Rest in Pieces (24 page)

“Why are you here? This is Lakeside. Nothing bad, except for Molly’s murder, happens here.” This was the last thing I’d expected. He was DEA? Of course he could be lying, but why? I already suspected he knew more about Molly’s death.

He pulled out a small business card from inside the black bag and handed it to me—the business card, not the bag. “Here’s my supervisor’s card. Call him and confirm if you want, but don’t do it from a phone that’s bugged.”

I guess my I’m–convinced expression needed some work.

“Look, I’m here because Lakeside isn’t what it seems. On the outside, it’s all
Stepford Wives
perfect, but there are some really bad people who live here, and really bad things happen here that go uninvestigated. The police department looks the other way. Your husband was investigating something big before he…ah…left.” He handed me the golden lipstick jammer.

“What bad people? What bad things? Wait a minute, my ex–husband was involved?” Should I tell him that my name was on a list of people who’d all died from respiratory failure? Until I called the number on the card and verified that Daman was really a DEA agent, I really shouldn’t tell him anything. Then again, the card could be fake, and so could the boss man. My capacity for conspiracy theories was astounding. In fact, I was becoming a champion conspiracy theorier…theorist? Would Googling that word clue the people who’d bugged my phone into the fact that I was on to them?

“Yes, David was knee–deep in bad business before he disa…um, before he left.” Daman watched me very closely. My guess was, he was waiting for me to call his bluff. Or maybe, he was expecting me to attack him in defense of my ex. We’d be having the Winter Olympics in hell before that would happen. David was a shit; nothing about him surprised me anymore. The man had a public face that was all charming and amiable, but I’d seen the real David…the mean David.

“A lot of money moves in and out of Lakeside.” He looked at me like I was supposed to know what he was talking about.

“So, most of the people who live here have a minimum of seven figure incomes. Out here, excess is the norm.” I was the exception to the rule. My idea of excess was splurging for dessert at Chili’s.

“This is dirty money. Lakeside does a nice business in cleaning money for terrorists, the Russian mob, drug lords, the triad, and every other illegal operation you can think of. Lakeside is the capital of taking white money and turning it into black money. Something like eight out of every ten dollars that leaves here came from some illegal means. There’s more to Lakeside than just country clubs and banks. Did you know that every major terrorist group has an account that leads back to Lakeside? Every single one.” He watched me very carefully, gauging my reaction.

“White money into black money?” What the hell was that?

If people were going to talk to me in code, they needed to provide me with a decoder ring.

“Taking white money that comes from illegal sources and turning it into black money that’s clean is basically money laundering, but the only people who call it money laundering live in Hollywood.”

“Okay, so black money is clean money?” I had no idea being a criminal was this complicated. I’d lived long enough not to swallow whole every tale I’m told, but part of me believed this. Something about Lakeside had always been off, and I always thought it was just me.

“Yes, black money is clean money.”

“Okay, for the sake of argument, let’s say this is true. You’ve been able to trace the money, why not just arrest the people in charge?” Was this why Molly had been killed? Because she knew too much? That would explain the large amount of cash. Should I ask about the gold? Did gold need to be laundered…um, blackened? Was there such a thing as dirty white gold?

“It’s not that simple. While we have the account information, we need to know how they’re cleaning the money and where it’s going afterward. That’s why I’m here. We think they use the Mexican drug cartel’s tunnels to smuggle the cash out of the country. While we’re interested in the people here who are cleaning the money, we want to know who the mastermind is. All we have is a name…Cervantes.”

“Cervantes?” The name didn’t sound familiar, but I really didn’t run in the same circles as criminal masterminds. Hell, I didn’t run in any circles period. “So they set you up here with the fancy house and money to flash around hoping to attract the right people.”

If all of this was true, the plan made sense.

“Sorry to disappoint you, but the money and houses are all mine.” He grinned. “I’m a trust fund baby. My parents own all of the McDonald’s in Latin America and several in Europe.”

Well, THAT was reason enough to like him. Who cares about the trans fats, his family was responsible for the making of some fantastic fries.

