Thugs and Kisses

by Sue Ann Jaffarian

  Tea with honey? If I wasn’t meeting Sally in four hours, it would be tea, all right … tea followed by a NyQuil shooter or two.

  After deciding that the laundry could wait, I grabbed a quick shower and headed to the office. As I expected, it was mostly deserted except for a couple of attorneys using Saturday to catch up or to get a jump on the week ahead. I went straight to my office and closed the door.

  Seated at my desk, I pulled out the upper right-hand drawer and felt underneath. Taped to the bottom of the drawer was a small envelope in which I kept Steele’s passwords. Also inside was a small key that fit a special compartment in Steele’s custom-made desk. Only two of these keys existed—Steele had one and I kept one. And as far as I knew, only the two of us knew about the compartment and where my key was hidden.

  I peeked out my door and saw that no one was around, then quickly covered the several yards between my office and Steele’s. As usual, his office door was closed. I opened it and slipped inside, gently closing it behind me. It wasn’t unusual for me to go in and out of Steele’s office, but I didn’t want someone to see me and stop to make small talk. I had just a few hours to check out a couple of things and then head back home to meet Sally.

  After settling into Steele’s chair, I opened his right-hand bottom drawer. It was a very deep drawer. Inside, color-coded folders hung suspended from slim metal rails. Inside each hanging folder were well-labeled manila file folders containing information Steele needed at his fingertips. Some of the folders contained personal information, such as the legal associations he belonged to, and others contained information on various Woobie internal committees. I pushed the files back and out of the way. Underneath them was a false bottom with a small keyhole. The key in my hand fit the tiny lock perfectly. After a quick turn, I was able to pull up the lid. It was only open halfway when I saw what I was after—Steele’s passport. It was resting on top of a neat stack of papers.

  Steele used this false-bottom drawer mostly as a personal safe deposit box. Inside, he generally kept things like his passport, will, birth certificate, and important papers on other aspects of his life that he liked having immediate access to but didn’t want to keep at home. The first time I found out about the drawer was when a client brought in some old bearer bonds. Steele stashed them in this drawer for temporary safekeeping and gave me the spare key. I’ve had it since. Once he had me bring his passport to him after he arrived at the Orange County Airport and realized he’d forgotten it.

  I looked down at the passport in my hand. If Steele hopped a plane out of the country, he would need this. If he forgot it, as he did before, he either would have called me or returned on his own to retrieve it. Steele was methodical and seldom made mistakes. If he was up to something shady that involved skipping the country, he would not have forgotten this. But then, just because Steele’s car was in the parking lot for the international terminal didn’t mean he took an international flight. Still, sifting through what little I did know about real-life white-collar criminals, it would seem that if he did do something illegal and tank his impeccable legal career, he’d want to leave the country. And knowing Steele, it would be somewhere that boasted warm weather, sandy beaches, and a bikini-clad Welcome Wagon.

  My head hurt like hell. I closed my eyes, rubbed my temples, and tried to think. As I started swinging gently in Steele’s chair, I heard the familiar squeak … squeak. Damn if I didn’t miss the squeak … squeak. I sat like that for a short while—thinking, concentrating, and squeaking—when an idea struck me like a thunderbolt. At the same time, Steele’s office door was suddenly flung open by a shocked Fran Evans.

  “Oh,” she said, quickly recovering her usual frosty demeanor, “I thought maybe Mike was back.” She tugged at the hem of the cream tunic sweater she was wearing and smoothed it down over her jeans.

  “Nope, just me.” Before Fran could get any closer, I pulled some of the hanging file folders over the hidden box and rummaged through a few of them, hoping I looked like I knew what I was doing. I slipped the passport into one of them while I rifled. “Some things came up on Steele’s calendar, and I thought maybe I should attend to them instead of waiting for him to return.”

  “Such loyalty is so commendable, Odelia.”

  I glanced up at her. The words sounded sincere, but I immediately saw from her eyes that they were said to mock me.

