Dying for a Deal

by Cindy Sample

  No reason other than her fingerprints were all over the murder weapon. I hoped the Tahoe police department had come up with some suspects other than my grandmother by now. She might love going up to Tahoe, but I didn’t think she’d be too keen on taking advantage of the South Lake Tahoe jail’s overnight accommodations.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  May weekends are normally filled with a variety of school or local events. In Mother’s free time, between her real estate career and helping her daughter with her grandchildren, she actively participated in several local philanthropic organizations.

  This weekend was the annual Sierra Foothills Assistance Club garden tour. Mother had roped me into helping out at one of the houses on the tour. I could hardly object since my job entailed standing next to an amazing infinity pool situated in a lush garden. All I had to do was chat with the folks on the tour.

  Flapping my lips was definitely a skillset I’d perfected. And today I’d have the opportunity to do just that with hundreds of visitors. One of the other volunteers, a brown-haired woman with a sweet smile, stopped to talk to me.

  “You’re Barbara Bradford’s daughter, aren’t you?” she asked me. When I nodded she introduced herself as Jeanne Lehmann, a member of the club, “How is your daughter doing? Barbara told me about her terrible accident. She was quite beside herself with worry.”

  “Jenna should be fine. Teens are resilient. She has a cracked rib, a sprained ankle, and a few bruises.”

  “She’s lucky,” Jeanne said. “By the way, your mother mentioned a few days ago that you were investigating a timeshare scam up in Tahoe.”

  “I am. Have you encountered a scam yourself?”

  “Not me, but one of my friends got involved with one of those scammer companies. A few months back she and her husband paid a significant amount of money to a company to take over the ownership of a two-week timeshare in Florida. The deal also included absorbing the timeshare loan. And now the phone number for the company has been disconnected. They don’t know what to do.”

  “Interesting,” I said. “Was the company Timeshare Help?”

  Jeanne shrugged. “All of these timeshare resale companies sound the same to me. Can I have them contact you?”

  Another possible client? Yes, indeedy. I pulled out my business card and handed it to her. Jeanne said goodbye, then hustled down the path to her assigned station by a wisteria-framed gazebo in the corner of the owner’s two-acre lot.

  It might be time to order some T-shirts with our agency name plastered across the back. With an intriguing design on the front that would get people’s attention. Like a chalk body outline.

  Maybe not. The heat must have been impacting my creativity. The climate in late May could range from the fifties to over one hundred. I wiped perspiration off my brow. Today was fast approaching the high end of the spectrum.

  I glanced at the stairs leading to the patio above the pool area where I stood, wondering if there was time for me to grab a bottle of water before the next onslaught of visitors. A couple descended the steps holding hands. Her dark hair shone in the midday sun as it cascaded down the back of the short sleeveless red sundress she wore. I envied her long bronzed legs. My semi-long legs had yet to make contact with the sun this year, which explained why they were ensconced in dull black pants. Although she wore Jackie O-style sunglasses, I recognized Adriana immediately. No doubt the man standing next to her was her fiancé. My future tailee.

  Tailee? I needed a lexicon for sleuthing terminology.

  But what a timely encounter. As they drew closer, I waved at my client, who seemed intent on her conversation with him. She finally noticed me throwing my arms around like an out-of-control school crossing guard.

  She shot me a wary look as they approached, but I knew better than to spill my guts.

  “Hello, Adriana,” I greeted her. “Are you enjoying the tour?”

  “Yes, it’s been great.”

  Gino smiled at me, waiting for an introduction that never occurred. I jumped in and said, “I’m Laurel. Adriana and I used to work together at Hangtown Bank.”

  Gino shook my hand. “You’re no longer in the banking business?” he asked. Adriana’s worried eyes grew as large as the planters surrounding the pool.

  “I’m doing freelance work now,” I replied. “But I miss working with you, Adriana.” She smiled in surprise, either at my complimentary statement or my skillful fibbing.

