“Something like that.”
“Let me see some ID.”
Jon held it up to the gap. “May I come in?”
“I’m in the middle of something.”
Given the punch of her breath, Jon guessed that something was fueling herself with hundred-proof vodka. “I’ll only take a few minutes of your time.”
The woman hesitated, then stepped back, allowing him inside.
***
Francine Oakley looked worn down. By life. They were sitting at her Formica kitchen table, similar to the one Jon’s grandmother used to have in Boston. The walls were decorated with various travel posters of the Bahamas, hung askew, the paper curling out from under their narrow plastic frames.
Interpreting Jon’s perusal as interest, Mrs. Oakley said, “It’s on my son’s bucket list. He’s been wanting to get there since he’s a kid. Pig Beach.”
“Pig Beach?”
“Yeah, like real pigs. There’s some kind of uninhabited island down there where they swim. Sounds idiotic to me. Dunno what he’d even do there being as he can’t swim.”
Jon needed to get on topic. “Can you tell me if you’ve seen unauthorized charges on your credit card?”
“I use only one card. I had another one, but I haven’t touched it in ages. Was too hard to keep track of the different bills. Forgot all about it.”
“Do you have a computer?”
She dug a laptop out from under a pile of People magazines. “Many. My son is obsessed with them.”
Hmm. “Log in to your old credit card’s website and update your password. That should do it.”
It took Mrs. Oakley ten profanity-filled minutes to complete the task. Jon sat awkwardly scrolling through his email.
Finally, she said, “Okay, here it is.” Then, “Damnit! You’re right. Someone’s using my card!”
Jon moved his chair closer, scanning the statement.
Squinting at the screen, Francine said, “Wait, why would someone steal my card and then pay the bill? It makes no sense.”
“That’s a good question. We’re just starting the investigation. This will help us get some answers.”
“What will this do to my credit rating?”
Jon said, “Don’t worry. Looks like the thief paid on time. In any case, now that it’s an open investigation, none of the victims will be liable.”
She spent a moment rummaging through her bag, found a pack of Virginia Slims “Can you catch this jerk?”
“That’s why I’m here. Let me get a better look at the charges . . . May I?”
She nodded, lit up.
Jon clicked on the account history tab. The past year had only a few small transactions, all paid for. Then an increase in the last twenty-four hours.
The card had been charged the day before. In Lake Tahoe, California.
Chapter 42
Truckee, California
Jon and Bernie agreed to meet at the Carlyle Café, a fifteen-minute drive to Lake Tahoe. The ride from the airport took Jon across Donner Pass. Tucked high in the Sierra Nevada mountains, the pass—named for the ill-fated party of settlers, many of whom resorted to cannibalism to survive—offered an awe-inspiring, though dizzying vista of the valley below. Jon was astounded by what humans were capable of when they felt threatened.
As a light snow began to fall, Jon struggled to exercise self-control and keep his eyes focused solely on the road. He quickly understood why the car rental agency required snow chains on the tires. Driving the narrow road at an elevation of seven thousand feet required a great deal of concentration. At the peak, Jon pulled over to take in the sight of snowflakes slowly making their way down to the crystalline waters of Donner Lake far below. Fatigue hit hard and Jon closed his eyes. When he woke twenty minutes later, feeling refreshed, he sent a text message to Bernie giving his ETA, and another to Luanne.
It was eight-thirty in the morning when Jon arrived at the café. Upscale, the earth-toned design contributed to a relaxed atmosphere, light years from the hectic pace of New York City. Ten minutes passed before Bernie rushed in, wearing a lightweight jacket as if it were a mild spring day instead of late November, his casual attire in direct contrast to the intense look on his face. Jon stood up and shook the PI’s hand. It was chafed and unmanicured. They both sat.
A waitress wearing a stained white apron around her near-anorexic waist approached. Jon ordered a hot cocoa. Bernie declined.
When the waitress stepped away, Bernie said, “I’ve tried calling Davis several times, but it transfers to voicemail. My gut’s telling me he’s in danger. All arrows point to his son. He’s coming for his father. He has two other siblings, living better lives than his. One being doted on by the same father who maimed and abandoned him. With his new legs, he can exact his revenge. Can’t picture him attacking an able-bodied man with any success. Still, Oakley could be the common thread between Wang’s murder and the insurance scams, DNA theft and the Davis blackmail. We get him, both of our cases will be closed.”
