by Roxie Rivera
Ben’s hand stilled on the back of my head. “What did he want?”
“To talk about Calvin.”
He stiffened under me. “What did he want to know about that piece of shit?”
“He’s trying to track him down for questioning. He said that Calvin’s associates had gone missing. He seems to think Calvin had another scam going. Something to do with real estate and maybe the husband of one of my coworkers.” I swallowed nervously. “Do you think the detective knows what really happened to Calvin?”
“No. Even if Calvin had told someone he was coming back to this house or even if his phone was tracked here, it left with him. He visited. He left. You don’t know what happened after that.”
“I was vague about the last time I saw him. I said it had been a few weeks.”
“That’s good. It gives you cover if he comes back with more questions.”
“Do you think he’ll come back?”
“Yes.” He brushed a tender kiss to my forehead. “We haven’t seen the last of the police. Do you have a lawyer?”
“I have several on retainer. One of them is a defense attorney. Should I call him?”
“No. Let it ride for now. Act like you have nothing to hide.”
That was easier said than done.
Chapter Six
“Sorry!” Marley apologized as she practically flew into the restaurant where we were meeting for brunch. Unsurprisingly, we looked as if we had coordinated our outfits. We both had chosen black leggings, oversized sweaters with lacy bralettes underneath and ballet flats. I’d chosen a pale green sweater and dark green bralette while she had gone with a peach sweater and black lace. “I’m so late! Did we miss our reservation?”
“Calm down,” I urged, hugging her quickly. “They’re running behind. We don’t have a table yet.” Noticing how harried she looked, I gave her long, loose braid a tug. “What’s wrong?”
She rolled her eyes and sighed. “My mom.”
“Uh-oh.”
“McNeil? Party of two?” the hostess called.
Marley followed me to the hostess station and then across the restaurant to our cozy table by a window. We both ordered drinks—a Bloody Mary for me and a lemonade mimosa for her—and waited until our waiter was gone to talk.
“So…your mom?”
“I don’t even know what to do with her anymore.” Marley silenced her phone before dropping it into her purse. “I went to the pharmacy last night and picked up her prescriptions so I stopped by the house to drop them off. First of all, she has a new doctor—and I use the term ‘doctor’ lightly here because I’m pretty this guy is a fucking quack. The list of drugs he has her on is insane. That doesn’t even include the shit she’s taking without a prescription. I told her she’s going to die if she keeps taking this crap, but she won’t listen. I even offered to buy good weed off of Nate Reyes if she would give up the pain and sleep meds. She wouldn’t even think about it.”
“Jesus,” I whispered.
“Then, there were, like, thirteen packages on the front porch. Half of them were from QVC and that damn jewelry channel she won’t stop watching. There was a stack of mail on the kitchen table at least this high.” She held her hand up to show me. “It was all past due bills and letters from the bank and IRS. I had to whip out my phone and pay her utilities right then and there so she’d have electricity and water. The mortgage is behind, and I don’t have enough in savings to cover it.”
“I thought your mom’s house was paid off.”
“It is.” Marley frowned. “Was.”
“She took out a second mortgage?”
“From the looks of it, yep.”
“How far behind is she?”
“Three.”
I winced. “She’s close to foreclosure.”
“That’s what I got from her stack of nastygrams from the bank.” Marley considered the menu in front of her for a moment. “What are you getting?”
“I’m so hungry,” I said, turning my attention to the menu. “My stomach was weird this morning before I hit the gym so I had some coffee and that’s it.”
“You getting sick?”
I shrugged. “Maybe.”
She leaned forward and asked, “Are you pregnant?”
“No!”
“Are you sure?”
I rolled my eyes. “I had my period, like, two weeks ago.”
It had been a few days late and lighter than usual, but I had chalked it up to the nightmare I had survived. My body had always been sensitive to stress. Exams, track meets, debates—they all affected my cycle.
“It’s probably just stress,” I decided. “I always get sick to my stomach when I feel pressured or anxious.”
“Work?” she guessed.
“Family,” I said, giving her a pointed look.
Her eyes widened. “Oh no.”
“Yeah.” Looking at the menu, I said, “I sort of want the huevos rancheros but also a burger. And some queso and guacamole,” I added, noticing the appetizer section. “And maybe some fried green tomatoes.”
“Let’s order it all,” Marley decided, putting down her menu. “Between the two of us, we can demolish that easy.”
She was right, of course. On more than one occasion, Ben had been stunned by the amount of food the two of us could put away. “I’m game.”
When our waiter returned with our drinks, he raised an eyebrow at our order, especially when Marley added shrimp and grits. “I’ll be right back with your appetizers. Do you need another drink?”
“Just iced tea,” Marley answered.
“Same,” I said, handing back my menu. After a quick sip of my Bloody Mary, I asked, “Does Spider know about your mom’s money problems?”
“Probably.” She played with the candied lemon slice on the rim of her glass. “They haven’t stayed under the same roof for, what, seven years? He gives her money and space, and she seems happy with that.” Her lips puckered from the tartness of her drink, and she placed it back on the table. “I don’t know why they haven’t divorced.”
