4 Slightly Irregular

by Rhonda Pollero

  “Maybe you’re imagining things,” I suggested as I slipped off my shoes. Maybe I’d been the one who’d left the cabinet doors in the kitchen ajar. And maybe I’d pulled back the comforter when I was packing.

  “So where’s the money?” I checked all the obvious places—kitchen drawers, dresser drawers, anyplace Becky could have hidden my windfall. She could still have it with her, I guess.

  I made do with my coffeepot, missing the Cuisinart that would take three to five business days to arrive. I brewed a half pot and went to the refrigerator for cream. I smiled. There on the top shelf, right next to the French vanilla creamer was an envelope. “Clever,” I said as I opened the envelope and began counting hundred-dollar bills. It also explained why my house looked disturbed. Becky must have been rooting around for a secure hiding place.

  I was tempted to get naked and lie on the sofa covered in money, but that took way too much effort. Even though it was barely after six, I was exhausted and just wanted to call for Chinese and veg out in front of the TV for the night. After unpacking, I decided a nice soak in the tub would get rid of the travel cooties and help me relax. Okay, so it would probably work better if I hadn’t taken a travel mug of coffee with me into the roman tub, but I needed the caffeine.

  After a nice soak, I pulled on a pair of Gap Body shorts and matching cami top. My hair was twisted up in a ponytail, and I’d scrubbed my face clean of makeup. It was my relaxation ensemble, and it felt great. By rote, I dialed the Chinese restaurant and requested my usual—moo shu and an order of fried dumplings. I was almost salivating just ordering, so the twenty minutes they said I’d have to wait felt like an eternity.

  When the bell rang, I practically raced to the door, opening it wide for the nice delivery guy who always slips me a few extra fortune cookies. Taking my two containers into the living room, I pointed the remote at the TV and started channel surfing.

  I’d stop every now and then, just long enough to eat whatever happened to land on my chopsticks. My whole house smelled like sesame and hoisin. It was a beautiful thing.

  I ate until I thought I’d explode. I was full, but it was a good full. That’s one of the advantages to living alone—the ability to pig out without anyone seeing you.

  With my belly full and my body exhausted, I made an early night of it.

  The early night resulted in an early morning. I was up, showered, and on my second pot of coffee before Today came on. This meant I had to suffer through the local news sharing “pet pics,” a parade of pampered animals, many posed in costume and driving golf carts.

  While a photo of Godiva, the chocolate lab, filled the screen, I pulled my teal Ralph Lauren sleeveless matte jersey dress over my head. It had a slightly draped neckline and was pin-tucked on one side, making for a very flattering fit. I put large silver hoops in my ears and worked the matching bangles on my right arm. I chose a funky white-and-silver Swatch watch and a pair of Boutique 9 pumps to complete my ensemble. The shoes were discounted because there was a slight imperfection in the tonal straps over the beveled toe. You’d have to get down on your hands and knees to see the flaw, so I was pretty sure I could pull off the look without anyone noticing the difference. The dress was a worn-once find on eBay, and at eight dollars, I’d taken a chance, which had paid off nicely. It cost me more to have it cleaned and hemmed than it did to buy. But I was still under twenty bucks, total.

  Even though it went against every instinct, I decided to go to work early. Well, that wasn’t exactly true—I was going to my office, but I really had no intention of working until the stroke of nine. I just wanted to talk to Becky so I could thank her and get the scoop on Tiara64.

  I had an image in my mind. A tall, bleached blonde with fake boobs and false eyelashes; toned, tanned, and a little trashy. Actually, I’d just described Liam’s ex-wife. Now that I was thinking about it, Ashley, aka Beer Barbie, did look like a pageant person. She was always meticulously made-up and dressed in tight, revealing clothing. Grudgingly, I had to admit that she carried it off. What would have looked trashy on someone else looked sexy on her, in a Hooters kinda way.

  “Great,” I mumbled when I pulled into the parking lot, only to find that Becky’s red BMW was nowhere to be found. The only other car was the big, banana-yellow Hummer H3 that belonged to Vain Dane.

