The Deception (14 page)

"Does that mean she won't sue me?"

"Hopefully not. It certainly minimizes her damages. Then we can focus on finding out who it was that did this to you and stop them before they can do anything else."

"Thank you, Alex."

"Don't thank me yet, we still have a long road ahead of us. But next time you get a lunch invite, don't stand me up, okay? It wasn't the same without you being there."

Carrie thanked him once again before ending the call. As soon as he hung up he picked up the message sitting on his desk. It was from Louise's attorney, Jack Collins, who called while he was out. He dialed the number and was immediately connected.

"Thanks for returning my call," said Collins. "I've received the letter you faxed me this morning and I've already spoken to my client about it."

"So what does she have to say? Is she willing to work with us to find out who really sent the photos to
Gentry Magazine
?"

"No, I'm afraid not. In fact, we've decided to follow through and file our claim against Ms. Daniels."

"May I remind you sir, that Mrs. Dickenson will be receiving a generous fee from the magazine as compensation for the unauthorized use of her photos. So may I ask the reason why she intends to pursue my client?"

"Certainly. It's our understanding that when Ms. Daniels called Mr. Wyman's office she told his secretary quote, 'I can't find my release form. Would you mind emailing a copy to me?' We're told that during that call she sounded very calm and collected. She never once came across as angry or upset. She even thanked Mr. Wyman's secretary, when she congratulated her on winning the contest."

"Yes," said Alex, "she admits making that call. She was trying to get a copy of the release form without raising suspicion. She needed to see the signature because she knew she hadn't signed it. She also tells me that the email address they had on file wasn't hers, and that she had to give them her correct address so she would receive their file."

"We understand that's her story. However, we're of the opinion that your client, possibly with the help of at least one other individual, has conspired to make it appear as if the photos were submitted without her knowledge. We believe that her partner either signed the release form, or that Ms. Daniels attempted to distort her own handwriting when she signed it. Either way, she did so that in the event she got caught, she could then turn around and claim that her signature was forged. Ms. Daniels is in dire financial straights. She needed the five-thousand dollars to help pay her mother's medical expenses. She didn't count on Mr. Dickenson being a subscriber to
Gentry Magazine
."

"This is a joke, right?"

"It's not a joke, Mr. Montoya. We're serious."

"In that case, I have to ask you if you've completely lost your mind. If that's the kind of fantasy world you and your client want to live in, go ahead. I have the five thousand dollar check my client received from
Gentry Magazine
. She freely turned it over to me. Are you also not aware that this is a criminal, as well as civil matter? Ms. Daniels has already filed a police report. She never had any intention of cashing that check, and we've also informed
Gentry Magazine
that she had no intention of ever cashing it. If you want to file your frivolous lawsuit, go ahead. We'll be defending her and we believe that once the court hears our side of the story, we'll prevail."

Alex ended the call and hung up the phone in disgust. Louise was going after Carrie out of pure spite. He wadded up the message and threw it at the little miniature basketball hoop attached to his wastepaper basket. He smiled as he made his shot. His mind flashed back to high school. He'd made the varsity basketball team his junior year, and even though Carrie was hardly a basketball fan, she nonetheless attended as many games as she could, just so she could cheer him on.

"And now, Alex, the ball is in your court. Whatever you do, don't let her down."

It was time to get back to work. He'd need to enlist the services of an old and trusted friend. He turned to his computer to look up the phone number. He quickly dialed, drumming his pencil on his desk while he waited for someone to pick up.

"Talk to me," said the gravely voice on the other end.

"Hey, George, Alex Montoya."

"Hey, Alex, long time, no hear. You ready to pay up on that bet yet?"

"Soon George, soon, but right now I have another favor to ask you."

"Okay, so who is she and what's she done?" George was direct and unapologetic as usual. 

"She," said Alex, emphasizing the word, "is a woman by the name of Louise Dickenson. She's a photographer. Someone took some of her photos and gave them to a magazine to publish, without her knowledge or consent, and she thinks my client did it."

"So, did your client do it?"

"Do you think I'd be calling if she did? My client is an old and very dear friend. I've known her since the fourth grade. I looked out for her back then and I'm looking out for her now. Someone went to a great deal of trouble to set her up, George. They even forged her signature on a release form."

"That would be Betty's department."

"Yes, I know. Your better half is the best handwriting expert in the business and I'm going to need her help on this one too. In the meantime, I have to find out who did this. Not only is Louise Dickenson out to ruin my client's livelihood over something she didn't do, there's an unseen enemy out there stalking her, and I don't know what else they're capable of doing. I don't want Carrie getting hurt."

"Sounds intriguing," said George. "I'd say your little friend's gotten someone's dander up."

"Well, not intentionally. She admits went out a few times with someone who she thought was single, and now it turns out he probably wasn't. My gut tells me that whoever sent those photos to the magazine is either the guy in question, or someone close to him."

"One of those, huh? So either the guy's ticked off because she got suspicious and dumped him, or the wife found out about it and is out to tar and feather her. Either way, someone's out to get her, and that's the kind of thing that can put your friend in an early grave if she's not careful. Tell you what. You let me know what day and time works best for you and I'll stop by your office to discuss my fee."

M
aggie Andrews discreetly slipped the copy of
Gentry Magazine
between the other books and magazines she was buying. She casually wandered around the bookstore shelves a few minutes longer before strolling up the cashier and placing her items on the counter. The gray-haired man standing behind the register looked like the grandfatherly type. His nametag identified him as the store manager.

