Carol Clark - Fleeced

Nora’s stomach took a dive as her smile faded.

“Anything wrong, Mrs. Reilly?”

“No,” Nora said.

“Your daughter’s here too, isn’t she?”

“She’s in town.”

“I know that. Her picture was in our paper this morning.”

Now it was Nora’s turn to laugh mirthlessly.

“Is she at the convention?” Mary Ruffner continued.

“Actually, she’s working,” Nora said.

“On a case?”

“Well, yes, she’s working in New York, but I’m not at liberty to say on what.”

“I hope I get to interview her before the weekend’s over,” Mary said as she pulled the cap off her pen with her teeth.

Something tells me you will, Nora thought. For better or worse, something tells me you will.

Lydia sat propped up on one of her love seats, cordless phone in hand, calling all her lovelorn pups who had been present the night before. There had been nineteen of them. Not bad, she decided. She’d been having three parties a week since Valentine’s Day, and as an introductory offer, her “clients” had only had to pay twenty-five dollars a shot if they’d bought a package of four.

She had to admit she felt like she was stealing from some of them. Like the man who wore sandals with his suit and seemed to end every sentence with the phrase “and stuff like that.” Or the fortyish woman who hung on to her Snoopy purse all night, as though it were a security blanket. Actually, Lydia thought, it’s too bad those two didn’t hook up. There should be someone for everyone out there.

By the time she had finished making her calls, talking to some and leaving messages for others, ten had said they’d be glad to come by, a couple had told her they wanted their money back, and three more said they’d prefer to meet a new batch of people.

“Why would I want to come back tonight?” one guy had said. “Nobody there was my type. Isn’t the club’s big anniversary party going to have new people at it?”

“Yes,” Lydia had answered optimistically.

“I’ll see you then.”

After he hung up, Lydia had added his name to her list of those who wouldn’t be in attendance. She’d give the list to Regan later.

Lydia felt suddenly unsettled. What if it was someone in this group who had stolen the diamonds? She was in the business of welcoming strangers into her home. She’d invested her money in a business that could actually be dangerous. She never did background checks on people who came to her parties. How could she?

There were so many creeps out there. She’d met enough of them in her thirty-eight years of being single. She wanted her business to be a happy one. She wanted Meaningful Connections to bring love into people’s lives in New York City. She wanted to boast the most marriages of any dating service.

Lydia looked at her watch. She wished Maldwin would get back soon. It would be at least another hour.

Her phone rang. She pressed the button and answered in a cheerful tone. “Meaningful Connections.”

“ Lydia, I want to come to your parties.”

Lydia ’s face flushed. “Burkhard, no. I told you I don’t want to see you anymore.”

“You can’t keep me away.”

“Yes I can.”

“I love you, Lydia.”

“No you don’t.” Lydia pictured her recent boyfriend, who at first seemed so impressive. It didn’t take long to realize that behind the one expensive suit he owned, there was nothing there. He took Lydia for granted, then when she dissed him, he hounded her. The guy had no job, no employment record-it was as if he appeared out of thin air.

“I’m going to join the club.”

“Burkhard, please, just go away.”

“I always get what I want,” he said in a tone that, if it weren’t so scary, would have been pathetic, like that of a spoiled child.

“You can’t come to my parties.”

“Then I’ll see you at the anniversary party. And I want to get a picture taken with you, Lydia. I know the press will be there. I’m sure they’d be interested to know how you make fun of all your clients.”

“I do not!” Lydia shouted, but the phone clicked in her ear.

“Why did I ever have to meet him?” Lydia screamed as she threw the phone across the room. She felt as if she were about to throw up. No one would want to sign up for a dating service if they thought the owner was unsympathetic. Or if they thought the matchmaker herself made terrible choices in her own dating life. It’s like going to a dentist who has bad teeth.

What am I going to do? she thought frantically. What am I going to do?

When Regan met Detective Ronald Brier, she immediately liked him. He was in his late thirties, with brown hair, a stocky build, and a twinkle in his eye.

Regan sat across from him at his desk in the 13th Precinct. She’d walked over, glad for the chance to get some fresh air and clear her head.

“So you’re a friend of Jack Reilly’s?”

Regan smiled. “Yes.”

“I remember the reports after your father was kidnapped.” He shook his head. “How is he doing?”

“Never better,” Regan assured him. “We were very lucky.”

Ronald had the police reports in front of him. “You’re staying at the Settlers’ Club now?”

“For the weekend. My friend Thomas Pilsner is the president.”

Ronald rolled his eyes. “That guy’s very excitable.”

“He cares a lot,” Regan said.

“Yeah, yeah.”

Regan leaned forward. “Tell me your impressions from last night.”

“We got the call that the old guy was found in the tub. There was no forced entry. No bruising. No sign of foul play. Your friend Pilsner says that he saw the diamonds yesterday. Now, they could have been with the other guy, Ben Carney, who had the heart attack. As you know, his wallet was stolen.”

“Yes.” Regan paused, then continued slowly, “The red box that the diamonds were in was found in Thomas’s office wastebasket this morning.”

“No diamonds?”

“No diamonds.”

“You don’t think your friend was involved?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Who knows? They were going to sell them, maybe Ben Carney took them out of the box after their lunch and stuck them in his wallet. Threw the box in the wastebasket in Pilsner’s office on the way out. His office isn’t far from the front door of the club.”

“So whoever stole Ben’s wallet could have made off with four-million-dollars’ worth of gems.”

“Not bad for a simple pickpocket. I have to tell you, though, we’ll be keeping an eye on Pilsner. See if he disappears to the Islands in a few months.”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen. I’m going to talk to people in the club this weekend. See what I can find out. I have a feeling that Nat’s death is tied to the diamonds.”

Brier just looked at her and waited.

Regan shrugged. “It’s too much of a coincidence for me that the diamonds disappear and Nat dies the same night. To say nothing of the fact that the co-owner of the diamonds drops dead in the street.”

“Ben Carney died of a heart attack. No question about it,” Brier said flatly.

“By the way, where is Ben’s body?”

“At the morgue. Apparently he has a niece in Chicago. They’re trying to reach her.”

“Could you let me know when you do? I’d like to talk to her.”

“No problem.”

“Tonight I’m going to a party across the hall from Nat’s apartment. The woman who lives there is trying to get most of the people back who were there at her singles party last night. I might ask you to do some checks on them.” She pulled the red box out of her purse. It was wrapped in a plastic bag. “Can you run this for prints?”