The Sweetheart Racket (5 page)

They headed for the apartment. The two-story brick building sat between a lawyer's office and a proctologist's practice. Rick made some sort of under-his-breath comment about the connection between the two and received an eye roll in response.

They spent the next half hour speaking to the residents who were home on the first floor. Most worked at either the university or one of the hospitals and thankfully didn't work straight nine-to-five shifts. No one knew anything about Honey. The one woman who had talked to her a couple of times had exchanged pleasantries about the weather and little else.

“I already spoke to the woman across the hallway from her. She rarely saw Honey but admitted to flirting with one of her sons a couple of times,” Rick said, as they headed up carpeted stairs to the second floor. “The unit on her left is empty. There was no sign of the couple on the right. According to the landlord, they travel a lot.”

Taryn rapped on several doors. No answers. They headed to the last unit past Honey's and lucked out. The traveling couple was home. The woman who answered was deeply tanned with a slightly burnt and freckled nose. It was hard to gauge her age by the leathery look of her skin, but Rick guessed low to mid thirties. With a few more years of sun baking behind her, she'd look seventy.

“Yes?”

While Taryn introduced herself and was led inside, Rick examined the woman's outfit. She was wearing a pink crop top to showcase her belly ring and a pair of cutoff jeans shorts that barely covered her ass. Not that he noticed.

“I'm Cindi with an
I
and that's my boyfriend, Chad.” She indicated the guy sprawled on the couch. He was in his late twenties, shirtless and wearing board shorts in a bright red-and-black floral pattern. Several surfboards leaned against one wall and framed photos of a surfer riding waves covered one wall.

“Wassup?” Chad said.

“They're here about the lady that lived next door,” Cindi-with-an-I explained. “The one with the little white dog.”

“Cool.” Chad laughed and added in a stereotypical surfer-dude-stoner voice, “Hey, dudes, that dog was gnarly. He liked to hump my leg.” He made the motion with his arms and a full-body pump. Cindi giggled.

Great. They'd fallen into the middle of
Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure
.

W
hile Rick squelched a grin, Taryn pushed aside the image of Chad and the dog doing a mating dance and refocused. She opened her phone to Brinkman's old Match-Mate profile. “What we want to know is if you ever talked to her, or her sons, and if she ever had this man around her apartment?”

She showed both the grainy photo.

Cindi shrugged. Chad nodded. “I saw him a few times. He made late-night booty calls.” He winked at Taryn. “Spread a little Honey on his bread, if you know what I mean?”

Yet another unwanted image. Why hadn't she become an accountant like her father wanted?

“Did you ever talk to him?” she asked.

Chad scratched his neck. “Yup. Once in the parking lot. He said he surfed Baja back in the day. Baja is rad. But, like, I think he was messing with me. He didn't, like, know my dad or Issie. Everyone who surfed back then knew those dudes on the coast. They're, like, legends, man.”

Despite the heavy stoner accent, she got the gist of what he was saying. Having spent four years in college, she understood stoner-speak. “You think he was lying?”

Shrugging, he picked at a toenail, as Cindi dropped on the couch beside him. “Maybe. Maybe not. He was old. Old guys lose their memories, right?” He paused, grinned, and added, “And their boners, too.”

Cindi giggled again and slapped his leg. Taryn frowned.

Rick wandered off to look at the photos.

“What about Honey?” Taryn said patiently, when the giggling faded off. She reminded herself that working as a burger flipper or road kill collector had their disadvantages, too. Grease burns and a gagging stench were two. “Can you tell me anything personal about her? Did she have a job? Did she donate time to a charity?”

Chad grinned. “She was hot. So hot.” Cindi pinched him on the arm. “Ouch! Dude, what was that for?”

“She's, like, your mother's age!” Cindi said, miffed.

“So? She's still hot.”

Another pinch. He yelped and rubbed his arm. “That is so not cool!” They began a heated exchange. Good grief.

Rick snorted and shot Taryn a pitying glance that was laden with humor. Some help he was.

“Hey. Hey!” Taryn yelled over the noise. They stopped and looked at her. She lifted her hands palms out, took a breath, and remembered it was never too late to take up accounting. “Other than hotness, what do you know about Honey?”

The pair exchanged a glare. “She liked to bake cookies,” Cindi said. “Honey brought us some when we moved in.”

“She also drove a white Mustang convertible,” Chad said.

“Oh, and she read celebrity gossip magazines,” Cindi said. “I saw her get them out of her mailbox.”

Chad nodded with another wink at Taryn. “And she liked to wear tight tank tops.”

