Death, Taxes, and Peach Sangria (12 page)

“Perfect,” I said.

She eyed herself in her mirrored compact. “Makeup?”

“Perfect, too,” I said.

She tugged on her blue polyester-blend dress. “What about the dress?” She didn’t give
us time to answer before adding, “It’s all wrong, isn’t it? I should’ve worn my black
pantsuit.”

“Relax, Lu,” Nick said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “You look great.”

She looked up into his face. “Really?”

“Really. No need to get yourself all worked up.”

Lu snapped her compact closed and stashed it in her purse. “I can’t help being nervous.
I haven’t had a first date with a man in over forty years.”

“Just be yourself.” Nick shot her a wink. “No man will be able to resist that.”

Twenty minutes later we walked into a small bistro on the edge of downtown. Carl stood
in the foyer, dressed in another leisure suit and white bucks he’d obviously had freshly
shined for the occasion. He held a small box of chocolates in his hand. The instant
he saw Lu, his face ignited like a propane grill at a tailgate party. He stepped toward
her, extending the candy. “I hope I don’t sound too forward, Luella, but you are even
more beautiful in person.”

For a man with fishnet hair, Carl was quite the charmer.

“Thank you.” Lu blushed, her face turning as pink as her hair. “I hope you don’t mind
that I brought a couple of my staff with me. They didn’t have lunch plans and asked
to join us.”

“That’s not how I remember it,” Nick said, earning him two elbows in the ribs, one
Lu’s, one mine.

Nick held out his hand to shake Carl’s, introducing both himself and me. A moment
later, the hostess led us to a round table. Carl stood behind the Lobo’s chair and
pushed it in for her as she sat. Not to be outdone, Nick did the same for me, his
fingers brushing my shoulder as he turned to take his seat.

Over lunch, Carl asked Lu about herself, showing interest in her children and grandchildren,
her work, her souvenir spoon collection. “Over three hundred, you say?”

Lu nodded. “From Niagara Falls to Tijuana and lots of places in between.”

Not only was Carl a charmer; he was a witty conversationalist, too. He’d spent years
in hotel management and entertained us with funny stories of wacky guests, including
a troupe of circus sideshow performers and a group of nudists he’d found skinny-dipping
in the swimming pool.

“They argued that the posted rules said nothing about a bathing suit being required,”
he said. “I had to threaten to call the cops to get them out of the water.”

His wife passed away a few years ago from heart troubles, but he’d only recently begun
dating. “It’s kind of hard to get back on the horse after all those years of being
married.”

“Tell me about it,” Lu said. “You’re the first date I’ve had in over four decades.”

“Is that right?” Carl sat up straighter and smiled. “Golly. I sure am honored you
picked me, Luella.”

When the Lobo blushed Nick and I exchanged glances. We’d never seen this side of Lu
before. We were used to her barking orders, bossing everyone around, kicking our butts
when needed. Who knew she had a girlie side?

When lunch ended, Carl insisted on picking up the tab for all of us. We thanked him
and made our way outside onto the sidewalk. Nick and I stepped aside to give Carl
and Lu a little privacy.

Carl asked Lu if she might like to get together again. He leaned toward her and whispered,
“Maybe just the two of us next time?” He shot Nick and me a wink.

“That would be lovely,” Lu said.

Lovely?
Was this the same woman who, mere hours ago, had threatened to put her shoe in Josh’s
ass for blowing the circuit breaker with all his high-tech gadgetry?

Carl took Lu’s hand, raised it to his lips, and gave it a quick peck. “I’ll be in
touch.”

*   *   *

After lunch I hopped into my G-ride, left downtown, and headed northwest into Grapevine,
a quaint suburban city just north of the sprawling Dallas/Fort Worth International
Airport. The town was known for its wineries and wine festivals. It was also home
to Winston Wisbrock, aka the Tax Wizard, the next abusive preparer on the list Lu
had assigned to Eddie and me.

I parallel parked on Main, having to ease forward and back five times before managing
to bring my car close enough to the curb. If I’d been in my BMW I wouldn’t have had
any problem, but these government fleet cars didn’t have the best handling. Gotta
spend the taxpayers’ dollars wisely, right?

Eddie’d been out scouting MSBs for the terrorist case and taken his own car. He met
me on the sidewalk, pointing across the street. “That’s the place.”

