Crime Seen (13 page)

‘‘You okay?’’ Dave said as he came back into the room. I held up the garment for him to see. ‘‘Yikes,’’ he said. ‘‘Looks like Virgil has struck again.’’

‘‘
That . . . I’m going to . . . Just wait until I . . .’’
I sputtered, the ruined blouse on the hanger preventing me from forming coherent sentences.

‘‘What’d you do to that cat, anyway?’’ Dave asked. ‘‘Seriously, Abby, you should try being nice to him.’’

I whirled to face him. ‘‘
Nice?
You want me to be
nice
? Have you
seen
this closet?!’’ I shrieked as I took out one hanger of tattered clothing after another.

‘‘Maybe he just likes your scent,’’ Dave said, backing away from my wild-looking eyes.

‘‘You know,’’ he said meekly, ‘‘maybe he likes the smell of you and he climbed on your shirts ’cuz he likes the smell.’’

I threw the shirts on the floor. ‘‘That. Is. It!’’ I yelled, reaching back into the closet and grabbing an armload of clothes. ‘‘I will not wait around here one more minute for that little mutant to destroy one more thing! Come on, Dave. Give me a hand. I’m moving home,
today
!’’

Reluctantly, Dave helped me load not only my SUV but his truck. We packed up every single item that I could lay claim to and drove it over to my house. As we were unpacking, Dave said calmly, ‘‘You know, Dutch is going to think you’re blaming him by moving out like this.’’

‘‘It’s his cat,’’ I snapped. ‘‘I’ve told him a hundred times that Virgil is an evil spawn of Satan, but does he believe me? Nooooo! He thinks it’s
funny
!’’

‘‘Maybe he just thinks you’re overreacting a little.’’

I glared at Dave. ‘‘It’s come down to me or the cat,’’ I said. ‘‘I can’t live in that house without wanting to kill that overstuffed furball, so it’s probably safer this way anyway.’’

‘‘You’re right,’’ Dave said as he grabbed an armload of clothes. ‘‘I’m sure it has nothing to do with your fear of commitment.’’

Once Dave and I had finished unloading, he took off for Milo’s to finish up the bathroom while I got busy putting my things away. Around noon Dutch called my cell. ‘‘Hey there,’’ he said. ‘‘How’s your day going?’’

‘‘I hate your cat,’’ I snapped. (Sometimes I’m
just
a ray of sunshine.)

‘‘You’re kidding,’’ he said with a chuckle. ‘‘You do? I’ve never noticed.’’

‘‘I’m not joking, cowboy,’’ I growled. ‘‘He shredded four of my favorite shirts and there are claw marks in my suede coat!’’

‘‘Sounds bad,’’ Dutch said seriously. ‘‘Can I offer to replace them?’’

‘‘No.’’

‘‘Okay. Can I cook you dinner?’’

‘‘No.’’

‘‘Back massage?’’

‘‘Uh-uh.’’

‘‘Hot bath with a foot rub?’’

‘‘I’ve moved out,’’ I said flatly.

Dutch was silent for a long minute. Then, very softly, he said, ‘‘I’m going to miss having you around, Edgar.’’

I sighed into the phone. I was still really, really mad, but I didn’t want to give Dutch the impression that I was being unreasonable. ‘‘I took your file home with me. I’ll focus on it this weekend and drop my notes off early next week, okay?’’

‘‘Cool,’’ he said. ‘‘Call me before you go to sleep tonight, okay?’’

I hung up feeling really shitty. I hated that Dutch was being so understanding about this whole thing. Inwardly I wanted him to fight me a little more. I wanted to be angry at him, and that made me wonder. ‘‘Goddamn it, Dave,’’ I muttered as I went back to putting my things away. ‘‘I hate it when you’re right.’’

Chapter Five

I spent most of my weekend unpacking and avoiding Dutch while getting resettled into my own space. I’d also devoted much of that time to sweating Monday’s interview with Dick Wolfe.

Candice had called a few times to offer a pep talk or two. She’d also grilled me about what to say—and more importantly, what
not
to say—during our early morning workout at the gym on Monday. And while I appreciated her coaching, I found that what I really needed was to get the damn thing over with already.

Promptly at two twenty-five Monday afternoon, I stepped out of the elevator and into the lobby of Universal Mortgage Co., Inc. Taking in the marble floors, plush furniture, and art deco reception desk, I walked up to one of the three receptionists, the one wearing an earpiece connected to a telephone lit up like a Christmas tree, and made my introduction.

