A Widow in Paradise & Suburban Secrets

by Donna Birdsell

  “Need some help?”

  “No.”

  “Dannie, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I just need to change this tire. So if you’ll excuse me…”

  Guy pulled his car into a parking spot a few spaces down and walked over to her. “I’ve been trying to call you.”

  “I know.”

  He grabbed the jack from her hand and slid it underneath the van near the flat tire. Then he used the lug wrench to unscrew something under the frame.

  “They keep the spare under here,” he said.

  “Oh.”

  He handed her his jacket before squatting to loosen the lug nuts on the flat. His jeans stretched taut over the solid mass of his thighs. The muscles in his back and arms flexed beneath his neon-pink T-shirt as he worked the tire off the wheel and replaced it with the spare.

  Dannie folded his jacket over her arm and held it to her nose, breathing in the scent of his cologne mixed with the alluring smell of leather. She closed her eyes.

  “Hey, you okay?”

  Her eyes popped open. “I’m fine.”

  “Good. Because you looked like you were ready to pass out or something.”

  Irritated that he’d caught her sniffing his jacket, she said, “What’s with you and pink shirts, anyway?”

  “It’s my signature, I guess.”

  “Like Charles Manson’s swastika tattoo.”

  “More like Buddy Holly’s glasses.”

  He rolled the flat tire toward the back of the van and leaned it against the rear bumper. He bent down, running a finger over the rubber.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Come here,” he said.

  She hunkered down beside him, feeling the heat of his leg against hers, trying hard not to think about waking up in his arms on his couch.

  He took her hand, pushing one of her fingertips into a slit in the tire.

  “Feel that?”

  She nodded.

  “That was no accident. Your tire was slashed.”

  She jerked her hand away. “Slashed?”

  Guy nodded. He took his jacket from her arm and put it back on. “Do you know anybody who’d want to do that?”

  “No. I…No.” She pressed a palm to her forehead. “Wait a minute. How did you know where to find me?”

  “I didn’t. I was just driving by.”

  “Just driving by a strip mall that contains nothing but a preschool art studio, a lingerie store and a Vietnamese restaurant?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes. I love the Canh Chua Ca.”

  “The what?”

  “Canh Chua Ca. It’s a sweet-and-sour fish soup.”

  Guy threw the jack and the tire into the back of the van.

  “Uh-huh.” Dannie slammed the hatch shut. “Well, thanks so much. See you around.”

  “Wait!” He stepped between her and the car door. “What’s going on? You seem…angry.”

  “Do I?”

  “Yes, you do. And I don’t get it. I thought we’d put our differences aside. I thought we, you know, made a connection.”

  “That wasn’t a connection. It was misplaced attraction.”

  “Misplaced?”

  “Yes. Misplaced.” She pushed past him and got into the car, rolling down the window. “Why didn’t you tell me you were partners with Jimmy Duke?”

  He seemed startled by the question. “Where did you hear that?”

  She ignored the question and started the car. “When we were in Cuatro Blanco, I told you that Roger’s firm handled Duke’s finances, but you didn’t say anything. You live in this town. You know Jimmy Duke’s reputation.”

  “Dannie, let me explain—”

  She held up a hand. “Don’t bother. It’s your business. Really. I just don’t want to know about it.”

  She backed out of her parking space. Guy stepped into the void left by her van and watched her drive away.

  DRIVING HOME, she was just angry enough to do what she’d wanted to do for the past eight months.

  She was going to walk into Wiser-Crenshaw and give them a piece of her mind.

  But when she arrived at the cool, gray-brick office building, her confidence wavered. It might have had something to do with the imposing decor—ultramodern, black and silver, lots of granite and steel. Or it might have been because—as she realized too late—she was disheveled and smudged with dirt from the tire incident.

  But most likely it was the bitchy receptionist, Monique, who greeted her with a cool smile when she walked into the lobby, making it clear she was no longer welcome at Wiser-Crenshaw.

  Well, screw it. She deserved some answers. She deserved to know why she had to worry about the hot water heater, and about her kids’ futures, when Roger had more than paid his dues working for this company. As a matter of fact, she and the kids had paid their dues, too.

