by Neil Plakcy
“Steve! That’s mean.”
“It may be, but it’s true. You heard her talk about Doug. And didn’t Tamsen tell you Catherine was seeing someone? If she remarried, she’d lose her alimony, and she might have to get a real job instead of screwing around trying to write a children’s book about a Lenni Lenape girl.”
“I don’t like the way you always see the worst in people,” Lili said, crossing her arms over her chest.
“I like Catherine,” I protested. “I’ve known her as long as I’ve known Doug, though clearly I wasn’t in touch with either of them until very recently. I’m not accusing her of anything. But things could get uncomfortable between Rick and Tamsen if Rick thinks Catherine had anything to do with Doug’s death.”
“I’m going upstairs,” Lili said. “I have some papers to read. You can clean up.”
The subtext was clear; I ought to stay downstairs. At least Rochester was willing to stay with me.
14 – Cat and Mouse
I paced restlessly around the living room, Rochester on my heels, thinking about Doug, worried that there was nothing more I could do to help him. I picked up the book I was reading but I couldn’t focus on it, and when I turned the TV on there was nothing I wanted to watch. I was idly flipping through channels when Rochester left me to go upstairs.
I gave up and shut the TV off as Rochester came trundling back down the stairs with something in his mouth. He came up to me and dropped it at my feet, as if he was a cat with a dead mouse.
It was a small bag in the color I immediately recognized as Columbia blue—a light shade that was on most of the communications I got from my graduate alma mater.
It was also the same shade as Tiffany bags and boxes—and that’s what Rochester had brought me, a small drawstring sack that read Tiffany & Co. I picked it up and a small silver dragonfly charm tumbled out.
That must be what Lili had bought for her sister-in-law. But why would Rochester bring it to me? Was he saying I needed to buy Lili a gift? Take him outside to catch dragonflies?
I looked at him and he cocked his head. “What?” I asked.
He woofed once, and I looked down at the bag. “Of course,” I said. “Tiffany. What a smart boy you are.” I reached down and scratched behind his ears, and he opened his mouth wide in a doggy smile.
He followed me to the dining room, where I opened my laptop on the table. He sprawled on the floor beside me as I went online. I was curious to know more about the office where Tiffany worked, particularly about infusion therapy. I Googled the term and discovered that it was a lot cheaper and more convenient to deliver IV antibiotics and other medications in an outpatient setting, rather than requiring the patient to be hospitalized. It was used particularly when a patient’s condition was so severe that medication couldn’t be delivered orally.
I was surprised at how many conditions could be treated that way, from dehydration to congestive heart failure to cancer. Many of the patients who needed such treatment were elderly, which meant they were on Medicare, while others were often covered by conventional insurance plans. The welter of regulations, agencies and companies involved made billing errors common, and opened the possibility of fraud.
Dr. Rolando de la Fe and his son Eduardo ran what was called a physician-based infusion clinic, and had to abide by a whole list of requirements, from maintaining sterile conditions to monitoring patients for adverse reactions. However, it didn’t look like the regulations governing their payment were strictly enforced.
Cubans and Cuban-Americans were often at the center of health care fraud, I discovered from reading a number of different news reports online. Cuban immigrants, unlike those from almost any other country, were immediately eligible for government health care benefits as soon as they landed in the U.S. I was stunned by the statistic that people born in Cuba represented less than 1% of the U.S. population but committed 41% of Medicare fraud. Many of them were alleged to be funneling those profits back to the island.
One very organized crime ring had opened a home health-care agency in Miami in 2010 and within three days had submitted $1.5 million in fraudulent claims to Medicare – and that was just a small bit of a fraudulent empire that was draining billions of dollars from the U.S. health care system.
Was the Center for Infusion Therapy committing similar crimes? I’d heard Lili mention once or twice that Cubans considered themselves the “Jews of the Caribbean,” because like Israel, their country was a fierce and independent nation, small in size but huge in ambition, surrounded by historical enemies who sought to bring about their ruin. Cubans saw themselves as hard-working and determined to be successful, as Jews did. But somehow those islanders had begun channeling that determination into criminal means. I began channeling my sadness over Doug’s death into anger that someone at the clinic had been exploiting the sick and needy.
I went back to Facebook and checked Tiffany’s page. “Looks like I am out of a job, AGAIN,” she had posted earlier that day. “What is it with me and jobs? Back to waitressing I guess.”
At least Tiffany had the chance to start over again, I thought. Unlike Doug Guilfoyle.
As I walked Rochester late that evening, I wondered what it was about me that got me involved in all these dramas. Rick didn’t need my help to find out what was up with his ex-wife. I was sure he had plenty of official ways to search.
And Doug Guilfoyle? I hardly knew him. Sure, we had gone to college together, but only been casual acquaintances. Somehow, though, I had gotten involved in both situations. Lili had her own ideas why – she thought I was not only curious, but that growing up Jewish, going to Sunday School and studying Torah, had given me an impulse toward social justice, making things right for those who had been wronged.
By the time Rochester and I got back into the house Lili had gotten over whatever she felt and I was grateful that we could snuggle together. There was so much sadness in the world—divorce, illness, and death—and it was nice to have found my own refuge with Lili.