  Digging my phone out of my purse, I pressed the speed-dial button for Becky’s cell. It was still going directly to voice mail. Maybe Becky was just taking some personal time. If anything was wrong, I reasoned, Liv and Jane would have called me. It was already nearing eight, so I wasn’t going to sit in my car for over an hour. I grabbed my tote and my purse, put my phone in my purse, unlocked and relocked the door, then took the elevator to the second floor.

  Flipping light switches as I went along, I reached my office and dialed into the company mailbox system. “You’ve reached Finley Tanner. I’m unable to take your calls today, June seventh. Please leave your name and number, and I’ll return your call as soon as possible.” Then I dialed Margaret’s extension and got her voice mail. I couldn’t resist. “It’s Finley, and it’s eight thirty on Monday morning. When you get in, please check to see if a package was delivered for me last Friday. Thank you.” I wasn’t expecting a package; I just wanted to screw with Margaret. Lord knew she screwed with me often enough.

  I turned on my computer and poured myself coffee while it booted up. When I clicked on my e-mail, I scrolled the list to find the most pressing. There was one from Becky time-stamped at 3:31 on Sunday. It read:

  Left the money in the fridge. Working at home on Ellen’s stuff from the drawer. I’ll call you in a few days.

  “In a few days?” I whispered. I couldn’t think of a time when we’d gone days without communicating. Whether it be text, voice mail, or e-mail, we were always in touch. Something seemed hinky. Knowing Becky had had lunch with Liv and Jane yesterday, I picked up my phone and dialed Jane.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, I—” My extension buzzed. “I’ll call you right back.” I switched over to the other line. “Finley Tanner.”

  “Please come to my office immediately,” Vain Dane instructed.

  “I’ll be right up.”

  I’d have to wait to call Jane back. When Vain Dane said immediately, he meant like yesterday. Grabbing a pen and pad from my top drawer, I paused for a second. Drawer. Becky’s message had mentioned Ellen’s drawer. Could she have been referring to the Department of Corrections letter? That might explain why she was working from home. Maybe she’d come across something she didn’t want anyone at the firm to know.

  I couldn’t stand there pondering, so I quickly made my way up to Vain Dane’s office. The executive sentry wasn’t at her desk, so I walked down the east hallway, stopping at Dane’s door and knocking.

  “Come.”

  Shake. Beg. Liver treat. “Good morning,” I said.

  “Morning. Sit.”

  Sit. Lie down. Heel. Liver treat. I sat in one of two leather chairs across from his glass-topped desk. As the seconds ticked away, a zillion possibilities went through my mind. Was he going to fire me for missing a half day even though I had given them notice? Was he going to praise me for showing up early?

  “I spoke to Ms. Jameson yesterday. Have you completed everything in the Egghardt matter?”

  How did he get in touch with Becky when I couldn’t, and why on a Sunday? “All I have left to do is contact the people living on the property; if they haven’t found the document guaranteeing their right to live on the property for life, the best solution would probably be to relocate them to the southwest edge of the land. Then they could have additional acreage for planting and their cattle can continue to graze. This option would prevent litigation and, if acceptable to Lenora Egghardt, settle everything.”

  “Contact the tenants and then set up a meeting with Lenora.”

  “Should I wait until Becky has free time in her schedule?”

  “No. She’ll be working at home, probably for a
week or so, just to catch up on all the work left undone by Ellen.”

  “A week?”

  “Possibly.” He scrutinized me the same way he scrutinized his buffed, manicured fingernails. “Do you know something I don’t?”

  “No, sir. I’m just surprised. With Ellen gone, it seems like an odd time for Bec—Ms. Jameson to be taking time off.”

  “She isn’t taking time off, she just didn’t feel as if she could get up to speed and deal with the interruptions here at the office, all at the same time.”

  That didn’t sound like Becky. She could multitask like a pro. Sure, she was probably overtaxed doing her job and Ellen’s all at once, but Becky wasn’t a time-out kind of person. “I see,” I lied.

  “Do a thirty-day notice to relocate to the tenants and send it up to me before you mail it. No, do it, and then petition to reopen the estate before you contact the tenants. Make the demand on behalf of the estate.”

  “Shouldn’t I run this by Lenora first?”

