Jay Giles (11 page)
“Have a great day,” she said as I stepped out.
“Oh, I will,” I replied optimistically. The meeting with D’Onifrio had been such a disaster my day couldn’t get any worse.
Or so I thought.
“Where’s Eddie?” Rosemary asked lightly when I entered the office.
“He’s gone, I’m afraid.”
“Gone?”
“He was killed last night.”
Her face fell. “Oh, Matt, I’m so sorry. What happened?”
It was hard to talk about it. I choked up as I told her about the shooting in the parking lot, carrying Eddie home, burying him. I got myself under control and told her about my visit to D’Onifrio.
She listened sympathetically. When I was finished, she said, “As if you haven’t had enough trouble, I’m afraid there’s more.” She handed me an envelope. “That came a wee bit ago.”
I glanced quickly at the front of it. Registered mail From the Sarasota County Court. “Julian warned me this was coming.” I ripped open the envelope, looked at the papers inside.
“What’s it say?” Rosemary asked.
“Says I’m being sued by Janet Jesso. She’s asking the return of ninety-five thousand dollars in investment fees and two million in punitive damages.” I handed her the papers.
“My God,” she said as she read them. “Can they do this?”
I nodded. “Julian says they can.”
“For so much money?”
I nodded again. “Afraid so.” If they won, I’d be out of business. Bankrupt.
“Matt, how are you holding yourself together? Losing Eddie. Now this.”
I thought about what Dr. Swarthmore had said last night, warning me not to slide back into depression. She’d been right that it would be easy to let go, let the darkness surround me. But somebody had to pay for Eddie. I wasn’t about to let his death go unpunished. This hadn’t been an accident. This time I wasn’t totally helpless. I held Nevitt and Wakeman as responsible for his death as D’Onifrio. “You know, Rosemary, as bad as this is, I’m going to get through it.”
“You know I’ll do anything I can to help.”
“I appreciate that, Rosemary.” I headed to my office. Waiting for me were voice mails, pink message slips, emails. I ignored them all, dialed Tory’s number, got her machine. After the beep, I said, “Tory, it’s Matt Seattle. Sorry to be calling you so often. I know you don’t like that. But we need to talk as soon as possible. There have been major new developments and I need your help.”
I cradled the receiver, sat there watching it not ring. After fifteen minutes, I decided I was kidding myself to think she’d call back quickly. I went to work, returned calls, booked transactions, did paperwork. At six, Rosemary stuck her head in, said she was leaving. By seven, I’d done all I could do. I got up, stretched, turned out the lights, and walked to the front door. I’d just finished locking up when I heard the phone ring. I set a new record for getting back inside, picked up the line at Rosemary’s desk. “Hello.”
“Catch your breath,” she laughed. “You sound winded.”
“Winded and worried.”
“Winded is your problem; worried is mine. What’s the matter?”
“I need you to find out about a guy for me.”
“Why? What’d he do?”
“He shot my dog.”
“The spaniel—the one I petted? This guy shot him?”
“Killed him.”
“How horrible. I’m sorry for you, but you don’t want me, you want the police.”
“I’ve already talked to the police. I spent yesterday afternoon with them, looking at mug shots, trying to get protection.
Lot
of good that did me. Eddie’s dead.”
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “If the police couldn’t help you, I probably can’t either.”
“Yes, you can. This guy works for Shore. You had all that information on Shore. You can find out about him.”
“That was general information, not specifics. I’ll be honest with you; I’m not sure I want D’Onifrio’s organization knowing I’m poking around, looking at their people.”
The tone in her voice told me she didn’t want to get involved. Who could blame her? Why put herself at risk to find out who shot a dog? “I understand. I shouldn’t have bothered you.” I started to hang up.
“Wait,” I heard her say.
I put the phone back to my ear. “Yes?”
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t help, but I need to know what I’m getting into.”
“That’s fair. You want to talk over the phone, get together, what?”
I heard the tap of fingers on a computer. Probably kept an electronic calendar. “How’s ten o’clock tomorrow?”
“Fine. You want to come here?”
“I’ll do that.”
I headed out for the second time. This time, however, the phone didn’t ring. I put the top down on the Saab, drove to Publix, picked up a salad for dinner. After dinner, I went for a walk on the beach, worked out for an hour and a half in the gym. Without Eddie, it was a long, lonely evening.
At ten until ten the next morning, I heard the door rattle, Rosemary use the buzzer. Early, again.
“Good morning,” Rosemary said.
“He’s expecting me,” Tory said. “I can find my own way.”
She appeared in my doorway; I waved her in, closed out of a computer program. She sat in the same visitors’ chair she’d occupied on her last visit. “Sorry about Eddie,” she said. “Having him shot in front of you had to be painful.”
