Deceived Page 22

  Good thing they were friends as well as business partners.

  “He found a lot. Prior to the move to Montana, Sanders was heavily in debt. His credit card was maxed out, it appears he refinanced his house a year or so before the bank foreclosed on it, and he’d fallen behind in his utility bills—although he’s been steadily reducing that debt over the past three years.”

  “How, if he had no income?” Dev drew a dollar sign on the pad of paper in front of him.

  “That question’s on my list.”

  “The debt isn’t hard to explain, though.” Cal took a sip of coffee. “His family had a lot of medical issues. Those kinds of expenses can wipe people out.”

  “He should have had COBRA available for eighteen months after he lost his construction job. That would have covered most medical problems.” Dev doodled a box on the tablet in front of him, frowning. “But there would have been a gap between the end of COBRA coverage and his son’s death, so your point may be valid. What else did you find out?”

  Connor scanned the sheet again. “I had the broker pull some detail from Sanders’s credit card statement for the year before and after Kate’s husband died. A couple of red flags showed up. The first, about nine months before the accident, was a significant airline charge—suggesting he bought a ticket—or two—to some far-flung destination. The other is that for four months around the time of the accident, there was no credit card use at all.”

  “He didn’t want his activity—or location—traced for that period.” Cal made a note on the tablet in front of him.

  “That would be my take.” Connor folded his hands on the table.

  “So what can we do to help nail this guy?” Nikki leaned forward.

  “I’m glad you asked. There are quite a few people I want to contact, and with a little help from my friends, I could wrap up that piece of the investigation pretty quickly.”

  “I’m in.” Dev lifted his shamrock mug.

  “Me too,” Cal seconded. “I have a few calls to make this morning to iron out some details for our executive protection gig in New York, but I can clear my schedule after that.”

  “I’m up for anything that gets me out of filing.” Nikki sent a pointed glance toward Dev.

  “A temporary reprieve,” Dev countered.

  She made a face at him.

  “Here’s what I’m thinking.” Connor distributed background sheets as he doled out tasks. “Dev, I’d like you to tackle Cleveland. See if you can track down Sanders’s old boss or any former co-workers. Nikki, try connecting with someone on the staff of the church he attended there, which I assume is the one listed in the death notices for his wife and son. The high-school-buddy or old-neighbor-trying-to-reconnect pretext should work. Or use whatever seems appropriate. If phone contact doesn’t turn up anything, a trip to Cleveland might be in my future.”

  Nikki picked up her pen. “What specific information are you hoping to get?”

  “Cause of death of Sanders’s son. Anything you can find out about his expensive travel bill. Why he left his job. General information about the man’s attitude and personality. Why he refinanced his house. Why he was in debt.”

  Dev finished scribbling and looked up. “You don’t want much.”

  “I’ll take anything—and everything—I can get. I’d rather end up with pieces that don’t fit our puzzle than have gaps in the picture. Given his pattern, I think it’s safe to assume he hasn’t been in touch with anyone back in Cleveland, so we shouldn’t have to worry about him being tipped off to our questions.”

  “What’s my assignment?” Cal moved his coffee aside and picked up his own pen.

  Connor extracted some clipped pages from his pile and passed them over. “That’s a copy of the incident report and autopsy from the accident. With your police background, I thought it made sense for you to touch base with the local authorities and see if you can ferret out anything that wasn’t in the report. Impressions, opinions, conjectures. I figured one of your old buddies at County might have a contact in New York who could smooth the way for you with an introduction.”

  “In other words, assure the cops up there I’m not one of the slimeball PIs.”

  “That was the general idea.”

  “Anything else?”

  “If you can manage to track down any info on where Sanders was for the four months around the time of the boating accident when he dropped off the radar, that would be helpful.”

  Cal jotted some notes. “I’ll give it a shot. I assume you’re tackling Montana?”