15 – Investment Advice
Thursday was quiet at Friar Lake, as if the property was holding its breath waiting for the influx of middle-schoolers the next day. I spent most of the morning on preparation for Kids Code—signs to print, tables to set out and so on, but eventually I was able to go back to the Excel files Doug had downloaded for me, and the hyperlinked one I’d found the password for. There were twenty properties in the Beauceron REIT portfolio, and I put them in alphabetical order and began examining them.
Absecon Promenade was an outlet mall down the Jersey Shore, anchored by several retailers I recognized and a whole lot I didn’t. It was moderately profitable, and the numbers on both spreadsheets matched.
Briarwood Forum was an office complex in northeast New Jersey, showing 98% occupancy and steady revenues. Again, the numbers on both sheets matched. I went through the next four properties on the list, and everything seemed kosher. Maybe the strip center Doug had stumbled on was the anomaly, and the rest of Beauceron’s portfolio was performing as advertised.
Then I got to Garden City Center on Long Island, another strip mall on the Jericho Turnpike. It was anchored at one end by Tranny Man Transmissions and at the other by a Chinese restaurant called Wok This Way. A quick Google search showed that Wok This Way had closed down after repeated health violations, and an article in Newsday mentioned a protest against the transmission company by a group of LGBT activists.
The numbers on the public sheet didn’t match those on the protected sheet. As with Route One Plaza, there was little income coming in from the property, though Beauceron represented it as a thriving investment.
I was encouraged. So the problems with Beauceron’s REIT ran deeper than a single under-performing property.
I was continuing to dig for more information on Garden City Center when Catherine Guilfoyle called my cell phone late in the morning. “I’m not bothering you, am I?” she asked. “I can call back this evening.”
“No, no bother. What’s
up?”
“Can you do me a favor? I have so many things to take care of, and Hannah and Tammy have been urging me to delegate. Doug’s boss told me there’s a box of Doug’s stuff at the office. Could you could pick it up for me? In case there’s important papers or anything the kids should have.”
I told her I’d be happy to handle it, then called Shawn and explained about Catherine’s request. He said I was welcome to come up as soon as I wanted to.
Rochester put his head on my leg and stared up at me. “Doug mentioned that you bring your dog to work,” I said. “I do, too, so I have my golden with me now. Would it be all right if I brought him with me?”
“No problem. Chocolat loves to play with other dogs.”
I went back to work on the Beauceron spreadsheets, and by the time I had to leave to meet Shawn I had identified six suspect properties out of the twenty that the fund had invested in.
I was eager to see what kind of operation Shawn Brumberger had created, and as Rochester and I drove a zigzag route through the countryside, I wondered how he’d let things go so far. When the first property tanked, why not just take the loss and move on?
Then I remembered the way that he’d named both his kids after himself—Shawna and Shawn Jr. Somebody with an ego that big probably could not handle failure too well. I knew from my own experience how easy it could be to ignore reality and push forward—in my case until I landed behind bars. Would Shawn end up the same way?
The office park where Beauceron rented space was about a mile off I-95, in a two-story building set back off the road and surrounded by trees sprouting new leaves. It resembled the kind of barns that were still around when I was a kid – slat siding, peaked roof, little windows under the eaves.
I introduced myself and Rochester to the receptionist, and a few minutes later, Shawn came out with a big black shepherd by his side. “It’s always best for Chocolat to meet new dogs outside of his own territory,” he said, as the two dogs sniffed each other.
Chocolat was alert and confident-looking, with reddish tan socks and half-pricked ears. Rochester went down on his front paws in the play position, and Chocolat woofed once, then sniffed Rochester’s ear.
“Good, they’re going to get along,” Shawn said as we watched the dogs.
“How long have you guys been here?” I asked.
“Five years,” he said. “And business gets better and better every year. I’m going to have to scramble to hire someone to fill Doug’s shoes.”
Since it was almost five o’clock the stock markets were closed, so maybe that was why the Beauceron suite seemed as quiet as a mortuary. No phones ringing, no voices coming from the other offices. “You probably do a lot of your business online,” I said.
“Nope. We do things the old-fashioned way. If you’re our client, we walk you through all your decisions. Our reps give their customers their personal cell numbers, and they can reach us any time for investment advice or to make new purchases.”
“That sounds like the kind of company I’d want to do business with.”
He looked at me. “You interested in investing?”
“Doug’s seminar motivated me,” I said. “I was going to ask him for some advice, but maybe you could help me out instead.”
“Certainly. Why don’t you look through Doug’s stuff, and when you’re finished Vanessa can buzz me.”
He led me into a pretty barren office just behind the reception area. “I had my assistant put together Doug’s things. Not much, but I thought there might be something there his kids wanted.”
“Thanks. I’m sure they’ll appreciate it.”
He and the dog left, and I sat behind Doug’s desk. There was no computer, and I wondered if the laptop he’d brought to Friar Lake was the only one he used. It was clear that Shawn’s assistant had cleared out any material that might have been confidential, leaving behind only a fancy multi-line phone, an empty in-and-out box, and assorted office supplies.
