Frankie's Back in Town (2 page)

“No problem.”

“Good luck then.”

The door had barely shut behind Gary before Jack followed.

“I’m heading over to Professional Standards,” he told his assistant, without adding that he’d be making a pit stop on the way. If he managed to restrain himself from throttling a patrol cop who couldn’t keep his mouth shut, he would at least insist on some answers from his best detective.

Chuck was off duty, but Jack found Randy working at his desk. “Where are you on the Hickman case?”

“You got ESP?” Randy leaned back in his chair and tilted the computer monitor toward Jack, who glanced at the display.

“The Federal Trade Commission. You got something.” It wasn’t a question. The FTC’s Identity Theft Data Clearinghouse ran a complaint database that catalogued identity theft victim and suspect information nationwide.

“Not yet, and let’s hope I don’t. Just got a call from one of your council members who heard we were up at Greywacke Lodge. Says his grandfather is there, and he’d appreciate it if we’d keep him up on how the investigation is going.”

Jack winced against the dull ache starting in the recesses of his head, the foreshadowing of what promised to be a headache unlikely to go away any time soon. “Kevin Pierce.”

That also wasn’t a question.

“I gave him your cell number,” Randy said with a chuckle. “But I’m guessing I better not drag my heels on this.”

Randy didn’t know the half of it.

“Don’t worry, Jack,” Randy said. “Natural for folks to worry after that grocery chain got hacked. Two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand debit card numbers. Friggin’ nightmare. I’m heading back up to the lodge. I’ve got more questions for Hickman. If this does turn out to be identity theft, I’ll walk him through the process. He’ll have to file a fraud alert because I’ll need his help to have a shot at nailing the perp.”

When Jack didn’t reply, Randy kept going.

“If he’ll give me authorization, I can get his theft-related transaction records from creditors without a subpoena, which will save me some time. We need a list of the places
where he’s used his cards recently. But I’m putting a Clearinghouse Alert out first since we’re dealing with national transactions. Maybe another agency can help me fill in the blanks.”

“Sounds good,” Jack finally said. “Any clue what we’re looking at yet—credit card fraud or identity theft?”

“No. But I should know after looking at Hickman’s records. A lot will depend on who had access to his credit card.”

Precisely the problem. Jack already knew of one person who had access—the Greywacke Lodge employee who had found the missing wallet. That employee would be seen as an obvious connection to Frankie Cesarini. Throw Kevin Pierce into the mix, and this situation could become a train wreck fast.

But neither Rick nor Brett Tehaney would be effective—either at getting answers or as damage control. They were good cops without question, but neither had Randy’s experience at producing the sort of results that routinely blew open cases.

Still, Gary was right about one thing. A trusted local would go a long way to reassure folks the BMPD had the situation well in hand. A trusted, high-profile local, who could appease folks both in the cab and the caboose.

With a sigh, Jack lay across the tracks. “Randy, looks like I’ll be working this case with you.”

I
T WAS ONLY
T
UESDAY
,
and already the piles on Francesca Raffa’s desk were so high she would need the rest of the week to dig her way to the bottom.
If
she took work home.

Six months had passed since she’d become director of operations at Greywacke Lodge. She oversaw the three-hundred-plus-employees who made retirement living in Hilton style grandeur a daily reality. She liked the position. But, quite honestly, her years of experience in healthcare had helped her juggle the demands of upper management so she’d had some quality of life. This move was proving a real challenge. What had she been thinking?

That, at least, was no mystery. She’d been thinking about doing what was necessary. As usual.

One of the job perks had resolved her grandmother’s living situation. After Nonna had spent her eightieth birthday rehabilitating a broken hip, it had been obvious that she couldn’t live alone anymore. Not when she’d grown so forgetful that Francesca feared her grandmother might forget to turn off the stove. Now Nonna was safely ensconced in her own apartment on-site.

Another job perk was leaving behind the big city of Phoenix for the smaller town of Bluestone Mountain, where Francesca had grown up. And a dose of small town would—hopefully—be good for her daughter, who’d taken an interesting turn after starting high school.

By the end of Gabrielle’s freshman year, the circle of friends who once competed for ranking in the National Junior Honor Society had morphed into a group of teens who competed to see who could pierce the most body parts. Gabrielle had passed her AP Algebra class by .8%.

Francesca suspected the problem had a lot to do with her ex-husband, Nicky, who’d barely made time for his daughter after the divorce. Not because he didn’t love Gabrielle, but because he was too busy sneaking around town with his girlie-girl so he wouldn’t have to answer his daughter’s questions about why their family had broken up.

Francesca hadn’t seen fit to share the grisly details. Their fifteen-year-old hadn’t needed to know that her father had thought it morally acceptable to cheat on his wife with their daughter’s teacher in the very school he worked at and their daughter attended. To Francesca’s knowledge, Gabrielle had never suspected, which she was eternally grateful for.

Thank God for small favors.

The move was both necessary and good, Francesca reminded herself. If she could survive the first year, she’d get her feet under her again. Just the way she had as a single parent. It was only a matter of time.

