Death, Taxes, and Cheap Sunglasses (A Tara Holloway Novel Book 8) (12 page)

I’d received those same bogus e-mails myself. “Did you maybe enter a contest recently? Fill out one of those paper cards to win a boat or a free month at the gym?”

“No way,” he said. “They just use that information to spam you. Besides, I’ve never won anything in my life. I’m not exactly what you’d call lucky. I was born with two undescended testicles and it’s been downhill ever since. In the past year alone my house burned down, my wife left me, and the doctors had to do emergency surgery to remove my gall bladder.”

Despite his having thrown a shoe at the IRS staff member, I was beginning to feel sorry for the guy. “I see from the documents in my file that you bank with Chase. Which branch do you normally use?”

“The one on Valley View,” he said. “It’s on my way home from work. Occasionally I go to the one on Josey, near my office.” He extracted the pincers from the brush. A stiff, flattened pair of men’s underwear was grasped between the pincers, the tighty whiteys having turned gray. With a look of disgust, Larabee dropped the undies into his bag.

I’d made some calls earlier and knew that the thief had made the withdrawal at the branch on Wycliff. Of course, banks required those making withdrawals to have some type of official identification. The thief must have presented the teller with a driver’s license or state ID card in Roy Larabee’s name.

“Did you lose your wallet recently?” I asked. “Or was it stolen?”

He shook his head. “That’s about the only bad thing that
hasn’t
happened to me.”

“What about a change of address?” I asked. “Did you get a new license after your house burned down?” Maybe an employee at the DMV had kept the old license he’d surrendered. The employee could have used the license or perhaps even sold it on the black market.

Roy shook his head. “I lived at one of those rent-by-the-month hotels until my house was rebuilt.”

So much for my DMV theory.

Out of ideas, I gave Larabee my card. “Call me if you think of anything new.”

He took my card, though he didn’t look hopeful.

“By the way,” I said. “Your attorney said your payment is late.”

Larabee’s only response was a long, sad sigh.

chapter eleven

S
kin Deep

After meeting with Roy Larrabee, I climbed back in my car, put on my defective sunglasses, and drove, squinting my one uncovered eye against the bright sun, to the office of Dr. Valentina DeMarco, a dermatologist. One of her aestheticians, a woman named Jessica Weiss, had lost $900 to the phishing scam. The missing lens wreaked havoc on my depth perception. It was a miracle I didn’t have an accident on the way over.

The clinic was in a small, freestanding building two blocks down from one of the metroplex’s many hospitals. I parked and went inside to check in with the receptionist.

“Just a moment,” the woman said. She picked up her phone and held the receiver to her ear while punching a button. “There’s a Tara Holloway here to see you.” She paused a moment. “Okay. I’ll send her on back.” She hung up the phone and gestured to a door adjacent to the waiting area. “Right through there. Third door on the right.”

“Thanks.”

I went through the door and down the hall, stopping to rap on the designated door.

“Come in,” called a female voice from within.

I stepped inside to find a thirtyish woman in pink scrubs. She had hair the color of ginger snaps and the smoothest, most flawless skin I’d ever seen this side of a baby’s butt.

“Wow,” I said, momentarily forgetting why I was there. “Your skin looks fantastic.”

“Glycolics,” Jessica said. “Great stuff. Have you ever tried it?”

I said, “No,” though judging from the disgusted expression on her face as she ran her gaze over my cheeks she seemed to have already surmised the answer.

“My eleven o’clock canceled. I could give you a treatment while we talk if you’d like. It would do wonders for those bags under your eyes and those worry lines on your forehead.”

Gee. Thanks a lot.
“What does it run?”

“Seventy-five dollars.”

I engaged in a quick mental debate. Seventy-five dollars seemed like a lot to spend on a skin treatment. Then again, maybe I’d earned a little pampering. I’d hardly slept last night, fighting off nightmares in which Nick and Christina disappeared forever. No ransom note. No bodies. No trace of them anywhere.

Dammit, I’ve earned this.

I hopped up onto the paper-covered examination table. “Let’s do it.”

I questioned Jessica as she pulled my hair back into a stretchy paper cap and used a moist wipe to remove my makeup. “Any guesses as to where the thief might have gotten your e-mail and home address?”