  “Are you in banking too?” I asked Gino, pretending I didn’t know.

  He shook his head, his spicy cologne overpowering the delicate fragrance of the roses on the walkway. “I’m in wealth management. Are you looking for someone to manage your portfolio?”

  My toilet paper portfolio far exceeded my stock portfolio at this point, but since my job included investigating him, I might as well discuss investing with him. “Yes, I’d love to talk to you sometime.”

  Gino handed me his card and they walked away. The couple was a few steps away from the gazebo when Adriana pivoted and headed back in my direction.

  “Whew,” she said. “I was worried you’d tell him I’d hired you.”

  “I told you, discretion is my middle name.”

  “Thanks. Listen, Gino just told me he has a client meeting tomorrow night. Any chance you can stake out his place or tail him without him recognizing you?”

  “Of course. Not to worry.”

  She left with a smile on her face while my smile scrunched into a frown. I now knew what Gino looked like but the same went for him. I’d have to wear some type of disguise when I was tailing him. My closet contained a multitude of disguises if I wanted to dress up as a clown, a witch, or a vampire.

  It looked like I might need to check out Gran’s spare bedroom, which Mother and I kiddingly referred to as Wigs R Us.

  The next hour was spent chatting with locals from all over El Dorado County as well as Sacramento. It was getting near the end of my shift when another familiar couple walked down the pool steps.

  To be more specific, Stan strolled while his companion waddled. Good grief. What was Liz doing here in her condition?

  As they drew closer, I noticed Liz’s stomach protruding even more than during our lunch two days earlier.

  “I hate to mention this,” I said, “but you look like you’re about to pop.”

  She sighed. “Yes, that’s the plan. I’m officially done with being pregnant. Brian’s getting ready to go to trial on that big kidnapping case, so Stan volunteered to escort me today. We thought all of this activity might encourage this baby to make his entrance into the world.” She uncapped a bottle of water, took two sips then dumped the rest on her head.

  I gasped and Stan stepped back, almost landing in the pool. The always elegant Elizabeth Daley, proprietor of Golden Hills Spa, had reached a new low.

  “What?” she said in a very non-regal tone.

  “Oh, nothing. You look cooler,” Stan said encouragingly, although with streams of water pouring down her face, she looked more like a beached whale.

  “Was that Adriana you were talking to a few minutes ago?” Liz asked.

  “Did she hire you for a case?” Stan chimed in.

  I shrugged. “You know I can’t say. Client confidentiality.”

  “Oh, balls,” said Liz. “C’mon, grant a pregnant woman her last wish.”

  “That’s what they give condemned prisoners,” I informed her.

  “Not much difference,” she said with a sigh.

  “Give it up, girl,” Stan said to me. “You know you want to dish.”

  Stan was right. I really, really, really wanted to dish. But I was determined to be professional.

  I mimed a zipper and said, “My lips are sealed.”

  Stan looked off in the distance where Adriana and her beau were chatting. “I bet she hired you to keep an eye on her fellow. Right?”

  “It’s not for me to say.”

  “She probably wants you to tail him or do a stakeout,” Stan said. “I could h
elp with that.”

  I shook my head. “No can do.”

  “Laurel, you know you can’t go more than an hour without peeing,” Liz said. “You’re worse than a pregnant woman. How on earth are you going to do a stakeout?”

  Uh oh. Tom forgot to include tips on that in my lesson plan. How was I going to manage stakeout activity without help?

  “I’m not saying I need to tail anyone, but if I did, Jenna could go with me. She’s going to be our intern.” Then I snapped my fingers in dismay. “Shoot. She’ll be hobbling around for a week or two, and she has finals to study for next week.”

  Stan waved a hand in my frustrated face. “Does the agency have room for one more intern? One who owns a car that would be perfect for stakeouts? It comes equipped with a supply of Godiva chocolate.”