The woman I spoke to, a pretty redhead with inch-long nails and a low-cut sweater, told me to have a seat and that Mr. Wolfe would be with me shortly. I sat down in one of the gorgeous leather chairs and tightly crossed my legs. The skirt I was wearing was three inches higher than I was comfortable with, and I was nervous about giving someone a lookey-loo at my cha-cha.

I glanced at my watch as the minutes ticked by, and watched the hustle and bustle of people streaming through the lobby. Most of the people I saw had their heads down and serious looks on their faces, intent on moving fast and not being distracted.

I waited patiently for more than half an hour, but then I started to get pissy. It irked me that this Wolfe man would have so little regard for my time. I already knew he was a rat bastard, but leaving me to hang out in the lobby for such a long time was downright rude.

Finally, forty minutes past my appointment time, a woman came out of some double doors at the end of the lobby and eyed me with purpose. ‘‘Hello,’’ she said as she drew close. ‘‘I’m Andrea LaChance. You must be Abigail.’’

‘‘Nice to meet you,’’ I said, standing up to shake her hand. ‘‘I’m not sure I got the appointment time correct,’’ I added. ‘‘I thought we said two thirty.’’

Andrea gave a wave of her hand, as if it were nothing that I’d been kept waiting so long. ‘‘Mr. Wolfe is a very busy man,’’ she said. ‘‘He squeezes these things in where he can. Now come with me and I’ll get you started on the paperwork.’’

If I’d actually been applying for a real job here, I would have walked out right then. It’s been my experience that the heads of companies with this type of attitude usually regard their employees as one notch above indentured servants, and expect fealty no matter how badly they treat the people who work for them. Still, I set my jaw and followed Andrea.

We rounded the corner into a medium-sized conference room, and I was told to take a seat and fill out the information on a clipboard Andrea handed to me. ‘‘I’ll be back to check on you in a few,’’ she said and left me alone.

I completed the application and attached my résumé to the clipboard as instructed. Then I waited. And waited. And waited. At four o’clock the door opened and Andrea walked in. ‘‘Are you finished?’’ she had the nerve to ask me.

‘‘For a while now,’’ I said, plastering a tight smile on my face.

‘‘Mr. Wolfe has one more phone call to make and then he’ll be right with you,’’ she said, taking my application and walking out the door. I gave her behind a snarl and sat back in my chair. My radar buzzed and I knew I was in for another long wait.

At five fifteen the double doors opened and in walked Dick Wolfe. The hair stood up on the back of my neck the moment he came into the room. He was a very tall man, with wire-rimmed glasses and curly brown hair, broad-shouldered and impeccably dressed in Armani.

He moved with a precision that revealed his calculating nature, and as he drew near I physically braced myself. ‘‘Dick Wolfe,’’ he said, extending his hand.

‘‘Abigail Cooper,’’ I said, standing to shake his hand.

He flashed me a toothy grin and copped a look down my blouse. ‘‘Nice to meet you,’’ he said.

‘‘Likewise,’’ I lied, taking my seat.

‘‘I hear you know Darren,’’ he said, sitting down across from me.

‘‘Yes, a friend of mine introduced us the other day. He seems very nice.’’

Wolfe nodded as he looked through my application and paperwork. ‘‘You worked for Fidelity Bank, I see?’’

‘‘Yes, for about four years. I was a senior loan officer there.’’

‘‘Terrific. We’re always looking for experience,’’ he said, looking up to stare at my chest again. ‘‘Let’s start you tomorrow. You can mentor with Darren for a few weeks, learn the ropes, then we’ll give you a few leads and see how you do.’’

‘‘Uh . . .’’ I said, taken by surprise that this was moving so quickly. ‘‘That’s . . . uh . . . terrific,’’ I said. ‘‘May I inquire about the pay?’’

‘‘You’ll be paid a small commission on the loans that you work with Darren, and then when you close your own deals you’ll be paid a ten percent commission on the points you charge in the closing fees.’’

‘‘I see,’’ I said with a nod, while inwardly fuming. A ten percent commission rate was robbery in this business, and I knew it. ‘‘That’s terrific. What time tomorrow, then?’’

‘‘Be here at eight,’’ he said. He stood up, already turning away from me.

‘‘Thank you,’’ I said as he held the door open for me and I passed into the hallway.

‘‘Nice meeting you, Angela,’’ he said, extending his hand again.

‘‘You as well,’’ I answered, shaking his hand while vowing to wash mine the first chance I got.

When I reached my car, I immediately called Candice. ‘‘My God!’’ she said into the phone. ‘‘A three-hour interview? What the hell could he have asked you?’’