Time that obviously wasn’t on her side this morning because she didn’t get a chance to dive into that pile of work when her administrative assistant’s voice sounded over the intercom.

“Ms. Raffa, June just called. The BMPD is on their way up to see the Hickmans.”

Bluestone Mountain Police Department.

So they were back to the Mystery of the Reappearing Wallet. “Thanks, Yvette. I’m on my way.”

Casting a bleak glance at her desk, Francesca headed out the door. She bypassed the corridor leading from the admin
istrative offices to the main lobby and made for a service elevator and a ride to the sixth floor, where she immediately spotted two men. They stood at the far end of the spacious hallway, where each recessed doorway was embellished with decorations that reflected both the season and the occupant.

For Valentine’s Day, Mrs. Humble of G-611 had a Victorian theme, complete with a designer topiary and a wreath of bright red hearts and sparkling angels.

Mr. and Mrs. Butterfield of G-610 had gone Western. Cutouts of cowboys with lassos had been artfully arranged with hearts and roses on a large bulletin board. The centerpiece was a glossy eight-by-ten photo of themselves in younger years astride horses.

All in all the effect made for a festive, if quirky, stroll. Francesca usually admired the creativity that went into the doorway displays. Today’s stroll was a little different.

The men in front of the Hickmans’ door seemed to swallow up the hallway. She assumed they were from the BMPD although neither wore a uniform. One wore a fashionable, and obviously expensive suit, while the other was more casually dressed in blue pants and a sport coat.

As she approached, she heard a door creak open and an elderly voice say, “Hello.”

The man in the sport coat flipped open a badge to reveal his credentials, a flash of gold that Francesca caught even from several feet away. “Are you Mrs. Bonnie Hickman?”

“Yes.”

“Detective Tanner, ma’am. And this is Chief Sloan. Is your husband at home?”

“Is this about his wallet?” Mrs. Hickman’s voice faltered. “We cancelled the report.”

“What’s that, Bonnie?” a gruff voice boomed from inside the apartment. “Are you going on about my wallet again?”

The detective peered into the doorway purposefully. “Sir, we need to ask you some questions.”

“What’s that?”

“Questions,” the detective repeated louder this time. “Chief Sloan and I need to ask you some questions about the wallet you reported missing. But first, sir, I need to see your identification.”

The door of apartment G-606 opened, and Mrs. Mason popped out her coiffed blond head and glanced curiously around. Both detective and chief gave her casual glances before turning back to the Hickmans.

Francesca strode toward the men, extending her hand.

“Hello, gentlemen. I’m Ms. Raffa, the facility director.”

The men turned to greet her, but Francesca only had eyes for the one in the expensive suit. For a protracted instant, she could only stare. Deep russet hair, an unusual color that made dark eyes seem almost black. The hard lines of a face she remembered from high school, an older version of a face no less striking today than it had been all those years ago.

Jack Sloan.

He swept a gaze over her, one of those classic law-enforcement looks that summed her up in a glance. He didn’t register any recognition, but that didn’t surprise her. She hadn’t exactly been part of his crowd back then.

When her brain finally kick-started into gear again, she connected the man in front of her with the introductions she’d overheard.
Chief
Sloan was a blast from a long ago past, a memory she hadn’t even realized had still been inside her brain until coming face-to-face with the grown-up version of a boy who’d been legendary in Ashokan High School.

Jack Sloan
—valedictorian, quarterback, prom king and voted most likely to succeed.

And here he was, wearing an expensive suit that showcased shoulders even broader than they’d been in high school, padded as they’d usually been by football gear. He’d been gorgeous all those years ago and was no less gorgeous now. More so, if that was even possible.

It was, she decided. Definitely. He towered over her, extending his hand…. She mentally shook herself and slipped her fingers against his. “Is there anything I can help with?”

His grip was warm and strong. “We’re here to ask the Hickmans some questions.”

Jack raked his dark gaze over her again, taking in everything from the top of her head to the hand she had to remind herself to release.

She greeted the detective, relieved for the distraction, and glanced at his credentials before smiling through the open doorway. “How are you today, Mrs. Hickman? Captain?”

“Just fine, dear. I’m so glad you’re here.” Maturity had honed Mrs. Hickman’s femininity to a soft patina, and when she met Francesca’s gaze with faded blue eyes, the worry eased. “You can explain to these police what happened to Joel’s wallet.”

“We already did,” the captain said in nothing less than a dull roar as he offered the offending wallet to the detective.

“Why don’t you invite us all in?” Francesca suggested. “We can find out exactly what these gentlemen need?”

Captain Joel Hickman had once been a man who’d stood taller than six feet, evidenced by his photo in full military regalia that hung beside the door’s nameplate.

Now extreme age had bowed him until he wasn’t much taller than his wife. He gave a nod, stepped back from the doorway with a shuffling gait and held the door for his guests.

Mrs. Hickman led them into an apartment with windows that overlooked the mountain and a living room filled with family photos and mementos from love-filled lives.

