Unprepared for the show of affection, Grace withdrew. ‘It’s good to meet you too, and I’m sorry if my sudden appearance has inconvenienced you.’
‘Don’t be silly. Now, I hope you don’t mind, but Frank and I usually eat in the kitchen.’
‘Please don’t go to any trouble just for me.’
‘Come on through. Dinner’s nothing fancy, just red snapper and fresh greens. Frank! Are you going to sit reading that newspaper all night?’
He folded it up and tossed it aside. ‘I’m coming, ma. I wouldn’t want to ignore our lovely guest!’
The kitchen was warm and homely. The aroma of freshly baked biscuits filled the air and Grace realized that she was hungry. At the end of dinner Maisie produced what Grace determined was the largest key lime pie she’d ever seen.
‘It’s our speciality,’ said Maisie.
Frank beamed at his wife. ‘This is citrus country. Maisie makes the best key lime pie in the state, so you can imagine how many wayfaring strangers flock to us to get a little taste.’
Grace took a bite. ‘It’s absolute heaven. I’m a fair baker, but I’ve never tasted anything like this. You must give me the recipe.’
Maisie beamed. ‘You’re awfully sweet, dear. Just enjoy it.’
‘Have you known Jack long?’ asked Grace.
‘Since he was a baby,’ Frank replied. ‘His daddy, Hank, and I worked in the same precinct. Jack was six when his mom took ill. She died three years later. Hank found it hard to cope with two boisterous youngsters, so Maisie and I kind of stepped in. Jack and Lottie, that’s what we’ve always called his sister Charlotte, came here after school. Maisie would feed them, see that they did their homework, and if Hank was working the late shift they stayed over. Jack was fifteen, when Hank passed on. Charlotte was away at university by then, and rather than bring her home to look after her baby brother, Maisie and I took him in until he was old enough to go to college.’
‘He’s been like a son to us,’ Maisie smiled. ‘Never forgets my birthday, and spends Thanksgiving with us whenever he can. We don’t often see Charlotte. She’s married now and living in Buffalo. Three kids too! She’s a heck of a mom. What about you, Grace? Are your folks still alive?’
‘They died in a boating accident while on holiday in Thailand some years ago. I have a sister, Catherine. She was sixteen at the time of their death. I gave up university to look after and support her. A year later, I married my husband, Daniel. Jack’s probably told you he died a few weeks ago.’
‘How tragic for you, child,’ Maisie said. ‘Are you and your sister close?’
‘We were, but lately she’s been busy with her career. She’s a marketing executive for a pharmaceutical company. Her work is very involved, and she spends a lot of time on the road visiting hospitals and attending conferences.’
‘It’s sad when siblings grow apart,’ said Frank. ‘Your sister should be supporting you at a time like this. Do you have any children?’
Grace felt a twinge of disappointment. ‘No. I’ll have to hope that Catherine settles down one day and gives me lots of nieces and nephews.’
Frank placed the coffee tray on the table and poured Grace a cup. ‘Has Jack shown you the pictures of his daughter, Emilia? She’s a real cutie.’
Grace’s heart stopped. ‘No, he hasn’t as a matter of fact.’
‘Oh, she’s going to be a heartbreaker, that one. Six weeks old and already she’s got him wrapped round her little finger. He’ll be riding shotgun by the time she’s old enough to date.’
Grace’s hand shook, spilling hot coffee into her lap and all over the white lace tablecloth. She jumped to her feet, her face a vivid scarlet. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry. I…I’m not usually so clumsy.’
A war of emotions raged within her. Jack had a daughter, a six-week-old baby daughter.
She tried to do the math, and was shocked to realize that Rosa was already pregnant when she and Jack met at Wimbledon. No wonder he didn’t invite her to stay at the condo — he was married and his wife and daughter were living there.
Frank grabbed the roll of paper towel and started mopping up the brown liquid. ‘No harm done. I’m ham-fisted myself at times.’ As he passed her chair on the way to the trashcan, Maisie glared at him, a silent, ‘How could you’ message in her eyes.
‘What’d I do?’ he whispered. Her only response was to thump him hard on the arm.
Grace swallowed the despair in her throat. ‘Jack and I have been so busy trying to straighten out my late husband’s affairs that we haven’t had chance to catch up.’ She turned to Maisie.
‘Thank you for a delicious dinner. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll go to my room. I…I didn’t get much sleep last night.’
She all but ran up the stairs. Once inside her room, she flung herself on the bed and sobbed.
CHAPTER SEVEN
If Frank and Maisie noticed the dark rings under Grace’s eyes when she came down to breakfast the following morning, they said nothing.
While Maisie flipped pancakes with ease that came from years of practise, Grace sat down at the table. She helped herself to a cup of coffee, added a splash of cream and stirred the cup. After a night spent tossing and turning she felt drained, hollow, lifeless.
