The Return of the Fallen Angels Book Club (A Hollis Morgan Mystery 3) (8 page)

“What kind of person did Frances seem to be?”

“She seemed quite charming. Like I said, she was the one I dealt with most. She made arrangements for him to be notarized because he didn’t want to find time to come into the office.”

“So, no red flags went up?”

“No, why would they?” He took off his glasses “Ms. Morgan, I don’t know what the current financial holdings are in the estate, but we were not talking a large estate here—more like a moderately funded estate.”

“Call me, Hollis.” She gave him a small smile. “Did you have any indication that Frances Wallace was a gambler?”

He snapped his fingers. “That’s what I was trying to remember.” He flipped through the file until he found his notes. “During the only time Mr. Wallace was actually here he kept making teasing comments about his wife’s trips to Las Vegas, and could he get custody of her frequent flyer miles. Only she didn’t laugh.”

It sounded like Jeffrey might not have been pleased with Frances’ gambling habits.

“Mr. Stivers,” she paused to give him time to say she could call him by his first name, but he didn’t, “did Jeffrey and Frances appear happy? I mean did you get the impression that everything was all right in the relationship?”

He thought a moment. “Yes, yes. I would say they seemed fine. At least they didn’t seem hostile in any way. In fact, I remember them being somewhat affectionate with each other.”

“Yet three months later Frances was talking divorce,” Hollis said.

“Hollis, you’ve got two phone messages from a Denise Patterson-Hoyle.” As Hollis passed through the lobby, Tiffany handed her two pink call-back slips. “She said she also left a message on your phone.”

Hollis frowned. Something must be wrong. She filed her notes from her meeting with Stivers.

She was ready to push the voicemail button, but decided to call Denise instead. She picked up on the half-ring.

“Shelby is missing.”

“Missing?” Hollis closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair. “Tell me what happened.”

“That’s just it. We don’t know what happened.” Denise’s voice quavered. “I went to meet her at the airport this morning, but she wasn’t on the plane. She must still be in the Bay Area.”

“When was the last time you spoke with her?”

“Day before yesterday. I tried to reach her all day yesterday to confirm her arrival time. Did you tell her that unless I spoke with Darol you would leave her case?” Denise’s tone was accusatory and she sounded exhausted.

“First of all, I didn’t say I would leave her case if you didn’t speak to her father. Second,” Hollis tried to keep the worry out of her voice, “I’ve tried to reach her myself with no success. Have you called Darol?”

“Yes, this morning from the airport, but I couldn’t get him. I think his cellphone might be disconnected. He doesn’t always pay his bill on time.” Denise choked. “I’ve been calling and calling her. What do we do now?”

“Keep trying.” Hollis tried to keep the concern out of her voice. “And since it’s been forty-eight hours, I’m going to contact the police.”

The San Lucian Police Department was composed of two uniformed officers and two detectives. If they needed more personnel, they had a contract with the County Sheriff to provide assistance.

Hollis sat in an interview room just off the main lobby with a young officer who was taking her statement.

“So you represent Shelby Patterson and you’re reporting her missing?”

Hollis nodded. “I’ve confirmed with her family in Southern California that no one has heard from her in the last three days. I spoke with her by phone around the same time.”

“Are you aware of any reason why she would disappear?” He did not look up from his laptop.

“She’s not a magician. She didn’t disappear. She’s missing.” Hollis bit her tongue. “I’m sorry. Shelby is only eighteen and she’s been having problems with her family.”

“Do you think she could be a victim of domestic violence?”

“I don’t know, maybe.” Hollis sighed. “I think you should question her stepfather and his son and daughter.”

“We will. But for now why don’t you tell me what you know.”

Hollis took the next few minutes to recount her encounters with Shelby and her family.

“Give me their full names and the address of the house. I’ll see what we can find out. Is there a problem letting them know you’ve initiated a report?”

“Er … no, it’s okay.”

“Fine. I’ll get back to you if we find out anything. But there is a very good chance, from what you told me, that she may want to diss … drop off the grid, until you’ve handled the dirty work.”

Hollis was not ready to concede that possibility. “Just let me know if you hear anything.”

H
ollis caught up to George the next morning in his office and told him Shelby was missing.

“I’m not surprised,” he said, sounding nonchalant. “From what you told me, she’s a little immature and fully capable of running away and hiding.” He kept his attention on his paperwork.

She was a little taken aback by his response.

“The police think that’s a possibility, too.”

He looked up. “Are you sure you still want to represent her?”

“If she wants me.” Hollis shrugged. “I’m certainly not ready to throw in the towel.”

George closed the file he was reading. “Okay, then keep me informed with any updates.”

She waited an hour to check back with Denise, who let her know that she still hadn’t heard from Shelby’s father. The police had gone to the house and talked with Joy and Sonny. They both said they knew nothing about Shelby’s going missing. There was little more Hollis could do than wait.

She worked a little later than usual that day, waiting for her phone to ring.

Where was Shelby?

