Stocks & Blondes

Other Titles
by Nathan Everett

Municipal Blondes

Without Dag Hamar to guide her, Deb Riley takes on the job of finishing a task he left incomplete: Break the code on Simon’s computer and bring justice to the damned. But there are those who don’t want the code broken and are willing to do anything to prevent it—including kill Deb Riley. Now Deb is on the run and doesn’t know who her friends are.

City Limits

Gee Evars wandered into Rosebud Falls on Independence Day just in time to rescue a toddler from the rushing torrent of the Rose River. And to lose his memory. In an attempt to make Rosebud Falls his home, Gee becomes a local hero. But will he ever know who he really is?

Wild Woods

Led by City Champion Gee Evars, the man without a memory, Rosebud Falls has annexed the Wild Woods. But the Wild Woods holds its own mysteries, including the key to drug dealing, child trafficking, and Gee’s own unknown history.

For Money or Mayhem

Computer forensics detective Dag Hamar is pulled from behind the safety of his computer and takes to the streets when he discovers a link between an online predator and real life kidnappings around Seattle.

For Blood or Money

Computer forensics detectives Dag Hamar and Deb Riley discover secret files and hidden code can be as dangerous as dark alleys and flying bullets as they track a missing man and the billion-dollar fortune that went with him. Fourteen years after For Money or Mayhem.

Read Excerpts at http://www.NathanEverett.com

Copyright ©2019 Elder Road Books

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission from the publisher.

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First eBook Edition

ISBN 978-1-950183-20-3

1
Not the kiss I wanted

I GOT KISSED. It just wasn’t exactly what I had in mind. I guess when I send those last-minute prayers into the great unknown, I should be more specific.

Case Opened

The knock on my door came a little before midnight. I was so sure it would be either Cinnamon or Jordan—or both—I almost didn’t bother to put my wig back on. Jordan is about the only man who has seen me without it—at least the only man who’s still alive. And Cinnamon thought my bald head was pretty sexy when I was masquerading as a man. But I paused long enough to pull it on snug, wrapped my robe around me and threw the door open without even thinking about what else could be on the other side.

Lars Anderson. My advisor for my master’s thesis. I could have died. Not only that, but he was standing just slightly in front of a guy who had to be at least as old as him.

“Lars?”

“Hello, Deb,” he said, practically pushing me out of the way to come into the little apartment. Maizie, of course, was no help at all since she knows Lars and likes him. She was dancing around waiting to be petted. “Sorry to barge in on New Year’s Eve and all, but my friend Grover has to fly back to Savannah tomorrow. Grover, this is Deb Riley, finest detective I’ve ever trained. Deb, meet Grover McFearin.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. McFearin,” I said. “Lars, what’s this all about?” I had a feeling these two old buddies had been out drinking but they couldn’t be expecting anything out of me. They’re both seventy if they’re a day.

“Oh look, it’s midnight,” Lars said. “Happy New Year!” And with that he leaned over and kissed my cheek. Well, so much for that brief fantasy. Kissed and disappointed at the same time. Blech!

“Lars…”

“I know, Deb. This is highly irregular and you want to know what the hell is going on. I’ll lay it out for you in short order.” He sat on the sofa and motioned Grover to a seat beside him, like he had done it a thousand times before. Well, maybe he had done it a thousand times before. I’m now resident in Dag’s apartment. Mrs. Prior said I could move in and she’d charge the same rent Dag paid. I wouldn’t have moved in here, even though Dag left everything he owned to me in his will, but my lease expired while I was off in Croatia and Cinnamon did the best thing she could: packed my stuff up and moved it here. I know it’s a little silly, but I can’t bring myself to sit in Dag’s chair. He died there, for God’s sake. I went into the kitchen and brought out a straight chair and parked myself in front of Lars and Grover to wait for his explanation.

“Deb, Grover came to Seattle because of the death of his daughter.” I looked at the other man and realized he hadn’t raised his eyes once since he came into the room. He was crying.

“Keep talking, Lars,” I said. I stepped back into the kitchen to put a kettle of water on for tea. Something finally told me this was a professional visit. I, for one, needed to be alert. It looked like Grover needed something comforting.

“Georgia McFearin died on Christmas Day,” Lars said. “The police have officially ruled it a suicide.” He reached over and patted Grover’s shoulder. Grover mumbled something to him and I got the impression he just wanted Lars to tell the story. “The police want to close down the investigation but Grover isn’t satisfied.”

“That’s pretty fast,” I said. “It’s only been a week.”

