Killerfind (21 page)

hetta
was the first
to
arrive at the office the next morning. The sun shone brilliantly in a cloudless
cerulean sky. Although the day was picture perfect, her mood didn’t match it.
She replayed the events of the previous day, still worried about Woody. From
the way he acted on the way home, she wasn’t sure if it was because of his PTSD
or if he was totally peeved.

For a moment she thought about snatching the coveted
parking spot, since technically, she felt the agreement was off, since Randolph
knew everything, leaving Woody with no ammunition with which to tattle on her
to Randolph. She’d confessed everything to Randolph about their lunatic trip to
Illinois in search of Mylene Allard. Plus, she’d arrived first. Instead, she
decided to treat Woody especially nice, since he blamed her for them getting
arrested. So, she let him have the spot. She still, however, couldn’t follow
his logic on the getting arrested business. All she’d done was stop to try and
find Mylene Allard. She didn’t know anything about any drugs, presuming there
really was a stash of drugs seized in the raid.

She’d cruised through Starbucks and ordered two
grande light cappuccinos to go. It was going to be a double caffeine morning.
Woody liked these, so she wanted to bribe him into making up. The unique fragrance
wafted to her from the cups sitting in the cup holders by the console. That
reminded her that she’d never been able to carry drinks in Cami. People driving
in the seventies must have never thought about eating or drinking anything
while they drove. None of the cars of that era seemed to be equipped with drink
holders. Come to think of it, most of the population was thinner back then,
too. Was there any correlation? She decided to ask Ricky about the possibility
of a custom console for the Z28, should she ever get the car back from the
sheriff’s department. She decided she needed cup holders.

She enjoyed the quiet time in the mornings when she
managed to get to the office early. There was something strangely comforting
about hearing the ticking of the oversized clock, and turning on the lights to
start the day.

After setting Woody’s beverage on his desk, she
adjusted her chair, then sat and stared at her files while the computer booted
up. The single chime sounded, indicating the booting process was completed. As
the computer did its thing, Rhetta turned to gaze out the large window to the
parking lot. LuEllen had parked her spotless white Honda Accord at the very end
of the lot. No wonder the woman looked so healthy and stayed so slim. She
walked at every opportunity. Rhetta almost felt guilty about wanting to park so
close to the door. She sipped her sinful coffee.

LuEllen called out to Rhetta as she walked in. “I
took your books back.” She unloaded her purse and her lunch tote on to the
table near her desk.

“Thanks a million. I promise I won’t make you return
any more late books for me.” Rhetta really meant it, this time. She hated
taking back late books, and vowed not to make her wonderful LuEllen do her
dirty work anymore. She glanced at LuEllen’s lunch tote and figured it probably
contained something healthy, like a salad. She spun around to her computer and
opened her email.

LuEllen tucked her purse into her desk drawer, and
pulled out her computer chair. “Woody called me and said he isn’t coming in this
morning. Said he’s not feeling well.”

Rhetta stopped reading her email. “Did he say what
was wrong?” She knew that Woody was terribly upset last night. Maybe he just
didn’t want to have to deal with Rhetta this morning—probably why he’d called
in sick to LuEllen and not Rhetta. Rhetta felt guilty about possibly taking
Woody to the brink of an episode.

“Nope. Just said he’d try to come in later. He has
an appointment with a customer this afternoon.” LuEllen turned on her own
computer as she strolled by her desk, picking up her lunch tote on her way to
the kitchen. Rhetta heard her humming while she made coffee.

She needed to quit feeling guilty so much. As she
reached for a file, she spotted the FedEx envelope that Ricky gave her
containing the check payment for Monster. Had that just been a couple of days
ago? So much had happened since then.

She’d scanned the TV news this morning to hear if
any funeral arrangements had been announced for Jeremy, but there was nothing.
Woody might bring the paper with him, so she’d check it when he came in.

She dumped the contents of the envelope on to her
desk. The check appeared to be a typical business type check, drawn on a
Regions Bank in Corinth, Mississippi. Yet, when she read the hand-written FedEx
label, the shipper’s address was from Paducah. She snatched the phone and
dialed her local FedEx office.

Carol Hartwell, a customer Rhetta had closed a loan
for a few months ago, worked at the FedEx depot south of Cape. She answered on
the second ring. After asking her for information about the account, Carol
promised that she would call Rhetta back on her lunch break with the
information. Next, Rhetta Googled the number for the bank in Corinth.

After explaining to the clerk who answered the phone
that she wanted to verify funds in an account, the manager came on the line.
“You’re about the sixth or seventh person that’s called checking on the
validity of this same check number on the Valley View Farms account. I’m sorry
to inform you that the check is a forgery, and that the account, while valid,
has been frozen. Someone stole a Valley View Farms check and is trying to forge
copies of it to buy stuff from all over the country. I’m afraid the check is no
good.” The woman sounded genuinely sorry.

“I understand. I was pretty sure it was bogus, too.
Thanks for your help.” Rhetta returned the phone to the cradle. This was the
real deal as far as scams went. Was “real deal scam” an oxymoron?

It was eleven-thirty when Carol Hartwell checked in.
“That FedEx account number you gave me belongs to Crimson Peripherals in
California,” she said.