“That’s disappointing. I liked you better five seconds ago when I thought you were only a DEA agent.” I hunched my shoulders. You win some and you lose some. “You’re the second trust fund baby I’ve met recently.” Well I actually hadn’t met the other trust fund baby, but I’d met his house and it was so horrible that I really didn’t want to meet the people who lived there. “Is Molly’s murder connected to all of this white money…or black money…or whatever?”

Not that I didn’t care about the seedy, under world side of Lakeside, but well, I kind of didn’t. All I cared about was finding out who killed Molly and why.

Daman looked around again making sure that no one was watching us. “Yes. I don’t know how or why, but it’s connected. I didn’t know Molly Miars, but from what I’ve been told, she wasn’t the person you thought she was.”

“What do you mean?” After all I’d found at Molly’s house, I too was beginning to believe that she wasn’t the person I thought she was.

“Her mom lives at Lakeside Living. Molly bought her mother’s condo in cash. That is a huge red flag.” My blank look caused him to cock his head to the left. “Most law abiding citizens store their money in a bank, but Molly’s bank had no record of any large deposits. Only her teacher’s paycheck, and that wasn’t anywhere close to the million she paid Lakeside Living.”

I leaned against the open car trunk. “It’s drugs…she was manufacturing or selling or something.”

It was the only thing that made sense. She’d probably used the phone we found in her drug business. Should I hand it over to Daman? The tiny law abiding part of me thought I should, but luckily, that was only an itty–bitty little part. The rest of me said no way.

“Yes and no. We don’t have much information on Molly but what we have doesn’t suggest that she was making or distributing. She was involved in some other way.” His dark brown eyes were all sincerity.

“How?” What about the massive chemistry set in Molly’s garage? Maybe she was transitioning into making the product instead of just working behind the scenes?

“We think she was involved in the white to black operation. No one knows how, only that she had a lot of cash. Not that she flashed it around, but she did start investing in gold and other precious metals.” He crossed his arms. “Making large purchases in cash and converting large sums of cash into precious metals or precious stones raises lots of red flags. Both are ways of turning white money into black.”

“What about gray money?” It was a fair question. Not everything was black and white.

He stared at me for a couple of beats. “I don’t understand.”

“If there’s white money and black money, why can’t there be gray money? You know, kinda dirty and kinda clean?” Hopefully Molly’s money was on the gray to blackened side, but I didn’t think so.

“And what about diamonds?” I was trying for nonchalance but my voice came out high and squeaky. “Are they a way to blacken money?”

Was there a possibility that the diamonds weren’t his? Maybe Molly had bought exactly one hundred and thirty–two diamonds, which coincidentally was the exact number that he’d lost. It could happen…maybe.

Daman’s eyes narrowed and five straight lines dented his forehead. “Mustang, watch your back. Like I said the other night, you’ve made it on the radar of some very bad people. They’re watching and listening. Don’t piss them off.”

I was pretty sure I’d already done that. I seem to piss people off without really knowing that I’m doing it. Everyone has a talent and that’s mine.

His face screwed up. “What do you know about diamonds?”

He continued to stare at me. Was this some interrogation tactic he’d learned in the DEA?

“Okay, um….what if I told you that I’d found some diamonds?” Notice I didn’t say his diamonds. They could have been anyone’s. Since he was probably being honest, I thought I’d throw him a bone. “They might be yours, I can’t be sure. Can you describe the diamonds you lost?”

His mouth dropped open and I could swear he was thinking, “you idiot.” “They’re diamonds…they look like diamonds.” He closed his eyes and shook his head and then his eyes opened. It was like he was taking a moment to keep from strangling me. David had done that…lots of times. “Where exactly did you find these diamonds?”

I looked down. Studying the grass at my feet seemed like a great idea. “Molly’s house.”

This might be revealing too much, but I didn’t think he’d let me leave until I told him.

“Ay dios mio.” He tunneled his fingers through his hair. “Put them back and walk away. You have no idea what you’ve stumbled into.”

That pretty much summed up my life. I’m a stumble–into–er.

He grabbed my shoulders and pulled me into a tight hug. “I can’t protect you all of the time.”

