by Mary Maxwell
“You want specific?” Her voice shimmered with a hint of impatience. “Tony Hett and another guy. Both dead. Last night. Darren Rigby’s room at the Fenwick Hotel.”
I took a deep breath. Then I apologized for my mischievous reply to her opening statement. And then I asked her to spill the beans.
“You didn’t just say that,” she replied, still sounding edgy.
After another calming breath, I said, “How can I help?”
“Thank you,” she said. “And I apologize if I’m cranky. I got the call at three o’clock this morning, so I’ve been up since then.”
“Who let you know?”
“Jane Lund,” she said. “The detective that I mentioned yesterday.”
“Sure,” I replied. “From the Denver PD.”
“When Jane found Tony’s wallet,” Dina continued, “she got on the phone immediately to let me know. We’d actually talked sometime around ten-thirty last night about an unrelated matter, so it was pretty surreal when she woke me up with the news. She also told me that another guest in the hotel heard screams and loud noises shortly after midnight.”
“Who was the witness?” I asked.
“The woman across the hall,” Dina said. “After she heard the commotion, she went to the door and looked out through the peephole. She saw a tall redhead running from Darren Rigby’s room.”
“Can you repeat that?”
“A tall redhead,” she said. “The hotel guest told the police that she didn’t see the woman’s face, but she was able to provide a detailed description of what she was wearing.”
“That’s helpful,” I said. “What was the redhead wearing?”
“A fluffy white bathrobe,” Dina answered, “along with a pair of red Ralph Lauren cowboy boots.”
“That is detailed,” I said. “Why was the woman so specific about the boots?”
“Because she has a friend who owns the same style,” Dina told me. “I wouldn’t know myself, since I shop the sale racks. But I guess they were pricey when they were on the market.”
“Well, that’s certainly a good detail to know,” I said.
“Absolutely,” Dina agreed. “And I’ve got someone researching stores in Denver that carry Ralph’s Western gear.”
“You know, depending on the specific model,” I said, “Pearl White might be able to help. She had some red cowboy boots at Simply Chic last year. I don’t know if they were the high-end ones spotted by the witness, but it’s worth a shot.”
“No pun intended,” Dina said.
I winced. “Oh, sorry. I hadn’t asked about the cause of death. Are you telling me that Tony Hett was shot?”
“Three times for him,” Dina said. “And twice for Graham Rankin.”
“Well, that’s a small world,” I said. “Isn’t that the guy that dropped his phone at Tony’s house the night that Darren and Tony went missing?”
“That’s right,” Dina said.
“Did anyone on the staff see them enter the hotel?” I asked.
“Jane Lund has someone going through all of the security camera footage,” Dina said. “Considering the volume, that might take a while.”
“Any thoughts on the shooter?” I asked. “Did Darren’s registration include one or two people?”
“One,” she answer. “The redhead must’ve been another guest of the hotel, someone that Darren invited to his room or someone that came there with Tony or Graham.” She paused. “Unless, of course, the woman came from home wearing her own fluffy terrycloth getup.”
“Did the witness see Darren at any point?”
“Not that I’ve been told so far,” Dina said. “Jane hadn’t drilled down through the first responders’ notes yet. I’m telling you what I heard on the phone last night and a few other details that I learned this morning.”
“Okay, so Darren Rigby survives some type of incident at Tony Hett’s house, vanishes from the office at Sky High and then Tony turns up at the Fenwick with one of the suspects in his kidnapping.”
“And then they both end up dead,” she said.
“Pretty rough couple of days,” I replied.
“And a pretty rough way to go,” she added.
“Okay, so you’ve talked to Detective Lund a couple of times, right?” I said.
“I have,” Dina told me.
“Do you know when she’ll be in touch with you again?”
Dina laughed softly. “She got to Crescent Creek about an hour ago. I’m with her now, and we’re heading your way. Jane wanted to talk with you about a few things before she interviews Tony Hett’s housekeeper and a couple of other locals.”