Francesca stepped inside and found herself so close to Jack that she could smell his aftershave. Just the barest hint of something fresh and masculine. She eased back on her heels a bit to put some space between them, but there was barely room to move in the small foyer.

She wasn’t the only one who’d noticed their proximity. A quick glance brought her face-to-face with Jack’s dark gaze and the amusement softening the edges of his chiseled expression.

Oh, he’d noticed their proximity, all right.

And it looked as though Jack Sloan was the same charming rogue he’d always been. Not that he’d ever turned his charm her way. She hadn’t been worthy of his notice back in high school, but a girl would have had to be dead not to notice him. And everyone in Ashokan High, whether on top or bottom of the food chain, had known about Bluestone’s golden boy.

“Please make yourselves comfortable.” Mrs. Hickman finally cleared the foyer and motioned toward the sofa.

“No, thanks, ma’am.” Detective Tanner stood his ground on the edge of the living room. “Our questions won’t take long.”

“What questions?” The captain’s raised voice rebounded off the walls in the apartment’s confines. “I already told your desk sergeant the report was a mistake. I only called the police because that television program…What’s the name of that program, Bonnie?”

“
Dateline,
dear.”

“
Dateline.
Those folks had a program on identity theft. They said the only protection a person has is to file a police report. My driver’s license was inside my wallet. My Social Security card, too. So I filed a report.”

“Then your wallet turned up?” Jack asked.

The captain nodded.

Detective Tanner pulled a notepad from inside his jacket and jotted down a note. “How long was your wallet gone?”

“Less than a day. I already told the desk sergeant.”

Detective Tanner nodded. “Humor me, if you don’t mind, sir. You noticed your wallet missing right away then?”

“Of course I did. Well…” The captain narrowed his eyes, clearly reconsidering. “I didn’t actually need it until we were at the mall in Kingston. But I’m sure it was in my pocket before then.” He raised a hand that trembled slightly and motioned to the coatrack behind the detective. “I keep it in my jacket pocket right there.”

Mrs. Hickman didn’t look so sure, and both Jack and Detective Tanner appeared to notice.

“Had you used anything in your wallet during the week prior to the mall trip?” Jack asked. “Your driver’s license or a credit card maybe? Is it possible your wallet had been missing before you noticed?”

“No.” The captain shook his head emphatically.

Mrs. Hickman backed him up. “I bought peach preserves at church on Sunday. He used his check card to pay.”

Francesca knew what Jack was looking for—a time discrepancy. She’d reviewed the reports herself, but before she could think of a diplomatic way to mention that there had been one, Jack asked, “So you didn’t actually look for your wallet after you used your check card at church on Sunday until you were at the mall on Thursday?”

“That’s right.”

“The report stated you found your wallet here at the lodge on Friday, is that correct, sir?”

Another nod.

Detective Tanner scribbled a note on his pad. “Have you ever misplaced your wallet before, sir?”

That was a loaded question. Sure enough, the captain sputtered his response, bristling, and Mrs. Hickman cast a worried gaze Francesca’s way.

That was her cue. She needed to cut off this questioning before the captain got upset. He’d just completed a stint at the lodge’s nursing center, weeks of physical and occupational therapy to declare him fit enough to return to independent living after a flare-up of a heart condition. He’d been home only a few days before the wallet incident.

Accidents happened. It wasn’t easy to make peace with the physical limitations of aging. Francesca hadn’t even crossed the hump to thirty-five, and she was getting a glimmer. Those extra five pounds she was suddenly unable to starve off had made her a target for her daughter’s comments about “muffin tops.”

For this once-vital man to admit, let alone accept, that he needed help with routine daily tasks couldn’t possibly be easy. So Francesca sidled close to Jack, leaving the detective to his questioning, and whispered in a voice she hoped the captain couldn’t overhear. “He has misplaced his wallet before.”

Understanding flared in that dark gaze, and Jack lowered his own voice to a throaty whisper. “Often?”

“Just once. An employee found it.”

“You have that employee’s name?”

The warning bells in her head starting clanging. “I’ll give you a copy of the report before you go.”

“You’ll tell us who has access to this apartment?”

“Of course.” Those alarm bells were shrieking loud enough to kill off brain cells now. More was going on here than these men were sharing. A lot more.

He inclined his head then asked, “Captain, we need to know if you’ve made any trips out of state recently.”

The captain reached for his wife’s hand and muttered
something Francesca couldn’t make out. Mrs. Hickman seemed to understand, though, and asked, “Detective, is my husband in some sort of trouble?”

Even Francesca found herself awaiting that answer. Neither Jack’s nor Detective Tanner’s expressions gave anything away. But Jack produced a business card. “We just had some questions that needed answers, sir. We’ll be back in touch.”

“And if you wouldn’t mind,” Detective Tanner added. “Will you make us a list of all the places you’ve used your debit and credit cards recently? Online purchases, too, if you’ve made any. Call the number on that card when you get the list together. I’ll swing by to pick it up.”

Francesca was
not
happy with that answer, which said nothing and everything all at once, and left a nice couple looking confused and worried.