  “Yeah. I’ve already researched the town. There’s a family-owned diner that sounds like a local hangout, from what I can gather on the Net. I doubt our guy was all that social, but chances are in three years he was in there at least a few times. And with a cute kid in tow, he’d likely be noticed. There’s also a small neighborhood grocery store. I’m going to see if anyone remembers them, and dig for information on where he lived. If I can nail that, I’ll talk to his landlord too. This one could also require a trip if the phone ploys tank.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Dev connected the two offset boxes he’d doodled, creating a 3-D image.

  “Why don’t we regroup around four with status reports?”

  “Works for me.” Nikki rose, notepad in hand, and his two partners stood as well.

  “With all of us on this, we should be a lot closer to having some answers by the end of the day.” Cal studied the documents in his hand as he walked toward the hall.

  “I hope so.” Connor followed them out, flipping off the light in the conference room as he exited.

  And hoping a light would flip on during the next few hours that would throw some illumination on a case that was growing darker and more sinister with each day that passed.

  As Kate added a packet of sugar to her coffee in the New Start break room, Nancy poked her head in the door.

  “Your ten o’clock is here.” She homed in on Kate’s mug. “What’s with the sugar?”

  “I need an energy boost.”

  “Busy weekend?”

  “Too busy. And not enough sleep.” The latter thanks to a certain PI who’d invaded her thoughts—and to concerns about a little blond boy who, if he turned out to be Kevin, was in for another major trauma. Both had kept her tossing.

  “I hear you. The boys both had softball games. Trust me, watching Little League is not a recommended activity for an August afternoon in St. Louis. I was afraid I was going to melt like the wicked witch in the Wizard of Oz.”

  Kate offered a sympathetic chuckle. “At least I stayed cool most of the time.”

  “Well, I hate to tell you, but this day is heating up. I just had a call from Diane Koenig, that new client you saw last week. The one who wore the great Saks-Fifth-Avenue type outfit?”

  Also the one who’d clammed up at the end of their session, then left in a hurry—without making an appointment.

  “What did she want?”

  “An appointment—today, if possible. I told her you were booked solid, but she insisted I ask if you could fit her in. You want me to slot her for tomorrow or Wednesday instead?”

  Kate hesitated. She didn’t have a spare minute today—but Diane had seemed so distressed when she’d left last week. Despite her designer clothes, she’d looked like a woman who needed a friend. A woman who was still fragile as she tried to carve out a new life and reclaim the confidence her abusive husband had destroyed. A woman who was now asking for help.

  “See if five-thirty works for her.”

  Folding her arms, Nancy sent her a stern look. “You need to look after yourself too, you know. You’re still going to take your four-day weekend, aren’t you?”

  Kate wrinkled her brow. “Is that this week?”

  “Yes. You scheduled it in January. Don’t tell me you’re going to cancel this one like you cancelled the last two.”

  She lifted one shoulder and sipped her coffee. “Maybe. I don’t have anything planned.”

  “Th
en plan something. Go to a movie. Read a romance novel. Eat out. Or just sleep in. But take the time. You’re way overdue for some vacation.”

  Considering she hadn’t taken off more than a handful of days in the past two years, the receptionist had a point.

  “Fine. I’ll let it stand.” She edged past Nancy and started toward her office.

  “Good. Are you ready for your next client?”

  “Yes.” Her cell began to ring as she approached the door, and she increased her pace. “Give me five minutes for this call.”

  “Will do.”

  Kate rounded her desk and dug her cell out of the purse on her credenza. The number was unfamiliar, but she recognized the Rochester exchange.

  John’s office manager, responding to her email.

  Stomach knotting, she circled back to close her door and said hello.

  “It’s Barbara. Can you talk?”

  “Yes. Are you on your cell?”

  “I am—like you asked. I didn’t look at my personal email until I got into the office this morning, and I had to wait for a break to duck out and call you. Your request to use my cell rather than the office phone was intriguing. What’s up?”

  Kate sat and gripped the arm of her chair. “I have a favor to ask.”

  “Name it.”