  Wiser-Crenshaw owed her. Owed all of them.

  “How may I help you, Mrs. Treat?” Monique spoke in a smooth, cultured tone Dannie knew for a fact was fake. She’d heard Monique’s thick south Jersey accent in the ladies’ room at the firm’s holiday party two years ago. The receptionist had drunk one cup too many of the hard cider, and was fighting with her husband on her cell phone in one of the bathroom stalls. Whaddayah want from me, Toneee…?

  “Hello, Monique. I’d like to speak to Rob Goody.”

  “Let me see if he’s in—”

  “Don’t bother. I’ll see for myself.” Dannie marched to the elevator and, once inside, pressed the button for the third floor, where the human resources office was located.

  Dannie knew Monique would be on the phone with Rob’s secretary, warning her of Dannie’s impending arrival. The bastard hadn’t taken her calls in months.

  She stormed off the elevator, which opened directly onto the reception area of Rob Goody’s office. Rob’s door was closed, but she could see him sitting at his desk through the frosted glass panels in the door.

  “Dannie, what a surprise.” Rob’s secretary, Veronica, at least had the decency to look guilty. Dannie had always liked her.

  “I need to see Rob.”

  “I’m sorry, he’s busy at the moment. Can I leave him a message?”

  “Yes, you can. You tell him that he better get his ass out here and talk to me, or I’m going to key the paint on his goddamned Porsche.”

  Veronica gave her a sympathetic nod. “I’ll go see if I can get him off the phone.”

  Veronica slipped into Rob’s office, and Dannie could see them talking. The secretary put her hands on her hips, wagging a finger at Rob. Seconds later Rob stood. He caught Dannie’s eye through the window, hesitating, but Veronica pushed him toward the door.

  “Dannie Treat! What a pleasure.” He stepped out into the small reception area.

  “Cut the crap, Rob. I need to talk to you about the money for Roger’s stock holdings.”

  Rob cleared his throat. “I guess we’d better speak in my office, then.”

  He held the door open. Dannie stalked by him, trying not to be intimidated by the expensive crystal bric-a-brac or the huge mahogany desk. Rob gestured to a chair, but Dannie shook her head. She needed to stand for this.

  “Rob, I’m not going to beat around the bush. My kids and I need the money for Roger’s stock holdings. The insurance company hasn’t paid off his life insurance yet, and we’re living on a shoestring. If I don’t get that check soon, I’m going to have to sell my organs, among other things.”

  Rob tented his fingers under his chin. “I’m sorry, Dannie, but there’s nothing I can do. These things take time.”

  “That’s bull, Rob. The company issued a check to Alice Peterson less than a week after Stan died.”

  “Those were different circumstances.”

  “What circumstances? He died on top of a toothless hooker in a thirty-five-dollar-a-night hotel room.”

  Rob squirmed in his high-backed leather chair. “Believe me, if I could help you I would. My hands are tied.”

 
“So who can untie them? Who can I talk to about this if you can’t help me?”

  Rob shook his head. “Nobody. It just has to go through the channels.”

  The channels?

  “Roger was dedicated to this company, Rob. He died on a goddamned Wiser-Crenshaw retreat. Three of your executives watched him fall overboard and drown. You’re lucky I haven’t tried to sue all of you.”

  “Don’t go there, Dannie,” Rob warned. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll go home and wait it out.”

  “Don’t treat me like a child.”

  “Then don’t act like one.”

  “Maybe I need to speak to Ben Wiser.”

  Rob took a deep breath and splayed his hands out on his desk. “Listen to me. I’m telling you that if you mess with the bull, you’re going to get the horns. Ben Wiser is not going to give you what you want. Nobody is.”

  “But why? Just tell me what’s going on.”

  “I can’t.” He said it quietly, but with a conviction Dannie knew she wouldn’t be able to break.

  She ran out of steam. Clearly she would accomplish nothing here today. She rubbed her forehead. “Right.”

  “Hey. Hang in there,” Rob said. “It’s going to get better.” He was a bigger fake than Monique.