She retrieved a purple tube from a cabinet and sat on a rolling stool, using her heels to slide the seat closer to me. “I have no idea.” She squirted a generous blob of creamy lotion into her gloved hand and began to dab it onto my forehead and cheeks. “I’ve given it out so many places. Where I went to school. Friends. Family. Different places that I’ve worked. And of course my landlord has it, as well as the electric company, gas company, and water company. Cable company, too.” She lifted her palms. “Even my doctors’ offices.”

Her comment about the cable company got me wondering. The guys who came out to install the equipment were obviously very technologically savvy. What’s more, they’d have access to the victim’s e-mail address. “Who’s your cable and Internet provider?” I asked.

“Charter,” she said.

I made a mental note to contact Ray Larabee to see who his provider was. If it was also Charter, I might have just found my link.

While Jessica rubbed the cream into my skin, I continued to ask her the same questions I’d asked Roy Larabee. “Any chance you’ve lost your driver’s license? Or maybe turned an old one in when you moved and gotten a new one?”

Like Larabee’s, her response was negative. She’d had the same driver’s license for three years. Also, like Larabee, she banked at branches near her home and work, with Bank of America in her case. The thief, on the other hand, had made the withdrawal from Jessica’s account at a BOA only a mile from the Chase location where he’d withdrawn funds from Larabee’s account.

My interrogation complete, I closed my eyes while the glycolics worked their magic, causing my skin to tingle. Twenty minutes later, a timer went off with a
beep-beep-beep,
letting us know the treatment was complete.

“Time to clean you up.” She used a fresh wipe to remove the cream from my face, plucked the paper cap from my head, and tossed both into the trash. She picked up a hand mirror from the cabinet and handed it to me. “Take a look. What do you think?”

Gazing into the mirror, I turned my face from side to side, incredulous. There wasn’t a single wrinkle, bag, or rough patch in sight. “My skin has never looked this good!”

“For best results you should get treatments at least once a month,” she suggested, taking the mirror from me. “If you decide you want another, just give me a call. You’ve got my number.”

*   *   *

After leaving the dermatologist’s office, I ran into a nearby drugstore for a new pair of sunglasses. I found a cute pair with black-and-white-striped frames for $6.49. This was my fourth new pair in as many days. I hoped these would last me longer than the others had.

I slid into my car.
Bzzt-bzzt.
The secret cell phone hidden in the inside pocket of my blazer buzzed and jiggled. Letting out an involuntary squeal, I fished the phone from my pocket. No sense checking the phone’s screen. Only one person would be calling this number.

I flipped the phone open. “Hello?”

The only response was silence.

“Hello?” I said a little louder. “Can you hear me?”

Still only silence.

I pulled the phone away from my ear and looked at it, realizing Nick hadn’t called but merely sent me a text. All it said was
Miss you. Love to you and Mom.

He’d told me earlier that he wouldn’t be able to send me any details by text, just in case someone in the cartel got a hold of the phone. He couldn’t risk them thinking he’d been feeding information to law enforcement or even a civilian inside or outside the cartel. Drug lords tended to like their privacy and encouraged the members of their networks to keep their mouths shut, both literally and technologically.

While I was thrilled to know Nick was okay, the uninformative text left me with renewed anxiety. Where was he? How was the case going? Had he and Christina managed to collect any good evidence yet? Were they in danger? How much longer would this go on?

I closed the phone, clutching it tightly in my hand and holding it to my chest as if it were a lifeline. In a sense it was, my only link to Nick. A few seconds later, I’d composed myself enough to return the phone to my pocket. I grabbed my regular cell and called Bonnie.

“Tara, hi.” She sounded breathless, as if she’d run for her phone. “You’ve heard from Nick?”

“Just a few seconds ago,” I told her.

“And?”

“He sends his love.”

“That’s it?”

The disappointment in her voice caused my heart to writhe inside me. I wished I had more to offer her. But I didn’t. “That’s it.”

She was quiet a moment. “I suppose it’s better than nothing. But I’d hoped for more.”

“Me, too. But I’m sure he did the best he could.”

“That’s right. We’ll have to be grateful that at least we know he’s alive. How are you holding up?”

“Not too good,” I replied. “I’m trying to stay busy to keep my mind off things.”

“Me, too. I’ve taken Daffodil for about a thousand walks. She doesn’t even get excited anymore when she sees me pick up the leash. Maybe I’ll do some work on my garden. It could use some weeding.”