  “Not so fast. This might be a little dicey.”

  “Coming from you, I doubt that. You and John were the most aboveboard people I ever met.”

  “I hope you still feel that way after this request.”

  “Now you’ve really piqued my interest.”

  Kate took a deep breath and plunged in. “I can’t tell you the details yet, but a strange situation connected to John’s accident came up a couple of weeks ago and I’m trying to check out a few things. I know patient information is sensitive, but it’s very important for me to find out whether a boy named David Sanders was ever seen by John. In all likelihood it would only have been a consultation or two, since the boy lived out of state. So I was thinking that if he wasn’t a patient, you could just tell me no, right? And if he was, a simple ‘no comment’ wouldn’t break any rules, would it?”

  As the silence stretched between them, Kate’s fingers began to tremble. Heart thumping, she carefully set her coffee down before she spilled it all over the file on her desk.

  This had been a bad idea.

  “Look, I’m sorry, Barbara. I don’t want to put you in an uncomfortable—”

  “Hold on a minute. No apology necessary. I was thinking through your proposition. I know you wouldn’t ask if this wasn’t important, and handling it the way you suggested shouldn’t be an issue.” A few seconds of silence ticked by. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll do some digging on that name as soon as I get a chance and text your cell with a no or a no comment, like you suggested. How’s that?”

  Closing her eyes, she exhaled. “Perfect. I can’t thank you enough for doing this.”

  “Not a problem. But down the road, I’d like to hear what’s behind it.”

  “If things turn out the way I’m beginning to think they might, you’ll be one of the first to know.”

  “Fair enough. Now it’s back to work for me—and for you, I’m sure. Watch for my text.”

  “Count on it.”

  For a long moment after the line went dead, Kate held the phone in her hand. She needed a minute to psyche herself up for the intense hour to come. Her clients deserved her total focus.

  But it wasn’t going to be easy to concentrate today.

  Finally, with a sigh, she dropped the cell into her purse. She’d have to do her best to put speculations out of her mind.

  And try not to worry about where they went from here if Barbara’s answer was no.

  18

  Elk Café. If you can shoot it, we can cook it. How can I help you?”

  At the booming female greeting, Connor stifled a chuckle and eased the phone back from his ear. Already the Philipsburg eatery was living up to the down-home image on its website. That should increase the odds the woman would be receptive to his friendly Texan pretext and tell him what she knew about Sanders.

  “Howdy, ma’am. I’m hoping you might be able to help me out with some information.”

  “I’ll do my best, sweetie. Hang on a sec.” When she spoke again, her voice was muffled, as if she’d covered the mouthpiece with her hand. “Wally! You workin’ on JoJo’s order? That tour bus is stoppin’ by the mine this morning, and he’s gettin’ antsy.” An even more muffled male voice spoke, the words indistinguishable, then the woman was back. “So what can I do for you?”

  Connor leaned back in his chair, propped his ankle on his knee, and delivered the speech he’d prepared. “Well, I may be passin’ real close to Philipsburg in a couple of weeks, and I was hoping to meet up with an old high school buddy of mine. Last I heard, he lived in your neck of the woods. I can’t find a phone listing for him, so I googled the town and saw your place. It sounded real friendly, and I thought someone there might know how I could reach him.”

  “We do see most of the locals on a regular basis, since we’re the best restaurant in town. A word to the wise—our sapphire omelet is to die for. People come from as far away as Butte and Missoula to order it, and we run it as a special on Sunday mornings with a side of hash browns and homemade sausage. You remember that if you get out our way. What’s this guy’s name?”

  “Greg Sanders. He has a little boy who’d be about seven now. I heard he lost his wife a few years back.”

  “Hmm. Not a regular here, that’s for sure, but the name does seem familiar. Hold again for a sec.”

  As she once more covered the mouthpiece and called out a question about Sanders, Connor frowned. Bad news if Sanders’s name wasn’t ringing any bells. The woman sounded as if she knew most of the residents.