  Dannie slouched out of Rob’s office. Veronica looked up at her with sympathy in her eyes.

  “You okay?”

  Dannie’s voice cracked. “I just wish I knew what was going on.”

  Veronica glanced around. She took a key out of the top drawer of her desk. “Come with me.”

  Dannie followed Veronica to the executive washroom. Veronica opened the door, and when they were inside, locked it behind them.

  The restroom decor was similar to the rest of the building—lots of chrome and black. Veronica leaned against the dark marble sink. “You can’t tell anyone I told you this, but I know why they’re not giving you your money.”

  Dannie’s pulse quickened. “Why?”

  Veronica bit her lower lip.

  “Go on. I can take it.”

  “They think Roger embezzled some money.”

  “What?”

  Veronica nodded. “About six months before he died, Roger got the Jimmy Duke account. Inherited it from that old horn-dog Stan Peterson.”

  “What?” Dannie said in a daze. “Roger never told me.”

  “Well, it happened. A few weeks before the Cuatro Blanco retreat, Jimmy Duke started complaining to Ben Wiser that he thought some money was missing from one of his accounts. But before anyone could audit Roger’s books—” she lowered her voice “—you know, the real ones—he up and died.”

  “Wait.” Dannie ran a hand through her tangled curls. “You mean to tell me they think Roger was stealing from Jimmy Duke?”

  Veronica nodded again. “Some money earmarked for the Greenwood Mall project was funneled into an account that nobody can find.”

  Dannie’s stomach rolled. “How much?”

  Veronica hesitated. “Jimmy’s business receipts are sort of…inexact.”

  “How much?”

  “A quarter of a million dollars.”

  Dannie’s mouth formed an O. She started sucking air, unable to get a breath. Veronica grabbed a paper towel out of a basket on the sink and ran it under cold water. She pressed it to the back of Dannie’s neck.

  “I hate to be the one to have to tell you this, but I thought you deserved to know. They’re not going to pay you a dime until they figure out exactly how much Roger stole. Which they can’t do until they find his records.”

  Dannie’s breathing evened out. She tossed the wet paper towel into the trash and smoothed her hair, checking herself in the mirror. “Thank you, Veronica. I appreciate your honesty.”

  Veronica smiled. “You always struck me as the kind of woman I’d want for a friend.”

  Dannie hugged her. “You got it.”

  Veronica checked her watch. “We’d better get out of here. Old man Crenshaw had Mexican for lunch. He’ll be looking for this key any minute.”

  Dannie drove home in a daze.

  Roger had the Jimmy Duke account? Why hadn’t he told her?

  Come to think of it, Roger had been spending an awful lot of money before he died. He’d bought the old boat in the garage, and some expensive new suits. And a diamond tennis bracelet for Dannie on their anniversary.

  Dear God. Could it be true? Had Roger been stealing from Jimmy Duke?

  Dannie’s blood turned to ice in her veins. She was more convinced than ever that Roger had been murdered.

  Chapter Eleven

  TWO WEEKS LATER, Dannie was standing at the stove making spaghetti when Quincy came running through the kitchen, a Barbie doll tied to his back.

  “Giddyap!” Betsy ran after the dog, wearing felt chaps, a cowboy hat and nothing else.

  “Put some clothes on!” Dannie yelled after her. “It’s almost time to eat.”

  After half a dozen unreturned calls to the police in El Cuello, a brief and unfruitful conversation with one of the men from Wiser-Crenshaw who’d been on the fishing charter with Roger, and a meeting with the owner of the Main Street Gym, Dannie was no closer to knowing what had happened to Roger than she had been in Cuatro Blanco.

  She needed a clue. A lead. Something.

  She dumped a jar of spaghetti sauce into a pan and took a loaf of garlic bread out of the oven. As she sliced bananas for the twins, she suddenly got the feeling she was being watched.

  She’d been getting that feeling a lot lately.

  She ran to the back door and looked out into the yard, but it was empty. The unlatched gate swung on its hinges in the breeze.

  Had Richard just left it unlatched again? Or had someone been there, looking in at her? She shivered and pulled the curtains closed over the window.