“They say it will be another week or ten days before we can have access to her house,” Lars continued, “but Grover can’t stay in town that long. He needs someone to handle the estate and to investigate further.”

“What? Lars, I do computer forensics. Why would you come to me?” Technically, I’d spent much of the past month running from or after rich people. I’d seen three people die in pursuit, not counting Bradley and Oksamma the month before. And Dag. I was really wanting to stay home and look at nice dependable computers for a while. And finish my thesis.

“The police report says there is a computer in every room of her house. They don’t see the computers as relevant to the suicide, so they aren’t doing more than a cursory check of them. They say they are all password locked and they have no reason to request a warrant to search them. As far as they are concerned, the cause of death was self-strangulation.”

“She hanged herself?”

“More or less.”

I brought tea into the room and set a cup in front of Grover. He looked up at me and the empty pleading in his eyes broke my heart. Damn! I was going to get in over my head again. If he made me his agent as executor of the estate, I could crack the computers as if they were mine and have no legal problems at all. But why? What did he think I’d find there?

Lars took a cup from the tray I was still holding and I sat back in my straight chair to contemplate what was going on. I really wish they’d just come to my office instead of telling me all this in my living room. Of course, I wasn’t going to my office today. It’s a holiday. So…

“What exactly do you want me to do?” I asked.

“We’d like you to go over to her house when the police release it and dispose of Georgia’s things, pack up personal items and ship them to Grover in Savannah, and look inside the computers to see if there is any indication as to why Georgia might have taken her own life. And—lacking that—see if there is any evidence someone else might have been involved.”

“You think she was murdered?” I asked. Now I was really thinking I didn’t want to do this. Grover looked up at me. Tears still fell from his eyes.

“My daughter wouldn’t commit suicide,” he said. “I just need to know what really happened. Please, Miss Riley, I can’t pay much but I can give you the proceeds of her estate. There should even be some sort of pension from that company she worked for.”

Well, what father would ever believe his baby would kill herself? I don’t want to go down that path. I’d have to look for evidence it was an accident.

“What company was that?” I asked.

“Allied Computer Network Solutions,” he said. “She moved out here five years ago to take a job with the company. They recruited her. She always sends money for the mortgage. It’s a good job.” The company had its ups and downs in the past five years but most high-tech companies had. It looked like it was going to be one of the successful ones in the long run.

“How old was your daughter?” I asked. It suddenly occurred to me that he was old and his daughter must not have been recruited out of college.

“She was fifty-one in November,” Grover said. “She came out to see me on her birthday and made me promise to come out here in the spring.” Geez. Would I even know what to look for on a fifty-one-year-old’s computer? I had my doubts. What did she know about computing? I supposed I’d have to contact her employer and find out if there was a 401k. Maybe stock options. If she was paying her rent or mortgage here and sending mortgage payments to her dad in Savannah, she must have been doing pretty well. I could at least get the guy some money for his old age.

“I guess I could take a look but I can’t promise anything,” I said, non-committedly. “If she was a programmer, she might have encrypted everything on her drives.” I was already formulating a strategy for getting into the computers. I would follow Dag’s procedures and bring them to the office, pull the drives, and peek in from a different computer. It really wasn’t that hard… if she hadn’t encrypted her files.

“Deb, I think you should visit Savannah,” Lars suggested.

“Hmm?”

“The police won’t release the house for seven to ten days. You’ve gone through a lot lately and a little trip to the old South would do you good. More importantly, it would give you a chance to get to know the woman you’re investigating, how she was raised, even who her friends were. When you get back, you’ll have a better idea of what to look for.” Lars was being extra persuasive in his approach. Not like him at all. “I’m suggesting this as your advisor,” he finished. Yeah, there’s the other shoe. Lars was worried that I’m too stressed out after Dag’s death and my chase halfway across the globe to save his best friend. Like that turned out well. “You should try out Peg Chester while you are there. Older women will talk more freely with a woman their own age.”

There it was. Lars is one of the few people who knew my aliases. Most of them. Peg Chester is a persona I put together in his class on undercover identity. I haven’t used her much. In fact, not at all since the class. I’d been going through aliases pretty quickly over the past two months. Wouldn’t be bad to have such an easy one cleaned up and available. I could even swing by her home on the way back from Savannah and update my records.

What was I thinking? I was seriously already believing I’d taken this job. WWDD? What would Dag do? I knew the answer to that question instantly. If he had a friend in trouble—or even a friend of a friend—he’d do whatever was necessary to help them out. Even die.