“Thanks,” I shook my head sadly. “It was pointless. Mean.”
She got a legal pad and pen out of her black bag. “What can you tell me about the shooter?”
I pictured him in my mind. “Young, early twenties. Sort of baby faced with short-cropped blond hair and a wispy, hardly-there blond moustache. That the kind of stuff you’re looking for?”
She nodded.
“About five-eight, 125-pounds—thin, really thin. He wore a fancy suit, probably Italian, with all sorts of fancy goo-gas on it you don’t see in a normal suit. Expensive or cheap, I don’t know.” I thought for a second, picturing him in our first meeting. “He had a monogram on his shirt sleeve. WW.”
“Yeah. That gives me something to narrow this down. Anything else about him?”
I shook my head.
“You said you talked to the police, looked at mug shots. Tell me about that.”
“I don’t think they took me too seriously. I gave them his description. They put me at a computer terminal, had me look at mug shots. After an hour of that, I’d looked at everybody who fit the description. I didn’t see him.”
She made a note on her pad, looked over at me. “Did you tell them this guy works for D’Onifrio?”
“No.”
“Too bad. They’d have taken you real seriously. Might have made a difference.”
“It might,” I agreed. “I didn’t think I needed to name-drop to get what I wanted from the police.”
She arched an eyebrow at me. “What exactly did you want?”
“Twenty-four hours of protection.”
“Why twenty-four?”
I dropped back, explained about the stranger’s attempt to get in the front door, his phone call after the police left.
“His threat was to deliver the securities in twenty-four or else,” she said after I finished. “That was what? Forty-eight hours ago? Aren’t you afraid you’re living on borrowed time?”
“I’m okay,” I assured her. “I talked to D’Onifrio and—”
“You what?” she asked incredulously.
“I talked to him. I went to his office.”
“How could you be so stupid? Remember? People who bother him disappear.”
“Well, I’m here. So my idea must not have bothered him too much.”
She looked at me warily. “Your idea?”
“There is one way D’Onifrio can legally get his money back. I bounced it off him.”
“What is it? What did he say?”
“Having one of his people marry Janet Wakeman. He’d get the money as joint property.”
Her face registered shock. “That’s the craziest idea I’ve ever heard.”
“Crazy or not, he’s considering it.”
She shook her head, her eyes wide. “I am not believing this.”
“I’ll probably hear from him today.”
“He’ll say no. Think about it. What are the chances Janet Wakeman would marry one of his people? One in a gazillion, maybe less.”
“She’s a gold digger. Dangle a rich, older guy in front of her—”
The intercom buzzed. “I know you wanted me to hold your calls, but there’s a Mr. D’Onifrio on one. I told him you were in a meeting. He told me to interrupt it.”
“Mr. Seattle,” he said, his voice formal. “I have given your suggestion serious thought and would like to discuss it further with you. Can you come to my office tomorrow at nine o’clock?”
Not a yes. Not a no. Possibly a trap. “Mr. D’Onifrio, let me share my biggest concern. I show up at your office at nine and I’m never seen again.”
There was an amused chuckle at the other end of the line. “I give you my word; you will be seen again.”
“I’d rather have a simple yes or no.”
“I’d rather have further discussion.” His voice had turned cold. “Be here at nine.” He hung up.
“Well, what’d he say?”
“You pretty much heard it. Be at his office tomorrow at nine.”
“Are you going?”
I nodded. “He gave me his word it wasn’t a set up.”
“You believe that?”
In an odd way I did. If he’d wanted me dead, he’d have made it happen. He could get to me no matter how careful I was, how much protection I had. “I think I’m okay for this meeting. If it doesn’t go well, I’ll go straight to the cops.”
She looked dubious, shifted in her seat. “With your meeting tomorrow, you still want me to find out about this guy?”
“Yeah, I want to know who he is.”
She started packing up her stuff. “I probably won’t know anything before nine, but I’ll get the information to you as soon as I can.” She left, obviously freaked out.
Rosemary came in, occupied the seat Tory had left. She handed me a stack of pink message slips. “It’s a slow day we’re having. Do you want me to help you prepare for your meeting in the morning, see if I can find you a bulletproof vest?”
I gave her a disapproving look. “Very funny.”
“I’m serious. I’m with Miss Haughty—”
“Miss Haughty?” It wasn’t like Rosemary to ridicule.
“Ms. Knight,” she said, disapproval evident in her voice. “I’m agreeing with her that this is a meeting to which you shouldn’t be going.”
Despite their concerns, the next day at exactly nine, I entered the lobby of Shore Bank and Trust. Ann, the blond who had escorted me to D’Onifrio’s office last time, was waiting for me.