“Since when do I need protecting? I’ve been doing a wonderful job all by myself.” Okay, so wonderful was stretching it, but he’d pushed my biggest, hairiest button. I’m not a feminist per se, but I’m not, NOT a feminist either. I believe in equal rights and pay for everyone, but I’m fine with men opening doors for ladies and picking up the tab at dinner. Call me old fashioned, but real men don’t go Dutch. And what does that mean anyway? Are Dutch men known for being cheap?

“Calm down.” He stroked my back.

I’m not going to lie, it was nice. Daman’s chest was warm and hard. Every time he took a breath, his pec bumped my ear.

His hand stroked my hair. “I’m not saying that you can’t protect yourself, I’m only saying that…”

Yeah, there was no way out of this for him. I respected that he’d come to that conclusion all by himself. Most men would have kept on arguing in the hopes that I’d get tired of it or I’d get so confused by their asinine logic that I’d give up. My ex had preferred the asinine logic method. It never worked for him, but since he believed his own asinine logic, he’d never realized that it didn’t work. I have a theory that Y chromosomes are incompatible with common sense.

“Daman, I appreciate your concern, but why in the world do you feel the need to protect me? We don’t know each other all that well.” I wasn’t trying to antagonize him, but that goes back to my ability to piss off people and not know it.

Daman took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “David asked me to take care of you.”

David? My ex–husband? It took me a couple of seconds to let that sink in.

I shook off his hands and stepped back. “What the hell? Was that before or after he ran off with his girlfriend?”

A bucket of ice water dumped on my head couldn’t have been more shocking. “And wait, how do you even know David?”

“We were friends at Texas A& M. After I tore my ACL and couldn’t play soccer anymore, he was the one who encouraged me to join the DEA. He was my friend.” He turned large, brown puppy dog eyes on me imploring me to believe him.

Suddenly things fell into place.

“Oh my God, you’re Rod…D–Rod. He called you Rod…Rod, his friend from the DEA.” David had spoken about his friend in the DEA. I didn’t want to tell Daman, but David had spent a good deal of time laughing at his sappy friend in the DEA. Here’s the thing, and Daman clearly didn’t know it. My ex–husband wasn’t a nice person. He used people to get what he wanted and when they were of no more use to him, he found bigger and better friends.

I clamped my hand over my mouth. “What do you mean was?”

Daman opened his mouth to say something and then closed it again. He looked like he was weighing what he was going to say very carefully.

“Spit it out.” My heart was pounding a mile a minute. What did ‘was’ mean? They were no longer friends, or did the ‘was’ mean something else…something awful. Yes, it had taken me a while to see David for the person he really is, but he’s still the father of my son. I didn’t want him dead…well I might have pictured it in detail a time or two, but I was pretty sure that I really didn’t want him dead.

“Mom, what’s taking so long?” Max opened the passenger’s door and hopped out. “I’m hungry.”

He walked over to us.

Before Max made it to us, Daman leaned over and whispered, “I haven’t heard from David since the day he…left.” Daman shook his head. “Mustang, he isn’t on Grand Cayman. David disappeared.”

That was a hell of a thing to say one second before my son walked up. There was no chance that I could get any more info, but I had so many questions.

Max looked up at with worried eyes. “Are you okay? You look funny.”

I cleared my throat and plastered on what I hoped was a halfway sane smile. “I’m fine.”

Daman leaned down so that he was on Max’s level. “I was just about to tell your mom, I have to go back to Mexico for a couple of days on business, but I’d love to have dinner with both of you when I get back. Would you be available on Saturday? You could bring your swimsuit. I have an indoor pool. How about two o’clock? We could swim and then have dinner.”

David hadn’t run off, he’d disappeared? Nothing made sense. Daman thought that David disappeared. What did that mean? Was David dead?

I hadn’t heard from him since the day he left the note and cleaned out our checking account. I’d been blind–sided.

There was a tugging on my t–shirt hem.

I glanced down.

Max was asking me something.

“What?” Usually I could carrying on several conversations at once, but I was nothing short of shell–shocked. “What did you say?”

“Can we go?” Max was using the pitiful puppy dog eyes. “Please?”