Janine Marie - Rigging a Murder 01 - The Single Shoe Mystery (11 page)

Chapter Fifteen

“
Why haven’t I heard anything?”

From the same telephone transcript acquired by Janeva in a later book, she again felt it important and appropriate to add here

M
ax stared at his computer in frustration. He had just finished an unpleasant call with his investors. They were getting impatient and he had gambled everything on this. Looking at his iPhone for the umpteenth time, he wondered again. Where was the call? Why hadn’t he heard from them? He was getting desperate. Time was running out!

He needed that chip and its data. The shareholders’ meeting was coming up, and if he didn’t deliver the chip his company would be in ruins! He would lose his plane, his luxury homes, of which he had several, his antique car collection. Worse, he might even end up in jail because after the satellite call from Princess Louisa he had told the investors that he would unveil the chip, followed by a quick release of the product.

He knew his competitors were working on a similar product and he had to be first to grab the market share. This was why his investors had given him so much money, this was the product that would revolutionize the industry and lock in the existing consumer base. More importantly, all projections were that this product would convert all the customers for the new product into loyal consumers of his company’s existing product suite, taking the company to the next level!

He jumped as his phone rang. Picking it up, he said, “Finally! I’m on my way.”

“I don’t have it…” came the hesitant and frightened sounding voice.

“What?!” Max roared, “Where is it?”

“I don’t know,” squeaked the reply.

“You don’t know where it is?? You told me you had it!” he yelled into the phone.

“I did, I thought I did, I mean it’s missing; I, I think I know where it is,” came the mumbled reply.

“Well, if you know where it is, then why don’t you have it?” Max demanded.

“Um… well… uh… Perhaps, I think it could be…”

“Perhaps! Don’t speculate! Do you or don’t you know where it is?” Max cut in.

“It’s, uh, in the…” came the garbled response.

Interrupting, Max yelled, “WHAT?! I don’t have time for this, I need that chip NOW! I can’t have it showing up from Lorenzo’s company. That would be a disaster. Get me that chip today. Understood?!”

“Yes, understood. The yacht Atlantis will be delivered this weekend from Canada, where it’s been impounded. I’ll get back on it and search the office,” said the voice from the other line.

“Damn it, don’t screw it up this time! They have increased security at Lorenzo’s office after your botched break in,” growled Max.

“Yes, I will get it! This time.”

“You are lucky you have a second, or should I say third chance. But it’s your LAST, and I need that chip today!” Max snarled.

“I won’t let you down.”

“Be sure you don’t. I hate incompetence…. Get this done and clean up your loose ends or you will be the one looking behind you.” After a moment’s hesitation Max added, with malice, “You’re not my only player,” and ended the call.

Chapter Sixteen

The Easy Way Out

From Stella’s Diary

B
ack at our waterfront town of Archipelago, Stella Blackwood sat outside Starbucks watching the commuter trains go by. The town was named for the cluster of small islands surrounding it. Over the years many bridges had been built to connect the various islands, crisscrossing the small waterways. The narrower areas had filled in and subsequently developed, so it now felt like one continuous community instead of a collection of separate islands.

Stella glanced down at her grande latte and vanilla scone; they were untouched and she pushed them away. Both were usually her favorites and always cheered her up, but not today. Putting her head in her hands to hide her tears, she subsided into quiet sobs.

John was having an affair with Catherine. When she had finally confronted him last night, he had yelled that he was going to leave her for Catherine. What was she going to do? How would she survive? She had no money of her own, and neither did John. They were not only flat broke but in debt, plus it was her name that was on all the debts. She had trusted him when he said he needed to put the mortgage and other assets in her name to keep them safe, in case his company was sued. That was before the mortgage crisis and the recession that had followed it. They had walked away from their home in foreclosure when they couldn’t refinance because the housing market had collapsed, so that their beautiful home was worth only a quarter of what they had purchased it for only a few years before.

Losing the house might not have been so bad if John hadn’t borrowed against in with second and third loans, all in her name. And the slimy people he had borrowed from were not as accommodating as the bank. They had no intention of writing the debt off as a bad debt: they expected to be paid back in full with interest—a huge amount of interest!

Her life with John had started off so well, she thought, as she stared out at a passing commuter train. She had been a hair stylist in Silicon Valley before the recession, in those wonderful days when companies regularly seemed to be going public with huge IPOs, and there was easy money to be made. John had used his small inheritance from his grandfather and started up a venture capital company. She would listen and ask careful and skillful questions of the swanky CEO wives who frequented the hair salon and spa she worked at, and pass the information on to John. Those were the best days….

Oh, and she had been talented also, back in the day, on track to becoming a senior hair designer. Truly it’s amazing what women will say when you are doing their hair or nails. She would bring home all the juicy gossip she had heard during the day, and John would act on it, either by investing in the new startup or buying that company’s shares. It was so easy to learn about a big product announcement or a merger or a husband doing the pre-IPO dog and pony show. They had made so much money! Enough that John’s small company had eventually moved to Wall Street.

She had missed California very much, but the excitement of New York was exciting, invigorating. Still, it was the sun that she missed. The cold winter and hot humid summer days were not to her liking. She sighed. Yes, it’s good to be back on the West Coast, even if it is just for a short time, she thought, lifting her face to the warm sun and endless blue sky.