  This was getting ridiculous. She felt like Jamie Lee Curtis in Halloween. Any minute a man in a mask was going to jump out at her from behind the shrubbery.

  But who? Why?

  It had to have something to do with the counterfeit money and Guy’s wife and Jimmy Duke. Maybe even Guy himself.

  The spaghetti boiled over, the water splashing on the coils of the burner with a hiss. She turned off the stove and picked up the phone, dialing as she stirred the sauce.

  “Can you come over?” she said. “I need to talk to you.”

  An hour later Guy horsed around in the living room with the kids while Dannie cleaned up the dishes from dinner.

  She dried her hands on a towel and stood in the doorway, watching. Her heart squeezed at the expression of joy on Richard’s face. He really had missed having a man around the house.

  He remembered throwing a ball around the backyard, and Roger tucking him in at night, and this. This roughhousing that a mother could never duplicate.

  Guy stood up. Richard hung from his biceps. “Hey! I’ve been looking at your paintings. You’re good.”

  “Was good. I don’t paint anymore.”

  “Really? Why not?”

  Dannie sighed. “No time, I guess. No energy.”

  “No inspiration?”

  “Maybe.” She looked around at the works she’d completed in college, and in her twenties and early thirties. Flowers in Orange Vase. Man Feeding Pigeons in Franklin Park. Woman with Scarf.

  After she’d married Roger, it had seemed so frivolous to spend her time in the studio. They always had other, more important things to do. Wiser-Crenshaw outings and charity events.

  And then the children had come, and she’d put away her paints for good.

  “You all done in the kitchen?” Guy asked.

  She nodded. “I’m going to put Erin and Emma down, and then we’ll talk.”

  “Right.” Guy set Richard back on his feet. “Until then, be prepared to fight the Mud Monster. Aarghhh!”

  Richard and Betsy ran screaming into the kitchen, Guy and Quincy on their heels.

  When the twins were in bed and Betsy and Richard were in the den watch
ing a movie, Dannie poured herself some wine, Guy a glass of orange juice and sat down beside him at the kitchen table.

  “Okay. I want the truth,” she said, setting the juice in front of him.

  “What do you want to know, exactly?” Guy asked.

  “I want to know everything,” Dannie said. “Starting with how you’re involved with Jimmy Duke.”

  Guy wrapped his hands around the juice glass and stared down into the liquid.

  “Guy?”

  He exhaled. “It’s not what you think.”

  “You don’t know what I think.”

  “Yes, I do. You think I’m one of Jimmy’s employees. I’m not.” He leaned back in his chair, looking her straight in the eye. “It was a mistake.”

  “Oh, boy. I can’t wait to hear this. You became partners with Jimmy Duke by mistake?”

  He shrugged. “I ran out of money. I was in the middle of building the spa, and it ran over budget. Way over budget.”

  She took a sip of her wine, waiting for him to continue.

  “The bank wouldn’t loan me any more money, so Lisa introduced me to Jimmy. She’d met him at the gym. And to make a long story short, I asked him for help.”

  “But you know how he operates!”

  “Believe me, I had no other choice. I tried everything, and if I had stopped construction, I’d have gone bankrupt. It was the only way.”

  “So he loaned you the money?”

  “Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. With the stipulation that if I didn’t pay him back within three years, he’d become a permanent partner in the spa.” Guy pushed his juice glass away. “Needless to say, I’m way behind schedule. The spa isn’t even finished yet, much less making money. There’s no way I’m going to be able to pay him back on time.”

  “So the money Lisa took was Jimmy Duke’s money?”

  Guy nodded. “So then Lisa sets me up with this contractor, who’ll do the work for cash. The contractor tries to use the cash he got from me to pay for his girlfriend’s boob job at some cheap, cash-up-front chop shop. The so-called surgeon’s office discovers it’s counterfeit. Now the contractor’s girlfriend is threatening to tell the contractor’s wife about their affair if he doesn’t get her new boobs soon. And the contractor is leaning on me, threatening to tell Jimmy about the money being stolen if I don’t pay him soon. And if Jimmy finds out…”