Death, Taxes, and Peach Sangria (27 page)

“Sorry.” But really, is there ever a good time to be visited by an IRS agent?

Avram called to one of his sons in Yiddish and gestured for him to take over the cash
register. Then Avram removed his apron, hung it on a wall hook, and led me quickly
to a small office at the back of the shop.

While I watched over his shoulder, he quickly logged onto the computer and showed
me how to access their money-order sales records. He looked up at me before vacating
the chair. “Got it?”

“Got it.”

I slid into the seat as he left the office.

While the men finished taking care of the lunch crowd out front, I nibbled my knish
and reviewed the entries. Though there were quite a few sales of money orders, all
were in relatively nominal amounts, the highest being in the five-hundred-dollar range.
Most of the purchases were likely by people with bad credit who couldn’t qualify for
a credit card or checking account and needed the money orders to pay their bills.

Though none of the sales were in amounts large enough to be immediately suspicious,
given the high volume, especially just after payday on the first and fifteenth of
each month, I supposed it was possible that the terrorists could have purchased multiple
money orders to send overseas.

I peeked out of the office, relieved to see the lunch crowd had since dwindled and
the men were now primarily cleaning up. I called to Avram and he returned to the office.

“Do you recognize any of these men?” I asked him.

He slung his cleaning rag over his shoulder, took the photographs from my hand, and
looked over each one. “No. I don’t recognize them.”

“Can we check with your sons?”

Avram called them back one at a time. Neither of his sons recognized the terrorists,
either.

“What is this about?” Avram asked.

“These three men have been arrested here in Dallas. They were involved in acts of
terrorism in and around Syria,” I said. “We also have evidence that they sent significant
sums of money overseas to fund terrorist groups. I’m trying to find the person or
persons who helped them move their money.”

“These men are Muslim, yes?”

“Yes.”

“You thought that a Jewish man would help Muslim terrorists?” His expression said
he thought I was too stupid to live.

“We’ve got to consider all angles,” I said. “We can’t leave any stone unturned.” Even
stupid stones.

I thanked him for his time, complimented him on the nice knish, and left.

My final stop for the day was a business called JS Shipping that, despite its name,
actually provided a variety of services, including shipping, copying, and lamination
services, as well as passport photos. The place sold traveler’s checks and money orders,
too. JS Shipping was owned and operated by a Pakistani emigrant named Jameel Sakhani,
who had dark hair, a thick mustache, and a face I suspected had never cracked a smile.

The place was a bit too warm and smelled of ink and cardboard. As a courtesy, I waited
until the customers cleared out before approaching the counter. Sakhani seemed very
put off when I identified myself and requested to take a look at his records.

“This is an intrusion. You are disrupting my business. Why do you need to see my files?
You must give me a reason.” He stepped out from behind the counter and came close
as if trying to intimidate me.

He didn’t know me very well, did he? I looked up at him and took a step even closer.
Two could play the intimidation game.

“Well?” he snapped, crossing his arms over his chest. “What is your reason?”

I didn’t owe this man an explanation. His registration as an MSB gave the government
the right to inspect his records at any time to ensure compliance. If he’d asked me
nicely, I would’ve simply said it was a routine check. But since he hadn’t played
nice, neither would I.

“Why don’t you want me to see your records?” I cocked my head. “Are you hiding something?”

He narrowed his eyes at me. “It is people like you who give the government a bad name.”

And it was people like him who made me want to put a bullet in his foot. “You started
it,” I said. Real mature, huh?

We stared each other down for several moments. He blinked first.
Ha!

“You can either show me your records voluntarily,” I said, “or I can close this place
down, seize your files and computers, and take them back to my office for review.”
I punctuated my words with a nonchalant shrug.

When the man realized I wasn’t backing down, he finally relented. He led me to a small
office off to the side, where the store’s computer was located. He pointed to the
desk. “You can sit there.”