Jon listened to the PI’s stream of consciousness with interest. Seeing the man wasn’t finished, he remained quiet. Bernie went on. “Even if Oakley has no intention of harming his father, my job is to keep the kid from letting Theo’s skeleton out of the closet, namely his love child in Santa Fe. That’s what I’m being paid for.”
The waitress came with Jon’s drink. He held the hot mug, waiting for it to cool. The aroma conjured up images of a down-filled comforter and hours of deep sleep. “I agree.”
Bernie didn’t seem put off by Jon’s short reply. “Why are we here? You get some info?”
Jon took a tentative sip, the chocolatey liquid sliding down his throat, then drank some more. “Franklin’s been using his mother’s credit card. One she thought was no longer active. There was a recent charge at the Squaw Valley condos just outside Tahoe. I wouldn’t be surprised if his father is staying there as well.”
Bernie said, “Two points for the Feds. I guess that’s why you said to bring ski clothes.”
Jon nodded.
“What’s the game plan?”
Jon said, “We find Oakley. I’ll ask him some questions, see where they lead. Make sure his father is safe. With any luck we can put the whole thing to bed. Get an arrest.”
“We? Where’s the cavalry?”
“He’s a cripple. We don’t need the cavalry.”
“I’m pretty sure that word’s not PC.”
Jon shrugged. “It’s how I think of myself. If Oakley was behind the attacks on Ed, Luanne and Wang, he hired out. Besides, I couldn’t ask for backup when we have no evidence Oakley’s behind the DNA theft.”
“Fair. I want to confirm Franklin is behind the blackmail before I tell Theo his own son is the culprit. My reputation is on the line. Mistakenly blaming his kid will get him really pissed, and rightfully so.”
Jon looked over Bernie’s shoulder as the door to the café opened and Luanne walked in wearing a The Cure sweatshirt and ripped jeans. She was carrying a black duffle. Her hair was shorter, spiky, no lingering maroon tones. Her eye makeup was thick and black. Jon waved her over.
Bernie turned to look and while she was still out of earshot, he asked. “What’s the reporter doing here?”
“You recognize her?”
“Sure. She looks just like her byline photo.”
Huh?
“She’s been investigating this from day one. She’s earned the story. Nothing will be leaked until the case is closed.”
When Luanne sat down, she kissed Jon full on the mouth. He felt his cheeks redden. He introduced her to Bernie.
The PI pursed his lips. “Ah, got it. Listen Ms. Parker,” his tone turning firm. “I’m a private eye, with the emphasis on the private. You’re gonna have to keep my client and his family out of the papers. Capisce?”
Jon suppressed his instinct to defend Luanne. She said, her voice calm, “You have nothing to worry about. I’m looking at the DNA theft, not infidelity. Your client’s name will nev
er come out. At least not from me. You have my word.”
Bernie looked at Jon who nodded at him. Bernie leaned back, seemingly satisfied.
Eyeing Jon’s half-drunk mug, Luanne said, “So, what did I miss?”
Jon repeated what he’d shared with Bernie.
“What’s with the ski gear I had to bring?”
“We’re going to pay Oakley a visit. I want to be prepared.”
Luanne said, “Strong arm a cripple?”
Jon threw a smirk at Bernie, who rolled his eyes.
Not long ago Jon would have said he’d play it by ear, but that method had got him into deep trouble in the past. “Nah, I’ll be the consummate professional. Get a feel for the guy, keep it cordial.”
Luanne stood, her chair scraping the floor as she did so. “Ready?”
The men got up and in unison said, “Let’s go.”
***
Squaw Valley Ski Resort, California
“Yes, a Mr. Theodore Davis checked in two days ago,” the cheerful desk clerk said, never asking to see Jon’s credentials. He was glad about that, preferring to acquire info without them. FBI creds often had the opposite than intended effect. People clammed up.
The clerk said, “You say he was your high school teacher?”
“Yeah. We’re having a reunion.” Jon gestured to the computer. “How about a Franklin Oakley?”
