She phoned Saul, Elena’s private investigator who found things out for a steep price. She didn’t ask how he did what he did, and he never told.
Saul answered with a grunt. “Didn’t expect to hear from you people again so soon. Thought your boss had her answers on her husband.”
“She does. This is new. Charles Stone, brother of socialite Rosalind Stone. Can you find out for me if he’s had a sudden windfall or any signs of it? Flashy new purchases, investments out of the blue, more money to burn in clubs, that sort of thing?”
“How flashy we talking?”
“One point four million dollars’ worth. While you’re at it, do the same for Rosalind’s husband, Harvey Clifford.”
“How soon do you need to know?”
“Today would be preferred.”
He whistled. “I’ll charge double. I have the contacts in those circles, but it’s already evening.”
“I’ll pay triple if I have that information within two hours. Just be accurate.”
“Always.” He hung up.
Felicity leaned back and wondered if considering the worst of the two men wasn’t a bit far-fetched. For either or both of them to be embezzling, there had to be motive.
She tapped her lip. The obvious gain was wealth. But while Harvey didn’t have money in his own right, Cooper had said he wasn’t motivated by greed. Besides, the man wouldn’t hurt his charity. Everyone said how much Harvey loved it. That didn’t explain how guilty and strange he’d been acting.
That left Charles. Was he masterminding a con on Harvey? Exciting him with all the lovely merchandise he could sell and spark a fad with? He could be working with someone at Shenzhen Industries to fleece him. But then there was motive. Charles didn’t need money. Thomas had found no irregularities beyond the fact that his sporting goods store was the least successful of all Rosalind’s enterprises. But that didn’t mean it was unsuccessful; on the contrary, his store made a good profit every year.
What could Charles gain from a scam? Was he greedy? After power? Hiding a loss? Even if it was all three, why would he risk scamming his brother-in-law, given it would destroy his relationship with his family when it all came out? And it would come out the moment Living Ruff’s external auditor went over their finances in preparation for filing their 990. Finding well over a million dollars had been listed as spent on merchandising with no proof to back it up would raise red flags everywhere, and the truth would be quickly revealed. Getting caught would be inevitable, so why bother?
Nothing fit. What was theory C?
Rosalind Stone? She’d already misdirected Felicity’s investigation with her suggestion that a vet-tech scheme was in play. Except Felicity couldn’t imagine a less likely embezzler. It was clear the woman was dedicated to the charity she’d set up, and she had more wealth than she knew what to do with.
For the hundredth time that evening, Felicity wished Cooper were here. It had been so nice last night, batting around theories, followed by sex, snuggles, more sex…then doing it all again the next morning. It was addictive, and not just because of the tingly way Cooper made her body feel.
Felicity had always thought she didn’t need companionship from her lovers. Or even companionship from her acquaintances, come to think of it. But maybe that was because people usually bored her. They tested her patience with witless prattle on the mundane, like what inanity their child had performed or what they’d bought, driven, or eaten.
Not Cooper. She talked about life. Homelessness. Purpose. What mattered, what didn’t. They might not always agree, but she was never boring or short of a compelling topic.
Felicity was itching to call her, but Cooper had texted an hour ago to say she was exhausted and heading straight for bed.
That was probably for the best, given Felicity’s current neediness. It would be so much harder to walk away later if she kept dragging Cooper into her world every time she missed her.
Besides, if Living Ruff or its director were up to something shady, Felicity should protect Cooper by keeping her out of everything related to this con.
One way or another, a con was certainly on. That also meant, one way or another, Elena’s money was gone. Where, though? That was the question.
Felicity wracked her brain some more but came up only with a few curious tendrils she couldn’t quite make sense of.
* * *
The dishwasher was purring in the background, and Felicity was curled up on the couch watching Animal Planet when her phone rang with an unfamiliar number. She glanced at the time. An hour and fifty-eight minutes had passed.
She answered with a guess. “Saul, I presume? And with two minutes to spare, no less.”
“Ms. Simmons. I like to hit my deadlines, especially with a lot of zeroes on the line.”
“What have you found?”
“First, Harvey Clifford. That guy’s cleaner than a nun’s bedroom. His spending habits are about the same, too. He’s got little wealth of his own, doesn’t spend his wife’s dough, or seem interested in money at all either way.”
“I see.” Felicity wasn’t entirely shocked. “And Charles?”
“Hate to ruin a good conspiracy theory, but he’s clean, too. He’s not had any sudden cash windfalls. No new cars, investments, trips, party girls. His club habits for the past six months are the same. Business is doing okay. And do not ask me how I know this, but his bank account says the same.”
“You’ve seen his bank balance?” Felicity asked in shock.
“Not me. Hell, I’m not interested in prison time, thanks. But I know people who know people who can ask dodgy people to do certain things for certain high fees that I’m claiming I know nothing about and would never say out loud, even on an encrypted line.”
Well, that explained the unknown number.
“Bottom line,” Saul said, “his bank balance is not even one grand richer, let alone a million. He’s not your guy.”
“Damn it.” Felicity frowned. “Out of curiosity, is there any way to hide that kind of money from someone like you?”
“No,” Saul said with certainty, “there isn’t. But if you find out he’s managed it somehow, let me know. Because I’d be fuckin’ impressed.”
“Okay. Thanks for the quick response. Bill me. I’ll take care of it next week when I’m back at work.”
“Right you are, Ms. Simmons.” He hung up.