“Crimson Peripherals in California? That means
someone is using their account number to commit fraud. CP is so huge I bet they
never go over each and every charge on their account. Can you report it?”

Carol promised she would.

Poor Ricky. She’d definitely been scammed. Someone
who stole a check had somehow gotten Crimson Peripherals’ account number. It
could be a former FedEx employee, or someone who had seen the account number
written out on a label. At least Ricky hadn’t sent the shipper the thousand
dollars.

Rhetta tapped Ricky’s cell number from her favorites
list. Ricky’s voice mail picked up. “Hey, Ricky, I did some checking, and the
check you received for the Monster is for sure a scam. Good thing you didn’t
send money to the phony shipper. Call me and I’ll fill you in.”

Two minutes later, Rhetta’s iPhone played
Little
Deuce Coupe
, the oldies tune Rhetta had programmed as a ringtone for
Ricky’s number.

A distraught Ricky blurted, “Too late, Rhetta. I
sent the money this morning via Western Union.”

h, no.”
Rhetta couldn’t
fathom what Ricky was telling her. What on earth was she thinking? Rhetta had
pointedly advised her not to send any money until she researched it. “I told
you not to do anything until I could check it out.”

Ricky sniffled, as though she might cry. “I know
what you said, but I kept getting emails telling me that I needed to send the
money right away, so that the buyer could make arrangements to get the car.
They said it was urgent that I do it immediately. I emailed them back and told
them I wanted to check it out first, but they told me that I had their money
and that they expected me to live up to my side of the deal. They convinced me
they had really sent me the money.” Ricky blew her nose. “In fact, they
threatened to report me to the FBI if I didn’t send them the money, because
they said they verified that I received the funds.” Then she added in a small
voice. “Rhetta, they are so convincing. Are you positive that the check was no
good?”

Rhetta couldn’t believe Ricky sent a thousand
dollars via Western Union to the supposed shipper in Paducah, Kentucky after
Rhetta had specifically warned her not to. No use in chastising her anymore.
She could tell her friend felt terrible. Nobody likes to lose a thousand bucks.
“I’m calling the FBI. We have to get your money back.”

Before Ricky could argue, Rhetta disconnected and
searched for the phone book. After riffling through three drawers, she found it
under the desk phone, where it was logically supposed to be. The girl who
cleaned the office must have put it there. She hated when that happened.

After thumbing through the endless listings for the
Federal Government, she finally located a toll free number for the FBI. She
tapped it into the desk phone and waited while the number rang. When the number
finally auto answered, she was invited via voice prompts to select a
destination for her call. None of the choices was what she needed, so she
repeatedly punched the zero button. Finally, a human came on the line. “Federal
Bureau of Investigation, how may I direct your call?” asked a very
bored-sounding young female voice.

“I want to speak to an agent, please.”

“What is the purpose of your call?”

“I just told you, to speak to an agent.”

“Hold, please.” Rhetta was treated to a tinny
instrumental version of “Light My Fire” before an agent finally came on the
line.

“Agent John Wa…” He mumbled the last part of his
name so that Rhetta didn’t really catch it. Was it Waxman? Whitman? Whatever.

“Agent, I want to report an interstate scam. It
started with a phony offer to buy a car my friend had listed on eBay.” Then
Rhetta told him the story. To his credit, he never once interrupted her.

“Did your friend lose any money?”

“Yes, I told you, she sent a thousand dollars via
Western Union to someone who claimed to be a shipper in Paducah, Kentucky.”

“Well, ma’am, I’m sorry she did that, but the only
thing I can tell you to do is to go on line to
wwwdotIC3dotgov
and file
a complaint to the internet crimes unit.”

“File a complaint online? Are you telling me she has
to go online and do this? You can’t help her?”

“Ma’am, if we took the time to investigate every one
of these kinds of reports we get, then that’s all we’d be doing. There are
thousands of cases like this.”

Rhetta felt her blood begin to simmer and her
temperature shoot up. “Maybe if the FBI would start going after these people
and prosecuting them, they wouldn’t continue to operate so blatantly. Then
there wouldn’t be so many, and you might put a stop to it. They probably know
you don’t care about stopping them.”

“Yes, ma’am. She needs to go online.” Rhetta swore
she heard him yawn.

“No, agent whatever-your-name is, we won’t go online
and file a complaint. I think that’s what you get paid for. It’s not our job
and it’s obviously a waste of time, since this type of crime is so rampant.
Have a nice day.” She slammed the receiver.

Why the heck hadn’t Ricky listened to her? She
cradled her head in her hands, hoping to ward off the headache she felt
crawling across her forehead from her temples and squeezing her head. She
headed to the kitchen for water to down some Advil.

She rushed back to her desk and snatched her iPhone
from her purse and called Ricky. She had an idea.

“When did you send out the money?

“Uh, around eight this morning.”

Rhetta’s heart began to thump with excitement. “Did
Western Union say how long it would take before the recipient could pick it
up?” Somewhere in the back of her mind, Rhetta thought she remembered that it
took up to six hours to get the money to its destination.

“They said it wouldn’t be ready before two this
afternoon.”

“Do you still have all the information and the
address of the pickup location?”

“Yes, of course.”

Rhetta glanced at her watch. It was 11:35. They had
time.

“Fire up the Monster. We’re going to Paducah.”