  “My loyalty, Fran, is to the firm. Steele may have vanished, but his work did not. If Steele misses a deadline, it reflects badly on the firm, which can affect all of us.”

  “You’re such a good little paralegal, Odelia. Always looking out for the firm and that arrogant ass Steele.”

  My first impulse was to throw my bulk at the bitch, but instead I sniffed and rolled my eyes, not caring if she saw me or not.

  “Funny, isn’t it?” she said, eyeing me warily. “Steele is missing and so are the documents we need to prove our case for Silhouette.”

  “Nothing funny about that at all.”

  “I didn’t mean funny as in ha ha funny, Odelia. I meant funny as in strange or suspicious.”

  “If you’re accusing Mike Steele of doing something unethical, Fran, don’t beat around the bush, just come out and say it.”

  “I’m not saying Steele did anything wrong, just that everything seems, shall we say, too coincidental.”

  Hmm, let’s see, I calculated to myself, if I climbed up onto Steele’s desk, I could launch myself at Fran with much more velocity than if I tried it from ground level. As if reading my mind, Fran took a step backward, closer to the open door.

  My headache increased. I scrunched my eyes at her as I spoke, hoping it made me look mean and not just in pain. “I don’t know what you mean, Fran. Steele is missing, but that doesn’t mean he had anything to do with those documents.” I paused and sniffled. “Besides, you were handling them as well. Maybe it was you who tampered with them?”

  Her mouth fell open in indignation. “What? Are you accusing me of doing something with those documents?” She was outraged. “How dare you!”

  In equal outrage, I snapped back. “And how dare you accuse Michael Steele of the very same thing, and he’s not even here to defend himself.”

  “No, he’s not, and that’s the point, isn’t it?” She took a deep breath and started to leave. Just before walking out the door, she turned to me. “Maybe we should be checking your car for those documents, Odelia. Maybe you had something to do with this. I’ve often wondered about the two of you. Maybe you planned this together, and he left you behind to take the heat. It’s something he’d do and something you’d fall for.”

  Had Fran delayed her departure by another minute, I know I would have assaulted her and probably been fired for it. Hmm, might have been worth it, especially since I know it would have felt great, and I could use a little instant gratification right now.

  As soon as Fran left, I tried to get my thoughts back on track. I had an idea, but it was one that was rather outrageous. But first I had to close up Steele’s desk. It wouldn’t do to leave it open for anyone to find and rummage through. Locating the file where I dropped his passport, I pulled it out and dropped it back into the secret box, but when I tried to close and lock the lid, something got in the way. I opened the lid wider and felt around inside. Something was definitely stuck, papers of some sort.

  Dropping the lid, I went to work removing the hanging folders until the entire box beneath them was exposed. This allowed me to pull up the lid all the way. It was a good-sized box, taking up the entire lower portion of the file drawer. Inside, in addition to the personal documents I expected to see, was a file folder. It was squished into the box down at the far end and was interfering with the hinge. After wiggling it a bit, I was able to free the folder and pull it out. Inside were documents, original documents, all pertaining to Silhouette and the other parties to the lawsuit.

  What did this mean? Was Steele behind the document tampering after all? And what about the documents found in Steele’s ca
r? Where those more originals or just good copies of these?

  I stopped speculating and tried to put myself in Steele’s head. Once I did, I saw a different picture. Maybe Steele hid these documents to protect them. Karen had said he was preoccupied with the case, with something fishy. Maybe he had discovered the tampering himself and hid the originals to make sure nothing more happened until he could figure out what was going on. Now that sounds more like the Michael Steele I know.

  I checked my watch. It was almost noon. Quickly, I put the file back into the hidden box and locked it. After the hanging files were replaced, I looked over my handiwork to make sure the false bottom was not noticeable to anyone snooping around the drawer. Satisfied, I returned to my office, grabbed my bag, and headed for Laguna Beach and Steele’s condo once again. If I hurried, I could make it there and back home before Sally arrived.