“I can’t go until the weekend,” I heard myself saying. Damn damn damn!

Party time

If it weren’t for Maizie, I still wouldn’t be awake. Of course, she dragged me out for a walk at seven this morning. She was so disappointed that Tovoni’s was closed. Hey girl, it’s a holiday. Everybody deserves a day off. I swear she was in a huff when we got back home. She had her breakfast and sat in Dag’s chair looking at the TV. I turned it on and she kept barking until I found a football game. Then she settled down, watched for a while, and went to sleep. My little girlie-dog is a football fan!

I spent the rest of the morning trying to get ready for Jordan’s party this afternoon. I can’t believe I’m even going, let alone that I care what I look like. Last night, I was ready to meet him and Cinnamon au naturel. Now I’m trying on wig after wig, looking for… something. I think it might be time to get a new look. Simple brunette? Replace the black China doll wig Oksamma knocked into the Sound?

Anyway, Jordan invited a bunch of people over for oyster stew on New Year’s Day. Says it’s an old family tradition. It sounds kind of old fashioned, which is cute, I guess. But I still don’t know how I fit in. Just that I’m going to go, damn it. I’m going to go and I’m going to have fun. And I’m not going to think about anything else.

Now put some clothes on.

2
Dinner with Detective Handsome

I NEED NEW CAR TABS because I foolishly let mine expire at the end of the year. I could have had Cinnamon do this if I was thinking. Fortunately, Detective Handsome let me off with just a warning… and dinner.

Starting the New Year right

Jordan’s party was really okay and the oyster stew wasn’t bad either. He hobbled around on his boot cast and Cinnamon was there to support him if he teetered. I think they hooked up last night. They were very cagey when I asked what they ended up doing and Cinnamon was too aloof from Jordan. It wasn’t natural. Something changed.

So, I spent the first part of the party sulking, I admit. I dressed up so carefully and was planning to be my sexiest, most flirtatious self, but seeing the electricity flowing between those two put me off the party spirit. Fortunately, Teri and Geoff were there, so I got to know him a little better and am no longer quite so terrified of him as I was. Okay, he says the whole playboy S&M thing has been a cover, but jeez, he scared me. Seeing him with Teri though, showed me a very tender side. I’m happy for her.

Now I’m getting all weepy because my friends are getting paired off. But that misses the whole point.

Jordan asked a couple law enforcement types to the party whom I hadn’t met before. Kathy Mitchell worked in the same group as Jordan but I’d never seen her come into our office or to any sites where I’ve visited. She wasn’t around when I was at Brenda Barnett’s hearing. She wasn’t at the docks when we went through the cargo container. But she seemed to know absolutely everything that I’ve done and all about me. She said she does a bit of undercover work, but mostly stays out of sight in the office to manage logistics. Wow! Somebody manages Jordan. Who would guess?

I was sitting alone in the living room before the late lunch, drinking a soda and generally feeling sorry for myself when the doorbell rang. With all the noise in the kitchen, I was betting no one else could hear it, so I went to let the new guest in. I opened the door on the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. I mean, Ray paled by comparison. Of course, Ray was fish food. This guy was six-one, 170 pounds, medium length sandy hair, and a physique that was like a Greek statue. Is that all trite enough? I think my mouth kind of dropped open and I forgot to say hello.

“Hi,” he said. “I’m Detective Hanson.”

“You certainly are,” I answered.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I mean certainly you are, or must be a friend of Jordan’s, right?” I’m twenty-seven years old and I was acting like a thirteen-year-old in front of a pop god. Get a grip, girl.

“Yeah. This is the right place, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it sure is. Everyone is in the kitchen. Come on in, Detective.”

“Sorry,” he said. “It’s Tom. I’m getting so used to introducing myself at people’s front door that I forget I don’t have to say ‘detective’ all the time. You’re lucky I didn’t flash the shield at you.”

“That’s okay. I’m getting so used to being arrested it would have seemed natural,” I joked. Oh, God! What a stupid thing to say! “Come in, Tom. I’m Deb.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Deb.” He held out his hand and I got all tingly when I shook it. I have definitely been spending too much time with computers and old people. One look at a nice looking—okay, gorgeous—guy and I’m getting flushed. I decided it was time to get myself, and him, under control.

“Let’s go to the kitchen where everybody else is. Jordan is entertaining everyone by shucking oysters,” I said. He didn’t let go of my hand right away, so I just pulled him along behind me. Where are those handcuffs, anyway? People in the kitchen had started counting down how many oysters were landing in the stew pot. I was counting how many wine bottles were empty so far. People were certainly into it.