I took a seat on the swivel chair and glanced around. On his desk was a framed photo
of Sakhani—still not smiling—and a pretty woman I assumed was his wife. They were
surrounded by seven beautiful dark-haired girls, ranging in age from toddler to late
teens.
Hmm.
Living with eight women couldn’t be easy. Maybe I should cut the guy some slack.
Or buy him a box of condoms.

I spent all of the morning and most of the afternoon reviewing the records. My interest
was piqued when I noticed various problems, including breaks in the numerical sequences
for traveler’s checks and money orders. Over fifteen grand in traveler’s check sales
were undocumented and at least a dozen money orders were unaccounted for.

No wonder he’d been reluctant to give me access to the files.

I called the company that had issued the money orders and requested further data.
I needed to know where the money orders were cashed and in what amounts, as well as
whether they had any information that might identify the parties who had purchased
or redeemed the money orders. Unfortunately, it was late in the afternoon and they
wouldn’t be able to get the data to me until the following day. Ditto for the company
that had issued the traveler’s checks.

I called Agents Wang and Zardooz to let them know what I’d discovered. Depending on
what type of information the issuers of the money orders and traveler’s checks came
back with, both agreed it might be worth their time to interrogate Sakhani themselves.
So far, he was the only potential lead in the case other than Jesús, and God knows
where that man ran off to. I promised to let them know as soon as I received the data.

Despite the suspicious data I’d found, I didn’t have enough evidence yet to arrest
Sakhani. Nonetheless, I crossed my fingers he was the one we’d been after. Eddie and
Agent Wang had finished their visits to the MSBs on their lists and found nothing.
There were only two more MSBs on my list.

My cell phone chirped as I stood to leave. I didn’t recognize the number but answered
anyway.

I was glad I did. Madam Magnolia was on the line.

“I’m afraid I was too harsh with you the last time we spoke,” she said. “My apologies.”

“No worries,” I said, though honestly I’d been quite pissed.

“Do you have time to come see me?” she asked. “I had some visions you might be interested
in.”

“Great. I can be there in half an hour.”

“I’ll accept a fee this time,” she said. “Without the Tax Wizard’s rent, things have
been tight.”

I ended the call and stepped out of the office and into the shop. Sakhani was behind
his counter helping a customer. I pointed a finger at him. “Don’t leave Dallas without
notifying me first.”

The customer looked from me to Sakhani, who was throwing daggers at me with his eyes.

What can I say? Sometimes it’s fun to throw my weight around.

chapter twenty-eight

Crystal Balls

Since it was already after five o’clock, I rounded up Alicia from my town house and
took her with me to visit Madam Magnolia. Maybe ol’ Maggie could give Alicia some
hope that things would work out with Daniel. If not, maybe Maggie would give Alicia
some hope they’d work out with someone else, maybe one of the guys from the Big D
Dating Service who had expressed an interest in meeting my friend. Heck, as long as
we were going to see the woman, maybe I should ask her about my love life. Not knowing
how things would be resolved was killing me. I could end up with Nick, or I could
end up with Brett, or I could end up with neither of them.

When we arrived, Madam Magnolia told me she’d seen glimpses in her ball that seemed
to relate to the Beauregard case. She hoped that with me here the visions would gel,
become more complete. She led us through the curtain and into her back room, which
was painted a deep shade of purple. The dark space was lit only by a single scented
candle, sandalwood if I wasn’t mistaken. I paid her hundred-dollar fee in cash, wondering
if I could deduct it as a legitimate business expense. As the three of us took seats
around the circular table I made a mental note to research the matter.

What looked like a garden-gazing ball rested in the center of the table. Madam Magnolia
began to make a humming noise and waved her hands over the ball as if to activate
it. If she hadn’t already provided us with information that was spot-on, I would’ve
laughed at the hokey ritual. Instead, I concentrated on the ball, hoping maybe I’d
see a vision there, too. All I saw was my reflection. Definitely time to get my eyebrows
waxed.

The humming stopped. “I see Richard Beauregard again,” she said. “He’s been sleeping
in the back of a large SUV in the parking lot of a twenty-four-hour grocery store.”

“Which one?” I asked.

