The Trophy Wife Exchange

by Connie Shelton

  “But we left more than a day later,” Pen said.

  “Yes, so any major system following the jet-stream would have been headed right toward us. There was nothing but a nice sunny high-pressure ridge over the Philippines.”

  “So, maybe the storm Clint’s fishing boat got into was a small, localized thunderstorm or something.”

  “I thought of that,” Amber said, “so just before I left to come here I Googled news reports of weather-related accidents for that day.”

  She had their attention.

  “Nothing. Zip, nada.” She crunched down another chip. “In fact, I even found the fishing reports for that day and it talked about perfect conditions and great fishing—it listed some hot spots by name. Local fishing guides would surely know about them. None of the stories mentioned an accident involving an American.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “The storm story is b.s.” Amber looked frankly at the rest of them. “Clint’s personal stuff was completely cleared from his Shanghai office. Kaycie was packed off home before she could think to ask any questions.”

  “Someone wanted this thing quietly finalized and filed away,” Sandy said.

  “Precisely my thought,” said Pen. “And who would do that? Perhaps the person or persons who killed him.”

  Chapter 40

  “You know what this means,” Sandy said after they’d decided to open the bottle of wine Gracie had brought along. “We need to move as quickly as possible to get that money out of those accounts Amber found.”

  “It’s not going to be easy,” Amber said. “As soon as our plane landed yesterday I started trying to get back into them. Even looking for a work-around to the passwords, it’s as if all the U.S. bank accounts are frozen.”

  “It’s standard procedure,” Sandy said. “Until the probate court reviews his will, not even family members have access to the money. It’s to keep them from clearing out all of it before the government gets its share.”

  Pen spoke up. “But a man like Clint, sophisticated enough to move money around the way he did and to have a lawyer handling his affairs—he would have set up a trust. Those don’t go through probate.”

  “True.” Sandy seemed puzzled. “Maybe frozen isn’t the right word.”

  “It could be that he set up several additional layers of security,” Amber said. “I have to admit I’m not mentally a hundred percent right now, and maybe I just haven’t thought of it yet. I’ll get un-jetlagged and then work on it some more.”

  “I’ll go to the funeral,” Mary said. “I ran the idea past Kaycie and she said, quote, do what you want.”

  “It’s not a bad idea. Maybe you can learn something. In the movies, the cops always go to the victim’s funeral so they can catch the killer watching from the sidelines.”

  They all chuckled at Amber’s assessment.

  “The media will probably be there,” Pen said. “The story has shown up on the morning news, at least on Channel 3 where Kaycie works.”

  “Oh, great. It means I’ll have to buy a dress. I don’t even own a dress.”

  “You’re close to my size and I probably have something,” Gracie offered. “No point in buying an outfit you won’t likely wear again.”

  Mary nodded acknowledgement but didn’t quite say she would accept the offer.

  “So, what are our next steps?” Sandy asked when the room had been silent for several minutes.

  “I’d say we need to talk to the Philippine authorities,” Pen said. “I definitely do not believe it’s common to issue a death certificate without a body. Without an autopsy how do they determine what to fill in as the cause of death? The whole thing, as Amber said, seems very much ‘off’.”

  Gracie yawned, perhaps involuntarily. “Oh, god, another long trip?”

  “None of us are ready for that,” Pen admitted. “It would be completely exhausting. I think we can accomplish a lot over the phone. I may speak with Benton about it—if that’s all right with everyone? I need to think of an angle, a way to approach the authorities so it seems I have a right to the information.”

  Mary’s face brightened. “Remember the day I went to the plumbing shop and snapped photos at Debbie’s desk? One of those documents was a letter from an insurance company. You could pretend to be calling about that.”

  “Great idea,” Sandy said. “They come around the bank all the time, wanting information on deceased clients so they can decide on paying claims.”

  “Was Clint’s policy for life insurance?” Gracie asked. “I thought it was something to do with his construction project.”

  “I’ll go back and re-read the letter,” Amber said.

  “Send me a copy of it. Either way, the government in Manila doesn’t know what type insurance he had,” Pen pointed out. “Nor do they care, most likely. Let me give it some thought. I’ll figure something and bluff my way through.”

  Chapter 41

  Pen came in from her terrace overlooking the sprawling city. She’d carried her cup of tea outside and enjoyed the view, then watered her potted geraniums and swept up a few fallen leaves—all stalling maneuvers while she worked out what she would say during the phone call she would soon make. It wasn’t so different from writing lines of dialog in a novel, she reasoned. All she had to do was put herself in the role of the insurance investigator and speak to what was probably a low-level bureaucrat in a government agency. She’d actually written such scenes—now she would be living the conversation.

  Amber, bless her heart, had done the groundwork. The girl would make a fine research assistant, Pen thought. She wasn’t clear exactly what their youngest member did for a living—possibly supported by her parents who lived in Santa Fe. The thought brought her full circle, back to the task at hand. If she didn’t hurry, she would be too late because of the time difference.

  She pulled up Amber’s email on her computer, locating the telephone number for the Philippine Statistics Authority in Manila. Before she could overthink the situation and talk herself out of it, she dialed the number.