“Hey, everybody!” I shouted over the noise. “This is Tom Hanson. Say hi.”

“Hi, Tom,” they responded. “Thirty-one!” Geoff broke away first and came to say hi. Tom had to let go of my hand to shake Geoff’s. I suddenly began to hate Geoff again.

“Tom, it’s good to see you. How’s life as a detective?”

“Still getting used to it, Geoff. Every morning I have to decide what to wear instead of pulling on the blue uniform.”

“Did you just get promoted?” I asked.

“About a month ago,” Tom replied. “They’re scarcely letting me out without a chaperone yet.”

“Don’t let him be too modest,” Jordan said when he finally got around the kitchen island to greet Tom. There were now thirty-six oysters in the stew according to the shouts. “Tom cracked a drug case while he was still in uniform and brought in one of Seattle’s most notorious dealers. The department couldn’t help but promote him. It was long overdue.”

“I keep telling everybody it was dumb luck but they started me right in on homicide.” He accepted a soda from Jordan. I noticed Kathy was drinking soda, too. Hmm. The cops are staying sober while everyone else is emptying the wine bottles. I wonder what’s up.

“I see you’ve met Deb,” Jordan said. “She’s probably the most interesting person at the party, so you might just want to stay close.” Damn! Now I get it. Setup. Jordan could hardly keep a straight face. Geoff came to the rescue and I immediately forgave him for his earlier infraction.

“I’ve got someone interesting with me,” he said. “Tom, meet my girlfriend, Teri. Teri, this is Tom Hanson. We play a little basketball together once in a while.”

“That one I’ll bite on,” Tom said. “I play basketball. He buys the uniforms.”

“You’re a pro ballplayer as well as a cop?” I asked.

“No. Geoff sponsors an entire adult round-ball league here in the city. There are two dozen teams and he outfits all of them,” Tom said.

“What can I say? I love basketball,” Geoff said. “Why don’t we all go to the game Friday night? I’ll get Jordan to bring a date and we’ll watch the game and have dinner in my box.”

“That sounds good to me,” Tom said. “You in, Deb?” Did I just get asked out on a date? Did they all know this was going to happen before they got here? No. Of course not. It was what Jordan called a… what? A fig. Not quite a date because you’re just friends. I was game, regardless. I’d leave for Savannah on Saturday. I’d already decided that.

“Sure. Sounds like fun,” I said. “But I’ve got to warn you, I’m not sure I even know the difference between basketball and hockey. My sports knowledge is pretty weak. My dog’s a big football fan, though.”

“All the more fun,” Tom said. “Nothing like initiating a NOOB.”

“Play on computers, too?” I asked. He just grinned at me.

It was time to eat and we filled bowls with stew, got big hunks of crusty bread, and sat all over Jordan’s living room, kitchen, and dining room to eat. It was really good. Every time someone ate an oyster, they counted back down until we verified all thirty-six had been consumed.

We talked and played silly games all afternoon while the Rose Bowl played on TV. I’d left mine on at home for Maizie. When I thought about that, I realized I really needed to get home and let the dog out. I extracted myself from the sofa and a very comfortable spot next to Tom, and headed for the door. He immediately stood and said he needed to get going as well and would walk me to my car. Which he did. That was kind of nice because I don’t like strange parking garages all that much. Tom held my door for me and politely stepped away as I started my car. I pulled out of the parking space and all of a sudden, Tom was waving his hands behind me and signaling me to pull over. I did and he trotted up to my window. I’m going to get asked out!

“Yes, officer?” I laughed.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said seriously. “I can’t let you drive this car out of the parking ramp.”

“I assure you, I’m perfectly sober,” I said. He really seemed to be into the game.

“No. Really, Deb. Your tabs have expired.” Oh, no! “If you leave the car here in the ramp, you’re still on private property and you can go down tomorrow, get the renewal, and then come and get your car. It’s a nuisance, but a lot better than starting the New Year with a ticket.”

“Oh, my God, you’re serious,” I said.

“Why don’t you park your car and I’ll take you home?” he said. Yours or mine? I wondered.

I won’t belabor the point. He took me home. I walked and fed Maizie. He took me to dinner. Then we got back to my place. I am so bad at situations like this. I mean, beyond the fact that he was beautiful, I really liked him. I was seriously thinking that the night shouldn’t end yet, but I didn’t want to screw up by making a move he wasn’t ready for. And besides, as much as I liked him, he didn’t know everything about me and I wasn’t willing to say yet. I didn’t know what he expected or what I wanted.

