Here she hesitated a moment before talking.
“I want to talk to the people who knew Brittany, again—the school principal, vice principal, teachers, parents, friends, and, of course, the boyfriend.”
“The FBI may not want you to do that.”
“I understand, but I was thinking we could at least ask.”
“You mean me calling Nolan.”
Nolan Frye was a Special Agent who worked out of the Duluth FBI office. He and Connor went back several years due to a couple of crossed cases. They became colleagues and friends and met for that occasional beer.
She nodded.
“What should I tell him is your reason for wanting to do this?”
“My mother always said that when people are in the midst of a crisis or emotional turmoil, their answers to questions are not always accurate or truthful. Sometimes they want to protect a friend or themselves, or they’re just caught up in the excitement. But years later, that is not always the case because the peer pressure and emotional stress are gone. I’d like to put her theory to a test and see if we can get different answers, or at least a few extra, small details.”
“I’ll give him a call. Anything else on your list?”
“Yes, but I need to do the Brittany thing first. She’s the key to this mess.”
“I’ll get back to you on the theft. That’s been shifted to the FBI, as well, because of the value of the artwork and jewelry.”
She rose.
“Yeah, I thought so, and I had a quick question about that, too. Art and jewelry thieves usually tend to pick the most expensive items and leave the cheaper things behind. In this case, they cleaned out everything. That doesn’t sound right. It almost makes the theft look deliberate and not because they wanted something specific they could fence.”
“That thought is on the FBI’s robbery board, front and center.”
• • •
Justin Carlson figured his shoes would need resoling soon if he did much more walking in search of his twin. With so many persons of the same name, his search was growing a bit annoying. He had few details on which to rely beyond the name and date of birth—which should match his—making things all the more challenging.
Mankato, where he had grown up, was a medium-sized town abundant with natural resources, Minnesota-standard schools, and tons of industry and business, but it had nothing on Minneapolis. Lighted bridges, skyscrapers, the Mall of America—all of it astonished him. He felt a little like a kid on an elementary school field trip to the moon, or, at least, an amusement park like the one smack in the middle of the Mall.
He was headed to the city records office on Bryant Road, a little outside the downtown area. There were four persons listed online in Minneapolis who could be his twin. He had already discovered that public records could help a lot. So far, fourteen people of the same name had been eliminated due to death and age. Hot on the trail of the four listed in Minneapolis, Justin was hopeful he’d get lucky with one from this batch. Otherwise, he was ready to chuck it and go back to his job in Mankato, even though the four-month leave of absence was not yet over.
He thought that his life had been just fine up until now. If he returned to the spot before he read the letter, it would be like a reset button going back in time to the perfect and correct place. There was even a girl he had met and liked—something he was sure could grow into more than just coffee now and then.
Turning the corner onto Bryant Road itself, Justin looked around at the different buildings here. Not as far into the clouds as downtown but still impressive. He searched for numbers, as his phone told him he was just about there, when a disturbance occurred directly in front of him, causing him to stop.
Two young girls stormed out of a door directly on his right, shouting at the people inside. He looked up at the painted sign and saw it was a modeling agency called Luxe Talent. The girls seemed upset, so he approached them and asked if everything was all right or if they needed help. Their accents placed them from somewhere else in the Midwest besides Minnesota, but they opened up readily to this nice-looking stranger offering help.
“They were running a ‘bait-and-switch’ scam and thought they could pull one over on us. They promised us acting careers, but I showed their modeling contract to my mother, who works for a lawyer, and she said they were trying to scam us.”
“Yeah,” the second girl continued. “There were more disclaimers than anyone could believe and no promises of anything, even if we were successful in modeling. No referrals to any acting agents or anything.”
Justin listened with interest.
“So what did you do?”
“We just tore up our contracts and threw them at the girl sitting at the front desk. We made a really big scene in front of everyone who was sitting in the waiting room, calling them liars and other stuff. The lady tried to tell us originally that the best and brightest models would definitely get television and movie contracts. Well, that isn’t happening, not with the contracts they gave Cherie and me.”
The trio watched as four more girls exited the front door and went their various ways. One of them waved to the pair next to Justin.
“Those are the ones who were in the waiting room,” the girl called Cherie said.
“I suppose you did something that would help others not fall for the scam,” Justin pointed out. “What are your plans now? Look for a better agency?”
Before any more discussion could take place, the young woman from the front desk came flying out the door.
“I’m so sorry, ladies! Ms. Banford told me we gave you the wrong contract. Here’s the right one. Please come back inside so we can discuss it.” She offered them each a new packet of printed, legal mumbo-jumbo.
Justin looked beyond her into the agency and spotted a tall, beautiful woman, who must once have been a model herself, tapping her nails on the counter at the front desk. A slight frown played out between her eyes until she noticed Justin looking at her. Miraculous was what he thought the transformation was, and she now looked like a polished, approachable professional.
