Trust No One (22 page)

R
alph Trager had two children by a previous marriage, a boy and a girl,” Grace said. She studied the information she had pulled up on her computer. “The names were Randal and Crystal. The first wife never remarried but she moved in with a series of boyfriends for a while.”

“I’ll bet that didn’t go well,” Julius said.

“It looks like she had really bad taste when it came to men. A couple of the boyfriends sold drugs for a living and one was arrested for abusing the daughter.” Grace sat back in her chair. “How many times have we heard that sad story?”

Julius picked up the coffeepot and carried it across the kitchen to the table. “What happened to the first wife and kids?”

“Let’s see.” Grace leaned forward and scrolled through more data. “Looks like the former Mrs. Trager and the daughter, Crystal, died in a car crash. Randal, the son, went into foster care, moved through a series of homes and then just sort of disappeared for a couple of years.”

“Probably decided life was better on the streets. Anything else?”

Grace scrolled through some more data. “Randal held a series of part-time contract jobs, most of them involving computers and programming. Looks like he had an aptitude for that sort of thing.”

Julius looked out over the lake. “Go on.”

Grace went back to her screen. “He came to a bad end. He was arrested on fraud charges and got six months and probation. He died in a boating accident soon after he was released.”

“So it looks like everyone in Trager’s family is dead.”

“Yes.” Grace picked up her mug. “What a tragic scenario.”

Julius leaned back in his chair and swallowed some coffee. “It’s also a very convenient scenario.”

Grace looked at him over the top of the mug. “Are we back to
trust no one
?”

“We are,” Julius said. “In light of this new evidence, we need to reevaluate our findings on all of the characters in our little drama.”

“What’s to reevaluate? We’ve already checked out everyone involved.”

“But now we’ll do it from another perspective,” Julius said. “We’ve got a situation that involves fraud, and at least one character in our story did time for fraud.”

“Yes, several years ago, but Randal Trager was killed after he got out of jail.”

“Maybe.”

“Devlin’s right, you really do think like a cop. Maybe you missed your calling.”

“I don’t like guns,” Julius said.

“Okay, that might have been a problem for you if you had pursued a career in law enforcement.”

A phone rang. Julius this time. He glanced at the screen and took the call.

“What have you got for me, Eugene?” he said.

He listened attentively for a few minutes.

“That would explain a few things,” he said. “Including his career path. Thanks, Eugene. You’ve done some really fine work on this. Yes, I will let you know how it all comes out. No, you cannot quit to go work for the FBI. It doesn’t pay nearly as well as Arkwright Ventures does.”

Julius hung up and looked at Grace.

“Well?” she prompted.

“It appears that Sprague Witherspoon may have had a secret past, one he tried to bury a long time ago. It may explain the blackmail.”

Grace’s heart sank. “Oh, no. Please don’t tell me Sprague was a criminal.”

“He did time under another name for fraud.”

“Damn.” Grace closed her eyes. “I really, really admired him, you know.”

“I know,” Julius said gently.

She opened her eyes. “I’ll bet that after he got out of prison he reinvented himself for good and committed himself to helping other people make new lives for themselves. When you think about it, that’s a very inspiring story.”

“That’s definitely one way of interpreting the facts,” Julius said.

She beetled her brows. “It’s my interpretation of the facts until proven otherwise.”

“There is the little issue of his possible gambling addiction and the embezzlement thing.”

She glared.

He moved one hand in a dismissive gesture. “Fine. Innocent until proven guilty. Whatever.”

The rumble of a vehicle pulling into the drive stopped Grace before she could start asking questions. She got to her feet and went out into the living room. The familiar logo of an overnight package delivery
company was emblazoned on the side of the large van parked in front of the house. She watched the uniformed driver climb out. He came up the front steps, a box in one hand.

She opened the door.

“Grace Elland?” he said.

“That would be me.”

“Got a package for you.”

“Thanks,” Grace said. She glanced at the return address and recognized the name of the Seattle chocolatier. “Candy. This is a surprise.”

“Sign here, please.”

She scrawled her name and took the package. The deliveryman got back into the truck and rumbled down the drive toward the road.

Grace carried the box of chocolates back into the kitchen and set it down on the table. She tore off the outer wrapping.

