. Solomon reached forward and turned it around, reading the texts. I was pretty sure he had to stifle the urge to laugh.

"I could get you pregnant and propose right now," said Solomon. "We don't even have to leave the deli."

All the air sucked out of my lungs, and I transcended somewhere between my body, that moment, and the realm of possibilities. It was like an out-of-body experience, but without the supernatural movie effects. When I recovered my thoughts and found my voice, all I could say was, "I have a case to solve."

"Maybe later," said Solomon with a wink.

~

I thought about Solomon's casual proposal, along with all the synchronized things he could do, as I walked back to my car, which was parked in the tiny, rear lot of Lily's bar. I thought about it some more on the drive over to Bedford Hills, which Juliet stated as her address.

In my purse was a millimeter-thin, manila file that still smelled box-fresh. It was filled with the information she gave me to start the case. Mostly minimal stuff: her full name, address, employer and place of employment, general family details, and I needed far more than that to catch a stalker. I wanted to interview her longer, but she told me she needed to get to another appointment. Then she said, since it was her day off, I could come by her house to talk some more. I figured talking and simultaneously checking out her home was a good idea.

Bedford Hills was a sprawling development of large, detached homes that housed Montgomery's richest homeowners. Houses didn't come up for sale often since they were the kind of places one aspired to live in, not depart from. The roads here were litter-free, the sidewalks clean, and the landscaping pristine. Some houses were hidden behind large walls and security gates with sweeping driveways, but not Juliet's. By Bedford Hills’ standards, hers would have been called a
starter home
. It shared the road with several similar houses: smaller single family dwellings, with gardener-maintained yards and driveways filled with minivans and smaller models of Mercedes and BMWs. I glimpsed a couple of sports cars that I figured were probably weekend toys.

Parking out front, I surveyed Juliet's house. The large, iron numbers to the side of the door made it easy to locate from the street. There wasn't much about the house that was personal, at least, from the outside. The numbers were formal, black ironwork on brick walls with a white porch in the center. The two windows flanking each side of the door had symmetrical drapes; and the flowers bordering the garden looked like they were planted by a very artistic hand. Juliet had a beautiful manicure, minus any dirt, so I suspected she probably employed a landscape gardener too.

I got out, buzzed my VW doors locked and approached the house. Juliet must have been waiting for me because the door opened before I had a chance to knock.

"Hi," I said, shaking her hand again, "is now a good time?"

"Perfect. Thanks for driving out here. I appreciate it," she replied warmly, stepping back to allow me to enter. She held her own hands, sliding her fingers in and out of each other, but dropped them when she noticed me looking. "Nervous habit."

"It's no trouble. This is a nice area. Your house is very pretty."

"Thank you."

"Have you lived here long?"

"Two years," she replied, ushering me through to the living room. Two white couches sat on either side of a fireplace and there was a wall of books with a cozy armchair. Twin, woven baskets filled with toys were stuffed in the corner. I glanced at the books, surprised to see the young James Bond books and several other children's titles. "They belong to my stepson," she explained. "He's nine and a voracious reader."