by DiAnn Mills
She disappeared and I wanted to text Denton, but for sure cameras were in place. Memorization was my safest choice. From the balcony, I took in more of the view. A golf course on my left dotted with players and carts. Yachts lined up at the pier, bobbing on sky-blue water like miniature toy boats ready to set sail.
The nagging question persisted about the job Marissa had for me. So much uncertainty. Denton and Mike had warned me she could expect me to deal in prostitution, drugs, murder, or weapon sales. I assumed her sisterly demeanor was in place to trip me up. My new mantra resounded . . .
Be careful.
At the age of thirteen, I longed to be an actress. The imaginary accolades and requests for magazine shoots and autographs fueled my desire. In those young teen days, I never imagined acting as a means to save my life.
Marissa’s bodyguards transported us to a Miami restaurant. Lee drove.
“Your purse stays in the car,” Marissa said. “Always, unless I tell you differently.”
Already my sister had orders, but I expected it.
Inside the restaurant, we chatted over brunch at a remote booth. The price for our fancy omelets hovered over three figures . . . without the coffee. My sister’s pale-blue silk sundress, hat, and sandals gave her runway style.
“You mentioned needing help with business. Have you experienced problems with the economic downturn?”
She pinched off a piece of a blueberry muffin. “Medical insurance billing. I had a licensed physical therapist who used fake patients to bill for services. Lost revenue. The second loss involved selling vacation properties. Can’t sell a getaway when the buyer is out of work.”
“Have you recouped? I saw scam possibilities with the census and election.”
“I dabbled in some. Fundraising for the election brought in a little money. Amazon offered the best cash cow. When I saw 3.5 billion packages were delivered in 2019, I did my research and jumped in.” Marissa’s eyes widened, twinkling with the familiar excitement.
I smiled and nodded. My sister had been one of several scammers who’d sent emails to millions of unsuspecting victims, stating they had an Amazon package to be delivered. But first the victim needed to provide a credit card to verify the package. The scammers sent a clickable link that installed malware, allowing them to harvest tons of data.
Marissa examined her veggie omelet and tasted a bite. “Cash businesses provide the least risk. A solid place for you to start.”
“Which ones do you prefer—restaurants, bars, casinos, check-cashing stores, car washes?”
She laughed. “I started with donut shops. Took a while to make it profitable, but the business model is safe. I learned how to speak to the owner with what he or she wanted to hear. I’ll take you with me on a few calls so you can see firsthand how to work.”
I forced interest in my omelet. “I need the experience.” Marissa had been at this for over fifteen years, and from what I’d seen of her penthouse, I doubt she still resorted to donuts. I silently thanked Denton for insisting I study money laundering. The operation required placement, layering or moving the money around, and integration or pulling the funds out to use when it was cleaned. “Where do I begin?”
“I’ll invest in a decent wardrobe for you. Currently you’re an embarrassment.” She raised her palm. “Rule number one is always look the part. The last time we were together, your hair looked disgusting. I’ll make an appointment for a cut and highlights. I’ll purchase wigs and miscellaneous items to change your appearance before you enter my world. The cost of my investment will be deducted from your pay.”
I nodded as though her stipulations suited me. “Rule number two?”
“Disguise yourself for each new vein of clients. That allows you to check on the investment without the person’s knowledge.”
“The check-cashing businesses see one person while the casinos see another. Makes sense. Rule number three?”
“Trust no one. Not me. Certainly not Eli. He’d stab his mother, especially if I gave the order. Along with trust, give those around you various levels of it while always remembering the sacred rule.” She sipped orange juice laced with vodka. “Live and breathe those three rules, little sister. Forget them and I’ll pull the trigger.”
67
Marissa’s investment into my new wardrobe made me question in what capacity I’d need to perform to please her. We’d spent two full days shopping at high-end stores I’d heard about but never entered. On those trips, she granted me permission to bring one of my new purses. Various disguises, cell phones, and the clothes meeting Marissa’s approval were grouped together according to the client. She’d completed my training with a virtual doctorate in illegal operations.
The two men, Lee and Jess, accompanied us everywhere we went. They never talked, and neither did Marissa speak to them.
Always the ever-present question of why she was making an investment in me. I’d given up thinking she held the keys to my fate out of a sense of debt. Something more. Something beyond a game, something she feared from me worse than my death.
We held no conversations about business inside the penthouse, only on the balcony or at a private restaurant. I’d hidden my phone in my closet where I hoped it wouldn’t be found. But I expected her to monitor my every move, body language, analyze my words, and search my few personal belongings when we were out. I studied every potential place for a camera to be hidden. The assumption kept me sharp—and alive.
Friday morning we drank dark-roasted Hacienda La Esmeralda coffee on the balcony. The remarkable taste spoiled me for any coffee I’d ever encounter again, and I imagined the price fell into the same category as the clothes and accessories.
Marissa had instructed me to wear an extremely short printed pink silk dress from Balenciaga with matching hot-pink leather sandals. “You select the jewelry, handbag, but no wig. I want to see makeup that complements the dress. Don’t outdo me, though. I have to be the one to turn heads.”