“Truffles,” she said. “My favorite. Someone knows me well.”

Julius eyed the box with narrowed eyes. “Boyfriend?”

“I told you, I don’t have one at the moment.” She picked up the envelope that had been taped to the top of the box. “Well, except for you, that is.”

“Good to know that I count as a boyfriend.”

She ignored the sarcasm and ripped open the envelope. For a moment she could only stare at the signature.

“Oh, shit,” she said.

“Not what most people say when they open a box of truffles,” Julius said. “Don’t keep me in suspense. Who sent the candy?”

“Millicent.”

T
his is too creepy,” Grace said.

She sat at the kitchen table and stared at the rows of elegant chocolates. It might as well have been snakes or scorpions in the box, she thought. All right, maybe not quite that bad. Nevertheless, she was very sure she would not be eating the truffles.

“According to the label, the box was sent yesterday directly from the store,” Julius said. He looked down at the chocolates from the opposite side of the table.

“Overnight delivery,” Grace said. “But Millicent was unconscious all day yesterday and last night. As far as we know she still isn’t awake She couldn’t have sent this box of candy.”

“You got an email from her yesterday morning and all indications are that she was unconscious at the time it was sent,” Julius said. “If Millicent is the sender, she could have scheduled the email and the chocolates before she was drugged. Probably thought she could cancel both if everything went according to plan.”

“But something went wrong, so the email and the chocolates got sent automatically. But why me?”

“Looks like you were her backup plan,” Julius said. “Better take a close look at that candy.”

“Not the candy.” Grace held up the small white card. “It’s all right here in the note.”

She read it aloud.

Grace, if you’re reading this, it’s probably because I’m dead. I don’t think that there are any good affirmations for this situation. It sucks. Consider this my will. I’m leaving my retirement savings to you even though I know you’ll probably hand it over to that ungrateful bitch, Nyla. I can’t bring myself to do it, that’s for sure. I hope you will at least keep a commission for yourself, but you probably won’t do that either. It must be hard always trying to do the right thing. But I will say it was rather entertaining watching you do it. It was fun knowing you for the past year and a half, so at least do me a favor and enjoy the chocolates.

The note was followed by the name of a bank Grace had never heard of and a long string of numbers.

“Offshore account?” Grace asked.

“I think, under the circumstances, we can assume that’s the case.” Julius sat down at the table and opened his laptop. “Easy enough to find out.”

A short time later he had the answer.

“It’s an offshore account, all right. And all you need to access it is that number she wrote on the card. There’s a sizable sum involved here. A few million.”

“So she was embezzling from Sprague.” Grace propped her elbows
on the table and cupped her chin in both hands. “She seemed—seems—like such a nice person. Always so cheerful. Lots of positive energy.”

“I have a hunch that knowing she was raking in a tidy little fortune and setting it aside for her retirement was the reason she was always so cheerful and positive.”

“Well, this does answer one question,” Grace said. “We now know where the money went. And we know that Sprague wasn’t embezzling the funds.”

“We know something else, too,” Julius said. “Miss Cheerful probably didn’t try to kill herself. She was looking forward to an early retirement and the pleasure of spending the cash that she had stashed in that island bank. I wonder how she planned to bring the money back to the States without arousing the interest of the authorities.”

“In a suitcase?” Grace suggested.

“Carrying a few million bucks through customs is a high-risk game.” Julius shook his head. “This kind of money needs to be scrubbed clean.”

“I suppose the next step is to call Devlin,” Grace said without much enthusiasm. “And then I’ll have to chat with the Seattle cops. Again.”

“Dev comes first.” Julius took out his phone. “Someone is going to get the credit for what amounts to a very big break in the case. Might as well be him.”

“I suppose so,” Grace said.

Julius smiled briefly. “Trust me, Dev is on our side.”

“I’ll take your word for it. But I’m going to call Nyla and tell her that I think we found her inheritance.”

“That note and the account number are evidence,” Julius pointed out in a neutral tone. “We are going to give both to Dev.”

“Fine, whatever,” Grace said. She took out her phone. “But Nyla has a right to know that we found her money.”

Julius checked his watch. “I’ve got a meeting in Seattle this afternoon. No sense dragging you along. Can I trust you to stay with Irene at her shop?”

