Chapter 2
Blue and red flashing lights bounced off the retirement home’s concrete outer walls. The cop car in question hadn’t been in my rearview mirror, which was most often the case. This patrol vehicle haphazardly blocked the retirement building’s front door. Several times I’d seen lights like those on this building but normally from ambulances in a hurry to try and save a life. They never ended up being useful in a place like this when hours later a van from the morgue would show up to pick up the deceased. This facility promised to protect its residents from crime. The presence of the cop car told another story.
My mind raced as I jogged inside the building. When the frantic phone call had turned into wails, I dropped everything. When tears fell, that meant one thing. The apocalypse must be near.
The Bennett women weren’t criers. We were doers. When people needed help, like my Grams, we catapulted into action. Some might say we were heartless. It was a family trait. Emotionsweren’t expressed, even if wefelt them. Tears could mean only one thing… something terrible had happened. The flashing blue lights confirmed my gravesuspicions.
I jogged down the sterile hallways, passing open doors and ignoring the geriatric smell. I slowed at the nurses’ station,signing in on the visitor form. Their smiling faces were grim today, not a single chipper person greeted me. Jerry, the janitor, normally smiles and has a joke ready to tell, yet the rhythmic sweep of his broom didn’t skip a beat. The fine lines of his frown deepened when he met my gaze. This wasn’t the Regent Towers that I visited once a week. This wasthe twilight zone.
I rounded the corner into my grandmother’s room. She was lying on her bed with a washcloth draped over her eyebrows. Her greeneyes were closed, and her face was red and blotchy. She looked beaten, as if she’d lost her heirloom diamonds in a round of poker. “Grams?”
“It’s gone, all of it,”she answered,removing the towel from her damp bluish-white permed hair. Gramspressed the rag against her forehead. Her frazzled hair and smeared mascara momentarily stunned me. The skewedappearancewas more than unusual for the matriarchwho wouldn’t walk to the mailbox without looking her best. Grams’ wrinkles were more profound now than when I’d visited her the day before.
“What’s gone?” I asked, glancing around the barrenroom as I closed the distance between us. I took her hand in mine. “Whatever it is, we can replace it.”
Grams squeezed my hand. Her strength had seemed to have vanished. Sheer panic riddled her tear-stainedface. “He took all of our money. They’re going to kick us out if we can’t pay the bill. You have to do something.”
She wasn’t making any sense. I sat next to her on the bed. “You aren’t dying?”
“Heavens no.” Grams gave a dismissal wave of her hands like my question was preposterous. “What gave you that impression?”
“You were sobbing. I thought the world was ending.”
“Dear, didn’t you hear a word I said? He took our money. We’re all broke. We trusted him.” She moved the rag covering her face again. “How could I be such a fool?”
I poured Grams a glass of water and handed it to her. “Drink and tell me what happened. I’m a fixer, Grams. I can fix whatever this is.”
“He promised a return on our investment. He promised we’d get our money back in a week at triple the amount.”
“I never pegged you for gullible, Grams.”
“Bite your tongue. I checked his references. I’m not some naïve girl.”
“You’re right.” I sighed. Grams was as hard as they came. She didn’t trust easily, and in all of her life, she’d treated business with a keen eye. Whoever had duped her must have been better than good; he must have been exceptional. “Who was he?”
Grams rested her forearm over her eyebrows. “I’m going to be homeless.”
“I would never let that happen. Who was he?” I asked again.
“Phillip McArthur III. He seemed like such a nice boy.”
“His real name is Rudy Fillpot,”an unfamiliarmale voice interjected from the doorway.
Grams groaned again. “Someone named Fillpot took me to the cleaners. I’m never going to live this down.”
The cop at the door entered the room and held out a picture. “Mrs. Bennett, I’m Detective Collins. Is this the man that talked you into doing business with him?”
She peeked beneath her arms, opening only one eye to stare at the picture. “That’s him.”
I took the picture to memorizethe features of the man I intended to kill and snapped a photo of him with my phone. No way would he be getting away. “I don’t understand.”
“This isn’t the first time Fillpot has been on our radar. The FBI has a file they aren’t willing to share, but apparently his questionable business practices walk a thin line.”
A thin line would suggestthey didn’t have enough evidence for an arrest. I wasn’t buying it.
“He’s a crook. Why haven’t you captured the creep?”
“He’s slippery. He changes his appearance. His name. The FBI isn’t telling me much.”