“Habit,” I guessed. “Their relationship status must work for them.”
“They’re both miserable.” She sighed and rubbed her face with both hands. “Mom is going to ruin us with her fucking shopping addiction and these stupid businesses she keeps joining.”
In all the years I had known Marley, her mother had always struggled with money management. Her stepdad’s position in the outlaw motorcycle club had always provided his family with a steady income. Marley never should have gone without, but her mother spent money on the craziest shit. I couldn’t even count the number of times Marley had a negative lunch account or couldn’t go on a field trip or had holes in her shoes.
When we were younger, I had always tried to help her, but she had explained that we couldn’t be friends if I was always going to try to give her money. It made her feel unequal and indebted. She wanted to be my friend, not a charity case. It was hard enough for her being the little girl from the trailer park who had her tuition paid for by scholarships. I didn’t like watching her struggle, but I had respected her wishes.
She had been out the door at eighteen, moving right out into a small mobile home in one of Spider’s parks. Since then, she hadn’t ever been without at least one job. There had been a stretch one summer where she had worked three jobs—the pawn shop, waitressing and stocking shelves overnight at Walmart. She seemed to always be saving and squirreling away money. She swore some day she was going to take a trip to Europe, but she always had an excuse for postponing and waiting.
“What business has she started this time?” I asked, certain it was some version of a pyramid scheme. In the last few years, she had sold leggings, jewelry, candles, essential oils and two different weight loss products. It was always some get-rich-quick scheme that left her broke and even more in debt.
“Makeup.” She took a long drink. “That’s what was in the rest of the boxes on the porch. She said she needed inventory for hostin
g parties.”
“Oh, no.”
“Yeah.”
“Does she expect you to host one?”
“After she dragged me to that creepy sex toy party at her friend’s house, she’s never asked me to be any part of her wild MLM adventures.”
I shuddered at the memory. Marley had marched into my house so angry that night. Her face had been almost tomato red as she had recounted sitting in a living room crammed with her mom’s friends while a consultant waved around dildos and vibrators and talked about all the bizarre uses for the company’s patented shaving lotion. She wasn’t a prude by any stretch of the imagination, but being pressured into buying a sex toy and asked super invasive questions by a stranger had humiliated her.
The waiter returned with our starters and teas. After he left, Marley grabbed a chip and dragged it through the mound of bright green guacamole. I sensed she needed a break from thinking about her mom. “So, Ben joined me for dinner with Nina and Pedro.”
“How did that go?” Marley seemed hesitant to even ask.
“Surprisingly well,” I admitted. “Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
“She interrogated him about his religion and gave me a guilt trip about missing Mass.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Super awkward for a bit,” I said, snatching another chip from the basket. “Other than that, it was okay. Except for the part where Ben was late and showed up covered in dried blood,” I added before drowning my chip in queso.
“What?”
“Ben was at Phan’s yesterday,” I explained and grabbed a napkin.
“Are you serious? I saw it on the news last night. It looked really bad. Is he okay?”
“He’s fine. It wasn’t his blood.”
“Thank goodness!” She turned pensive as she sipped her mimosa. “You know what’s strange?”
“What?”
“That truck that slammed into the noodle shop?”
“The red one?”
She nodded. “I think it was at the pawn shop on Thursday night.”
“Think or know?”
“Think,” she said, reaching for some more chips. “I was working the night shift, and a guy came in trying to pawn off jewelry, handbags, electronics…” She waved her hand. “High-end stuff. Like really good stuff.”
“But?”
“There was something off about him. Like he had weird vibes,” she explained. “He seemed nervous and was super sweaty. I decided not to buy anything from him. I wasn’t sure if it was stolen or not.”
“Was he the one driving the red truck?”
“He was cussing up a storm on his way out the door. I saw the red truck shoot out of the parking lot right after that. He must have been driving it.”
Glancing around to make sure no one was actively listening to us, I leaned forward and lowered my voice. “Ben said the guys in the red truck robbed a stash house before the accident at Phan’s. He thinks they were the same thieves who robbed two of their guys on Thursday night.”
“Are you serious?”
“Deadly.”
“Shit. I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t buy from that guy. The last thing the shop needs is the police digging through the inventory and closing us down for a few days.”
“Do you think you should call the police and let them know you saw the truck?”
She made a face. “Probably.”
I understood her reticence toward dealing with the police. It wasn’t easy being Spider’s stepdaughter. Knowing I had to add to her worries, I hesitantly said, “Listen, um, a detective came to see me yesterday.”
“Because of something to do with Ben?” she guessed.
I shook my head. “Calvin.”
Her eyes widened. “Why?”
“He’s missing,” I said, holding her gaze and hoping she would understand what I was trying to tell her without actually saying it. “The police want to ask him some questions.”
“I see.” She broke a chip into pieces. “Well, who knows where he is? It’s not as if you guys are close.”
“That’s what I explained to the detective.” My gaze drifted toward the approaching waiter. I waited until he had delivered our food and drinks and left to resume our sensitive conversation. “I told the detective I would contact him if I saw Calvin.”