“Oh, okay!” I said. “So this is my heads-up call?”
“Bingo,” Dina replied.
“Sounds good,” I said. “See you in a few.”
CHAPTER 22
Jane Lund folded at the waist and leaned toward the display case in the Sky High dining room. When she and Dina arrived, I was in the middle of helping Julia finish a large breakfast order for a group of women from the Crescent Creek Historical Society. Dina had given me a quick wave before guiding the Denver PD detective to the glass-fronted cabinet for an appraisal of our sweet treats.
“Who’s the woman with Dina?” Julia asked, peering through the pass window. “And why is she scowling at our cupcakes?”
Jane was wearing faded jeans, a light green gingham blouse and scuffed riding boots. Her badge and gun were clipped to a black belt. A red bandana was knotted around her neck, and sunglasses were tucked into short curly hair that was the color of dark chocolate.
“That’s her friend from the Denver Police,” I answered. “Her husband’s a rancher, so I’d guess the clothes have something to do with that.”
Julia studied the other woman’s attire for a few more seconds. Then she said, “Works for her. If I tried to pull that off, I’d look like someone that belonged in a bad stage production of Little House on the Prairie.”
I laughed. “Isn’t that Harper’s thing?” I asked. “I mean, plays and musical theater.”
“Oh, heck yes!” Julia’s wide smile was accompanied by a bouncy laugh. “And I heard the local community theater is doing that show next year.”
“Little House on the Prairie?”
Julia concentrated for a moment. “Oh, I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe it’s Little Women. Does that one involve cowboys and cattle?”
I glanced into the dining room again. If Harper had been closer to the pass window, I would’ve asked her to join us for clarification. But she was busy with another new table, so I made a mental note to ask her later.
“Why’s she here?” Julia said.
“It’s kind of complicated,” I replied.
She made a face. “Can you give me the simple version?”
I thought about Dina’s call to inform me that Tony Hett and Graham Rankin had been killed. When I leaned closer and whispered a similar abbreviated version to Julia, she dropped two eggs on the floor.
“You’re not serious!” she gasped.
“Afraid so,” I said, grabbing two side towels from a stack near the waffle iron. “Now please don’t move until I clean up that mess. I’d hate to see you slip and fall.” I paused and added a wink. “Again. Remember the other time you dropped eggs?”
She grumbled something that I didn’t catch.
“I’m just looking out for your safety and well-being,” I said, kneeling down to swab the floor.
Julia dropped one hand on her hip. “Uh-huh, sure,” she said. “You’re just gleefully making fun of me, which is exactly what I’d be doing if the tables were turned.”
She hoisted the other hand for a high-five after I finished mopping up the mess. Then she swiveled around when Harper arrived with a new order for our friend Blanche Speltzer and two of her bridge buddies.
“They’re all trying something new,” Harper announced. “Sue wants bacon instead of sausage, Lidia wants an English muffin instead of toast and Blanche is going to try—”
Harper smiled. “You heard about what happened yesterday?”
I nodded. “I did. Lidia called me after you and Julia left for the day. One of her girlfriends heard what Blanche said and she’s considering a lawsuit for slander.”
“Against you?”
“No, silly,” I replied. “Against Blanche. Apparently, Bonnie Sue Porter’s sister-in-law is a hotshot attorney with a track record for winning libel and slander cases.”
Harper’s smile thinned. “Does Blanche know about this?”
“She will once you tell her,” I said.
“Oh, no way!” Harper’s eyes flashed with alarm. “I’m not poking the bear today.”
Julia and I shared a laugh as Harper continued glaring at us.
“You’ve got the velvet touch,” Julia said. “Go for it, Harps. Tell Blanche that a process server may be knocking on the door any day now.”
With a withering glance and a mumbled remark, Harper twirled around and left the pass window to greet another group of diners as they came in the front door.
“Can you spare me for a few minutes?” I asked Julia.