  I wasn’t certain what Tom would say to this arrangement, but I threw out my hand to Stan and said, “You’re hired.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Monday morning I agreed to drive Jenna to school and Tom said he’d take the little kids. Tom and I shared a quick kiss before driving off in our respective vehicles. I pondered how nice it was to have someone in my life to share all of my chauffeuring responsibilities.

  It was even nicer to have someone share my bed. Thinking about the previous night’s amorous activities made me blush. I peered over at my daughter to see if she’d noticed, but she was nose deep in her math book.

  Jenna finally slammed her book shut and looked up when we were a few blocks from the high school. She stuffed the textbook in her backpack and shifted in her seat. “I can’t wait for school to end and my new job to start. What kind of cases do you think I’ll be working on?” she asked eagerly.

  How best to answer her question. The other day the UPS guy dropped off two cases of copy paper that needed to be stored. That would be one less “case” for this detective/office manager/mom to deal with. But I didn’t think that was the kind of case my daughter alluded to.

  This internship would be quite an eye-opener for her.

  “My caseload is fairly light, right now,” I replied. “But I’m sure the guys will keep you busy doing…detective, um, stuff.”

  “I’m willing to start at the bottom and work my way up,” she said.

  Ah, to be young, enthusiastic, and not responsible for a household budget. I pulled up behind a row of mom-driving SUVs, shifted into park, then raced around the car to help my daughter. But she’d already maneuvered herself out of her seat, backpack and all. I kissed her on the cheek and wished her good luck on her makeup final. She thanked me, then limped off to class, instantly surrounded by solicitous girls anxious to check on their injured friend.

  I was proud of my plucky daughter. The females in my family don’t let little things like multiple injuries stop them from getting things done.

  Traffic into Placerville was light, and I arrived at the office around eight thirty. I brewed some coffee, then hit the internet in search of data on timeshare resale companies. I’d barely typed in the word “timeshare” when Google spewed a myriad of links and timeshare resale advertisements at me.

  Talk about a booming business. Timeshare resale companies proliferated from one coast to the other. Every site possessed smiling staff offering to whisk away your financial problems for a minimal fee.

  Guaranteed.

  Two hours and four cups of coffee later, I’d gleaned more information than I’d ever thought possible on the topic. I’d also perused multiple Better Business Bureau sites and discovered complaints exceeded compliments by a lot.

  Almost one hundred to one.

  The majority of the companies pitched their one-time fee as far lower than paying a commission tied to the sale of the timeshare. The problem with that theory is that commissions are tied to an actual sale. If the timeshare isn’t sold, then there’s no charge. Whereas the one-time fees seem to have produced few, if any, sales from almost all of the companies I’d queried.

  Instead of Timeshare Help they should be named Timeshare Rip-off.

  The front door opened and Tom and Bradford walked in, one behind the other.

  “Hey, fellows,” I said. “How did your meeting with the District Attorney’s Office go?”

  Tom bussed my cheek, then both men settled in the chairs in front of my desk.

  “Good meeting,” Tom said and Bradford nodded back. “The D.A.’s office is out one investigator for a significant sick leave so they want us to interview some of their witnesses for multiple cases.”

  “We need to send them a contract agreeing to our terms,” Bradford chimed in, pointing his finger at me.

  “Hey,” I protested, “I’m not your secretary. I have my own casework, you know.” Geesh. Men! “Surely senior investigators such as yourself are competent enough to fill in the blanks on our standard contract.”

  Bradford grunted.

  “But you’re so much faster than we are,” Tom said, his dark eyes locking on mine.

  I sighed since I’m a pushover for my husband’s Godiva-brown eyes. “Fine, but you can add this to the job description for our new intern. By the way, I’d like to add another intern to the agency.”

  Now both men frowned. “Honey, we’ll barely have enough work to keep Jenna busy. And we can’t afford a paid intern. How did you come across this person?”

  “It’s Stan,” I said, barely maintaining a straight face. “He wants to help me on my stakeout tonight.” Before Tom or Bradford could object, I added, “It would be safer to have a partner, just in case something happens.”