“That’s all you can do,” she said, reaching for her fork. “So, what are you wearing to the wedding?”
Once we started talking about dresses and shoes and jewelry, our brunch date became much more relaxed, exactly what we needed. Now that we were both in grad school, we seemed to have less and less time to spend together like this. By the time we finished dessert, we were both flushed from laughing.
“What are your plans for tonight?” I asked while scribbling a tip amount on the receipt.
“I’ll probably stay home and read,” she said, checking her phone. A second later, she confessed, “CJ asked me out again.”
Excited, I dropped the pen. “And?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I wasn’t really feeling second date vibes with him.”
I rolled my eyes and huffed. “You say that about everyone you date.”
“Which makes me think I’m meeting the wrong guys,” she countered. “I liked CJ. Our date was great, and he was a lot of fun. I just couldn’t see anything developing between us. He travels all the time and has a demanding schedule.”
“He’s a freaking basketball player,” I interjected. “Like a legit professional NBA player. Sure, his schedule is rough, but he’s got a real future ahead of him.”
“Maybe that’s not the future I want,” she replied with a shrug.
“What do you want?” I asked seriously. “What would make you happy?”
She thought about it and finally said, “Stability. Someone who is going to be there when I wake up and when I go to bed. Someone who is done with all the partying and drinking and smoking.”
“So…like an old guy?” I teased.
She frowned at me. “Not that old. Just, you know, settled.”
I didn’t want to point out that she was describing the opposite of her stepdad. She loved Spider and would defend him to anyone who ever had a bad thing to say, but it was clear that he hadn’t provided the most stable home life. Her mother didn’t help matters any. It was no wonder she wanted a relationship with someone who could give her what she had craved the most as a child.
Another thought struck me. A bit slyly, I asked, “What about a certain slightly older guy who took an actual bullet for you?”
She blushed so hard the tips of her ears turned pink. “He’s not interested in me like that.”
“Are you kidding me?” My jaw dropped. “He’s totally into you.”
She shook her head. “If he was into me, he would have made a move by now.”
“Maybe he thinks you aren’t into him?”
“Maybe.”
“Well, why don’t you shoot your shot?”
She wrinkled her nose. “I think he might be offended if I asked him out for a drink. He’s kind of, well, you know, old school alpha about things.”
“I could tell Ben to tell him that you’re interested.”
She laughed. “Are we in eighth grade again?”
“I’m just trying to help!”
“I know you are.” She reached across the table and touched my hand. “Let it go. If it’s meant to be, it will happen.”
I didn’t want to let it go. I wanted to play matchmaker, but I had to respect her wishes, even if it frustrated me.
After leaving the restaurant, I cut across town to Allure and made it through the door with barely five minutes until the start of my mani-pedi and blowout appointment. Once I was checked in, I hurried to the ladies room so I wouldn’t be squirming in my chair later or penguin waddling to the bathroom with wedges between my freshly painted toes.
I had just closed my stall door when another client came into the bathroom. She was hissing angrily into her phone and s
eemed upset as she closed herself in the stall at far end of the row. I tried not to eavesdrop, but the echo of the tiled room made it impossible to ignore.
“How?” she asked furiously. “How the fuck do escrow funds disappear?”
My eyes widened as I tried to handle my business as quietly as possible. Someone had stolen her escrow funds?
“No, you listen, Gary,” she snarled, “I don’t want to hear any more of your bullshit excuses! I want my client’s money by nine a.m. on Monday or else I’m calling the police, the FBI, the FDIC, the IRS and the reporter at the Chronicle who handles finance stories. You get that money—or else I will destroy you. And your wife,” she added meanly.
The angry woman wrenched open her stall door and stormed out of the bathroom, leaving me wondering what the hell I had just overheard. As I stood at the sink washing my hands, a suspicion began to take hold. The detective had shown me a photo of Gary Metcalf. Betty had mentioned Margie leaving in tears after a visit from a federal agent. Were those two things connected to the phone call I had just heard?
I waited until my feet were soaking in a pool of warm, bubbling water to pick up my phone. It didn’t take me long to find Gary Metcalf and his company. After a little more Googling, I learned about the IRS regulations on real estate sales and postponing or avoiding capital gains taxes. The IRS allowed investment property owners to deposit their profits from the sale of one property with an intermediary like Gary to avoid paying capital gains. He held the money in escrow, profiting off the interest and fees.
Was he embezzling from his clients? Was that why Margie had been visited by a federal agent? Did she know that he was misusing client funds?
And how did Calvin fit into all of this? Had he sold some of the properties he had inherited and put his money with Gary? Knowing Calvin, he had likely figured out some way to work the system and make money off of the 1031 exchanges. Had he owed money to Gary? Or did Gary owe him?
Those thoughts plagued me as I tried to enjoy the rest of my appointment. Normally, the salon was my happy place. I enjoyed being pampered. I lived for lazy Saturdays like this.
But there was nothing happy about the thoughts swirling around in my head. I felt as if I were trapped in the center of a tangled web that Calvin had woven, and the police, like a horde of venomous spiders, were about to get me.