“How about I come over this weekend and help you out?”

“That would be wonderful, Tara. I’ll make a pitcher of my famous peach sangria.”

“Great! See you then.”

After speaking with Bonnie, I made a quick detour to the minor emergency clinic where Christina’s fianc
é
, Ajay, worked. The guy was a good doctor, but his bedside manner could best be described as smart-ass, at least where I was concerned.

Not sure if Ajay was on duty, I circled around the back of the building. Yep, Ajay’s blue Viper sat in the back of the lot. Good. I continued on around to the other side and took a spot up front.

Kelsey, the redheaded, freckle-faced receptionist, looked up as I came in. “Good afternoon, Miss Holloway. We haven’t seen you in a while.”

For a while last year, it seemed like every time I turned around I was coming into the clinic for some type of injury or ailment. Burns on my head caused by a cigarette that had caught my hair on fire. A bloody stab wound in my thigh inflicted by a cockfighting rooster. A severe rash on my girly parts caused by a sexual enhancement product. Fortunately, I’d managed to avoid injury recently and had only seen Ajay socially.

“Good afternoon to you, too.” I stepped up to the counter. “Is Dr. Maju available?”

“I’ll check.” Kelsey picked up her phone, punched a button, and spoke into the receiver. “Tara Holloway is here. Do you have time to speak with her?” She listened for a moment. “Great. I’ll send her back.” She returned the phone to the cradle and looked back up at me. “Room three.”

“Thanks.”

I stepped through the door that led back to the examination rooms. The door to room 3 stood open. Ajay sat on a rolling stool inside, entering patient data into a computer. He wore his usual Converse high-tops and jeans. When I stepped into the doorway, he looked up and stood, the gap in his white lab coat revealing a T-shirt with a Wonder Woman graphic.

“Hey, Tara.” Though Ajay smiled in greeting, his eyes remained hard and distant. He looked as tired and upset as I felt. No doubt he’d had trouble sleeping, too.

“Hey, yourself.”

I closed the door behind me and hopped up onto the crinkly paper of the exam table. “I’m assuming Christina told you about the case she and Nick are working?”

“The cartel?” Ajay said. “Yes, she did. It’s eating me alive. I’ve been popping Tums nonstop. I’ve got so much chalk in me I could poop drywall.”

I could definitely relate. “I flavored my coffee with Pepto-Bismol this morning.” It was true. And surprisingly, not nearly as disgusting as it sounds. “Can I trust you with a secret?”

He rolled his weary eyes. “Of course. I’m a doctor, remember? HIPAA requires me to keep my mouth shut so I’ve had lots of practice keeping secrets.”

“Point taken.” I leaned toward him and kept my voice low. “Nick took a secret phone with him. He contacted me this morning.”

Ajay’s face brightened. “So they’re all right?”

I nodded, pulled my covert phone out of my purse, and held it out so Ajay could read the screen.

His shoulders relaxed. He looked up and put his palms together as if in prayer. “Thanks be to Vishnu.”

Not to be outdone or to create jealousy between the gods, I looked up and issued a silent prayer of thanks to Jesus. While I had His attention, I asked for His continued protection. I’d already interrupted the Big Guy’s morning. Might as well go for broke, right?

Ajay looked me over. “You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

“So do you.”

“Touch
é
. I can prescribe a sleeping aid if you’d like.”

Though I appreciated the offer, I declined, thinking about that pill-covered coffin at the Unic. Rather than pop a pill, I’d self-medicate with the help of
el doctor
Jos
é
Cuervo and a magical lime-flavored elixir.

As I stood to go, Ajay stepped toward me and gave me a long, warm hug.

“Thanks for coming by,” he said. “You made me feel a lot better.”

We chuckled at the irony.

When he released me, I gave him a smile. “I’ll send you a bill for my services.”

He opened the door for me. “You’ll let me know if you hear anything else?”

“Of course.”

He handed me a green lollipop from a plastic bowl on the counter. “Good girl.”

*   *   *

After leaving the emergency clinic, I visited one more victim, an eighty-seven-year-old man named Freddie Babcock who lived alone in an older but well-maintained condominium northeast of downtown. His face was lined with age, but contained more laugh lines than worry lines, a sign of a life well lived. His hair, though stark white, remained thick and curly. He walked with one of those four-pronged canes, but managed to get around pretty well.