‘If you stir that cup any longer you’ll take the pattern right off the china.’
Grace jumped at the sound of Jack’s voice. ‘What?’
‘You were someplace else. Maisie asked you three times if you want syrup or fruit with your pancakes.’
Grace pushed the cup away. ‘I’m sorry, Maisie, I seem to have lost my appetite this morning.’ She swivelled in her chair to look at Jack who leaned against the doorframe. ‘I didn’t hear you come in.’
‘I’m not surprised. That was some day-dream you were having.’ His smile was as intimate as a kiss.
Grace rose from the table. Anger replaced pain, slicing through to her soul. ‘I’ll go fetch the bank statements,’ she said tersely.
Jack caught her hand. ‘Hey, what’s up?’
Grace frowned. ‘I didn’t sleep well.’
‘That’s as maybe. But something else is bugging you. I can see it in your eyes.’
The screen door creaked. Frank came in from the garden. He took one look at Grace and Jack squaring off and tactfully withdrew.
‘There’s fresh coffee in the pot, help yourselves,’ Maisie announced. ‘I’m going to help Frank in the garden.’
Jack didn’t move. He just waited for Grace to answer, his expression one of barely suppressed tolerance.
‘Are you hell bent on making my headache worse, or just being obtuse?’
‘Neither one, but I’d sure like to know who, or what, made you so cranky this morning.’
Grace regarded him impassively then strode out of the room.
Jack watched her walk away. The pale peach linen dress she wore couldn’t conceal her curves. She’d left her hair loose. It glistened against her creamy skin like polished amber. He caught the citrus and jasmine notes of her perfume, swallowed hard, and tried to forget how good she felt in his arms. He had no business thinking about her in anything other than a platonic way, but she was like a drug, and right now he couldn’t get enough of her.
While he waited for Grace to return with the bank statements, he poured a cup of coffee. Maybe a shot of caffeine would stop him thinking about what might have been, and concentrate his mind on more important matters, like finding out what her husband had been involved in.
When Grace re-entered the kitchen a few moments later, he was sat at the table reading the newspaper. She pulled out a chair, sat down next to him and opened the envelope from the bank.
‘Did you look at these last night?’ Jack asked, putting down the paper and taking the sheaf of papers from her hand.
‘Only briefly. The first statement is for March—four months before the date of the first entry in the passport. That suggests someone other than Daniel opened the account.’
‘I’m guessing P
arous. It’d be easy enough for him to do that on behalf of a client.’ He examined the first statement and then compared it to the next three in the pile. ‘There’s a pattern here. Each weekly deposit is small enough not to attract the attention of the banking authorities who track transfers of more than ten thousand dollars.’
‘The same amount is transferred out of the account exactly one week later. Where does it go, back to the client?’
‘Probably into an offshore account or a limited liability company that no one individual technically owns. That way the authorities, such as the Inland Revenue Service have hard time unravelling the paper trail.’
‘How do you know that?’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Years of experience. When did Daniel buy the beach house?’
‘June.’
Jack flipped through the statements until he found the appropriate one. ‘Look,’ he slid the sheet of paper toward her. ‘Five withdrawals. I’ll bet a year’s salary that they are equivalent to the down payment on Sand Dollars.’
Grace blanched. ‘Half a million dollars?’ She quickly did the math. ‘Why, that’s nearly two hundred and fifty thousand pounds. Where did Daniel get that amount of money?’
‘Guess.’
‘Honestly, I have no idea.’
‘Well, start thinking. This ain’t no board game, honey. You don’t collect two hundred pounds every time you pass go. He got the cash from somewhere very real, Grace.’
‘Do you think Daniel embezzled the money from his clients?’
‘No, the deposits are regular and the sums involved are too great. My bet is on a money laundering scam.’
‘Money laundering?’ She stared at him, baffled.
‘The criminal takes his profits from drug trafficking or other activities and moves it from one offshore account to another or from one offshore company to another. They may do this several times every day. By the time the money arrives back in the country, no one knows that it was anything but legitimate. It’s been washed clean, so to speak.’
‘Can’t the authorities do something to stop this?’
Jack shot her a twisted smile. ‘Banks follow pretty strict codes, so it’s not easy following the paper trail. It’s like trying to net a single fish in a shoal of thousands. Offshore banks and secrecy havens make it easy for drug traffickers to build complex international networks. Asia, the Caribbean, Central America, and Europe all have major offshore centres.’
Stunned and sickened, Grace gazed at Jack in despair. ‘You’re kidding me.’
‘Nope.’
‘And you think Daniel was involved in a scheme like this?’
‘There’s absolutely no doubt in my mind. I’m also sure that when we dig deeper, we’ll find this isn’t the only account your late husband had. Go grab your purse. There’s someone I want you to meet.’
