Alicia Scott - Partners In Crime Part 2

“Yes, I am, Stryker. I’m exactly who I say I am. And when I said I was willing to take things one step at a time, I meant it. I meant I’d give you the benefit of the doubt. I meant I’d spend my afternoon looking forward to our evening together. I meant I honestly wanted to see you again and…and make more microwave popcorn!”

“And tell me lies, Josie? Lie in bed with me and tell me more lies?” He looked right at her and his blue eyes burned black.

“I never lied,” she retorted immediately.

“Dammit, how can you say that? You told me your parents were perfect together. You spun golden stories of their incredible love and the tragedy of losing them both to an accident. An accident? Your father went to jail for murdering your mother. What kind of accident was that? And what kind of example of incredible love?”

“He didn’t kill her.”

“He didn’t kill her? Funny, twelve jurors seemed to think differently.”

“Oh? Why don’t you ask a defense lawyer just how smart twelve jurors can be. My father didn’t do it, Stryker. I know. I found her body.”

He stuttered. His eyes narrowed, but she didn’t look away. She furiously blinked away more tears, hating the thickness of her voice and the unbearably tight feeling in her chest. She wasn’t a stranger to standing alone. She was a helluva lot tougher than Jack Stryker would ever understand. He could toy with her, he could hurt her, but she had no intention of ever letting him see her cry.

“Maybe you ought to start at the beginning, Josie. Maybe you ought to tell me what you should’ve told me last night.”

“I didn’t lie to you.”

“Bull—”

“I did not lie to you, Jack Stryker. Now, are you going to shut up and listen, or are you going to continue to doubt me because that’s what you do best?”

His jaw tightened dangerously. “God, Josie,” he muttered through clenched teeth at last, “you could drive a Buddhist to murder.”

“Thanks, it’s a gift.” She leaned back against the counter, crossed her arms over her chest and trapped him with her hot, angry gaze. “All right. I’ll go through this once, that’s it. Because, frankly, it’s my family’s business, not yours and not Grand Springs’s.”

“I think a lot of taxpayers would disagree with that—”

“Well, Olivia didn’t. She considered it my business.”

“So Olivia did find out.”

“Of course she found out, Jack. I told her.”

“What?”

“This would go a lot smoother if you would stop interrupting. Didn’t anyone ever tell you that nine-tenths of good police work was being a good listener?”

He scowled. She smiled sweetly, but it didn’t meet her eyes. She felt amazingly raw and amazingly brittle.

“My father, Stan Reynolds, loved my mother, Rose, just like I told you. And she loved him. My father wasn’t perfect, but he had a good heart. He was just…he was a dreamer. He wanted to make it big, he wanted to build a castle in the sky for my mother. He hadn’t the skills, but he thought he had the cleverness. He was a con man, all right? He was a warm, foolish, petty con man who wouldn’t have hurt a flea—”

“Just bilk old women out of their retirements.”

“Are you telling this story, or am I? No, my father never ‘bilked old ladies.’ Part of being a good con artist is never taking anyone for more than they can afford to lose. If you take too much, the financial burden forces them to go to the police in order to recover the money. If you only take their ‘extra,’ well…most times they’re too embarrassed by their own lack of judgment to report anything.”

“How convenient.”

“I’m not saying it was right, Jack. God knows my mother pleaded with him to go straight. For a while, he would try, wanting to make her happy. But my father didn’t have any formal education or training. He only qualified for low-paying jobs like salesman or bartender. The work was boring, the pay not great, and Stan…Stan had too many dreams. Sooner or later, he’d hatch some great scheme, quit his job and get back in the game. Yes, he often involved me to give him credibility. Who could doubt a big, teddy-bear-looking man with a little girl?” She paused, shrugging, but then added softly, “He used to tell me, ‘People need rainbows to chase, darlin’. They need to believe in that pot-o-gold, and you and me, we’re just the little leprechauns helping them spin their dreams.’

“Of course, my mother always found out. Generally, when the police came to the house to question my father. God, it hurt her. She would stand in the kitchen, shaking his big shoulders as if he were a little child. ‘How can I love you so much?’ she’d cry, ‘when you break my heart so often?’”

Josie’s throat grew too tight. She took a deep breath so she could continue. “The scams were always small stuff. Sometimes they didn’t have enough proof to prosecute. Sometimes he’d be found guilty and serve small time, or community service. He’d go straight for a bit. Life would settle down. He really loved my mother very much. He just kept thinking she deserved so much more than a little rental in a little community.”

“So he’d go back to scamming people.” Jack’s voice was hard.

“Yes,” she said bluntly. “He would.”

“And you would help him.”

“I was a kid. He was my father. Of course I helped him.”

“And now you control the town’s money.”

She stiffened, the blow cutting her deeper than she would’ve thought possible. She understood strength now. Strength was remaining standing against the counter and staring a man like Jack Stryker in the eye.

“Yes, Jack. And now I’m town treasurer. And as you should know from talking to all the people you’ve talked to, I’m really damn good at my job and I take it seriously. I’m sure you did a couple of things when you were ten that you wouldn’t do as a cop now. Oh, wait, I take that back. You’re Straight Arrow Stryker. You’ve never made a mistake. Too bad your brother isn’t here, maybe he would understand.”

Jack went pale. She’d struck back unconsciously, but she’d struck deep. He’d hurt her. She’d hurt him. Suddenly, the ugliness of it all wearied her. She couldn’t look at him anymore. She bled on the inside, and she just wanted to find a nice, dark place where she could curl up and lick her wounds. They had had only one night of closeness together, but she had liked it. The knowledge she’d never have it again salted the pain.

“Shall I continue?” she whispered.

“Might as well.”

“Yeah, might as well.” Her gaze went out the window. The sun was beginning to set, and the distant sky had turned gold and bloodred. “One day when I was twelve, my father confided in me that he had the scam to end all scams. This one would be the ultimate pot of gold. We’d retire afterward and build my mother a beautiful house. We would never want for anything. We would always be happy. I just had to come around with him a few days. He would help me make up the schoolwork later. Oh, and I absolutely, positively, should not tell my mom.

“I’d been around the block a few times by now. I listened to him describe the scheme that had been pitched to him by a man named Frank Gucci, and I recognized that it was a traditional Ponzi scam. We would approach people to invest and, as we got new investors, use their money to pay dividends to the first wave of investors, increasing credibility and thus gaining an even larger third wave of investors.”

“You pay out dividends,” Jack filled in, “while pocketing the serious investments. Everyone thinks it’s legitimate because they are seeing some returns, while you get rich off the continual influx of money.”

“Yes. Dad had played around with something like it before, but on a very small scale. Now he was talking of asking for investments in the tens of thousands of dollars. This guy Frank had dreamed it all up, setting up the shell as an investment fund in small-cap companies. It was a piece of cake. They just needed Dad as the front man, to actually approach potential investors. He was very charming and benign, not a sinister bone in his body. Women loved him.”