  A female voice answered in Tagalog, a phrase so rapid Pen had no idea if she’d actually uttered a comprehensible sentence.

  “Do you speak English?” Pen asked.

  “Yes, of course, ma’am.” It was clipped and chirpy but Pen understood.

  “I am calling from America. I need a copy of a death certificate for an American citizen who died in your country.”

  “I will transfer you. Please hold.”

  To another English speaker, Pen hoped. She waited through a series of clicking noises on the line, hoping none of them were disconnecting her. Eventually, a man answered and she repeated her request.

  “What is your purpose?” he asked. “Are you a family member of this Mr. Holbrook?”

  “I’m with Assured Life Insurance Company. We have official paperwork to file regarding the death.” She hoped the man wouldn’t attempt to verify the fictional company she’d created for purposes of this call.

  “When did you say he died?”

  Pen thought back to the day Kaycie went to the clinic and looked frantically at her own calendar. “I’m not certain, but I believe it was either the fifteenth or sixteenth.”

  “Of this month?”

  “Yes, that’s correct.”

  It sounded as if he chuckled, but the phone connection was a little shaky. She couldn’t be certain.

  “I will check. Do you know who performed the autopsy?”

  “No … wouldn’t that be an official coroner or medical examiner?”

  “Many doctors here are certified to do autopsies, ma’am. There are more than four hundred here in Manila alone.”

  Pen nearly dropped the phone. Seriously? It was an astounding number.

  “I will check,” he repeated. The line went quiet. Only a low fizz of static told her the call hadn’t been dropped.

  She waited fifteen minutes, wondering if the man had gone home for the day and simply forgot she was on the line. S
he’d nearly given up when a female came on the line.

  “May I help you?”

  Oh, no—don’t make me go through the whole story again. Luckily, Pen had asked for the man’s name. She explained she had already been talking to him.

  “Yes, yes. He have other customer. I find your information.”

  “Thank you. The deceased’s name is McClintock Holbrook.” She had to spell it—twice.

  On hold once more, Pen glanced at the clock in the bottom corner of her computer screen. It was four minutes to the hour. She would almost bet money the entire staff of that Philippine records office would clear out any time now. She found herself holding her breath as another minute ticked away.

  With one minute remaining, the woman came back on the line.

  “No death certificate here for that name,” she stated. “How long you say it was?”

  “A bit over a week.”

  “Oh, that explain. Sometime it is two, three weeks certificate to arrive in our office. Sometime a month or two. Call back next week.”

  With that flat statement and the clock hitting the hour, the line went dead.

  Another week to wait—minimum. Perhaps a month or two. Pen wanted to smack her head against the wall. In a week, the lawyers or the courts would surely have hold of Clint’s estate. By the time the Philippine government acted, all the cash might be dispersed. It would be quicker to turn up in Kaycie’s life again and simply ask to see the document. If they actually needed it. The main purpose was to find out who performed the autopsy and what they listed as the cause of death. That was certainly something she could come right out and ask Kaycie.

  She dialed the number Mary had given.

  Chapter 42

  “She sounded very surprised to hear from me,” Pen told Sandy later that evening. “You know how, if you’ve traveled with a group, it’s easy to become chums with your fellow tourists but once everyone returns home they are never in contact again. Despite the fact I was with her on the day she was due to have surgery, she acted hesitant, cool. She certainly wasn’t in a mood to share information from the death certificate.”

  “Not surprising. And I’m not sure what we would gain by knowing, anyway. Did you learn anything at all?” In the background Pen heard an electric can opener and pictured Sandy opening food for the two cats.

  “One thing, and it required spur-of-the-moment thinking on my part, of which I’m rather proud. I said a dear friend was traveling to the Philippines next week and wanted to take a fishing trip. Would she tell me the name of the charter company Clint used, as I would most definitely not want my friend going out with someone so irresponsible.”

  “She believed that?”

  “I think she was simply too stunned at the audacity and rudeness of the question to think of a way to refuse. She told me it was a man named Tiko Garcia with a company called Best Fishing.”

  “I’m surprised she remembered it.”

  “She told me she was unpacking. There was a brochure among their things and she even gave me the phone number. I tried it and was told Tiko is out with some customers. I’ll give it another go later.”

  “You might do some online research, or ask Amber to do it. See if there are other businesses nearby. If Tiko isn’t willing to talk, maybe someone else remembers the day he claims to have lost a customer overboard.”

  “An excellent idea. It can’t be a common occurrence and there had to be talk around the docks. That is, if they stuck with the same story locally as the one they gave Kaycie. If the story differs, I’d love to hear their version.”

  “Also, what about the crew? I imagine at least one crew member goes along on each trip. These rich guys like someone to bait their hooks, hand them a beer … things like that. Maybe you can get a name and speak with that person separately from Tiko.”

  “Sandy, you’re brilliant. I shall make the call while Tiko’s away.”

  Within five minutes she had the crewman’s name—Angelo Reyes. Using a young and flirtatious tone gained her the man’s phone number, after being told he was not working today.