She squinted at the ball. “I can’t say for sure. The sign is blurry.”

Although her information narrowed things down somewhat, Dallas and the surrounding
suburbs encompassed over 340 square miles of real estate. There were probably two
hundred or so twenty-four-hour grocery stores in the area. It could take days to visit
them all. And if Beauregard was constantly on the move as I suspected, we could miss
him entirely.

“Anything else you can tell me?”

She shook her head again. “Sorry. That’s all I’m getting.”

A hundred bucks doesn’t buy much psychic information these days.

As long as I was there, I figured I’d ask her about the terrorist case. I told her
the basic details. “Can you get me any information on that investigation?”

She gazed into the crystal ball, then suddenly flinched and cried out. “I see what
the men have done. They’ve sent money overseas. It was used by other men in their
terror cell to buy bomb-making materials.” Tears formed in her eyes. “They’ve killed
hundreds of people, dozens of children. I see some of them being pulled from a school
bus.”

She turned her head away, as if she didn’t want to look at the ball anymore. I couldn’t
blame her. I’d felt the same way when I’d seen the photographs of the school bus in
the file.

“I need to cut off the terrorists’ money supply,” I said. “I need to know who helped
them transfer the funds.” Presumably that person might also be helping other terrorists
who had yet to be discovered. “Can you take another look? Can you tell me if it’s
an angry-looking guy with a thick mustache?” After the rude way he’d talked to me
today, I’d really love to bust Sakhani’s balls.

Madam Magnolia closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, then opened her eyes
and returned her focus to the ball. Her face was intent but unchanging. Finally, she
looked up. “I’m not seeing anything now,” she said, “but I seem to smell flowers.
Roses, maybe?”

My mind immediately went to the pink rosebushes Brett had planted in front of my town
house. Their lovely scent welcomed me home after work every day. Well, except when
Brett had fertilized them. At those times I was greeted by the stench of composted
cow manure. P.U.

“In that case,” I asked, deciding to see how far my hundred bucks would get me, “what
can you tell me about my love life?”

Madam Magnolia smiled now. “Are you sure you want to know? It might be more fun to
wait and see how things work out.”

I shook my head. I was tired of waiting. I wanted to know whether Nick and I would
end up together or if Brett was the man I should be with. Surely I’d end up with one
or the other, right? I refused to accept the possibility I’d lose them both.

She glanced at the ball again. Her eyes flickered up to my face. “Your heart is split
between two men.” Her gaze lowered to the crystal. “One is boyish, very sweet.” A
lascivious smile crossed her face. “The other is
hot.
” She blew out a breath as if to cool herself.

“Which one do I end up with?” I asked, my voice frantic as I leaned toward her. “I
need to know.”

She stared at the ball for another moment, blinking several times as if trying to
focus her vision. “Sorry. The ball won’t give it up.”

“What does that mean?”

“Sometimes the ball shows me things; other times it doesn’t.”

I fluttered my hands around the glass orb. “Can’t you reposition it or something?”

She gave me a placating smile. “It’s not a television antenna. I can’t just move it
around to get better reception.”

“Dang.” I sat back and crossed my arms over my chest.
Ugh!

“What about me?” Alicia sat up and scooted her chair closer to the table. “Can you
see how things will work out in my love life?”

Madam Magnolia looked back into the ball, staring at it for several seconds before
speaking. “I see a dark-haired man. He’s picking up a pillow from a double bed and
holding it to his face.”

“Good,” Alicia snapped. “Maybe Daniel will suffocate himself.”

Magnolia shook her head. “No. He’s smelling the pillow. I sense his sadness. The scent
reminds him of the person who used to sleep there.”

Alicia seemed to choke up a bit. “What side of the bed was the pillow on?” she asked
softly.

Magnolia glanced back at the ball. “The side by the ugly silver lamp.”

Alicia made a gasping, sobbing sound and turned to me. “He misses me. Daniel misses
me.” When she’d regained some composure, she turned back to Madam Magnolia. “That
lamp cost two hundred dollars at Horchow’s.”