by Diane Kelly
I grabbed my phone and placed a call to Sweet Melody Music. “Bethany Flagler, please,” I said when the male voice answered again. When he put me on hold, the music this time was a marching band’s version of Rick Astley’s “Never Gonna Give You Up.” Yep, I’d been Rick-rolled.
I sang along with the music for a minute or so until Bethany picked up the line. “Bethany Flagler. How may I help you?”
“Hello, Bethany,” I said. “It’s Special Agent Holloway from the IRS.”
“Oh. Hi. Did you figure out anything about the prize scam?”
“You may have the answer to that question.”
“Excuse me?”
I couldn’t blame her for being confused. My words had been a bit cryptic. “I’m working on a theory,” I told her. “Can you tell me who does the payroll for Sweet Melody Music?” I held my breath, hoping her answer would give me the break I’d been looking for.
“It’s handled by an outside company,” she said.
Break! Or, at least potential break!
“Which one?” I asked.
“I’m not sure what their name is, but their logo is printed on our paychecks. It’s two white letter Fs outlined in black with flames coming out of the bottom. I think they’re supposed to look like rockets or something.”
“Hold on a second.” I performed a quick Internet search. In less than fifteen seconds I had my answer. Sweet Melody’s payroll service was Financial Force Ltd. “Got it,” I said. “Looks like it’s Financial Force.”
“That sounds right.”
“Did you ever come in direct contact with anyone from the company?”
“Yeah,” she replied. “They sent someone out to set up the payroll system for Sweet Melody.”
“Male or female?”
“Female. A girl about twenty-five.”
“What was her name?”
“I can’t remember off the top of my head. Sorry. She was only here a day or two, and that was a couple years ago. But I’ll never forget her. She’s the one who introduced me to Amor y Vengaza. She was watching it on her break and told me how good it was.”
“Did you and she ever butt heads?”
“What do you mean?” Bethany asked.
“Did you argue about anything? Maybe have a disagreement?”
“No. We didn’t really talk a whole lot, other than about the show. Anything else was just small talk. The weather. The traffic. Stuff like that. But we never had an argument.”
Hmm. There seemed to be a lack of motive here, but I’d worry about that later. Even if the young woman hadn’t been the actual one to issue the false reports, she was the common denominator. Maybe someone had used her log-in credential to steal the client’s personal data. “Do you think anyone else at Sweet Melody might remember her name?”
She was quiet for a moment, probably thinking. “Maybe Ronnie,” she said. “The girl looked just like Isidora from A y V.” Again she pronounced it ah ee vay. “Ronnie joked that he’d always wanted to date a TV star and that she was the closest he was likely to ever get. I think he might have asked her out. I’m not sure whether they ever went out or not, but I can check.”
“Please do. Call me back once you hear, okay?”
“Okay.”
As we hung up the phone, I remembered that Gwen and Amelia had mentioned having a coworker who dyed her hair black and dressed like Isidora. It had to be the same person, right?
I phoned MetalMasters and asked to be transferred to the office of Amelia Yeo and Gwen Rosenthal.
Amelia answered the phone. “Hello, this is Amelia Yeo.”
After identifying myself, I said, “Is Gwen there with you?”
“Yes. She’s at her desk, too.”
“Can you put me on speaker?”
“Sure. Just a sec.” A moment later there was a click and Amelia’s voice came back. “Gwen and I are both listening now.”
“Great. I have a few follow-up questions for you two.”
“All right,” Gwen said.
“When I came to MetalMasters to interview you, you mentioned you had a coworker who was hooked on Amor y Vengaza and had dyed her hair to look like Isidora. What was her name?”
“She wasn’t actually a coworker,” Amelia corrected me. “She worked for an outside company and was only here for a week.”
“What outside company did she work for?”
“Our payroll processor,” Amelia said. “She came out to install the software and input the employee information.”
“And is your payroll processor Financial Force?”
