Carol Clark - Fleeced

Stanley packed his tapes and his camera in a bag. His dark suit was pressed and ready to go. This is going to be exciting, he thought.

Who knows what direction my special is going to take?

Thomas and Janey were in his office, surrounded by dozens of floating balloons. Thanks to the newspaper story, calls had been coming in from various shows and news organizations, asking for Thomas’s comments. Some of the callers wanted to come to the party. But Thomas refused every one of them. He knew what their intentions were.

Make the Settlers’ Club look bad.

He had decided that only Stanley would be allowed in. If the club was going to go to hell in a handbasket, at least it would be done with dignity. That true-crime show even had the nerve to call the club and ask for Clara. He’d put the kibbosh on that immediately.

“Any calls to Clara must go through me,” he instructed the front desk.

“What about her sister?”

“Especially her sister! That woman has blabbermouth soup for lunch,” Thomas declared.

“Okay, boss. We’ve got Mr. Pemrod’s lawyer on the other line. Do you want to speak to her?”

“Of course I do! Put her through.”

Katla McGlynn was in her office, having stopped in after an early round of golf. She lived and worked in Westchester and had started doing Nat’s legal work after buying a necklace from him over twenty years ago. In her early fifties, Katla had a small practice that catered to the varied needs of her clients.

“Hello!” Thomas practically yelled into the phone.

“Mr. Pilsner?”

“Speaking.”

“My name is Katla McGlynn. I’m Nat Pemrod’s lawyer. I just read about his death and the missing diamonds. I feel terrible about Nat. He was a good guy.”

“He was,” Thomas agreed, tapping his foot.

“I just want you to know that I received a letter in the mail today that Nat and Ben Carney wrote on Thursday, declaring their intention to donate those diamonds to the club.”

Thomas nearly fainted again. “You did?”

“Yes. In case the diamonds are found, you should have a copy of the letter.”

“Did you know about the diamonds before?” Thomas asked.

“No. Nat never mentioned them to me. The only thing he joked about was those sheep of his. He said they were to go into the parlor of the club when he died. Are they there now?”

“It’s a long story,” Thomas said.

“I’ve got time. I am the executor of his estate. I want to see that his wishes are followed.”

“There was a movie company here yesterday…”

“I read about them.”

“Well, you see, apparently they used the sheep in a scene and took them to the next location without asking my permission. They’ll be back tonight.”

“I hope so. Any guy who was willing to donate such a generous gift should have his wishes honored, no matter what happens.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Thomas said emphatically.

“I’ll be down on Monday to start handling everything.” She gave Thomas her number. “Call me if you need anything between now and then.”

“Okay.”

As soon as Thomas hung up, the phone rang again.

“It’s Daphne, calling from the movie set.”

“Put her through!”

“Thomas, it’s Daphne.”

“Bring those sheep back right now!”

“I’ve got great news! They want to buy the sheep for their movie company!”

“No!”

“Please.”

“No!”

“They’re willing to pay a lot of money.”

“I don’t even want to know how much. Nat’s lawyer just called. She wanted to make sure Dolly and Bah-Bah are where Nat wanted them. And that’s in the front parlor in their own home, the Settlers’ Club.”

“But Nat would have wanted it this way. And I was always so good to him after Wendy died. If the Settlers’ Club has to close down, it won’t do us any good.”

“Absolutely not. I have half a mind to come down to that set and pick them up right now. Where are you?”

The phone clicked in his ear.

Inside the Paisley Hotel, the morning sessions of the crime convention were just wrapping up. Kyle Fleming, the FBI agent from Florida, had given such an informative, albeit amusing lecture the day before on con artists, that he’d been asked to fill in for another speaker who canceled at the last minute. Fleming had always been fascinated by the number of people in the world who were crooks.

“Big-time crooks, small-time crooks, they’re all out there just dying for your money,” he’d said. “Some of them will do just about anything to get it. The people who interest me are not the ones who climb through a window and rob you blind. Anyone can try that. Anyone can steal your purse when you turn your back at the airport. It’s the crooks who gain your trust, your confidence, and then rob you blind. That’s what really hurts. So many of them get away with these crimes because people are too embarrassed to come forward with their stories.

“Con artists come in all shapes and sizes, and many of them are masters at changing their appearance so they’re not easily detected. They move around, hit a target, and then they’re gone. That’s what makes them hard to catch.

“Here are a few of my favorites…”

He showed slides of several people and talked about each one.

“This smooth operator had several wives who obviously didn’t know about each other. He bilked them of their savings and broke their hearts. He may not look like Romeo, but he obviously had something…

“This couple would blow into big cities, create an image of success by throwing lavish parties to which they’d invite people they barely knew, then get some of these same people who were impressed by it all to invest in their scams…”

Members of the audience asked so many questions that Fleming didn’t get to all his slides. He’d been about to flash the photo of Georgette Hughes on the screen when he looked at his watch.

“This next one is a crook who is a master at changing her look, but I think she deserves ten minutes, and our time is up,” he concluded.

The crowd groaned.

Nora stood. “I think it’s safe to say that we’d all love for Kyle to continue. I certainly hope he’ll join us again next year.”

The crowd gave an enthusiastic round of applause as Nora went over to shake Kyle’s hand. “Kyle, are you free tonight? I’ve invited a number of the people here to a cocktail party down at the Settlers’ Club. It’s their one hundredth anniversary. Then we’ll go for a late dinner.”

“Thanks, Nora,” Kyle said. “I’ll try to stop by. But I already have plans.”

Regan walked past the Paisley Hotel and hesitated. She’d have loved to go inside and say hello to her mother and all the people she knew. She’d only gotten a chance to see them at the opening-night cocktail party, which seemed like weeks ago.

I’d better not take the time, Regan thought. I should really get back.

She hailed a cab, and fifteen minutes later was at the club.

“Miss Reilly,” the guard greeted her. “Clara’s looking for you.”

Regan’s heart skipped a beat. “Where is she?”

“In the parlor.”

Regan hurried up the steps. Clara was by the fireplace, shining up the pokers and shovels that were strictly for show. Ever since they’d been smoked out thanks to a faulty flue, fake logs were the order of the day.