Grace shook her head. ‘Where are you dragging me to this time?’
‘I’m taking you to meet my boss.’
Her hands clenched. So did her whole body. ‘Wait a minute. I thought you worked for the embassy?’
Jack’s green eyes narrowed. ‘I was on secondment.’
‘What are you? Some sort of cop?’
‘Not exactly. Now, are you ready, or do I haul you out of here in steel bracelets?’
‘You wouldn’t dare.’
The glint in his eyes said he would.
‘Mike doesn’t like to be kept waiting.’
Grace blinked and re-focused her gaze. ‘You’re unconscionable!’
‘That’s putting it nicely. Anyway, let’s hope that Mike believes your explanation.’
Grace said nothing on the drive downtown. She looked out the windshield, unblinking, filled with icy rage. By the time Jack pulled his SUV into the parking lot the silence had become unbearable.
Despite the anger seething in his blood, his voice remained smooth and calm. ‘You asked for my help, Grace, and that’s exactly what I’m giving you. As much as I’d like to keep this just between us, I can’t. It’s against Bureau policy.’
‘What Bureau?’
‘There’s only one.’
‘As in FBI?’
Jack nodded. ‘Before I met him, Mike worked with a number of international organisations, including your Serious Organized Crime Agency. He cracked quite a few money laundering rings in his time.’
‘Which is why you want him to meet me.’
‘Which is why I want you to meet him.’
They walked toward an unremarkable single-storey grey concrete building. The Bureau’s Miami field office looked the same as every other building on the block. There was no sign. It didn’t need one. At the door, Jack showed his ID to the guard on the desk, signed in, and handed Grace a visitors’ badge.
‘This way.’ He took Grace’s hand and ushered her down a long corridor and into a sterile white office. Three darkly suited men and an equally darkly suited woman sat in front of a bank of computers. They murmured a brief ‘hello’ in acknowledgement of Jack’s presence then went back to what they were doing.
At the far end of the office was another room. Jack knocked on the door and then stood aside to allow Grace to enter.
‘Grace, meet Special Agent in Charge, Mike Zupanik. Mike’s head of the field office here in Miami.’
Mike shook her hand then rested his hip against the corner of this desk. ‘Mrs. Elliott, why don’t you take a seat? Jack’s already filled me in on why you’re here.’
Grace sat down, her gaze fixed on the older man’s face.
‘I don’t know what he’s told you Mr. Zupanik, but I assure you I’ve done nothing wrong. Jack seems to believe that my late husband was involved in some sort of criminal activity. All I know is that he left me a property on Gasparilla Island. I refuse to accept he’s done anything illegal until evidence proves to the contrary.’
Mike ran a hand over his baldhead. ‘Now, Mrs. Elliott, no one is accusing you or your late husband of anything. However, we do need to clear up a few things. Let’s start with this one. Where did your husband get the money to buy the beach house? You have to admit that was a pretty big wad of cash.’
Grace bit her lip, but said nothing. Jack tossed the bank statements on the table.
‘Mike, take a look at these. There’s over two million dollars in that account. And what’s more, the account manager, a guy called Cody, implied he’d met Grace before.’
Mike raised an eyebrow. ‘They say accountants stay close to the money, but that’s a lot of cash for a bean counter. Excuse me, Grace. That’s American slang. So here’s another question. Can you explain how that amount of money came to be in your husband’s account?’
‘No.’
‘You were his wife, why not?’
Grace coloured under Zupanik’s steady gaze. ‘When Daniel died our bank account held less than two thousand pounds and there was roughly twice that sum in our savings account. Our home is mortgaged, and my car is six years old. Daniel’s car was leased through the business. As far as I’m aware, his partnership in the accountancy firm was our only source of income.’
‘I understand your husband never discussed his work with you. Is that correct?’
‘Daniel believed in client confidentiality. He preferred to stay late at the office rather than bring work home.’
‘Was your husband’s business in trouble?’
‘I have no idea. You’d have to speak to Shaun, his partner.’
‘What about debts? Did he have a gambling habit?’
‘Not that I’m aware of.’
Mike frowned. ‘Could someone have been threatening him?’
Grace lifted her chin, meeting his icy gaze. ‘Why are you asking me all these questions, Mr. Zupanik?’
‘I’m trying to establish whether or not your husband had reason to kill himself.’
‘Daniel was as well balanced as you or I, and had no reason to take his own life.’
Jack leaned against the window ledge and let out a long sigh. ‘I told you, Mik
e. Grace knows nothing.’
‘Everybody knows something,’ Mike said, his steely eyes bored into Jack.
‘Not this time.’
Mike gave an impatient shrug and turned to Grace once more. ‘Tell me about the guy who approached you in the graveyard.’
‘We only spoke for a few minutes.’
Ring of Lies Page 8