Then he took my hand and kissed it. Very softly. I can still feel the touch of his lips on the back of my hand.

And he said good night and left.

I’m sure I was set up. Cinnamon didn’t flirt with him once all day!

3
I hate funerals

I DON’T WANT to ever lose a friend again. I don’t want to have my heart pulled out through my throat again. I don’t want to watch them die again. Please, God, is that too much to ask?

I feel so miserable. It’s not enough that I had to go say goodbye to Angel, I had to deal with all the drama, too.

Two jerks at a funeral

The funeral was at one o’clock. I guess they set these times so people can take a late lunch and still get back to work for most of the afternoon. I went into the office with Maizie after stopping for a cookie for her at Tovoni’s. Cinnamon was already at her desk, dressed in the same black dress she wore to Dag’s service. I was hardly in the door before she was up and hugging me. It had been so stressful lately we hadn’t really connected at the office. First, the mad dash halfway around the world, then Angel getting Brenda and Cinnamon into the condo, then Brenda and Angel going off the roof. I thought I’d healed when we took Dag’s ashes to Deception Point but then we still had to deal with Angel’s service.

Cinnamon and I talked for a long time after we got our eyes dry this morning. It was comforting to focus on business and get an employment agreement signed. She’d been working for me for three weeks and we’d only been in the office together a few hours. What a great job she did repairing and redecorating after those bastards trashed the place. At the same time, it seems sad that it’s almost like it was never Dag’s office. But, as long as we can keep from trying to date the same guy, Cinnamon and I will get along just fine. And I can afford to hire her. That’s what really amazes me.

We tried to eat lunch, but neither of us was all that hungry, so we dropped Maizie back at my apartment and went to the funeral home out in Kirkland. Why is it that I never thought about Angel having parents and siblings? My God! They were everywhere. And every one of them was six feet tall and blonde. Cinnamon and I slipped in and sat in the back after we paid our respects. It wasn’t long before Delta, Traci, and Jasmine joined us. Half a dozen of the other girls from the Condo showed up eventually. None of the men who went to the Condo showed up, of course, except Geoff. He said the other members of the committee were all attending Brenda’s funeral which had been set to coincide with Angel’s. Geoff figures his cover is pretty well blown now anyway, so he didn’t feel an obligation to join the execs.

Then Davy came in. He was pretty broken up. Those were real tears. I don’t know how they managed a relationship with Angel and Simon being an item, but he was definitely in mourning.

The preacher had just begun (apparently, Angel’s family belong to some ultra-fundamentalist church) when Simon walked in. I think I was the only one who noticed him for a minute because he stood right beside me looking at the front. He didn’t look that good, either.

WTF is he doing here when his wife is being buried in Madison Park?

Then Davy saw him. The guy came tearing down the aisle and tackled Simon—drove him all the way to the door of the chapel and started beating on him. Simon didn’t even raise a hand to protect himself. It was like he wanted someone to punish him and Davy was only too happy to be the one.

Geoff and a couple of others pulled them apart. Then Angel’s two brothers came down the aisle. I tell you: They are as fierce as Davy. One of them grabbed the ex-marine by his belt and collar and threw him out the front door of the chapel. The other got hold of Simon, who could barely stand, and gave him a shove toward the door as well.

“Stay out!” one of the brothers shouted at them.

They turned around and marched back up the aisle to sit beside their mother. I figured somebody better look after Simon, so I pulled out my cellphone to call 911. I saw Geoff standing outside with him and already had his phone out, so I just sat back down and watched the service.

It’s strange, but from that point on, I was so completely detached from what was going on that I couldn’t tell you word one that the preacher said. And he said a lot more than word one. By the time he was done talking, I’d forgotten why we were there. A choir sang and everyone in the chapel got up to file by the casket and greet the family. The casket was closed, thank God. I saw Angel’s dead body from fourteen stories up. She wouldn’t want anyone to see her that way.

We left the funeral. Cinnamon surprised me by saying she was going to go to the cemetery for the burial with Delta. I declined to go (I think Cinnamon knew I would) and got in my car. I turned my phone on and saw I had four messages.

The first was from Geoff, saying Simon had been taken to Evergreen Hospital. The next three were from Simon. His first just said, “I’m so sorry.” The next two asked me to come to the emergency room and get him out of there. Please.

I don’t like Simon. I don’t like what he stood for or how he abandoned Angel. But the guy paid me a million bucks last month and I figured the least I could do was collect him from the hospital and take him home. His home.