I looked across the road. The Tax Wizard’s office was a narrow space lodged between
a cupcake shop and a women’s clothing boutique. Purple curtains trimmed with gold
fringe hung in the window. According to the information in the file, Wisbrock subleased
his space from a psychic, utilizing the front half of the unit while the psychic occupied
the back.

“What exactly is a wizard anyway?” I asked Eddie. “A magician with a pointed hat?”

“No,” Eddie said. “I think wizards are like witches, except they’re men.”

“Nah. Male witches are called warlocks.”

Eddie frowned. “What’s a female wizard called, then?”

“I don’t know. A fairy?”

“I don’t think so.”

Eddie and I crossed the street and approached the Tax Wizard’s office. On closer inspection
we noticed the words “MADAM MAGNOLIA, PSYCHIC CONSULTANT” spelled out in gold lettering
on the glass door. I rolled my eyes. I supposed “PSYCHIC CONSULTANT” sounded better
than “FRAUD.” But, really, what kind of people believed in that ridiculous stuff?

A hand-lettered white poster board sat in the front window.

TAX WIZARD

I MAKE TAXES DISAPPEAR!

ALSO AVAILABLE FOR CHILDREN’S BIRTHDAY PARTIES

Sheesh.

We pulled the glass door open and stepped through a beaded curtain that rattled as
it fell back into place. The smell of incense, or perhaps patchouli, greeted us.

We discovered the Tax Wizard seated behind a cheap metal desk, a trio of four-drawer
filing cabinets standing side by side behind him. The Wizard wore a long white beard,
a pointy hat, and a dark-blue cape covered with shiny silver stars. Clearly, he’d
read a little too much
Harry Potter.
Or perhaps he’d been snorting fairy dust.

He spread his hands. “Welcome to the Wizard’s secret lair.”

“Secret?” I hiked a thumb at the sign in the window. “You’ve got a sign. Right there.”
Obviously this guy was no good at keeping secrets. That could work to our benefit.

The Wizard ignored me, picking up a deck of cards from his desk and fanning them.
He held them out to me. “Pick a card.”

I glanced at Eddie. He shrugged.

What the hell. I was game. I reached out, eased a card from the deck, and took a quick
look. The card was upside down, but once I’d turned it the right way I saw it depicted
a fool.

A woman with straight black hair and dangly earrings poked her head out of a curtained
doorway behind the Wizard. She said nothing, just watched us.

I handed the card back to Wisbrock, who slid it back into the deck. He shuffled the
cards, cut them, and pulled one from the deck. “Is this your card?” He looked at me,
white brows raised, a gleam of hope in his rheumy eyes.

The card he held up depicted a pretty woman tending to a lion.

“Um … no. That’s not my card.”

The dark-haired woman crossed her arms over her chest, a dozen bangle bracelets giving
off a tinkling sound as she did so. “She chose the fool.”

The Wizard looked down at the deck, sorting through it until he found the card I’d
chosen.

“The card was inverted,” the woman said, her gaze fixed on me. “That means you’ve
made some type of impulsive, ill-advised decision.”

Yeah, like agreeing to take the card in the first place. Then again, maybe the bad
decision was my plan to put Brett on ice while Nick and I explored what might be between
us. Maybe fate had been trying to intervene by sending Alicia to interrupt our conversation
earlier in the week.

Then again, maybe this was all a bunch of bunk.

The Wizard held the cards out to Eddie now. Eddie snagged one and handed it to the
Wiz. The Wiz, in turn, looked up at the woman.

“You’ve drawn the High Priestess,” she said, stepping forward. “She represents intuition,
secrets, and mystery.”

The only mystery here was what these people had been smoking.

The woman collected the cards from the Wizard. “I’ve asked you not to take my cards,
Mr. Wisbrock, remember? I need them to read for my clients.”

The Wizard nodded, then gestured to me and Eddie. “What are they doing here?”

“They’re from the IRS,” she said. “I told you they were coming today. You should’ve
listened to me.”

No doubt the woman was Madam Magnolia. But we hadn’t told anyone we were coming here
today. How did she know we’d show up? I mean, that psychic stuff was pure hogwash,
wasn’t it?

Eddie and I showed the Wizard our badges.

“We’ll need you to come with us,” I said. “We’re taking you in on tax fraud charges.”