Hollis put her concerns about Shelby on the back burner as she ran Frances Wallace’s name through PeopleSearch, an information database. By submitting a bare minimum of personal information, you could access an individual’s public records, and a short time later, pages about their life would scroll out like a dossier.

While she waited for the search and download, she called John.

He’d left a message earlier that day extending an offer to cook dinner for her. She called him back to accept his invitation and to ask for the name of the detective assigned to Jeffrey’s case. Even though he was transitioning to Homeland Security, he was able to find out that the Wallace case was being worked out of the community policing office near Lake Chabot and assigned to a Detective Mosley.

“John, I forgot to ask, can I bring anything to dinner?” she said.

“Nope, just your smile,” he said. “I didn’t bring anything for dinner when you cooked.”

“How’s the new job going?”

“I can’t go into any detail right now, but I’m doing okay. We can talk about it tomorrow. How about you; how’s the search going?”

“I don’t have any revelations. But Brian has raised some interesting questions. Maybe I can meet with Mosley sometime tomorrow afternoon.”

“Hollis, remember, we have a deal,” John cautioned. “If you come across anything that could help out Homicide—without doing any detecting—be sure and tell them.”

“I’m an attorney. I think I would know that.” Hollis knew her irritation was evident. “I’ve got to get a client letter ready. Sorry, gotta go.” She hesitated, “And no, I haven’t forgotten. Talk to you later.”

She could hear his protests continue as she hung up. She was in no mood to be lectured. She turned her attention to the stack of pages on her printer.

Frances Wallace was one busy lady. As Hollis paged through the printout, she wondered if Jeffrey had done a background check before he’d married her.

He should have.

Prior to Jeffrey, Frances had been married twice. Born in Carson, Nevada, she went to college in Reno but didn’t graduate. Cross referencing dates and names, Hollis discovered she’d married the first time during her junior year. Her first husband died four years later. She married again eight years after her first husband’s death. The second husband died in a stateside military hospital after they’d been married three years. Hollis felt a chill.

She took her time reading the rest of the report. One thing was clear. Frances was a survivor—literally and figuratively. Detective Mosley likely knew all the facts by now and Hollis was more than curious about his take on them.

She finished making notes to the Wallace file. She was ready as she could be for Mosley.

Once again, she tried to reach Shelby. No answer.

“Ms. Morgan, good to meet you. Let’s go into my office.”

Ted Mosley led her to a room off a hallway. The man was unimpressive in every way. He’d make an excellent undercover cop because no one would ever be able to describe him: average height, average build, brown eyes, and brown hair. Unremarkable and unassuming. Hollis took the seat he offered her.

They made small talk for a few minutes.

“Is there anything you can tell me about how the investigation is going?” Hollis asked.

“We’re making progress, but it’s going slow. It seems like the guy was well-liked. We can’t find anyone who might want him dead.”

Hollis frowned. “I can’t imagine you would. He was one of the good ones.”

“Well, somebody didn’t think so.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. When was the last time you saw Wallace?”

“About a year and a half ago. I needed a recommendation from him.”

“A lot can change for a man in a year and a half,” Mosley said, his demeanor solemn.

Hollis sat up. “What do you mean? Did something happen to him? Is there more than the murder?”

“No, of course not.” He shook his head.

He’s lying.

Hollis prided herself on her internal lie detector. It was a gift she’d exploited since childhood, and it served a dual purpose: she was adept at telling lies and just as adept at detecting a lie as soon as it left a person’s lips.

Hollis peered at him more closely. “Brian Wallace has asked for assistance in determining the circumstances surrounding the Wallace trust.”

“I don’t understand. Assist him in determining what?”

“His stepmother may not have been entirely upfront about the assets in the estate. Brian is the executor, but Frances Wallace controls the estate.”

“We checked into the money motive. His estate is modest. There doesn’t appear to be enough to risk a prison sentence.”

Hollis persisted, “Brian seems to think that his father and Frances were divorcing. She’d initiated proceedings. Obviously now it’s moot.”

Mosley leaned back in his chair and made a note on a pad. “Really? We interviewed Frances and Brian, and neither brought that up.”

“There may be another money motive. Brian wants us to make sure the trust isn’t fraudulent. I’m sure he plans on bringing this up with you.”

“Who’s this ‘us’?”

Hollis mentally kicked herself. “I have a couple of friends he knows.”

He looked at her with skepticism. “Anything else?”

“Are you aware that Frances Wallace’s first two husbands died? It appears from natural causes, but ….”

It was Mosley’s turn to frown. “What law firm did you say you were with?”

“Dodson Dodson and Doyle,” Hollis said. “The reason I’m here, Detective, is to find out if there’s anything you can tell me about Frances’ financial situation. I can’t subpoena her bank records, but I thought you might have.”

“If I could, and I can’t, why would I share them with you?”

“Because I’m an ace researcher, and I bet your departmental budget has been cut back and now you have few resources to do any deep research. And I would be willing to share anything I find with you—for instance, the name of Frances’ two former husbands.”