She gave the tickets on the wheel a quick appraisal.
“Sure, Katie,” she said. “If I need you, I’ll whistle.”
“Or maybe just knock on the office door,” I said. “I’m guessing my conversation with Dina and her friend will be confidential.”
“Duly noted,” Julia said as I slipped away from the front line and headed for the dining room.
I hurried through the swinging door and made my way behind the counter just in time to hear Dina giving Jane Lund the rundown on her favorite pies.
“…would be a tossup,” she was saying, “between the chocolate coconut cream and the lemon meringue.”
“Or,” I said, extending my hand toward the Denver PD detective, “you can ask for a tasting tray, which includes slivers of your four favorite flavors.”
Jane Lund’s hand was warm and strong and home to one of the most flawless manicures that I’d ever seen outside of The Glam Room, my favorite salon in Crescent Creek.
“I’m Kate Reed,” I said, hoping she wouldn’t break any bones in my pinky. “It’s a pleasure to meet, Detective Lund.”
“Likewise,” Jane replied with a confident smile. “Dina tells me that you do some consulting work for my former colleague.”
“Adam Caldwell,” I said. “He’s a great guy.”
She smiled. “He was a great guy,” she said. “Until he left me high and dry. I still can’t believe he quit and moved to Boulder for life on Easy Street.”
“I don’t think he sees it quite that way,” Dina interjected. “He and Madelyn wanted a different environment and a slower pace.”
Jane sighed. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”
There was a brief moment when it felt like we were just three friends having a relaxed chat over coffee on a quiet afternoon. But then, as if the thought landed in our minds at the exact same moment, the lighthearted mood dropped away and we were confronted once again with the real reason I was standing in the Sky High dining room with two police detectives.
“Should we get started?” Jane asked.
I gestured toward the foyer. “The office is around the corner and down the hall,” I said, starting toward the opposite end of the dining room. “We’ll have more privacy there.”
“We’ll need it,” Dina said. “Wait until you hear what Jane found on the item that Darren gave you, Katie. I think you’ll be very surprised to see what your neighbor has been up to lately.”
CHAPTER 23
“Are you serious?” I said a moment later. “Darren and Tony Hett are selling counterfeit lingerie?”
I stared at the laptop on the desk in the Sky High office. Detective Lund was in the chair, hands on the keyboard, while Dina and I leaned in from either side to study the bright red bustier on the screen.
“It’s not just counterfeit lingerie,” said the Denver PD detective. “It’s counterfeit Silhouette Séduisante.” She turned her head slightly. “As they say in Paris, ‘Ooh la la!’”
Dina snickered. “I think they say that in other places, too.”
“Yeah, but you know what I mean,” Jane replied.
I stood upright and walked around the desk. Then I sat down and confessed that I had no idea what she was talking about.
“Silhouette Séduisante,” she told me. “It’s a very high-end lingerie company based in London.”
“Sounds French,” I said. “And you just quoted people who live in Paris.”
She laughed. “Trust me; it’s a British company. They charge a small fortune for tiny unmentionables made out of silk, satin, lace and Swarovski crystals.”
“That one sounds Russian,” I said with an uplifted eyebrow.
“It’s a business based in Austria,” Jane said. “But that’s not important to our case.”
“What is?” I asked. “The little red getup on the computer?”
“Very much so,” she said. “Dina? Do you want to run us through what you found on the thumb drive that Darren gave to Katie?”
“Do we need passports?” I smiled. “So far, we’ve been to Paris, London and—”
I stopped when I noticed that Dina was glaring at me.
“Thank you, Jane,” she said. “I’d be delighted to tell my chatty friend here what we uncovered on Mr. Hett’s apparently stolen device.”
She kept her eyes on me, tightening them into a very clear warning not to make a snide remark.