“Yes,” Amelia replied. “That’s the one.”
Woo hoo! This potential break was looking more and more like a real break! Whoever this girl was would have had access to the employees’ names, social security numbers, and home addresses when she set up the company’s payroll system.
“What was the girl’s name?” I asked.
“Cassidy … something,” Amelia said. “I’m not sure I ever knew her last name.”
Gwen’s voice called out, “Briscoe! Her name was Cassidy Briscoe.”
“Got it.” I wrote the name down on my pad and, in my excitement, underlined it three times in quick succession. “Did either of you have any trouble with her?”
“Not at all,” Amelia said. “She was very sweet.”
“She was one of those people who smiles all the time,” Gwen added. “Always happy.”
But did Cassidy’s smile hide a thousand feelings? Some of which might be anger, irritation, or jealousy?
Again, if Cassidy Briscoe was the one who’d filed the false 1099s for Amelia and Gwen, there seemed to be a lack of motive. But perhaps there was a motive the victims weren’t aware of. Or, again, maybe Cassidy had been a pawn in the scheme, too. Maybe someone had used Cassidy to get access to the victim’s data. But who might that person be and why would they issue the reports? Only Cassidy herself could tell me that.
“Thanks,” I said. “That’s all I need for now.”
As I hung up on the two, a call came in from Bethany Flagler.
“I got the name from Ronnie,” she said. “The girl’s name was Cassidy. He said they didn’t actually go out or anything, just flirted a little.”
“Thanks.”
I called Jocelyn next. Unfortunately, she was with a client and was unable to take my call. Thomas Hoffmeyer wasn’t available when I tried his home number, either.
“He’s out at the driving range,” his wife said. “You could try his cell, but you’re not likely to have any luck. He turns his phone off when he goes out there.”
“Maybe you can help me,” I said. “Where’d you first hear of Amor y Vengaza? Any chance it was from a young woman named Cassidy Briscoe?”
“How’d you know?” she replied, surprise in her voice.
“Several others involved in the bogus prize investigation have mentioned her name.”
“They did? Well, she sure was a sweet little thing. Always cheerful. She spent a couple of weeks at Snippy’s helping set up the payroll systems for both the corporate office and the franchisees. The company wasn’t very big at that time and they hired me to help out with a few administrative things now and then. I’d been an executive secretary years ago. Cassidy and I shared an office for a few days.”
“Would she have any reason to want to get back at your husband?” I asked.
“I can’t think of any reason in particular,” she said. “Even though he wasn’t technically her boss, he was as hard on her as he was on the employees. He never seemed to think anyone worked fast enough or put in enough hours. But there wasn’t any specific incident or problem if that’s what you’re asking. Besides, she and I got along just fine. I even took her out for lunch one day.”
I thanked her for the information. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”
“You, too.”
My next step would be questioning Cassidy Briscoe in person. Every nerve tingled at the thought. Either she was the person I was looking for,
or she could probably lead me to the culprit. Either way, I’d better take my handcuffs.
chapter twenty-eight
You Can’t Spell Smile Without L-I-E-S
I slid my handcuffs into my briefcase, gathered my things, and stepped out into the hall, glancing into Nick’s office. He was talking on his phone and leaning back in his chair, his boots propped on his desk. His silver belt buckle reflected the fluorescent light from overhead. He cut a glance my way and shot me a wink. I blew him a kiss and he pretended to snatch it out of the air with his teeth.
I snagged Josh as he came up the hallway. “I’m on my way to question someone who likely obtained social security numbers and other personal information from office computers. Can you come along in case she gets technical on me?”
I could use computers, but I didn’t really understand how they worked. If Cassidy started in on access issues or password protection or encryption, I could quickly get in over my head. Better to have the office tech specialist along in case the conversation went in that direction.
“Sure,” Josh said.