Grace glared. “I’m not a kid. I don’t need a babysitter.”

“You’re a woman with a stalker—a stalker who may be escalating. You need a babysitter.”

“Right. Yes, of course, I’ll stay at Irene’s shop. When will you get back?”

“I should be home by dinner. Just make sure you are with Irene and Dev until I return.”

I
t was all falling apart. The biggest score of his life was crashing and burning around him. If he didn’t get out fast he would get crushed in the rubble.

Burke tossed the hand-tailored, neatly laundered and folded shirts into the suitcase and went back to the closet to zip the designer jackets into a carrying bag. He had spent a fortune on the clothes he knew he needed for the job. He was not going to leave them behind.

He had put the plan together with the precision of a military commander preparing for battle. Every detail, from a résumé so solid it could have withstood a high-level government background check—not that the government was that good at background checks—to the dates on his driver’s license, had been engineered to perfection.

The timing had been perfect at every step of the way until that first mistake. He had told himself that leaving the vodka bottle at the scene of Witherspoon’s death was a harmless whim. It was an error but a survivable one.

Finding out that Nyla’s inheritance had vanished had come as a
stunning shock, however. He’d almost cut his losses the day he realized that someone else had gotten to the money first. He’d torn the Witherspoon offices apart and then hacked the three computers in a desperate effort to find the key to the cash. He knew the thief had to be a member of the staff. It was the only answer that made sense.

Then Millicent had made him an offer that seemed too good to be true. For a while it looked like it would be possible to salvage the situation.

Now Millicent was in a drug-induced coma and might wake up and start talking at any minute. Another mistake. She should have died. He’d searched her apartment and gone through her computer but he had found no clue to the missing money. Without the account info, there was no way to get at it. It might as well be buried at sea.

The old rage rose out of nowhere, washing through him in a red tide. He had planned so damned carefully.

He dropped the suit carrier on the bed and slammed a fist against the wall of the bedroom. It hurt like hell and it dredged up old memories from his childhood—stuff that he hated remembering—but he felt better almost immediately. His heart rate slowed and his breathing went back to normal. Sometimes a man just had to let off a little steam.

The apartment security intercom buzzed, startling him. He debated whether or not to answer it and then decided to pick up.

“This is Grayson at the door station. Miss Witherspoon is here to see you, sir.”

Shit. The last thing he needed was a visit from Nyla. But he survived by adhering to certain rules. The first rule of a well-run con was to stay in the role until you were out of town. With one person dead and another in the hospital, it was very, very important to stick to the rules.

“Please send her up, Grayson,” he said. “Thanks.”

He ended the call and looked around the bedroom. He had to make certain that Nyla didn’t realize he was planning to fly out of Seattle that afternoon.

He left the bedroom, closing the door on the scene of the open suitcases.

The doorbell chimed. He took a breath and focused on channeling Burke Marrick, scion of a wealthy Southern California family that had made its money in real estate.

When he opened the door he saw Nyla’s face and knew at once that everything had changed. She was in tears but they were tears of joy.

She threw herself into his arms.

“I just got a call from Grace,” Nyla said. “I can hardly believe it, but she says they found my money. That bitch Millicent Chartwell was the embezzler. I should have known. She handled all of Dad’s money. She hid millions in some damn island bank and more money is going in every day, thanks to the website and blog revenue.”

I
t was four-thirty by the time Julius walked out of the office. An early winter twilight, made even darker by a heavy cloud cover, had settled on the city.

He paused just inside the parking garage and did a quick visual scan. There were a handful of other people heading toward their cars. Office workers, he concluded. Nothing looked or felt wrong.

One little mugging and you start acting like you’re back in a war zone every time you walk through a garage. Get a grip, man.

He took a last look around before he opened the driver’s-side door of the SUV. Again, nothing appeared out of place. He got behind the wheel, took out his phone and called home.

Home.
Where had that thought come from? He wasn’t calling home, he was calling Grace. But somehow it was all one and the same.

She answered on the first ring.

“How did the meeting go?” she asked.

“The meeting went fine,” Julius said. “The deal will net a sizable
chunk of change within five years. My staff is celebrating at the closest bar.”

“But you’re bored.”