“Tony Hett and some of his more nefarious business partners in Europe have been running a lucrative and highly illegal operation selling knockoff designer lingerie, clothing and jewelry,” Dina explained. “Hett owns a store in downtown Denver that sells the stuff, but he also wholesales it to unsuspecting retailers from coast to coast. Nobody knows exactly where it’s being manufactured, but whoever’s doing it has an eye for detail.”
“Like which details?” I asked.
“According to the documents that we recovered from the thumb drive, the lace is very close to a perfect match,” Dina said.
I smiled again. “I’ve never heard lace and thumb drive in the same sentence before.”
Dina’s left eye twitched and she said my name with just the right amount of icy disdain.
“Sorry,” I said. “Couldn’t help myself.”
“Try harder,” Dina replied, failing to keep a tiny grin from flickering briefly on her otherwise stern, glowering face.
“Okay, I understand that Tony Hett and some sketchy Europeans have been selling fake designer negligees,” I said. “What I don’t quite understand is what this has to do with Darren Rigby or Tony’s disappearance.”
June Lund shifted in the chair. “From meeting notes that we also found on the stolen drive,” she said, “Tony offered to let Darren in on the counterfeit clothing side of his empire.”
“Was Tony still going to buy Rigby Engineering?” I asked.
Jane nodded. “Yes, he still planned to acquire their operation. He intended to fold it into his portfolio of businesses and then have Darren Rigby manage one portion of his corporate empire. Sheila would be along for the ride, although kept in the dark about the illegal aspects of the whole thing.”
“So Darren and Sheila would be business partners?” I asked.
“More like employees who would get a share of the profits,” Jane said. “But Darren suspected that Tony Hett wouldn’t play fair once the paperwork was signed.”
I laughed. “What was the first clue? The guy reeked of self-interest and greed.”
“Not everyone cares about ethics and morals,” Dina said. “The problem in this case, I mean, at least with Darren and Sheila, was that one of them was more than happy to turn a blind eye to the criminal nature of Hett’s operation as long as it meant they could get out from under the day-to-day grind of running Rigby Engineering. It probably didn’t hurt that they would also fatten
their bank account and have the option to live wherever they wanted.”
“Do we know why Darren excluded Sheila from the nefarious aspects of the deal?” I asked.
“That’s where we run into a bit of a snag,” Jane Lund said. “Quite a few of Tony’s notes are in some kind of code. It’s nothing that I’ve seen before.”
“Nor I,” Dina added. “On one hand, he’s very clear about the tense nature of his negotiations with Darren and Sheila. But he doesn’t specifically say, ‘Darren thinks his wife will have plausible deniability if she’s unaware of the murkier details of their involvement.’ Instead, his code includes words and phrases that contain numbers, letters and symbols. You can understand the general content or tone, but then it becomes impossible to know what or who he’s really talking about.”
“And then there are the spreadsheets,” Jane said. “It’s impossible for us to know how Darren got his hands on them, but they seem to indicate that Tony Hett runs two sets of books for all of his businesses.”
“So he can cheat on his taxes?” I said.
Dina smiled. “It’s probably so he can cheat in every possible way,” she said. “Defraud the government at tax time. Skim off the top so he ends up with a bigger percentage of the profits than his colleagues. Lie to banks and creditors and anyone else who might need to know about his financial health.”
“Or lack thereof,” Jane said.
I considered everything that they’d just shared with me, from the likelihood that Tony Hett, the man considered a Silicon Valley genius by large segments of the tech and financial communities, was actually a fraud, liar and cheat. He was bilking anyone and everyone to keep more of the monetary gains for his own pocketbook. And now, after one violent and inexplicable night at his ranch, another moniker could be added to Tony Hett’s resume: murder victim.
CHAPTER 24
The lingerie store that Dina referenced during our meeting with Jane Lund was located on Market Street, a few blocks from the Fenwick Hotel. It looked exactly as she had described it: luxurious, posh, bright and airy, with gauzy photographs on the walls of women dressed in luxurious, expensive garments made of silk and satin and lace.