Cindi exploded. “Seriously?” The shouting began again. Taryn rubbed her fingertips on her temples. This was leading nowhere.

She glanced at her client for assistance. Instead of coming to her aid, Rick leaned forward and closely examined a photo of what she assumed was Chad on a huge wave. His eyes went wide. He leaned closer, frowned, and turned to the arguing couple.

Pointing at the photo, he asked, “Are those sharks under your board?”

The pair fell silent. Chad grinned and nodded. “Yeah, dude. Totally rad, right?”

* * *

After confirming that a cameraman had indeed captured the image of a pair of great white sharks almost having Chad as a snack off the coast of Australia—a cool picture, by the way—Taryn and Rick left the apartment having learned zero useful information to advance the case.

“Remind me why I do this for a living,” Taryn grumbled, as they walked back to the car. “I've heard hooking for cash has its rewards. You make your own hours and I think they offer dental if you get in with the union.”

“There's a union?”

She shot him a quelling look. “Sometimes it's better to let a woman vent than to comment.”

He grinned. “Is that in the Understanding Women Handbook, because I'd like a copy?”

Tension faded. He was too cute to stay mad at. Of course, she'd never tell him that. “Dude, you can read that book all day and never figure me out. I'm totally rad, gnarly, and awesome, but also mysterious,” she said in her best surfer-stoner voice. “And I'm stoked to get this case closed, so let's hit it before the waves flatline.”

His chuckle followed her into the car. “You've spent too much time with Chad.”

“Not enough, in his mind.” She leaned forward and pulled a slip of paper out of her back pocket. She held it up. Chad's name and cell number were written on it in sloppy handwriting. “He slipped me this as we left the apartment.”

Rick's eyes narrowed. “You aren't seriously considering calling him?”

“He is the kind of guy I like: cute and uncomplicated.” Cindi aside, she'd never date Chad even if he was single. His surfboard had a higher IQ. She just wanted to see Rick's reaction, for fun. It had been ages since a man expressed interest in her, outside of Dave. Her job kept her too busy to date. At least that's what she told herself.

A therapist would see things otherwise.

“I can't see you with a guy who uses ‘dude' as nouns, verbs, and adjectives.” Rick interrupted her thoughts. “How does he do that, anyway?”

Although he'd kept his tone light, she saw tightening around his mouth. She liked that the thought of her and Chad together irked him. Why remained a mystery. She certainly didn't want to date Agent Silva. Of course she didn't. And he didn't want her. Besides, they'd known each other less than twenty-four hours. There was nothing between them. At. All.

Then maybe she should call Chad. Not.

Firing up the car, she changed the subject. “Why don't we move on?” Leaving Rick's first question unanswered.

* * *

Taryn's pretty hazel eyes sparkled with mischief as she pulled out her phone and swiped the screen open. She scrolled around for a minute before jerking the car into drive.

“It looks like my coworker, Summer, has tracked the name of the wife right before your mother. Apparently she and Teddy bought a couch together, as the Clarks. Both names went into the store computer when he used an old credit card from one of his previous aliases.”

“Idiot.”

Nodding, Taryn said, “You'd think he'd be smart enough not to reuse names . . . and credit cards.”

“He probably assumes he's bulletproof. I suspect he's been a sweetheart con for decades and knows the game. He's obviously gotten away with conning women for most of his life without getting caught.” Rick shook his head. “I still can't believe he's married another wife since my mother. Does this man ever take a break?”

“He does like to rack them up.” Taryn took the US-23 ramp south and hit the gas. “He's nearing retirement age now and has to be slowing down. I mean, how long can he bounce between wives before cataracts and incontinence get the better of him, and he no longer appeals to women? Maybe he now sees the wives, and their money, as a supplement to Social Security?”

“I'd like to supplement his face with my fist.”

Taryn frowned. “Down, boy. Let's worry about finding him first.”

Despite wanting to pound Brinkman into a bloody lump, he didn't want the guy dead. He'd rather the jackass spent years locked in a cage. He might even visit on family day, just to gloat.

“We're already in the car,” Taryn said. “We might as well hit her up now. Toledo isn't that far.”

“Mrs. Clark's marriage was a few years back,” Rick said as he watched her brush hair out of her eyes. “She won't have anything current.”

“True. However, at this point we're looking for names he may have dropped of old friends, or his favorite vacation destinations, even a childhood school or teacher. Little things become a big clue, when grouped together to form a picture of his history. Once we know his real name, we might be able to track him through government records or a family link.”

It was easy to see why she liked being a PI, despite occasional grumbling to the contrary. Her eyes lit up when she talked shop.