She poked her head out the door and spoke in a voice of silk.
“Ladies? My apologies as well. This contract is what you should have received and signed. We have a contract that we offer to younger girls who are not likely to make it to professional acting, and unfortunately, our two stacks of contracts got a little mixed up when we had a temp in here making copies recently. I can assure you, it won’t happen again.”
The two girls looked at each other and decided to accept the offer of a contract they both wanted in the first place. They followed the receptionist inside.
“My card,” the director said and offered it to Justin, as she sized him up, “should you ever decide to make the same move toward a more public career. You have excellent bone structure.”
He almost didn’t accept it but did so all the same, nodded to her, and continued on his way down Bryant Road. When he reached the next block, he turned to make sure everyone was back inside the talent agency and the outbursts had stopped. The business card was still in his hand and he read the name on it: Luxe Talent and the director who had spoken to him was Lilith Banford. He hated lies and scams but tucked the card into his pocket and continued walking until he reached his building.
In looking up the records for the four individuals who lived in Minneapolis with the same name as his twin, he was doomed to disappointment. Three were infants, and the fourth, who had died years ago, was the wrong age and gender.
Justin heaved a deep sigh as he retrieved a much folded piece of paper from his inside jacket pocket and looked for the next city on the list: Duluth.
twenty-eight
While Laura was waiting to hear back from Connor about how she could help with the auction robbery, her late morning was spent looking up the three modeling and
talent agencies Diana Popovich had mentioned that Marjeanne used: Regal Airs, Luxe Talent, and Class Divide. The Internet had the usual pomp and fluff on each of their official websites, but that was not what interested Laura the most.
There were kudos and an equal number of complaints on the Better Business Bureau website and with the Minnesota Attorney General’s office. All of them looked to have been resolved to all parties’ satisfaction. Yelp showed the same mixture of positive and negatives. The interesting thing was that the only local comments and complaints were about the three talent agencies on her list.
She looked all three up in business entity search engines. There were so many providing basic company information that nobody needed to join anything or, heaven forbid, pay someone to find out more. What appeared for Class Divide, whose Executive Director was listed as Camilla Wellington, was an affiliated entity called First Style, LLC. It was easier to look up the LLC companies because they likely came from the easiest state in the Union in which to incorporate or establish an LLC: Delaware.
Class Divide was fully owned by First Style, LLC. Laura knew that LLCs were limited liability companies that had special rules to follow and were exempt from certain tax and other regulations, but they also could be holding companies. And she knew that LLCs that are holding companies exist only to “hold” or own another company, in this case, Class Divide.
But it didn’t end there. First Style, LLC had some links to another company called Marjeanne Talent Agency, which was a wholly owned entity of Marjeanne Designs of New York doing business as House of Marjeanne.
That’s where it ended: Marjeanne.
So that meant that Class Divide was owned by Marjeanne. Why hadn’t Diana Popovich mentioned that? What did it mean? A lawyer would have to review the contracts joining these companies and review the financial structures. Laura would have loved to see their income tax returns.
The other two, Regal Airs and Luxe Talent, were simple corporations, as far as she could tell, but maybe there was more she could do to find out if that was exactly all they were. She wished she had access to better databases, or even a link to the FBI. It was something to think about.
Connor’s text came in just then. His FBI friend Nolan Frye wanted to meet with them for lunch on Wednesday to discuss Laura’s plan. He would call later with details. And he also cancelled their dance practice.
Laura had some minor misgivings about this meeting. She’d met Nolan Frye before, on a recent case that overlapped Connor’s. He was a good FBI Special Agent. The only problem was that he was a straight-shooter, by-the-book, law and justice person. Frye might not like her plan to talk with the old witnesses who had known Brittany back in the day, and Laura was pretty sure that if he agreed to let her do it, there would be conditions or even an agent present. Well, she’d take the latter if it meant she could talk to them. And she immediately set about making a list of the questions she had in mind for each person she wanted to meet.
She was finished with her list when Kelly and Erica texted her they were out front ready to pick her up for lunch. The plan was to discuss whatever they could possibly think of to do that would help Jenna and her silent auction take place on schedule in spite of the theft. Once she buckled her seat belt, where to go for lunch became the problem.
“We need to go somewhere quiet where they don’t know us and we can stay as long as we like and talk as loudly as we want.”
“That would be Antarctica, Kel,” Erica remarked.
“You two know the places around here. I only remember a few, and I’m sure everything’s changed, so I’m totally okay with wherever you decide,” Laura put in.
“Well, there’s that place on Route 4 past the Old Library—what’s it called, Erica?”
“Opie’s. Like the old Andy Griffith show. They have decent food, may not remember us, and will leave us alone to talk over our problems as long as we want.”
“Sounds like we’re going to Opie’s.”