“It was a very dull meeting. I’m on my way back to Cloud Lake now. Should be there in a little over an hour, depending on traffic. I’ll stop by my place and change clothes. Then I’ll walk to your house. You’re still with Irene?”

“Yes, indeed, as promised. We’re at her shop. Devlin is going to join us as soon as he leaves his office. We’ll pick up some takeout and then go to my place.”

“Sounds like a plan. See you soon.”

“Drive safe,” Grace said. There was a slight catch in her voice, as if she had been about to say something else but she stopped herself. “Good-bye.”

“See you soon.”

He ended the connection and paused for a moment, wondering what it was that Grace had almost said.
I miss you
, perhaps. Or, maybe,
I’m looking forward to seeing you again
. That was probably it. The chances that she had been about to say
I love you
were slim to none. It was way too soon. And Grace’s track record indicated that she was very cautious when it came to relationships. Still, a man could dream.

He hadn’t been doing much in the way of dreaming until Grace arrived on the scene. Grace changed everything.

He fired up the SUV and reversed out of the parking space. He was in a strange mood, one he could not quite define. Whatever it was, it was not connected to closing the Banner deal. The only thing involved there had been money.

By the time he drove out of the garage and into the river of downtown traffic he was pretty sure that the little rush of energy he felt was anticipation. Soon he would be back in Cloud Lake, where Grace was waiting. For now she was safe with friends.

It was full-dark by the time the exit sign for Cloud Lake came up in the headlights. Another little rush hit him when he pulled off the freeway. Not much longer.

Coming home.

Fifteen minutes later he cruised slowly through the neat little town and turned off onto Lake Circle Road. He checked the Elland house when he drove past and was satisfied when he caught a glimpse of the windows glowing warmly through the trees. Dev’s police vehicle was parked in the drive. Grace was where she was supposed to be. She was safe.

With any luck Devlin would come through with a solid connection between the crimes and Burke Marrick. There had to be one. No con artist was perfect. Theoretically, now that Marrick had the money in sight again he would stop trying to murder people who stood in his way. Theoretically.

Julius turned into his own driveway, parked and got out. He grabbed his laptop and started toward the front steps.

The door of the neighboring house banged open. Harley appeared. The porch light shone on his bald head.

“Thought I heard you,” Harley called a little too loudly. “How’d the Banner deal go?”

“It went the way deals always go. Banner is happy. My investors are happy. My staff is happy.”

Harley snorted. “So why aren’t you happy?”

“I’m thrilled, can’t you tell?”

“You know what your problem is?”

“Grace tells me I’m bored. What’s your opinion?”

“You’re not building anything. You’re just making money. After a while, that’s not enough. When I was in business, we built things all over the whole damn world, remember? Water treatment plants. Hospitals. Hotels. Apartments. And it’s all still standing. People got clean
water and jobs and places to live because we put in the infrastructure you need for those things to happen.”

“I’m in a bit of a hurry here, Harley. Your point?”

“I’m thinking maybe Grace is right. All you do these days is make money for yourself and your investors. You’re bored.”

Julius went up the steps and unlocked his front door. “Now, see, there’s where you’re wrong. I’m not bored, not any longer.”

Harley laughed. “That’s because you’re heading out to spend the night with Grace.”

“I don’t want her to be alone until the cops pick up the psycho who’s been stalking her.”

“Right. You’re just a regular Boy Scout doing a good deed.” Harley chuckled. “Face it, you’re in deep there. The scary part is that she understands you better than you do yourself. That kind of woman can be dangerous.”

Julius paused in the doorway and looked at Harley. “Got any advice?”

“Sure. Same advice I always gave you when I sent you out to salvage a job that was in trouble. Don’t screw up.”

Harley went back inside his house. His front door slammed shut.

Julius went through his own door and switched on some lights. He stood quietly for a moment, listening to the silence. The place felt empty, just like his condo in the city. But that no longer mattered. He would be with Grace soon.

Nevertheless, the yawning emptiness seemed almost eerie this evening. He walked across the front room, his footfalls echoing on the wooden floor.

There had to be a connection to Burke Marrick. What the hell was taking the Seattle police so long to find it?

His imagination was spinning into overdrive. He needed to change clothes and go find Grace and his friends.