The voice of a true diva. “Are we having lunch?”
“Yes, with a business associate, and I will handle the introductions. You will say nothing unless spoken to. Later I’ll quiz you.”
Thinking quickly no matter the circumstances reminded me of being kids again. We used to play this game at the bakery when it bustled with business. “Ever the teacher,” I said.
“The difference is in the results of a win or a loss.”
Marissa still despised me. “Sister, I have no intention of losing.”
“Hope not. I’ve made an investment.”
“Expect a large return.” I shook my head. “Hey, why did you marry Travis? I never understood the mismatch.”
She laughed. “I first met Eli. And fell hard. He introduced me to the business world, but I needed more of a cover than the bakery. Dad wanted me to meet Travis, and I played the part.” She stared out over the bay. “He bored me, and his church-boy attitude was worse than Mom’s.”
“When did you break it off with Eli?”
“You’re good, Shelby. He bored me too, but I strung him along until I made contacts. I keep him on the payroll and occasionally toss a bone his way.” She frowned. “He’s made a few stupid mistakes lately, but you’re aware of those.”
Could he be Aria’s father? If so, she might feel obligated to keep him alive. “Another question—why live with Mom and Dad all those years? What a cramp in your style.”
“The absolute worse. My RA weekends helped. They adored Aria and put up with my complaining for fear I’d take her and leave. Truth is, I built my assets during those intolerable years.”
I leaned in. “Why the contract on my life?”
“It’s still out there.”
“Why?”
“You were worth more to me dead. Mom planned to ask you about what happened with Travis. She’d talked to Dad, but he refused to listen. I bugged her room and learned she’d requested all the public records on the case. Aria has the curious gene, and she questioned Mom about my pre
occupation with other things instead of her. If I took off, the three would put it all together.”
“So you waited for Mom’s death?”
“I helped it along. A friend of Eli’s showed me how to replace her medications so I could implement my plans. I decided to keep you alive in the event you could be of value.” She finished her coffee. “Besides, you amuse me. It’s like being kids again. You’re such a people pleaser. Reminder, today your purse stays in the car.”
“When are you removing the contract?”
“As soon as you ace all the tests.”
She’d presented me with another reason to find the evidence against her before she bored of me.
In less than an hour, I emerged from my bedroom. Definitely unlike the Shelby Pearce I knew. The clothes, false eyelashes, and makeup changed the outer me, except the determined me existed stronger than before. For a lingering moment, I thought of Denton and if he’d approve of the look. Or any of them. My few days away from him complicated my emotions. I missed him—the laughter, conversations, long walks . . . the way he listened. His love for me seemed like an impossibility. But if I survived this ordeal, he and I might have a chance at happiness.
The conversation with Marissa bumped against my brain. Surely Mom and Dad saw through her ruse. Or maybe they were fearful of losing another daughter and granddaughter.
At the restaurant entrance, Marissa handed a uniformed valet her keys. She’d chosen a sophistication of her own identity and not a disguise. We walked inside, and she garnered admiration from every male, young and old. A trim man standing near the corner caught her eye, and her soft voice rose. “Feng, how kind of you to join me for lunch.”
“My pleasure. Who is with you?”
“This is Shelby Pearce, my sister and new assistant.” Without turning to me, she continued. “Shelby, Feng owns several restaurants. We’ve been close friends for a long time.”
He nodded. “You never mentioned having a sister or needing an assistant. We have matters to discuss.” His obvious annoyance ushered in an uncomfortable pause.
“I trust her implicitly,” Marissa said. “Nothing jeopardizes what you and I have together. Or the future.”
“All right.” He pointed toward a double door. “After you, ladies.”
During lunch Marissa displayed another feature of her evolving personality—graceful gestures, respectful and complimentary word choices, and an apparent concentration and attentive focus on Feng. She still played games.
“Will I see you in San Francisco?” he said.
“Just as we planned. Will John be there?”
“He wouldn’t miss the opportunity. His offer to us still stands.”
“I haven’t decided. The decision is complicated.” She pursed her lips.
“The meeting is in two weeks. Marry me, Marissa, and we’ll build a vast empire.”
Marissa reached across the table and took his hand. “I’m afraid, darling.”
Why the vulnerability? Unraveling my sister seemed impossible.
In the car, I closed my eyes to mentally seal all I’d observed. Marissa had given Feng my entire name but not his. Always a reason . . . to show she respected his investigation of me but kept his status secret?
Marissa touched up her lipstick. “Time’s up. What did you see during lunch?”
I stared out at the busy street ahead and asked the One who had all the answers to guide me. “The use of your first name, dress, and appearance show Feng is aware of who you are. You met him originally in a professional setting, but it moved into a personal relationship. Too soon to tell if he initiated the pursuit or if you saw a benefit in manipulating him for personal gain.
“He has feelings for you that extend beyond the title of his mistress or living together. He wants to own you, and marriage accomplishes his need to control and possess. You play into his affections and lead him on. Might even marry him if he can keep you entertained. But he’s smart, and you have to be careful.