  “You can, with our recommendation that she take our advice to settle this as quickly and amiably as possible. Litigation could get expensive and won’t get her equestrian center built.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good, then we’re done.” He smoothed his hand over his gel-soaked hair.

  “Okay.” I stood. “I’m glad I came in early so I can get on this right away.”

  “Uh-huh,” he mumbled as he picked up a letter and was already reading it.

  Apparently, I was not going to get any props for coming in before nine. By the time I got back to my office, Margaret had left me a voice mail stating that no packages had been delivered, but she had held my mail downstairs and I was free to get it at any time. Margaret, one; Finley, zero.

  I called Jane back. “Sorry. I was summoned to the inner sanctum. Listen, was Becky okay when you met her for lunch yesterday?”

  “She didn’t show up.”

  “What?”

  “She was a no-show. But she did send a text.”

  “When?”

  “Around three something. Said she was swamped with work from Ellen’s drawer.”

  “She said Ellen’s drawer?”

  “Yes.”

  Shit.

  Friendship is like peeing yourself, only you get that warm feeling.

  fourteen

  Becky hadn’t answered a single text, e-mail, or call for more than three days, and I was starting to worry. Correction, I was worried. I was standing outside her condo in Juno Beach waiting on Liv and Jane. The sun was just beginning to set, but it was still warm, low to mid eighties.

  Liv’s champagne-colored Mercedes pulled into one of the visitor’s parking spots. Jane was right behind her, and she pulled into the space next to my bright, shiny pink convertible. Liv and Jane both wore their concern on their faces.

  “Okay. Have you knocked?” Liv asked.

  “For about ten minutes,” I said.

  “Then let’s go in,” Jane said.

  Taking the elevator up to the fifth floor, I kept fidgeting with the spare key I had in my hand. I didn’t want to go in alone because, quite frankly, I was afraid of what I might find. I’ve walked in on bodies before, and I couldn’t imagine walking in on a friend’s body.

  I paused at the door with the key caught in midair. “Are we ready?”

  “Yes.”

  I turned the key and opened the door. As I did, I pushed aside a pile of mail that had collected as it fell through the postal slot. Aside from the stack of catalogues and other things, nothing seemed out of place. Well, except that Becky wasn’t inside.

  “Now what do we do?” Jane asked.

  “Look around. See if anything is weird.”

  “All this mail is weird,” Jane said as she gathered it up and placed it on the kitchen counter.

  While Jane went through the mail, Liv did the guest room and I took the master. The bed was made. The little dish that Becky kept her keys in was empty. I didn’t see her purse, nor did anything look disturbed. I went into the master bath, and it too was neat, but what I saw gave me a chill. There on the vanity I saw Becky’s toothbrush and all her makeup. There was no way she’d go anywhere without those.

  “Nothing here!” Liv yelled.

  I caught up with her in the hallway and told her what I’d discovered. “Becky would never leave her MAC behind,” Liv said.

  “I know. So where is she?”

  “Her purse and her car are gone. If anything happened to her, I doubt the suspect would allow her to grab her purse before being kidnapped,” Liv said.

  “Her car may not be missing,” Jane called from the kitchen.

  When we went in to see what was up, we found her waving an official-looking envelope. “This is from the Palm Beach Police. Traffic Division.”

  “Becky got a ticket?” I asked.

  Jane shrugged and held the envelope up to the light. “It looks like one. Why would she get a ticket in Palm Beach?”

  “She met someone for me on Sunday,” I said. God, what if Tiara64 really was a serial killer? I shivered. “Now I’m sure we should call the police.”

  Liv had her phone out. “Palm Beach or Palm Beach County?”

  “Palm Beach County.” I watched as Jane’s expression dimmed. I couldn’t blame her. Not when she had such bad memories from her last encounter with law enforcement.

  “Let’s open the ticket first,” I suggested.

  Jane ripped along the perforated lines and unfolded the form. “Illegal parking. And her car was towed by Lawson’s Towing.”

  “When?”

  “Sunday at three-oh-five p.m.”

  “Now we have to call the police,” I insisted. “What have I done?” I felt tears well in my eyes. “She was supposed to meet the tiara woman at one.”