  With no weekday traffic, the trip to Laguna Beach took less time than it did before. However, when I arrived in the seaside town itself, it was alive with people out and about enjoying the warmer-than-usual late October. This time, I didn’t dawdle to take in Steele’s décor and to wonder if anyone was home. Instead, I went straight up the stairs to the extra room and to Steele’s desk. On the desk, right where I’d last seen it, was the portfolio containing bills waiting to be paid. I sorted through them until I located a couple of credit card statements. I also dug around the drawers to see if I could find a checkbook of some kind. I don’t recall Steele ever having a checkbook on him. I knew he paid almost everything by either credit card or debit card and paid his bills online. But even so, I was sure he would be the type who would keep meticulous entries. I located the checkbook and its register in the middle drawer and was pleased to see I was right. Items were entered and immediately subtracted from the balance. Except for a check he’d written a day before his trip and a cash withdrawal on the same day, there hadn’t been any deductions for his mortgage, utilities, car payment, or credit cards since late September. It looked like Steele paid his bills all at once at the end of the month. I checked the entries for several months and located only two credit card names. These matched the two statements I had taken from the portfolio.

  I tossed the checkbook and the statements into my bag and grabbed my address book and cell phone. Flipping open the phone, I came face to face with a photo of Greg I had saved to the screen. I looked at it, screwed up my face to chase back the tears, and was pleased that this time I won the battle of the blubbering. The pain was getting easier to take, maybe because a week had gone by or I had thrown myself so deep into finding Steele that I didn’t allow the break up with Greg to take center stage. Whatever the reason, I vowed to get past it and keep moving. A moving target is more difficult to hit; it’s true for dodging both bullets and emotions.

  Taking a deep breath, I punched in some numbers from a cryptic entry in the address book. Immediately, I heard a mechanical voice telling me to leave my name and number, nothing more.

  “It’s me, Odelia,” I said into the phone, almost in a whisper. “Call me on my cell if you can.” I didn’t leave my number. There would be no need.

  When my cell phone rang just a few minutes later, I jumped. But when I answered, I didn’t find the person I expected, but Melinda of Melinda’s Maid Service.

  Once I was over my surprise, I asked her the same questions I had asked Let Mother Do It. This time I received a positive response in a negative tone.

  “Yeah, I used to clean that selfish bastard’s place.”

  I nodded to myself. Yep, this sounded like the right person. “Used to? I take it you don’t anymore?”

  “Not for about three weeks,” Melinda scoffed. “He called me about three weeks ago and demanded that I make an unscheduled cleaning visit. Said some plants had been delivered, and the delivery company had made a mess. Wanted me to drop everything I was doing and come right over and clean it up.”

  “And you didn’t?”

  “Hell, no. I was in the middle of my daughter’s baby shower. I told the fool where he could find his vacuum cleaner and broom, and said I’d be by on my regular day, which was in just two days. I always cleaned his place on Friday.”

  “Knowing Mr. Steele as I do, I’m sure that didn’t go over very well.”

  “Like the proverbial freaking lead balloon. He said he wanted me there that night. Now, mind you, it was already eight o’clock in the evening. I wasn’t going anywhere except to bed after the baby shower. I had a full day of cleaning scheduled the next day—always do every day.”

  “And Mr. Steele fired you on the spot?”

  “No, not then and there, but the next night he called me and said he’d found someone else to do his cleaning—someone, he said, who was more flexible.”

  I shook my head. It sounded as if Steele was just as charming outside of the office as he was in the office. “Melinda, do you know who he hired to replace you?”

  “It was a company I’d never heard of before—had a cute name too. He said someone at the office gave him the referral.”

  “Let Mother Do It,” I suggested.

  “Yeah, that’s it. Let Mother Do It. He told me they provided lots of extra services besides cleaning. He was really rubbing my nose in it.”

  Hmm, and Mother claimed they had never done any work for Steele.