“His dark side can be dangerous. He’s introduced you to someone powerful who could add dollars and possibly a safety net to your investments. He flinched when you asked if this man planned to be in San Francisco, as though he suspects a rival. I sincerely doubt Feng is in the restaurant business, most likely a cover.” I took a deep breath. “How’s my analysis?”
A full twenty seconds passed before she spoke. “You’ve had an excellent teacher.”
Marissa drove home in a brooding mood I hadn’t seen in years.
68
DENTON
Patience wasn’t a virtue in my agent’s dossier, and the following Friday found me missing Shelby, aching to hear her voice instead of anticipating a text.
After Randy Hughes had suffered a heart attack, he spent three days in the hospital, then voluntarily checked himself into an alcohol detox center not far from Valleysburg. At the residential facility, trained professionals had designed a program uniquely for him to heal his mind and body. By forming new habits, Randy had the opportunity to step back into life with a solid support system. My thoughts for him were noble, and before putting God as a priority, I might not have hoped for his rehabilitation.
But would he agree to see me today after spending a few days in the program?
Inside the rehab office, I stated my purpose, displayed my FBI creds, and requested to see Randy. I waited at a table in a spring-flowering courtyard beneath a canopied table. Red pentas and purple petunias exploded into color alongside a white stone. As a kid, I’d pulled weeds from my grandparents’ flower beds with those same plants and colors. I relaxed a bit.
Over thirty minutes later, Randy greeted me without the typical scowl. He’d lost weight, and his skin color reflected a well-paved road to good health, providing he didn’t take detours.
“Thanks for seeing me,” I said. “They must be treating you right.”
“Better than I deserve. Haven’t felt this good in a long time.” He nodded at my crutches. “Fall off Big Red?”
“A truck ran me off the road.”
“Familiar story. Get the plates?”
“The driver forgot to attach the front one.”
“Shelby Pearce’s enemies?”
“Indications point in that direction.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you. She’s bad news. Curiosity is getting the best of me. Why are you here?”
His familiar disapproval clouded my intentions. “I have questions.”
“Shelby?” He frowned.
“I believe she’s innocent of embezzlement.”
Randy shook his head. “I’ve learned a lot about myself since my heart attack. Expect to learn a lot more. But hearing Shelby’s innocent? Not anything I expected. Neither do I believe it. Your questions?”
“What have you done since her prison release?”
He shrugged. “Guess it doesn’t matter. The same day Shelby arrived at the bus station, I got a call from a man who claimed to be Clay Pearce. He said he’d already talked to the sheriff, but he was afraid Shelby planned to come after him and his family. Needed my help to force her back into prison. I’d already argued with Edie about the idea of taking in an ex-con. Clay Pearce’s call cemented my commitment to run her out of town.” He lifted a finger my direction. “Yes, he talked to the sheriff about fear for his family, but his call happened a week before her release.”
“Did you shoot out the tire on Edie’s SUV?”
“Nope. But I placed a tracker app on the phone Edie gave Shelby and gave the account info to the caller.”
“What about Shelby’s burner phone?”
“Wasn’t aware she had one.”
“Arrange the first note under her door?”
“Guilty. Hired a young scumbag from one of the local bars to deliver it.” He snorted. “I broke the law to protect my sister and her family.”
“I need the name of the guy you paid.”
He nodded and gave it to me. “Sheriff Wendall asked me about the sympathy card you found. I
don’t know a thing about it, and I didn’t write the newspaper article. I flunked junior English twice.”
“Do the names Arthur Shell, Stan Watson, Eli Chandler, or Nick Hanson mean anything to you?” I showed him the men’s pics.
“Never seen any of them before. When I got fired, the same guy called the next day. Not sure how the news traveled so fast. Unless we have a mole in our police department.” Randy waved at another man who walked by. “He told me Shelby was responsible for my dismissal and offered me ten grand to eliminate her. I refused to commit murder. Then I got drunk and got mad enough to take my own revenge.”
“Any other contact?”
“Nope.”
“Has Edie been here?”
“When I was in the hospital. My ex-wife is supposed to visit here tomorrow.”
“Need a prayer?”
“Nah. If I choose to change, I’ll do it on my own. Might not be worth it.”
“Any more contact from the caller?”
He eyed me. “No.” He pulled his cell phone from his jean pocket. “I tried to call a few times, and it just rang. Maybe you can trace the number. Trust me, someone has eyes on Shelby’s every move. Yours too.”
69
SHELBY
Sunday morning while Marissa slept, I slipped a note under her bedroom door and found Eli on the balcony. “I’m walking to the coffee shop and taking a little time in the park area. I have my phone.”
“The coffee here beats any spot I know.”
“True, but I need a change of scenery.”
“Why?”
“Look, Eli, I’m a smart woman, and I know my relationship with Marissa is currently in a trial period. Only an idiot would mess up the relationship. You’ll find me at the coffee shop or in the park. I’ve been cooped up too long. Call me if Marissa has plans.” The same details I’d written on Marissa’s note. “In fact, come along if you like. Caffeine and nature are a good mix.”
He waved me away and scowled. “Too hot.”