  “But she sent us a text after three,” Jane reminded me. “After the car had been towed.”

  “And I got an e-mail,” I added. “And she talked to Vain Dane. All that happened after three as well.”

  “Maybe her car wouldn’t start,” Liv suggested.

  “Then she would have called one of you for a ride. She wouldn’t just leave it on East Ocean. She knows the trash trucks come once a day and the streets are narrow.” I sniffed as I tried to keep my composure. “I definitely think we should call the sheriff’s office.”

  Liv dialed and then said, “Yes, I’d like to report a missing woman.” Then a pause, and then, “Rebecca Jameson. She’s twenty-nine, five-six, red hair, green eyes. No one has seen her since Sunday afternoon.” Then Liv’s brows pulled together. “No, it is not voluntary. She left her makeup and toothbrush and allowed her car to be towed.” Then, “Fine, we’ll come down and fill out a report.”

  “Why?” I asked when Liv snapped her blinged-out clamshell phone closed.

  “They won’t send a detective because they don’t consider a missing adult a big deal.”

  “Then let’s go to them.”

  Liv rubbed her forehead. “I have a meeting at nine with a client.”

  “Nine p.m.?” Jane asked.

  “The groom works long hours. He’s a yacht broker, and his business is open until eight.”

  “Then Finley and I will handle it,” Jane said. “C’mon, Finley. I’ll drive.”

  After locking up, we went down in the elevator. I got into the passenger side of Jane’s Escalade. Not an easy task in high heels. I had to hike up my skirt to grab the leather strap above the window so I could reach the seat.

  “It’s weird that both Ellen and Becky would go missing less than two weeks apart.”

  “Anything happening at work?” Jane asked.

  “They do contracts. Real estate mostly. Hardly a hotbed for nut jobs.”

  “She took her purse, Finley.”

  “Unless her purse is in her car at Lawson’s tow yard.”

  “We can have the detectives look there.”

  We went to the Pine Trail satellite office of the Palm Beach County Sheriff’s Office and par
ked, then went inside. The place smelled of stale coffee and cherry deodorizer. I’d take some stale coffee. My caffeine level was plunging. I went to the glass window, and a uniformed man slid it open.

  “May I help you?”

  “We’d like to file a missing person’s report.”

  “Is the missing person a minor?”

  “No, she’s twenty-nine.”

  “Take a seat. Someone will be with you shortly.”

  Jane leaned close to me and whispered, “They don’t seem to be overly worried. Maybe we’re overreacting.”

  “I’d rather overreact than not react at all.”

  Nearly thirty minutes later a middle-aged man in a white short-sleeved oxford shirt, striped tie, and khaki pants opened the veneered doorway. “Ladies? This way.” As we stood, he raked his fingers through is salt-and-pepper hair.

  We entered the office, where phones were ringing and there was a din of conversations sometimes punctuated with laughter. It was a small office with maybe a half-dozen employees, including the guy at the front. Most of the space was divided with temporary walls creating three-sided cubicles. There was an office at the far end of the rectangular room and another room next to the office that had a plaque that read INTERROGATION.

  “I’m Detective-Sergeant Michael Wilkes.”

  Jane and I attracted some attention from the male officers. It was probably Jane, since she had on a black leather miniskirt and a red corset top. You could see the black lace of her bra and a whole lot of cleavage. Add that to four-inch stilettos, and that was Jane in a nutshell. She was the Erin Brockovich of accounting.

  “I’m Finley Tanner, and this is Jane Spencer.”

  “Right here,” the detective said when we reached his cubicle.

  Jane and I each took a seat opposite the detective. “May I get you anything?”

  “Coffee for me,” I said.

  “Water would be nice,” Jane answered.

  The detective left for a minute and came back with two Styrofoam cups. He’d also brought powdered cream, sugar, and an artificial sweetener. I was good with straight black. Well, I was until I tasted it. It was strong enough to melt the fender off a midsize Toyota. “I’ll take that cream after all.” I sprinkled the creamer into the cup, then picked up the swizzle stick and tried to stir it into the tarlike coffee.