“Good to see you again, Mr. Seattle. Follow me, please,” she said pleasantly. We rode the elevator up to five, exited. She led me down the corridor to his office. Again the door was closed. She knocked and opened it. D’Onifrio was at his desk, again in shirt and tie, this time smoking a cigar. “Come in, Mr. Seattle,” he said and sent a cloud of blue smoke toward the ceiling. “Sit down. Let’s talk.”
I entered, heard the door close behind me, took the same seat as the time before.
D’Onifrio leaned forward, the irritating hum of his hearing aids increased, and his eyes seemed to bore into me. “I have some questions for you.”
I wanted to say shoot but bit my tongue and nodded instead.
He blew a smoke ring to the ceiling, watched it for a second. “Janet Wakeman, the woman Joe married, what do you know about her?”
I relaxed a little. He’d lobbed me an easy one. “I had a private detective look into her background. Janet, we discovered, is a professional black widow. Joe was her fourth husband. She has a lawyer working with her. Guy by the name of Greg Nevitt, whose job is to change the will or estate to leave everything to Janet.”
“Nevitt did that with Joe’s will?”
“He didn’t have time. Joe’d only been married a week when he died. His will still named me executor. Nevitt had me removed as executor so he could control Joe’s estate.”
D’Onifrio blew another smoke ring at the ceiling, frowned, sat forward. “Where are my manners? Would you like a cigar?”
He wanted to be buddy-buddy now. That scared me. “No thanks, I’m fine.”
“Coffee?”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re sure?”
I nodded. “Thanks, though.”
He sat back in his chair, puffed out smoke. “This marriage plan you mentioned yesterday was based on what you learned about Janet’s background?”
I nodded.
“Be honest now. Do you think this marriage could be arranged?”
“I think it’s possible, yes.”
“Possible doesn’t sound very positive.” Behind the cigar smoke his face changed.
I saw whatever chance I had slipping away. Sell, I thought. “She’s a black widow. I’m positive that if you dangle a wealthy older man in front of her, she’ll go after him.”
That must have been what he wanted to hear. “Good,” he said. “I have decided to give your plan a try.”
That wasn’t what I expected to hear. The expression on my face must have telegraphed that.
“You seem surprised?”
“Well, I guess I am. You threatened me. Why aren’t you threatening them?”
“With you, I had hoped to force a fast resolution.” He shook his head dismissively. “That’s gone. Now, I think it is in my depositors’ best interests to do this without attracting undue attention. Of course, if that fails, I will use force, take the money. First, though, we will see how you do.”
“Me?” I said, alarmed. This wasn’t what I intended at all. I wanted to pit the two of them against each other, end their involvement with me. “You don’t need me. You know who she is. You can do this by yourself.”
He blew a smoke ring in my direction. “It was your idea. Who would know better how to bring it to life?”
I saw my opportunity to get out of the middle vanishing. “I can tell you how to do it. You really don’t need me.”
He smiled at my discomfort. “You forget, you have no choice in this matter. I’m appointing you matchmaker.”
He was on a roll. I nodded.
“By tomorrow, I will give you someone who can be this woman’s new husband. Be here—” he leaned forward, flipped over the page in his planner, studied what rape, pillage, murder, and torture filled his calendar. “Ten o’clock tomorrow morning. Got that?”
“Got it. See you at ten,” I said as I stood to go. Maybe I could still get this to work out. “When I pull this off, will you do something for me?”
His eyes narrowed. “I’m listening.”
“The brother—the shyster lawyer—has accused me of churning…”
He made a face, waved his cigar in the air. “You churned Joe?”
“No, I didn’t.” I explained carefully. “Joe was my friend. This guy, Nevitt, is an ambulance chaser. He’s falsely accused me of making lots of commissions off Joe. Essentially he’s blackmailing me, trying to get money he doesn’t deserve. I don’t suppose, if I make this marriage happen, you could convince the brother to drop his complaint?”
He chuckled. “I’ll say this for you, you have nerve. No one asks me for favors. They do favors for me.” He paused, studying me. “But you amuse me. If you pull this off, I’ll fulfill your request. I will convince Mr. Nevitt to drop his action against you and never bother you again. How is that?”
“That would be wonderful. Thank you.” I started to back out the door.
“A warning—if my amusement turns to anger—” he waved a finger at me. “Very unhealthy.”
I left before he could say more.
Ann was waiting for me in the corridor outside his office. “We’ll be seeing you tomorrow at ten?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll walk you down.” She led me back to the lobby. Left me with a word of caution. “He has given you a lot of rope. Don’t forget that one end is tied around your neck.”