I wasn’t surprised he’d agreed. He liked to lord his technical superiority over the rest of us. But we couldn’t much blame him. He was short and small and had only recently lost his virginity. His technical savvy was one of the few things he had going for him. At least he was no longer the obnoxious dweeb he’d been when I’d first joined the IRS.
While Financial Force was a national corporation, they maintained regional offices. The Dallas office was in a business district near the Galleria. Of course, it was possible that Cassidy would be out at a client’s office setting up their new payroll system, but I preferred to go to the office and speak with her supervisor rather than discussing the matter on the phone. I wanted to make sure that the supervisor understood the seriousness of the situation and didn’t try to interfere by giving Cassidy a heads-up. As well as Robin Beck had been able to stay out of my sights without even trying, and with Hidalgo on the lam, too, I didn’t want Cassidy to go into hiding as well. I needed something to show for all the effort I was putting in.
We climbed into my G-ride, wound our way out of downtown, and merged onto the tollway, heading north. As always, the tollway was a virtual free-for-all, the posted speed limits considered a mere suggestion by the motorists who thought paying a fee to use the road gave them the right to drive as fast as they wanted. Fortunately, despite a couple of motorists who cut me off, seemingly intent on knocking off my front bumper, Josh and I made it unscathed to the office building where Financial Force Ltd. had its offices.
We rode the elevator up to the fifth floor and stepped out, glancing up and down the hall. There it is. The logo with two flaming Fs graced the glass enclosing a small reception area.
We went inside and checked in with the woman behind the desk. She had the shiny hair and practiced pleasantness of a flight attendant. “Good morning. How may I help you today?”
Though nobody was in the reception area, I nonetheless kept my voice quiet as I handed her my business card. “I’m Special Agent Tara Holloway from the Internal Revenue Service.” I hiked a thumb at Josh. “Agent Schmidt, also from IRS. We need to speak to whoever is in charge of this office.”
The women seemed nonplussed. I supposed it made sense for a business that was used to dealing with tax matters on a regular basis. IRS? No problem. “That would be Nancy DeWitt,” she said. “She’s the regional manager. I’ll let her know you’re here. Feel free to take a seat.”
While she phoned the office’s grand pooh-bah, Josh and I perched on an ugly yet functional vinyl loveseat and looked over the magazine selections. All were financial rags, their taglines intended to entice readers to purchase them, promising secret day-trading tips and how to make millions working part-time from home. Yeah, right.
I’d just begun to read an article on the top ten money mistakes newlyweds make when Nancy DeWitt opened the door that led back to the offices. She was fifty-plus, sturdy, and carried herself with the confidence of a woman who’d weathered enough crises to know nothing short of a nuclear bomb could take her down. “Agents Holloway and Schmidt?”
We stood and walked over to shake her hand.
“Let’s talk in my office.” She turned and led the way down the hall. She walked through a set of double doors at the end of the corridor, stopping to close them behind us once Josh and I stepped through.
Her corner office was large and nicely decorated with cherrywood furniture and prints of famous paintings that I recognized, though I could name neither the artists nor the titles. I should work on becoming more cultured, huh? Her two walls of windows faced east and south, giving her a view of the downtown Dallas skyline and the Galleria Mall next door.
She held out a hand to indicate the two Queen Anne chairs placed before her desk. I took a seat in one and Josh took the other. To my surprise, she plunked one butt cheek onto the front of the desk rather than sitting behind it. Looked like she wanted to keep things more friendly and casual. I didn’t often get that kind of reception. Most people wanted to put as much distance as they could between themselves and an IRS agent.
As she leaned against the desk, her brows rose, disappearing under her curly bangs. “We’ve never had a visit from the criminal department of the IRS,” she said. “I’m guessing there’s a problem?”
“There is,” I said. “Someone filed false tax reports on several people in the Dallas area a couple of years ago. The bogus reports indicated the people had won prize awards. I’ve interviewed all of the witnesses and looked for a common denominator that might tell me who filed the reports.”