  Leaning forward, he reached for the slip of paper containing the number of the family-owned grocer. If this call went nowhere, the store was next on his list.

  “Sweetie, did he work for Patrick Lodge?”

  Connor grabbed his pen and jotted down the name, his adrenaline spiking. “I don’t know who he worked for out there. He used to be in construction, but with the economy and all, he could have changed businesses. Unless this Patrick Lodge owns a construction company?”

  “No. He’s some big-shot executive with an aerospace company in Seattle. I think I know who you’re talking about, though. Quiet guy, fortyish, kept to himself. He did have a little boy, and I’m pretty certain his first name was Greg, but I can’t vouch for the last name. He never came in here that I recall, but I saw him around town a few times through the years.”

  “That could be him.”

  “If it is, I’m afraid you might be too late. Mr. Lodge and his family eat here whenever they’re at their vacation house. They’re partial to those omelets I told you about. Anyway, on their last visit he said he was looking for a new live-in caretaker for his place.”

  “How long ago would that have been?”

  “Oh, three, four months ago, I’d say.”

  The timing fit.

  “So much for meeting up with an old buddy—unless Mr. Lodge mentioned where Greg went?”

  “Not that I recollect. But he did say he was sorry to lose him, so I expect he was a reliable worker. You might try calling him in Seattle, if he’s in the phone book. He’s real down-to-earth and a wonderful family man. His wife is the sweetest little thing, and his teenagers are as polite and well behaved as I’ve ever seen. I know he’d be happy to talk with you about your friend.”

  “I may give him a call.”

  “You do that, sweetie. It’s always good to reconnect with friends from the past.”

  “Thanks for all the information. And if I get to Philipsburg, I’ll stop by and try one of those omelets.”

  “You won’t be disappointed, I can promise you that. I’ve been here fifteen years, and I’ve never heard a complaint. You ask for Belle if you come in and I’ll see you get the VIP treatment.
” A male voice called her name in the background. “Gotta run, sweetie. Breakfast traffic is pickin’ up. Good luck.”

  Once the line went dead, Connor swiveled toward his computer and typed Lodge’s name in the browser, along with the words aerospace and Seattle.

  Multiple hits showed up, and he worked his way through them—including interviews from the Missoula and Butte newspapers in which Lodge waxed poetic about the beauties of Montana and his two-hundred-plus-acre spread a few miles from Philipsburg. Lodge was, indeed, an aerospace executive, though not with one of the bigger players in the industry. He sounded more like a smaller subcontractor. That should make him more accessible.

  First, however, a call to the grocery store was in order. Since the woman at the diner hadn’t been able to verify the last name of Lodge’s caretaker, better to nail the ID before contacting the executive.

  Picking up the phone again, he tapped in *67, as he’d done with the diner call. Blocking caller ID might be overkill, but someone in Philipsburg could know that 314 wasn’t a Texas exchange. No sense raising any red flags.

  “Garrison’s.”

  Another woman—but this one didn’t sound as approachable as Belle.

  After greeting her, Connor laid on the Texas charm again and launched into a repeat performance of his spiel, ending with a recap of his conversation with the woman at the diner. “She wasn’t sure my friend was the one who worked for Mr. Lodge, so before I go bothering an important man like him, I was hopin’ to verify that the Greg she thought she remembered was the one I’m trying to find. If he lived in the area, I figured he might have come to your store now and then.”

  “You say you’re a high school buddy of his?”

  Definitely more cautious than the woman at the diner.

  “Greg was one of my best friends back in those days.” Greg Martinelli, not Sanders, but no need to pass that on.

  “Well . . . I don’t usually give out information on my customers, but I can’t see any harm in this. His last name was Sanders, and he did work for Mr. Lodge. I guess he was here about three years, give or take a few months. But you missed him. He moved away back in the spring. Came in and settled up his account—not that there was much to settle. I think he did most of his shopping in Butte or Missoula.”