He hauled the duffel bag into the bedroom and dropped it on the bed. He was in the process of unzipping it when he heard the faint, muffled
whoosh
of an explosion.

Instinct and old habits took over. Without thinking, he flattened himself against the nearest wall, automatically seeking cover. He crouched and pulled the pistol out of the ankle holster before he even had a chance to consider the possibilities. His pulse kicked up and the battlefield focus infused his senses.

You’re probably overreacting. Just someone fooling around with fireworks out on the lake. You’re not going to be any good to Grace if you don’t stay in control.

Outside the window the night was suddenly lit up with flames. He eased the curtain aside and saw that Harley’s boathouse was on fire.

Harley burst out of his kitchen door and charged across the porch. He grabbed the garden hose and dragged it toward the dock.

“Arkwright, get out here and give me a hand. We got a fire.”

Julius thought about the fuel, the flares and all the other combustible items that were stored in the boathouse and on board the cruiser.

He shoved the pistol back into the holster and headed for the kitchen door. When he was outside on the back porch he took out his phone to call 911.

“Harley, get away from that damn boathouse,” he shouted. “The whole thing could explode at any minute.”

Harley continued to haul the hose toward the dock. “It’s my boat inside that boathouse, damn it.”

“You’ve got insurance. Besides, we both know you can afford to buy two or three more.”

Julius punched in the emergency number.

“Nine-one-one. What is the nature of your emergency?”

“Fire,” Julius said. “Twenty-eleven Lake Circle Road. Harley Montoya’s place. The boathouse.”

“I’ve got vehicles on the way.”

Julius ended the call and started down the steps. “Forget it, Harley. There’s nothing you can do. Stay clear. Fire department’s on the way.”

“You gonna give me a hand or just stand there and tell me the fire department’s coming?” Harley shouted.

“Stay away from the boathouse, you stubborn—”

Julius caught the flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye just as he reached the bottom step. A neighbor coming to help, he thought. But the nearest house was some distance away. No one could have run that fast.

The porch light glinted darkly on a metal object in the newcomer’s hand.

. . . And Julius was thrown back into a war zone.

He dropped to the ground just as the gun roared. He felt cold talons slash open his right side. The pain, he knew, would come later. At that moment he was riding a wave of adrenaline.

Another shot slammed into the porch boards just above his head. He was flat on his belly on the far side of the steps. It occurred to him that he had made a fine target standing there in the light while he called 911.
Idiot.

He pulled the gun back out of his ankle holster and watched the dark figure advance cautiously across the yard. When the gunman reached the edge of the porch light he paused, searching for his target in the shadows.

“What the hell are you doing, Julius?” Harley shouted. He started across the gravel lane that separated the two houses. “Are you shooting a damn gun? I’ve got a problem over here, in case you didn’t notice . . . Shit.”

“Harley,” Julius shouted. “Get down.”

Harley finally saw the gunman.

“Son of a bitch,” he bellowed. “You set that fire, didn’t you?”

The shooter was already swinging around toward Harley, who was clearly silhouetted against the flames.

Julius took a breath, let it out partway and squeezed the trigger.

The force of the shot took the gunman down. He collapsed into the ring of porch light.

Julius got to his knees, his weapon in one hand. He clamped his other hand against his side.

“The gun,” he said.

“I’ve got it.” Harley scooped up the weapon the gunman had dropped and hurried toward Julius. “Shit, son, where’d that SOB hit you?”

Julius considered the question closely. It was getting hard to focus, but there was warm liquid spilling over his hand now, he was pretty sure of that.

“Right side. I think. Kind of damp there.”

Sirens wailed in the distance.

“Damn, you’re bleedin’, all right.” Harley ripped off his flannel shirt and bunched it into a tight bandage. He pressed it firmly against Julius’s side. “The fire trucks will be here in a minute. They’ll have some medical supplies.”

“Okay.” Julius did not take his eyes off the fallen man. “Keep an eye on that bastard.”

“Don’t worry, I will. You know him? He’s not from around here, that’s for sure.”

“Burke Marrick,” Julius said. “Grace . . . Tell her . . .”

“Shut up and concentrate on stayin’ right here with me. You can tell Grace whatever it is you want to tell her, yourself. Got a hunch she’ll be along right quick.”