  Angelo answered on the first ring, as if he was expecting a call. From the tone of his response it clearly wasn’t an American woman with questions about an accident. She’d taken the approach that she was a dear friend of the victim’s wife, who was stricken with grief because of all the unanswered questions, a woman who hadn’t slept in a week.

  “I didn’t see nothing,” he stated flatly.

  “You do remember Mr. Holbrook—a man in his mid-forties, chubby, balding, something of a braggart?”

  “Braggart?”

  “You know—he talked about himself a lot.” It was Pen’s impression of the man.

  “Si—this one, he did that.”

  “We heard there was a bad storm? He fell overboard?”

  He hesitated. “Storm? Si—if that is what they say.”

  Pen wished she could see Angelo’s face. She would bet he couldn’t make eye contact.

  “Angelo, please just tell me. Was there a storm? Was the sea very rough?”

  “The man fall over, but only Tiko see him. He send me below to get more bait.”

  “And Mr. Holbrook—he simply fell over?”

  Another pause. “The deck, it is slippery. He not have life jacket.”

  “Why wouldn’t Tiko have reported it that way? Why did he say there was a storm?”

  “Ma’am, I do not know. The rules, they say life jackets.”

  Well, an operator who broke the rules and then lost a passenger might certainly fudge the truth to save his own neck, she supposed. She asked what happened next but Angelo remained unforthcoming; she had to pry for every detail.

  “Did Tiko shout for your help?”

  “He yell, yes. Another boat nearby, it come. We all start to look.”

  “It must have been very frightening. Did you look for a long time?”

  “In ten minutes you know if you will find someone. He not come to the top anyplace.”

  A commotion started in the background, as if Angelo had walked into a bar or crowded room. He didn’t seem to hear much of what she said after that. She thanked him and hung up. Most likely she had learned all she would get from him anyway.

  She went to her kitchen and flicked the switch on the electric teakettle, debating her next moves. Calculating the time difference, she realized it would soon be getting dark along the Pacific Rim. Perhaps Tiko’s charter boat would be pulling into port about now. When the kettle shut off, she brewed a cup of tea and carried it to her desk.

  As the overseas call rang, she decided to go back to the insurance-investigator tactic with the charter boat’s owner. He would surely give as gentle a spin as possible to a grieving widow’s friend, but with an authority figure he might feel compelled to relate details.

  “Best Fishing—we have the best fishing experience in the islands,” came the voice of the woman who’d earlier told her Tiko was out on the boat. “Ah, yes, the English lady. He docked the boat a minute ago. I get.”

  Pen waited, almost hearing the overseas phone rates tick by as she sat there on hold. In nine minutes a man’s voice came on.

  “Tiko Garcia.”

  She went through the spiel about being with Assured Life Insurance and asked the same sorts of questions she had posed to Angelo. Tiko was more experienced at covering his rear end, obviously. His responses were rote, his facts never wavering. Mr. Holbrook refused to wear his life jacket, he slipped on the wet deck and fell over the side. As Angelo had, Tiko dodged her direct question about the storm, repeating only the parts about the life jacket and the wet deck.

  “Who else assisted in the rescue effort?”

  “My deck hand, Angelo.”

  “Did other boats come along and help you look for the victim?”

  “There might have been one or two. There’s always boats nearby—it’s a hot fishing spot.”

  “But no one ever caught sight of Mr. Holbrook in the water?”

 
“That’s right. Look, lady, my customer is outside with his catch. I gotta go take their picture.” He hung up without waiting for her response.

  Pen chafed at the abrupt end to the conversation, yet she couldn’t think what else she would have asked. She felt sure Tiko was hiding something but darned if she could figure out what.

  Amber had provided three more leads and Pen decided to stick with it and follow them now. Time really was becoming of the essence. These numbers were for businesses near the dock where Best Fishing operated. Pen pictured a row of wooden shacks and a couple of docks with smallish, rusted boats that creaked as the water bobbed them against the pilings.

  The first number she dialed was for Willie’s Crab Shack, most likely a walk-up little eatery with a couple of plastic tables and chairs out front. The man who answered said yes, he was the owner. Didn’t remember the day in question but since he wasn’t especially friendly with Tiko it wouldn’t be unusual that he’d only heard about the missing man secondhand, a couple days later. He stayed busy serving up crab tacos and rarely looked at the boats as they came and went. According to him.

  An American man answered the number she called for Island Bait and Tackle, which Amber had noted was immediately next door to Tiko’s office. He said his name was Stink. Pen suppressed a vision of the bait shop and got on with her questions.

  “Yeah, I heard about that.” He had a laid-back voice, which made her think of someone who’d lived the island life for a very long time, or he smoked a lot of pot. “Kind of a fat guy wearing a polo shirt with a couple buttons down the front?”

  Pen gave the best description she could envision, since she’d only seen Clint in a business suit.

  “Yeah … I suppose that coulda been him. You know, I woulda swore he went out with Alphonse, not Tiko. But, you know, my memory’s not what it used to be. You’re prob’ly right. That’s what I told the other guy, too. Stay down here long enough and the days all blend together, ya know?”