‘‘Anything,’’ I said moodily. ‘‘He could have asked me anything. Instead, he kept me waiting for two hours and fifty minutes, then sat down with me for less than ten minutes and basically told my chest to show up tomorrow. Or at least I think he told me. He called me Angela, so I’m not really sure he knew who he was speaking to.’’

‘‘Huh,’’ said Candice. ‘‘Well, at least you got in, Abs. I mean, if he’s going to be so nonchalant about who he hires into his organization, you should be able to do some pretty good snooping around.’’

I started my engine and pulled out of the parking space. My head hurt, my stomach was growling, and I was in a foul mood. ‘‘What exactly am I looking for again?’’ I asked.

‘‘Henchmen,’’ Candice replied.

‘‘I’m sorry?’’

‘‘Cronies. Homies. Brothers. Wolfe has to keep the guys who do his dirty work close, and my thinking is that you may be able to get some good dirt from one or two of them.’’

‘‘So I’m not supposed to spy on Wolfe per se?’’ I said.

‘‘No!’’ Candice said quickly. ‘‘That guy you’ve got to steer clear of. He’s dangerous, Abby. Someone who’s managed to skirt the law as long as he has must have his own finely honed sixth sense. If you go for him directly, he’ll smell you coming and play dirty. You just keep it relaxed for a while, see what some of those loan officers are up to and what kind of business Universal Mortgage does. They have a really awful reputation for driving people into big debt, so it would be great if we could get the scoop on what happened to Walter and bring down Wolfe’s big business at the same time.’’

‘‘Okay,’’ I said, wondering what the hell I’d gotten myself into. ‘‘What should I do if someone gets wise to my being nosy?’’

‘‘First and foremost, you don’t let them catch on, and second, you get the hell outta there the minute things get dicey. You feel me?’’

I scrunched up my face. ‘‘What are you, some sistah from the hood these days?’’ I asked with a laugh.

‘‘I mean it, Abby. Someone there notices that you might know a little more than you should, you better have a back door and a flight plan.’’

‘‘I feel ya,’’ I said to her.

‘‘Cool. Now go home and hug that tall blond drink of water.’’

I didn’t have the energy to fill her in on the latest spat between Dutch and me, so I said my good-byes and clicked the phone off. On the way home I stopped at Just Noodles and picked up a big, steamy portion of comfort food. When I got home, the light on my phone was blinking. I had messages.

While I slurped up some carbs I listened to the three messages. The first was from Cat, who was wondering if I was still alive, since I hadn’t spoken to her in over forty-eight hours. Her voice sounded slightly panicked, and I knew I’d have to call her before going to bed, lest she contact her good friends in the merchant marines to drop in and check up on me.

Dave had also called, to say we had a closing date on Fern for Friday. I was to be at the title office at noon. The last message was from Dutch. ‘‘Hi, sweetie,’’ he said. My eyebrow arched. He only used ‘‘sweetie’’ when he was really in the doghouse. ‘‘I’m cooking mahimahi on the grill tonight. If you’d like some, come on over, okay?’’

I looked down at the container of noodles and scowled. Mahimahi was one of my favorites and sure would have been good. ‘‘Damn,’’ I said as I put my feet up on the ottoman and leaned back against the couch cushion. ‘‘Cowboy, you don’t play fair.’’

After supper I called Cat. ‘‘Hey,’’ I said when she answered.

‘‘
Where
have you been?’’ she demanded.

‘‘Working the streets, hanging out with the wrong crowd, and getting into all sorts of trouble. You know—the usual.’’

Cat sighed. ‘‘You drive me crazy,’’ she said flatly.

‘‘Back atcha, my sistah,’’ I said with a laugh, then changed the subject. ‘‘We close Fern on Friday.’’

‘‘This is good news,’’ she said, perking up. ‘‘I’ll have my attorney review the closing statement and give you the clear to close before you go.’’

‘‘Great. The closing’s at noon.’’

‘‘I’ll mark it down. Say,’’ she said, and I could hear her voice take on a breezy tone. This, of course, put me on high alert. ‘‘I called over to Dutch’s place, and he said that you moved out.’’

‘‘Uh-huh,’’ I said. I had no intention of sharing the intimate details of our cat-versus-dog fight.

‘‘He sounded really sad,’’ she went on.

‘‘He’s probably just tired.’’

‘‘Well, he said he was sad, so I think he really
was
sad,’’ she insisted.

I rubbed my temple with my fingertip. I didn’t want to talk about this right now. ‘‘I’m sure he’s fine. Hey, I’m back in the gym this week,’’ I said. Sometimes you could divert Cat with another tidbit of information that she was likely to pounce on.