The woman checked the computer. “Nope.”
“That’s weird. I thought he RSVP’d. Can someone check in with a name other than what’s on their credit card?”
“Yes, though we’re supposed to ask for proof. Usually their driver’s license.”
“What if they don’t have one?”
She seemed confused by the suggestion. “Who doesn’t have a license?”
“Some people with disabilities.”
She nodded slowly, enlightened. “Oh, right. Well, only one wheelchair accessible room was booked, and Martin was legit. He was so considerate. He switched from a standard room since his elderly mother may come for a visit. I thought that was nice, even if it’s funny since he looks too young to have such an old mother, ya know?”
Jon felt a spark of excitement. As casually as he could, he said, “Martin?”
“Yup, Martin Van Buren. He left earlier. Headed to the slopes for the day.”
Bingo! Jon asked, “Don’t you think it’s funny he has the same name as a president?”
The woman looked at him blankly. “President of what?”
Jon shook his head. “Forget it.” What’s become of our education system?
Jon stepped outside where Bernie and Luanne were waiting. “Oakley’s staying here, but for some reason he went to the slopes. Why on Earth would someone who’s been in a wheelchair his entire life decide to go skiing?”
Luanne said, “Probably because he’s been in a wheelchair his entire life. He finally has freedom to move around like the rest of us.”
Rather than debate the issue, Jon said, “I’m not convinced that’s where he actually went.” Jon took a moment to organize his thoughts. “Here’s the game plan. Luanne, you go to the slopes, see if you spot him there. If you do, call me immediately. Do not approach him.”
Luanne asked, “Where are you going to be?”
“I’ll look for him in the village. Bernie, you stick around here. You’ll see him if he returns. From wherever he went.”
“Are you still sure no cops is the way to go?” Luanne said.
Jon pulled a wool cap from his pocket and donned it. “I’m sure.” He walked away, heading toward the village center.
***
Theo came to a hockey stop at the bottom of the slope. He loved to ski, especially early in the season. Since Lizzy was born they’d had few opportunities, but today they’d enrolled her in ski camp. He could see her on the bunny hill, a look of concentration on her face. She was a natural and would soon be ready to hit the green slopes. He considered going over to praise her progress but decided against it. Lizzy was approaching that age of being embarrassed by too much parental attention. Nic was getting a hot stone massage. They’d planned to ski together later, but for now he was glad to have the mental alone time out on the mountain, the air a perfect forty degrees. Not too hot or too cold.
Tomorrow he’d start early. Maybe try a black diamond after all this time.
After tackling a blue run, Theo skied up to the chalet, careful to avoid a clumsy looking man clearly new to the sport. Back at his condo, Theo removed his skis, boots, hat and gloves, placing them in his foyer locker. He would shower, but first needed to check if there were any work emergencies that needed to be addressed.
Ten minutes later, Theo was at his hotel room desk, his laptop open before him. There, in his inbox, sent only minutes earlier, was an email from William Sherman. Trembling more with anger than fear, he opened the email.
Mr. Davis,
I’m disappointed that you haven’t shown any signs of repentance. I have no choice but to take matters to another level . . .
***
Franklin was still shaken from being in such close proximity to his father. Earlier when he’d spotted Theo, Nicole and their daughter leaving their condo wearing ski gear, he’d decided to follow. It was exhilarating knowing he had the power to physically stalk his prey. He’d nearly bumped into his father. But the man didn’t even recognize his own son. Franklin put his phone back in his pocket, hoping his email would remind his father who was in charge.
Chapter 43
Squaw Valley
The best way to describe the village of Squaw Valley was “cozy.” Anchored by the luxury condo complex, the hamlet was surrounded by snow-draped pines and junipers that blurred into a carpet of green and white as far as the eye could see. Specialty shops sold fleece blankets, alpaca wool sweaters, and colorful wind chimes. Bespoke galleries showcased art highlighting the majestic local scenery, and intimate eateries served crafted hot beverages and pricey comfort food. The air was invigorating, suffused with an energy Jon knew to be exclusive to the American West. There was a heightened sense of being at the edge of nature’s rawness, near enough to absorb the beauty, but any closer and one would quickly find himself in the remote, dangerous wild. If his life had played out differently he’d have lived out here. In a heartbeat.