Rochester walked around the office as I looked through the box Shawn’s assistant had packed. A leatherette folder of business cards, a day planner, and a coffee mug with #1 Dad on it. A couple of expensive pens with commemorative inscriptions, and a sterling silver picture frame with a photo of Ethan and Madison in it. Not much to sum up a career.
I flipped through the card holder. A lot of the cards were from folks in Manhattan, Westchester County and North Jersey. They were a mixed bag, from a community college professor to Wall Street types to the manager of a car wash. I was about to flip past that one when I read the name – Alex Vargas.
Was it the same Alex Tiffany was dating? Wouldn’t that be weird?
I looked at the address of the operation—it was in Hoboken, and I knew Doug had lived there for a while. Maybe he’d just picked up the card when he got his car washed one day. How could I find out if it was the same guy?
Rochester was nosing around the garbage can beside Doug’s desk. A couple of crumpled pieces of paper sat at the bottom, and I picked them up. They were from a notepad with the Beauceron logo, in what I thought was Doug’s handwriting. I smoothed them out but rather than read them right there I put them in the box with the rest of Doug’s stuff.
I went back to the receptionist and she buzzed Shawn, then led me and Rochester to his office, which was larger and more impressive than Doug’s, with a big picture window that looked out at the wooded area behind the complex.
The dogs sniffed each other once more, then Rochester rolled onto his back, his legs up in the air. Chocolat stood on top of him, preparing to hump him, but Rochester wriggled out from underneath and they began to romp around the office.
“Tell me about your investment strategy in the past,” Shawn said, after we’d watched the dogs for a moment or two.
“I haven’t really had one,” I said, thinking as fast as I could. “But listening to Doug speak at the seminar got me thinking, and then over the weekend I was talking to someone I know, a guy named Alex Vargas, and he said he invested with Doug and the fund he was in was really doing well.”
“You remember which fund?”
I shook my head. “Any way you can find out which one? If it’s such a good one I might want to put some money into it.”
“Let me look in our client base and see where he’s invested. What was the name again?”
“Either Alex or Alejandro Vargas.”
He typed and then said, “He’s in our REIT. You’re right, we’ve been getting excellent returns on that fund.”
It was an interesting fact, but I had no idea what it meant, if it was relevant at all. I listened with only half my brain as Shawn made a pitch for the fund, and accepted a glossy folder about Beauceron and all its funds. “If you have a blank check with you, we can get your account set up right now,” Shawn said.
“I need to talk to my fiancée,” I said. Though Lili and I had no immediate plans for marriage, I thought it gave her opinion more weight than calling her a girlfriend.
“No hurry,” Shawn said. “But remember, time is money! You can’t start earning those excellent returns until you make your first investment.”
On my way home, I thought about the potential profits Shawn had mentioned. Were they real, or just illusory? I’d have to finish my analysis of the spreadsheets and properties before I could make that judgment.
It was certainly interesting to learn that Tiffany’s boyfriend had invested with Doug—but did it mean anything? Was it even worth mentioning to Rick, or would he say my imagination was running away again?
When I got home, I carried the box of Doug’s stuff inside with me and set it down on the dining room table. After Rochester and I had both kissed Lili hello, I said, “Catherine called me today and asked me to pick up Doug’s effects from his office. I talked to his boss for a few minutes, too.”
“That was nice of you,” she said. “I was talking to Tamsen today. Catherine’s kids are really broken up over their father’s death. She said the kids really liked Rochester a
nd wanted to know if we could come over this weekend with him. Give the kids something to think about besides their dad.”
“That’s a great idea,” I said. “We can drop off this stuff then.”
I was curious to talk to Catherine anyway. She certainly had a reason to want Doug dead. What if Doug had called her from the bar, after he finished with Shawn? He wouldn’t be the first guy to drunk-dial an ex. Suppose she agreed to meet him at the canal, and then, knowing his fear of water, pushed him in?
I figured I ought to be grateful Mary had walked away from me when I went into prison.
Lili and I talked as we threw together dinner, then ate. The students in her photography class had compiled portfolios of their best shots, then had to write critical essays about which photographers they’d studied during the term had most influenced them. It was slow going because she was not only reviewing their photos and their papers, she was comparing their work to their influences to see if they were on target.
“Can I do anything to help you?”
“Find somebody to grade the rest of these papers. Any bum on the street will do.”
“Oh come on. They aren’t that bad.”
“Oh, really? Let me read you a couple of excerpts.” She opened the messenger bag she took back and forth to Eastern with her. “I printed some out specially for you. Here’s a good one. ‘I didn’t read any of the essays on Dorothea Lange because they were all written in the past, and I believe in looking ahead, not backwards.’ Or ‘I chose to photograph animals for my project because they have been around for a while.’”
“I can top that. One of my students once wrote, ‘Moses and Steve Jobs are the same thing because they both came up with tablets and started revolutions.’”
She shook her head and laughed. “That is wrong on so many levels.”
After she went upstairs to continue grading, I cleaned up the kitchen. That Lady Gaga song had become an earworm, and I kept hearing that phrase again and again about Alejandro.