  “I’m very sorry, Melinda. I’ve worked for Mr. Steele for a while now, and I feel your pain. But are you sure Let Mother Do It took over the cleaning?”

  “Positive.” She paused and I could feel her get ready to blow. “You know, I cleaned once a week for that bastard for over four years, and he tossed me out just because I wouldn’t leave my daughter’s shower to sweep up some dirt. He and that Mother company can just kiss my saggy old ass.”

  The call I was waiting for came just as I was pulling into my garage. When the phone rang, I checked out the display. It was a blocked call. It always was.

  “Hello, little mama, nice to hear from you.”

  “Hi, Willie, thanks for calling back. I need to ask you something.”

  Willie Porter was once known as William Proctor, the CEO of a high-flying Internet investment company known as Investanet. The company turned out to be a scam, and Willie hit the trail with hundreds of millions of dollars, leaving behind just as many broken dreams and broken lives. Willie and I crossed paths when I was looking into the sudden death of Sterling Price, one of Woobie’s clients. Somewhere during the investigation, Willie and I became friends, and while I’m not in the habit of having fugitives on my Christmas card list, from time to time it does come in handy—like now.

  Every few months, Willie calls me, and we chat about life, books, movies, whatever comes to mind. I think in some way I provide a sense of connection to his past “normal” life, which he misses. He also gave me a number to reach him if I ever had the need. The area code is for somewhere in Idaho, but I’m sure it’s just a simple land phone line connected to an answering machine in an empty room or closet. Every now and then, the number changes, and he gives me a new one. I have no idea where Willie is, and I never know when he’s going to call; knowing how sophisticated he is in staying hidden, I’m sure I’d never be able to trace him. This was only the second time I had called him, the first being on the anniversary of the day I killed someone.

  “What’s on your mind, little mama?”

  I gave him a quick rundown of recent events, including Donny’s murder and the fact that I didn’t believe for a second that Steele had skipped the country.

  “So what do you think?” I asked when I was done.

  He laughed. “For someone so intent on living the straight and narrow, you sure do get tangled up in some pretty wild messes.”

  “That’s hardly the issue here, Willie.”

  He laughed again. “No, but it is fun to think about.” He paused. I waited. “If your boss was following my lead and skipping the country, that passport you found wouldn’t mean a thing. Criminals don’t travel under their own names and with au
thentic ID. If he did mess with those documents for his own personal gain and is as methodical as you say, he would have planned it in advance, giving himself enough time to obtain a fake ID and passport.”

  “Is it that easy to get a fake passport?”

  “You’re so damn cute when you’re naïve.” Willie laughed again. I frowned. “Fake passports are very easy to come by but very expensive, especially those that are virtually undetectable.”

  “So finding his real passport means nothing?”

  “’Fraid not, little mama, but I will tell you what I do find interesting, and that’s his car. No self-respecting high-level crook would leave his car pointing in the direction he traveled. That’s the big red flag to me. If your boss is as smart as you say, he would have left the car there and taken a cab away from the airport, maybe to a boat, or train, or another waiting car. Or—” He stopped.

  “Or what?”

  “Or someone planted the car at the airport to make it look like he skipped town.” He paused. “Did your boss have any enemies?”

  “Almost as many as you have, but for different reasons.”

  He chuckled, then cleared his throat. “Little mama, I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news, but it could be your boss stepped on the wrong toes—lawyers do it all the time, especially upstanding ones.”

  I nearly fainted as I pictured what Willie was trying to tell me. “You mean he might be dead?”

  “It’s a distinct possibility. A carjacker would have taken his fancy car and left him by the side of the road. But someone with a score to settle might make sure he’s never found.”

  A single involuntary sob escaped my lips.

  “You okay, little mama?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Just have a bad cold.”

  There was a moment of silence before Willie continued. “Are the police involved yet?”

  “Yes, but not really. There has been a missing person report filed, but when his car was found, I think most people just assumed he left California. They say there’s been no evidence of foul play.”