As Eddie began to recite the Miranda rights—“right to remain silent,” “right to an
attorney,” blah, blah blah—the Tax Wizard slowly stood from his desk. When I saw him
go for his pocket, I drew on him. Better safe than sorry, right?

The Wizard removed his hand from his pocket. Though he held something between his
fingers, it appeared too small to be a weapon.

“Alakazam!” he cried, throwing his hand into the air.

Poof!

Whatever he’d tossed into the air created an instant smoke screen.

Eddie waved his hand through the smoke. “What the hell?”

We looked at each other, not quite sure how to deal with the situation. We’d been
trained to deal with regular wackos, ones who pulled guns or knives or attempted to
flee. But there was nothing whatsoever in the IRS Special Agent Training Manual on
how to deal with a magical smoke screen. Looked like it was time for an expanded edition.
Maybe they should also add sections on how to ride a unicorn and shape-shift into
a vampire. That wouldn’t be too much of a stretch. People already thought IRS agents
were bloodsuckers.

Fortunately, as quickly as the smoke had appeared it dissipated.

We glanced around the room. The Wizard was nowhere to be seen.

“Seriously,” Eddie said, repeating himself. “What the hell?”

Richard Beauregard had managed to evade us. Had the Tax Wizard escaped as well? If
we’d been outsmarted not only by an idiot with a unibrow but also by a lunatic in
a starry cape, we’d be the laughingstocks of the office.

Madam Magnolia hadn’t moved from her doorway, so it didn’t seem likely that Wisbrock
had escaped into her digs. While Eddie rushed outside to see if the Tax Wizard had
fled out the door, I stepped around the desk and quickly looked around.

A corner of dark-blue fabric peeked out from behind the filing cabinets.

“Come on out, Mr. Wisbrock,” I said. “I know you’re behind the filing cabinets. I
can see your robe.”

The fabric was quickly snatched away.

Gun in hand, I eased toward the cabinets and peeked behind them. The Tax Wizard crouched
there, his eyes squeezed firmly closed and his fingers in his ears, like a child who
thought that if he couldn’t see or hear his pursuers they couldn’t see or hear him,
either.

I nudged him with my toe and he opened his eyes. He looked up at me, pulled a wand
from the pocket in his robe, and waved it, chanting some nonsense over and over. “Moo
goo gai pan. Moo goo gai pan.”

What kind of spell was he trying to put on me? And why did his incantation sound familiar?

I took a closer look at Wisbrock’s magic wand.
Sheez.
It was only a cheap wooden chopstick, the kind you get at any Asian restaurant. Suddenly
his words made sense. They appeared on every Chinese take-out menu, under the section
for chicken dishes.

Eddie returned to the office, grabbed the Wizard’s ankles, and dragged him out from
behind the filing cabinets. Wisbrock didn’t put up a fight and surrendered peacefully.

If only all tax evaders would be so cooperative.

We handcuffed Wisbrock, sat him in his chair, and put a call in to the marshals’ office.
While we waited for the marshals to retrieve the Tax Wizard, I rounded up some empty
boxes and four chocolate coconut cupcakes from the bakery next door. I offered one
to Madam Magnolia and one to the Tax Wiz. I was beginning to think the guy wasn’t
so much evil as simply nuts. I’d recommend a psychological evaluation when I spoke
with the attorneys from the Justice Department.

I gathered up the Wizard’s files and loaded them into the boxes. When I turned back
to the Wizard, I noticed him eating the cupcake with unfettered hands.

“What happened to the handcuffs?” I asked.

He looked down. The cuffs lay in his lap.

I turned to Eddie. “Did you unlock them?”

His eyes went wide. “No. You?”

I shook my head.

Wisbrock just looked up at us and grinned a chocolate-coated grin.

A half hour later, the marshals had taken the Wiz away and Eddie and I gathered up
the boxes to leave.

Madam Magnolia helped us carry the boxes out. “Thanks for going easy on the Wizard.
He’s got a few screws loose, but he doesn’t mean any harm.”

Despite filing dozens of bogus returns, he hadn’t actually caused much harm, either.
The returns he’d filed contained such outlandish data they’d been immediately flagged
for review before refunds were issued. On one return he’d listed over fifty dependents.
On another he’d reported a deduction for postage expenses in the amount of $7 million.
People generally trusted their preparers and tended to take only a quick glance at
their tax returns. They really needed to look the returns over more carefully.

We slammed the trunk closed.