“This is like building a criminal case against a drug cartel, only without the executions,” he joked.

“Sort of.” She smiled.

Excitement took root in him. He'd been given a four-week vacation block after five years spent mostly undercover. If not for his mom and her case, he'd be bored stupid during the remaining weeks left on his leave. He loved action over relaxation. Working this was like getting back into the game, on a smaller and less dangerous scale, of course.

“Summer did find a house loan, from the early eighties, under the name Nolan Marshal. He took the note out with a woman she thinks was his first ex-wife,” Taryn said. “Unfortunately, she died five years ago from cancer. However, the loan contains what might be his actual Social Security number.”

“Socials can be faked.”

“Yes, but if that woman was his first wife, then he might not yet have turned criminal and this could be real,” she said. “Oddly, he still uses that Social but with different names. That's how Summer dug it up. Even a good con leaves a grain of truth in his phony history, if you know where to look, and how to piece them together. Summer's still searching for his childhood records and any other wives.”

“Some wives may be in hiding,” Rick said. “Men who con women are often regarded as sociopaths.”

“True. It's heartbreaking to think of how many lives he's ruined.” Her expression turned pensive. “He's likely used a variety of names over the years. That was before he started internet dating and became Teddy Brinkman. In his early years, he could escape arrest as long as he moved around. With the arrival of the internet, it's harder for him to hide.”

“Your friend found a lot of information in less than a day.” He was impressed by how much further ahead the case was in fifteen or so hours. “If she finds him, I'm treating her to a spa day.”

“Summer is a kick-butt tech and loves to hunt down criminals. Any little bit of information on Brinkman leads her to another piece of his life. The dating site and your mother's information on Teddy got her started. She lives for a challenge.”

Another thought came up. “Maybe we should try and set a trap for him online. Like offer you up as a decoy?”

Taryn nodded. “Summer is keeping watch for a new profile for him on Match-Mate. There's nothing so far. So, for now, we're doing background work. If this doesn't net results, we'll try to catfish him.”

“Catfish?”

“You know. Put up a fake profile and picture online and try to get him to bite.” His face stayed blank. She stared.

“You really were out of touch while undercover, weren't you?” She followed a big rig blocking the passing lane for several muttering-under-her-breath miles, then passed it in a burst of speed and a horn honk, when the driver finally returned to the right lane. He instinctively reached for the strap as the other driver flipped her off.

“Okay, when someone catfishes,” she continued, “they lie about themselves in profiles to hook other people into online relationships. They may put up a fake photo or give themselves an exciting hobby or job. Heck, some lie about their looks or even their gender. It's all about being a more exciting person. There's a TV show about this.”

“And you think you can do this to Brinkman?” It was an interesting concept. He should watch more TV.

“Maybe. But we need to find him first. If he goes back on Match-Mate, it'll be easy. We'll compile a profile that he can't resist. Then we'll hook him. Otherwise, we'll set up a Match-Mate profile anyway and hope he surfaces. It's harder that way, with so many women for him to dig through.”

She weaved left and right around several cars at a high rate of speed. He didn't bother to release the strap when she finally settled in the right lane. There were more slow-moving cars ahead.

“Better yet, if he's a fellow crappy driver, maybe you could run into him at court-mandated driving school?”

Taryn shot him a sideways glance. “Remind me again why I let you tag along?”

“Because I'm paying you?”

“Not enough, clearly.”

Despite the slim odds of Brinkman heading back to the dating site under his current alias, Rick had a feeling the man would screw up somehow and get caught by the Brash team. The guy may be married to Honey, but Taryn was wrong about one thing. Rick had worked around felons long enough to know that creaking bones and fading eyesight wouldn't get Brinkman out of the game. Eventually, he'd be back hunting on familiar ground and they'd get him.

“Brinkman doesn't stand a chance against Brash & Brazen girls.”

She made a face and braked at a stop sign. “I'm not a brash girl, Agent Silva.”

“I never thought you were.”

Their eyes met and held. Taryn looked away first.

He'd done right by hiring Taryn and her team. He was confident they'd find Brinkman and drag his sorry ass to jail.

“I agree that the Social Security number could be a huge lead, if it's real,” he said. “Any time Brinkman uses it, Summer will be on him. He can't hide.”

“Yes, but he hasn't used it since before your mother,” she said, tamping down her earlier excitement. “He's either using a new ID and Social, or perhaps he recently died. You never know. ‘Hot' Honey may have given the guy a heart attack.”

“I've already considered the possibility Brinkman was dead. That would be too easy, and unfortunate. I want him alive.”