Riding in the back seat while somebody else paid attention to the road and the traffic, of which there was virtually none on Route 4, was relaxing. No horns, no screeching tires, no sirens. As they approached the Old Library, Laura took her time to study it from all angles and appreciate its Victorian design. Oh, the memories! She had always enjoyed seeing it, even when she and her friends had snuck into it from the other side of the road through a secret door in the shed next to the bait and tackle shop that led to a long, descending staircase. It took them through a well-constructed tunnel under the road and landed them at the lowest level of the library on the other side. They picked the lock easily, climbed the circular staircase and entered the library break room by picking that lock, as well.
What was really cool about the Old Library was the network of secret passages throughout the building, beginning with the door leading into the break room that could not be seen from the break room. It was constructed to look like a wall with shallow cupboards, once stocked with pencils, brown rubber erasers, crayons, construction paper, kids’ blunt scissors, and the silly book tape you used to have to lick to fix torn book pages. But once you got in there, you could go anywhere in the library.
She recalled they didn’t get very far the last time they were there, for a surprising reason, and ran home suddenly, but her thoughts were interrupted by Kelly.
“We’re here.”
Stepping inside Opie’s was like being transformed to another country or planet. Or maybe just a long time ago through time travel. This was not like Laura coming back to the town and experiencing Brandi’s Diner; she felt transported to her parents’ youth.
There were just a few wood tables and three booths. All booths were taken, so they chose the last empty table which was smack in the middle of all the noise and traffic in the loosely called “restaurant.” The walls were jammed with autographed pictures of Hollywood stars that everyone knew had never been in this establishment. Framed photos of award ceremonies throughout the region with hand-made banners that rivaled some of Charlie Kovacs’s Raging Ford Bulletin headlines blared about the awesome accomplishments of the owners and their “kin” or roughly extended families.
The menu was on a wall above a cash register with manual push-button keys that looked right out of the old West and went “ding” when the “total” key was hit. Floors were greasy and full of crumbs from an unknown number of past meals, but no rats or mice were visible anywhere. In fact, the people sitting at the other tables and booths looked as if they hadn’t left their seats in years. Nor did they seem to notice the three ladies and or gawk at them.
Laura leaned over to Kelly and whispered, “Are you sure it’s safe to eat in here?”
Kelly giggled.
“Yes, and you won’t believe how good the food is.”
Sticking with a burger and hoping it was really beef, and a good part of beef, not an ear or mouth or nose, or, heaven forbid, lips, Laura took her first bite and looked up in wonder.
The other two laughed.
“Okay, now let’s talk,” Erica said. “What can we do to help Jenna?”
“I can give her more dream baskets, but they may not be valuable enough to draw the people she intended to draw.”
“That’s how I feel about my artwork,” Kelly said. “I mean, nobody has heard of me.”
“Not yet, anyway, kiddo. We got the silk flower arrangements covered, Laura, but I agree with you that somebody has to go to Jenna’s mom’s friends and ask for more donations.”
“I’m not sure they’ll want to do that. I think we have to do more to help find out what happened to the items she did have.”
Kelly and Erica stopped eating and looked to Laura.
“Tomorrow, I’m closing the shop for an extended lunchtime, and we’re going to kidnap Jenna and go someplace.”
“Where?”
�
�The hotel where the items disappeared.”
twenty-nine
After a bit of arguing and wheedling, Erica won out over Jenna and pried her out of her house. Three of the Fab Four were now standing at Laura’s front door.
“Laura, we have to figure out who broke in and stole all the items from the silent auction, and we have to get them back. We have five days.”
Jenna was the speaker and she looked as if she’d gotten over the initial shock and was now ready to do battle and save the auction. Kelly and Erica stood behind her, with the extended lunch hour now in force.
“Okay,” Laura replied, nodding. “I have a good idea,” she continued. “Let’s go to the hotel and walk through whatever we find there and ask a few questions, like, who was where at the front desk, who would have been walking around, et cetera.”
Kelly gave the other two a big grin.
“I told you Laura would know what to do, didn’t I?”
Laura handed each of them a small notebook and pen.
“Write down everything you discover.”
“Did you guys plan this?” Jenna asked, but no one answered.
At the hotel, it became clear that what Laura thought had been a good idea would be a challenge. The place looked like a police measles attack, as crime scene tape was everywhere in the parking lot and hoards of officers were still talking with hotel employees and guests. It looked as if the Fab Four would be unable to conduct any sleuthing whatsoever, at least not without stepping on police toes.
“Plan B?” Erica asked.
Laura thought for a moment.
“Let’s start by walking around the outside of the hotel, looking at entrances and exits, and where a big car or van or SUV or small truck might have been able to pull up close and get away fast with minimal visibility. You all have your little notebooks, so take lots of notes on what you see. And maybe what you don’t see that you should—something that’s missing.”
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