Mosley chuckled. “How long have you known Faber? Word around the station is that he’s starting to date again.”

Hollis paused at the switch in topics.

“I’ve known John for a while.” Ignoring his question, she said, “So do we have an agreement?”

“Yeah, I’ll tell you what I can. But I expect you to tell me any and everything you know that could influence this case.” He leaned in. “Faber, or no Faber, I will bring you up on obstructing justice and withholding information charges if you don’t.”

Hollis bristled. She could feel a blush warming her cheeks. “You don’t have to warn me twice.”

She handed him a sheet of paper with Frances’ information. It took all her restraint to keep from making a smart retort, but she needed Mosley to trust her.

“Thank you, Ms. Morgan. Check back with me in a few days. We hope to have this wrapped up by then.” Mosley opened the door for her.

Back in her office, Hollis tried to reach Shelby. No luck.

Out of frustration she contacted the Sheriff’s office, and using the checklist from her friend, initiated the trespass action. The woman on the phone, who was clearly multitasking, eventually informed her that she could go forward and have the locks changed.

A few minutes later, she briefed George on her progress. He wasn’t very encouraging.

“There’s no backing out now,” George said. “She’s your client. You need help? Are you sure you’re ready to deal with domestic disputes?”

“I won’t know until I try.” Hollis sighed. “Let me know if you think I’m missing a step, but it worries me that we can’t find her.”

Her paralegal arranged for a locksmith.

Hollis explained the situation to the locksmith and told him a process server would accompany him with the legal papers. Evidently used to such assignments, he seemed unfazed. He agreed to change the locks mid-morning on Monday, when it was less likely anyone would be home. Hollis should have her process server meet him there.

Now she needed a process server.

She called Mark. His law firm had a large real estate section. Attorneys usually had a list of reliable contractors, so hopefully he could refer her to someone.

She left a message. “Mark, I need a huge favor. Give me a call back as soon as you can.”

He rang back within a few minutes.

Mark Haddon was a true friend. He had stood by her through the many dips and curves in the road to getting her life back. He’d helped her elimination as a murder suspect and saw her through her pardon. In return, Hollis had introduced him to Rena. Lately their contact had been infrequent because he was busy building a “legal eagle” reputation, and she was busy getting her career back on track. They hadn’t spoken since that evening when she’d convinced Rena to join her in finding Jeffrey’s killer.

“Hey, Hollis, what’s going on?”

After the social amenities and a brief explanation, she ended with, “And on top of it all, I’m missing my client. Mark, can you help me?”

“Ugh. I hate evictions, so I know you’re in a tight spot.” He thought a moment. “Our firm keeps a process server on retainer. How about I contact her and give her your number?”

She smiled. “I will be forever grateful. And a woman—that’s great. We’ve been giving contracts to non-traditional vendors to give everyone a chance. I’ll file the paperwork with the court. Our firm will reimburse you.”

She gave him the locksmith details to pass on to the process server.

“How are you and John doing? Rena tells me that you guys might be getting serious.”

“Yeah, we’re doing real well. I’m not sure how you would define ‘serious,’ but we’re not seeing anyone else.”

“For you, seeing anyone, let alone not seeing anyone else sounds serious. Let’s set up a lunch or dinner and catch up.”

Hollis smiled at the confident tone in Mark’s voice. He was like a younger brother who was finally coming into his own. When she’d first met him he was an awkward, self-conscious and overly cautious associate attorney. Now he was a junior partner and on his way up the ladder in one of the largest law firms in the world.

“How about next Friday for lunch? The door locks will have been changed by then and surely Shelby will have turned up.”

“Great. No, wait, let me get back to you. I’m working on a corporate merger.”

“Then it’s your treat.”

Her next call was not as pleasurable.

“Denise, have you heard from Shelby? She still hasn’t returned any of my calls.” Again, Hollis strove to keep the concern out of her voice. “I filed a missing persons report, but the police seem to think that Shelby may have gone off on her own.”

She could hear a deep sigh on the other end.

“I was praying that you would have good news. No one here knows where she might be.” Another deep sigh from Denise. “Hollis, do you think they have her in that house?”

Hollis grimaced. “I really don’t know. Do you have any family members who can talk with Darol? Or, anyone who has a relationship with Joy or Sonny?”

“Of course. It’s just that we don’t have anyone in Northern California. I suppose I could get one of the family members to fly up but ….” Her voice trailed off.

Hollis cleared her throat. “I arranged to have the locks changed on Monday. If we need to, we’ll file a trespassing complaint. Meantime the agent will do a complete walk-through. If Shelby is there, he’ll know.”

For some reason that possibility cheered Denise. Hollis began to think it was because someone was taking action—and responsibility. Or, closer to the truth, she was beginning to sense that they were all afraid of Darol.

Denise said, “What exactly are you getting ready to do? I’ll pass the word on to the family.”

Hollis explained the strategy and gave her the contact numbers for the locksmith and process server. She agreed to contact Denise as soon as she got word that the locks had been changed.