  “Nothing better happen,” Tom growled. “Or we’ll pull you off stakeout duty without a moment’s hesitation. The goal is to sit in your car, possibly follow the person, take notes, and then return home safe and sound. You can do that, right?”

  “Of course, but having an extra set of eyes can’t hurt. Especially when I need to make a pit stop.”

  Bradford rolled his eyes but wisely kept his mouth shut.

  Tom heaved a sigh. “Just make sure Stan realizes anything he learns is confidential. Not to be disclosed to anyone.” Tom’s voice rose and he did as well. “I better not see him tweeting #amdetecting or #bigclue tonight.”

  Hmmm. I was beginning to regret taking on my new intern. I certainly hoped before the evening was over I wasn’t tweeting #help.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  I should have known. When Stan picked me up for our surveillance detail, he was dressed to detect in a long beige trench coat with a soft gray fedora cocked over his sweaty brow.

  “You realize it’s ninety degrees outside,” I said.

  “I thought the outfit would get me in the zone. You know, enhance my Spidey sense.”

  I stared at Placerville’s version of Columbo.

  “It will cool down later on,” he said. “This could be an all-nighter, right?”

  “Gosh, I hope not.” But since this was my first surveillance job, who knew? Although Adriana had given me an idea of Gino’s normal daily routine, she also forewarned me it wasn’t uncommon for him to leave the office early, stop at his gym for an hour and then work from home. He could drive straight from the office to his alleged business meeting or stop at the house first to change his clothes for said client meeting.

  Or romantic assignation. The reason we’d been hired.

  Stan had taken the afternoon off work, and we were prepared to give it our all. Assuming our all would be representative of a classy team like—who?

  I pondered for a minute, and thought of a detective show from the eighties I’d recently discovered on the Hallmark channel—Hart to Hart. Sure, Jennifer Hart, portrayed by Stefanie Powers, was taller, slimmer, and more glamorous than me, but we both had coppery brown curly hair.

  I glanced at Stan as he backed his silver Beemer down the driveway. With his receding hairline, Elton John specs and insignificant jawline, he wasn’t quite a doppelganger for Robert Wagner.

  Stan glanced over at me and winked. But he was my partner. At least for tonight
.

  Four hours later found us sitting in Stan’s car, bored, hungry and crabby. Real-life stakeouts were way more tedious than portrayed on television. Although, if the man sitting next to me had been my husband instead of my gay friend, it might have been a different story.

  We’d initially begun our surveillance at Gino’s Roseville office, waiting in the parking lot for a dull two hours before following him to his contemporary-style house in Granite Bay. An additional two hours passed while we caught up on all the gossip either of us could think of, discussed our favorite TV shows, and burned through the Godiva goodies Stan brought along. Although we’d stuck to water instead of soda, my bladder was practically shouting at me.

  “I think he’s in for the night,” Stan said as I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. “Should we take off?”

  “I don’t know how much longer I can hold it. Having a partner is great, but not having access to a bathroom is problematic. I thought Gino would have left for his meeting by now, but maybe it was cancelled. I guess we’ll have to try again another night.”

  “Okay,” Stan said. He inserted his key in the ignition, shifted into drive, and we rolled forward. Suddenly, I whacked him on his right arm.

  “Hey, what’s the matter with you?” he asked, slamming his foot on the brake.

  I pointed down the street. “It’s Gino.”

  We’d discreetly parked half a block away from Gino’s house, but it was close enough for me to see Gino backing his navy Mercedes coupe out of his garage and down his driveway. When he reached the street, he braked for a second, gunned the engine, then barreled down the narrow road.

  Stan proved an intern has his merits. Especially one who owned a sleek BMW with an engine zippy enough to follow the speediest suspect. And who drove skillfully enough not to lose him once we reached a four-lane road.

  “You’re not half bad at this tailing thing,” I remarked, keeping an eye on Gino’s vehicle, three cars ahead of our own as he drove south down Hazel Boulevard.