Walking toward the village center, Jon did his best to implement what he’d learned in FBI training. Observe, notice the little things. File them away. He was confident if Oakley would pass by, he would recognize him, even though his sole frame of reference was a series of photos.
Jon would track down the elusive Oakley. Rather than embark on a wild goose chase on the slopes, he felt confident the plan was sound. Bernie was back at the hotel, watching the entrance for any sign of Franklin, while Luanne scouted the slopes. Still, Jon couldn’t shake the feeling he was going about this the wrong way. He considered calling Doug again for guidance but decided against it. The guy had enough on his plate right now. And Jon’s pride was getting in the way. He didn’t want to come across as a rookie. Jon was determined to apprehend Franklin by the end of the day.
Jon’s thoughts turned to his hotel accommodations. He and Luanne would be sharing a room. His feelings for her were complicated, but it wasn’t something he could devote his mental energies to at the moment. They were both enjoying the time together and he would leave it at that . . . until there was no choice but to face the dynamic between them. Now wasn’t that time.
A wave of exhaustion hit Jon. Since meeting Bernie and Luanne at the café in Truckee, the jetlag had reached a crescendo. He found a bench and sat.
A man wearing a cowboy hat stood in the village center playing an achingly beautiful melody on his violin, a light snow falling lazily around him. Jon closed his eyes, absorbing each note. And there, in that space, he envisioned Ashleigh, her face aglow, smiling, joyous. Content. The image was so vivid, he could see the pores on her face. Reveling in the moment, the music washed over him. As the song died down, Jon mental
ly grasped at the wisps of his dead fiancée. A deep sense of longing filled him. He opened his eyes, momentarily disoriented.
The cowboy put down his fiddle, gave Jon a knowing nod and walked away. Jon suddenly felt very cold. He tightened his scarf and before he could stop himself, he reached into his pocket. Without another thought, he took two pills from the bottle and swallowed them dry.
***
Bernie was pacing the lobby when his phone rang. Noting who was calling, he picked up on the first ring. “Where the hell have you been, Davis?”
“The blackmailer knows where I am.” Davis sounded breathless, desperate. “Somehow he’s tracking me and my family. I need protection.”
“Listen, Theo, I don’t know what you were thinking going off like that without a word.”
“I thought it would be a good idea to get away with my family. I was hoping you’d find this guy in the meantime so I could go back to my normal life when we return home.”
“Poor decision. Anyhow, it’s not that simple. We’re here, in Tahoe.”
A pause. “Huh? How’d you know where I am . . . and who’s we?”
“This case is bigger than you can imagine. It’s overlapping with a federal case of fraud, extortion, and hacking.”
“What in heaven’s name is going on?”
Bernie said, “I’m now working with the FBI. We’re pretty sure who’s behind this. We need to talk.”
“So, you’re saying I’m just one of several targets?”
“Sort of.”
“Stop speaking in tongues and tell me who the hell is terrorizing me!”
Bernie hesitated. “I haven’t confirmed it beyond a reasonable doubt . . .”
“I don’t care. Tell me now or you’re fired!”
Bernie had had enough of the pompous jerk. He’d tried to be empathetic, but the guy was asking for it. “It’s your son, dammit. Franklin is the one terrorizing you!”
***
The phone slipped from Theo’s hand and crashed to the floor. A tsunami of memories nearly caused him to fall beside it in despair. Theo’s life had taken a long and winding road. As a student, he’d worked hard to achieve success. His family had no money and he wanted to get out of the rut, make something of himself. At twenty-one, shortly after graduation, he’d met Francine. She was a spitfire back then. And a burgeoning alcoholic. She introduced him to the lure of spirits. Bourbon, whiskey, gin. Drunken weekend binges. Somehow, he’d managed to clean up long enough to take and pass his LSAT, then three years later, the bar. They married at twenty-four and had a child. A beautiful perfect boy. Theo allowed his mind to wander back in time. Something he had stopped doing long ago. He remembered pushing his son on the swings as he squealed in delight, carrying him against his shoulder as he slept, a thumb held firmly in his mouth, his curly brown locks falling delicately across his angelic face.
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