She almost smiled. Then the reality of John leaving her came crashing down on her again and tears started to run down her face. A young boy and his mother walked by on their way into the Starbucks, and she heard the boy say to his mother, “That lady needs a hug, Mommy.” Quickly wiping away her tears, Stella again thought, What I am going to do? Then she fell back into her memories of better days, parties in New York, with her stylish new wardrobe, when she had become one of the swanky wives herself. But she still brought home the gossip and so was helpful to John, so he encouraged her to go to volunteer luncheons and the spa, etc. In those setting, too, women didn’t realize how much intel they gave away if you knew what to ask and could read between the lines.

But that was before, before the big property developments that collapsed. Then there was the desperate pyramid scheme that was going to save them and that didn’t work out so well—oh, and now the IRS was after them…. Putting her head back in her hands, Stella couldn’t even process those implications. She was sure that John had cheated on his taxes for many years, that was his way, always chasing after easy money. Regrettably, she had followed him every step of the way. It’s amazing what charm and looks can do…. Shaking her head she realized that John wasn’t leaving her, he was just following the most direct path to money, and that was Catherine, the rich widow.

Why had she been so trusting? She knew what he was like. She had seen him swindle and scam other people; he was proud of it. Anything that made him easy money! Standing up and walking toward the commuter train platform she thought, If only Catherine wasn’t in the picture, then I could have my life back….

She was walking down the paved platform with the crowd as the long commuter train was pulling up when she was pushed from behind. Stella flew through the air in front of the slow-moving but unstoppable train.

Chapter Seventeen

“
You will do it!”

Trent’s contribution

I
f you happened to find yourself in the Braise-Bottoms’ elegant home at 8 am on a sunny September morning, you would probably expect to see Trent and Wiffy sitting amiably sipping coffee in the breakfast room off the kitchen as they perused the newspaper and nibbled on some soft-boiled eggs and toast, exchanging polite conversation like “At my committee meeting today…” or “Should we attend that charity fundraiser on the tenth?”

What was actually being said would surprise you. In stark contrast to the perfect symmetry of a home clearly decorated entirely by an interior designer with excellent taste, complete with fresh-cut flowers, knick-knacks, and books all perfectly arranged in what could be an Ethan Allan showroom, you would hear the sounds of yelling—from Wiffy! She no longer looked like a meek, washed-out lady who spent her days at charity luncheons, smiling and speaking in quiet, modulated tones. Wiffy was yelling in a harsh voice, “Don’t shake your head at me! You will find me those shoes!”

“But, but I don’t know where they are…,” replied Trent, weakly.

“You had better figure it out! This is all your GOD DAMN FAULT in the first place! You brought me the wrong shoes!!!”

“I don’t understand! What is the big deal? They look exactly like your white boat shoes and they fit you, don’t they?”

“Well, they’re not mine!” yelled Wiffy, waving a large kitchen knife in Trent’s face.

Backing away until he ran into the fridge, Trent stammered “How… h h how?”

“Look, Einstein, if I don’t have the shoes, then one of the other women who were there does,” Wiffy pointed out, rolling her eyes. “The obvious person is Stella. Just go and get them from her.”

“I can’t just show up uninvited at her house and demand her shoes,” Trent managed to stammer as he tried unsuccessfully to push himself into the fridge.

“And why not? What about the others? Have you checked their boats and houses?” growled Wiffy, drawing the knifepoint down Trent’s Adam’s apple.

“Unh uh.”

“Then I think it’s high time you did something! I didn’t sacrifice everything to be blocked by the likes of you!” This was delivered in barely a whisper, with the knifepoint now pricking the skin.

This had happened many times before, the knife pricks always small, easily explained away as shaving cuts. And as in the past, Trent knew this was his opening. If he could get her venting about past wrongs, he could escape further threats with the knife. Besides, he needed to find John to get to Stella. He said quietly, “I don’t know what you are talking about…. You have a good life.”

“A good life, a good life!” she bellowed. “I gave up my career for what—what, I’d like to know?!” Answering her own question she sneered, “Because Braise-Bottoms don’t work. But who, I ask, took your small inheritance and tripled it? ME!” She waved the knife in the air to make her point and backed away to continue her diatribe as she paced around the kitchen’s granite-topped island. Breathing a sigh of relief, Trent put his finger to the small cut on his neck to stop the bleeding.

“It was my connections, me, me, me! That’s what got us the money to buy this house!” she yelled, waving the knife around like a pointer. “I can’t believe I let YOUR mother pressure me into giving up my job—I was on the fast track as one of the few female electrical engineers back then…. And MY parents gave up so much so I could get a decent education and a great job at a growing company. Look at that company today—it’s huge, and I would be a senior vice president by now. By the time that controlling old bat your mother dies, we will be too old to enjoy the money! All those years I lost not working, being a slave to you and the children,… using my connections to invest that pittance of a fortune you inherited to make enough money so we could have a nice house, boat, and vacations, pay for those bratty kids of ours to go to prep schools and expensive colleges….” And so it went.

Trent, having heard this all many times before, had edged over to the breakfast nook and was quietly sipping his coffee as he pretended to give Wiffy his complete attention. In fact he was contemplating how he might explain to John that he needed Stella’s white boat shoes. If he didn’t get the damn shoes…. His dominating mother would no doubt side with Wiffy. The two women were usually like oil and water, except on the rare occasion when she would surprisingly side with his awful wife. What was with the shoes, anyway? He was startled out of his thoughts by Wiffy’s final burst of anger.

“Get going! What’s the goddamn holdup?” she screamed, now standing on her tippy toes and still waving the knife in Trent’s direction.