"It's a gag gift for a friend," she said as he uncovered the magazine and scanned the barcode.

"No need to explain. Most of the time people tell me they buy it for the articles. You're lucky we still had a copy."

"Really. Why's that?"

"It's the middle of August. This time of year a lot of our customers are out of town beating the heat. Most of the time it sells out within a week or two. We rarely have any copies left by the time the next issue arrives."

"I see. So when is the next issue coming out?"

"In three days." 

Maggie shrugged her shoulders and handed over her debit card. He bagged her purchases and thanked her as she headed out to the parking lot. Safely in her car, she fired up the engine, turned on the air conditioning, and pulled out the magazine. Her face beamed with pride once she found what she was looking for. Louise's photos had indeed won that month's contest, and both had been published. Maggie had already suspected it when she discovered the Carrie Daniels Photography website had been replaced by an under construction page. She dropped the magazine back into the bag, put her car into gear, and exited the parking lot. At least she had one victory to celebrate.

She winced at the sight of the real estate sign in her front lawn as she pulled into her driveway and hit the remote to open the garage door. As she stepped inside the house, her mind wandered back to that awful night when her world suddenly turned upside down. Everything seemed normal when she arrived home from her volunteer day at Ben's school. She'd gone straight to the kitchen and started making dinner. The first sign of trouble was when she realized Scott was almost an hour late. Then Sarah burst into the kitchen, crying hysterically, screaming something about her father having just abandoned the entire family. Maggie rushed upstairs and discovered that Scott's clothes and personal belongings were gone. Ten minutes later there was a knock at the front door. A stranger waited on the other side. He handed her a paper, informing her that she'd been served. Scott called the following morning. He was somewhere in Colorado, en route to Kansas City. He said he was in love with a woman there named Nancy Edwards, and that he planned to marry Nancy once their divorce was final. Seventeen years of marriage went down the drain, leaving Maggie nowhere to go.

She let out a sigh as she stepped into the kitchen to mix herself a scotch and soda. She took her drink, along with her shopping bag, into the family room. She pulled the magazine out. Once again, a smile of satisfaction broke out across her face as she stared at the photos.

"Well, Carrie, I guess we both lost out on Scott, huh? Trust me, I'm going to get as much out of him as I possibly can before Nancy gets what's left. And as for you, you little tramp, you still had it coming. So if I'm going down, then by golly you're going down with me. And do you want to know something else, Carrie? I'm not quite finished with you yet. I still have a trick or two up my sleeve, just you wait and see."

Maggie tossed the magazine aside, picked up the remote and turned on the six o'clock news. Channel Seven had an anonymous tip line and they gave out the phone number during every news broadcast. She grabbed a pen and paper. A short time later her patience paid off. The anchorman announced the number and she quickly wrote it down. She reached for the remote to turn the volume down before picking up the phone and dialing the number. After a few rings she was greeted with a recorded message.

"Thank you for calling the Channel Seven tip line. At the sound of the beep please record your message. You may remain anonymous."

She waited for the beep.

"Yes, hello. Hey, you may find this interesting. Do any of you remember the Mercer's Market girl? She used to do
TV
commercials, here in Arizona, some twenty years ago. Anyway, my husband just got done reading this month's issue of
Gentry Magazine
, and there's a couple of nude photos of her in the magazine. Apparently, she's all grown up now, and she's in the photo contest section. Oh yeah, her name is Carrie Daniels. Anyway, he showed me the pictures. They're real eye-openers, if you know what I mean. You know, it's really shocking to see that innocent little girl from those old
TV
commercials displaying herself like a harlot. Makes you wonder what the world is coming to. Well, that's all I have to say. Thanks for listening. Bye."

Maggie let out a giggle as soon as she disconnected the call.

"Well, Carrie, what can I say? Just when you thought the scandal was dying down, I've added to another nail for your coffin."

She took another sip of her cocktail before picking up the remote to channel surf. She soon came across one of her favorite old movies,
The African Queen
. The movie had just started so she settled into her chair to watch. An hour later it was interrupted by a loud knock at the door. Maggie sat straighter with a jolt. She decided to ignore it. Whoever it was knocked again, this time much louder.

"FBI. Open up," shouted a man on the other side.

She ran to the door. As soon as she opened it, a forty-something man, with dark, thinning hair and a dark mustache, presented her with a badge.

"I'm looking for Scott Andrews."

"I'm sorry, my husband and I have separated. He no longer lives here."

"In that case, I'm sorry to bother you, ma'am, but I'll need to ask you a few questions. May I come in?"

"Certainly," she replied as she invited him inside. "Sorry 'bout all the mess. I'm usually pretty neat and tidy, but right now my kids are visiting their dad in Kansas City. While they've been gone, I just haven't been as motivated to keep up with the housework." She told him to take a seat on the sofa.

"Ma'am, my name is Ken O'Dell." He handed her his card. "I'm with the
FBI
, and I'm conducting an investigation. I promise to only take a few minutes of your time."

"All right."

"I understand that you and your husband are art collectors."

"Yes, we are, or at least, we were," she replied. "As it turns out, that's about the only thing that he and I apparently had in common, besides the kids."

"I see. Mrs. Andrews, I'm told this past February, you and your husband purchased two limited edition photographs by Louise Dickenson, and they were purchased at Hanson Sisters Fine Art, in Scottsdale."

Maggie's heart skipped a beat. She put on her best face and tried to remain calm.

"That sounds about right. I remember Scott going to an artist's opening at Hanson Sisters around that time. However, I was in bed with a cold that night so I wasn't able to go with him."