DeWitt lifted her chin. “I take it Financial Force is the common denominator?”
“It is,” I said. “One of your staff installed payroll software at the workplaces of each of the victims and interacted with each of them.”
“Which would give the staff member access to the victims’ personal information,” DeWitt supplied for me.
“Exactly.”
Her brows returned to their normal position but her lips pursed. “I can’t imagine who on my staff might have misused sensitive data like that, but it would be naive for me to assume I know people as well as I think I do. Who do you think it is?”
“Cassidy Briscoe.”
The woman’s head snapped backward as if she’d been slapped. She raised her palms. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Cassidy?” She shook her head. “No. Not her.”
I gave her a pointed look. “I thought you weren’t going to make any assumptions.”
“I did say that, didn’t I?” Her expression bordered on pained. “It’s just that Cassidy is the office sweetheart. She’s a ball of sunshine.”
I cocked my head. “Always wears a smile?”
“Well, yes. She does. Why?”
“Ever heard the expression, a smile can hide a thousand feelings?”
“No.”
“Neither have I,” said Josh.
Okay, so I hadn’t, either. At least not until I’d read the slip of paper that came inside my fortune cookie. Still, it was a profound, even ugly truth. Especially for women. How many times were we told to “put on a happy face” when we were upset? To fake it ’til we make it? Such unhealthy bullshit. When something was bothering me, I’d found taking my Glock to a firing range and squeezing off a few rounds provided welcome relief and was much better for my psyche than pretending my feelings weren’t warranted and didn’t exist.
The woman’s face creased along the edges of her eyes and mouth, showing how perplexed and conflicted she felt. “Even if Cassidy had access to all of the victims’ personal data,” she said, “why would she want to cause them trouble?”
“Honestly? I don’t know that,” I admitted. “But I’m hoping to find out.”
She was quiet a moment, her expression thoughtful. “Even though Cassidy might have been the one to set up the relevant client accounts,” she said, “she would not have been the only Financial Force employee to have access to their i
nformation. If there were updates or a client had technical problems, someone else might have helped them.”
“It might very well be an employee other than Cassidy,” I acknowledged. “But I have to start somewhere and she seems to be the logical place.” Especially since the heroine of her favorite telenovela had herself filed false tax reports as a means of revenge, and Cassidy seemed to be modeling herself after the woman. “Is she out at a client’s office?”
“Not today,” DeWitt said. “She’s updating direct deposit information for workers who have switched banks.” She sighed and stood slowly, reluctantly. “I’ll take you to her office.”
“Great.” I stood, also, and Josh followed suit.
She pulled open the double doors and led us down to the end of the hall. We passed an open door where a young man sat with earbuds in his ears, bobbing his head to music as he worked on his computer. She stopped at the next door, the last one on the hall, which sat next to the door that led to the stairwell. Cassidy’s office door was wide open, though I couldn’t see around DeWitt. All I could see was the door, adorned with a poster of a tiny gray kitten staring up the trunk of a big tree. The caption read, You can do it!
I hesitated briefly. Would someone who displayed this type of cheesy inspirational poster file false tax reports? Josh must’ve been having the same thought, meeting my gaze then cutting his eyes to the kitty.
DeWitt tapped a knuckle on the door of the office. “Cassidy? I need to speak with you.”
“Come on in!” called a cheery voice.
DeWitt walked into the office, stepping aside to reveal an Isidora Davila clone sitting behind a desk. Whoa. The resemblance was truly uncanny, as close as any of the celebrity impersonators I’d seen on the billboards and posters in Vegas. The hair color and makeup were the same, and the black dress Cassidy wore was precisely Isidora’s trademark mix of professional and feminine, its sheer sleeves providing a subtle hint of sex appeal. A bowl of strawberry-flavored candy in shiny wrappers on her desk offered a treat to those who visited her office. A laptop computer sat in front of her, its cord plugged into a power strip on the edge of her desk, along with a printer and a desk lamp.