“I never liked that punk,” Simon said as soon as I saw him. They’d patched up his face, including a dozen stitches around his left eye. He moaned as he got off the table and tried to put his coat on. He finally let me settle it over his shoulders and hobbled out to the desk. It took him some time before he got things squared away with the payment desk but he finally turned and followed me to my car. Maybe I’m just cold, but I didn’t offer to let him lean on me. Some part of me had been cheering Davy. Don’t get me wrong. I’d have cheered Simon if he’d land a few on the ex-Marine. I haven’t forgotten that Davy was partly responsible for my imprisonment in the Condo and for hitting Dag.

“I need some soup,” he said when we were in the car. “I won’t be able to eat anything else for days.”

“Don’t you have any friends besides me?” I asked. I was being a bitch but I couldn’t really understand why he would call me to take him home.

“No one I trust,” Simon said. “Did you know Geoff Gilliam works for fucking FinCEN?” Geoff’s cover was definitely blown. “I was sure he was one of my wife’s minions. Now he’s telling me I should turn myself in. I gave Jordan Grant all he wanted from me and then some. There’s no reason for him to be interested in me any longer. But I guarandamntee you if I hadn’t got out of the hospital when I did, some Fed would be coming around to ask questions about something.”

“If you’re setting me up to aid and abet a criminal, I’m headed for the police right now,” I said.

“If the police wanted me, Gilliam wouldn’t have left. I think he just wanted me to go away.”

“Why did you even come back?” I asked. “They’re both dead. There’s nothing left for you here.”

“Now there’s a question for you. When I stripped my computer and gave away all my money, I left a solid asset base for Brenda to live on,” he said. “Now it seems that I’m her only heir and she had as much squirreled away that she never told me about as I left for her. I’ve got to dispose of all that now.”

“Oh. The curse of privilege.”

“Two million of undeclared assets in your name is a kind of privilege as well.”

That shut me up. Just a few days ago, Angel brought me one hundred $10,000 cash cards to pay for services to Simon. I locked them in the vault. But how did Simon know Dag left me a million in a Swiss bank account? Of course. It’s what Simon paid Dag. All of a sudden, I felt like a whore.

“Look,” Simon said. “What you’ve got you deserve. I was thankful to you and Dag loved you.” I jerked my head around toward him. “Maybe like a daughter. Anyway, I’m not asking for anything in return for that. As far as I’m concerned, you were on the clock when you got me out of the hospital and you’re still on the clock if you get me some damn soup and drop me off at the W. Dag charged $1,000 a day plus expenses. Between the funeral and carting me around, I figure I owe you a day and about $50 for gas. That’s the extent of what I want from you. Someone I can trust to do work if I need work and who gets paid a fair wage for it.”

“I went to the funeral because Angel was my friend. I came for you because you were Dag’s friend. I know he would have done it. You needn’t pay me. Let’s just get your soup and get you out of my life.”

I stopped at a high-class grocery store that had a selection of eight different soups and Simon chose something he could eat. I dropped him off at the W Hotel downtown with a fervent wish that I’d never see him again.

I pulled away and headed back toward Queen Anne. That’s when I saw the eleven $100 bills lying on the seat.

 

4
Getting a new look… or two

WHEN I SAY I feel like a new woman, it’s usually because I’ve replaced a few parts. Think about the way you look. How much of what you look like grows on your body? Well, my body is a blank canvas waiting for paint.

Not who she said she was

Maizie and I got to the office early this morning. For once we beat Cinnamon there. She was surprised when she came in. We went over the new case and she got on the phone. I had only the sketchiest of details about when Georgia McFearin came to Seattle, what company she worked for, and what she did for a living. I got Cinnamon to start putting together a profile for me. It will be good for her to do some actual detective work, even if she thinks she’s just office help. I started pulling together the notes from my meeting with Grover and making my travel arrangements to go to Savannah. I think I had put this off with the vague hope that there wouldn’t be a flight available or something, but after a moderate amount of hassle, I got a flight.

I was going to be miserable. The flight was at 6:10 Saturday morning and got in about dinner time. That meant I’d have to be at the airport before five at the latest. And I had a date Friday night! I seriously considered calling Tom and telling him I was going to have to bag it, but—damn—a date!

I’d just have to bite the bullet and get a vanpool ride to the airport. Leaving the apartment at four a.m. Then a rather evil plan came to mind and the object of that plan walked through my door at that very moment.

“Sugar?” Cinnamon said as she came in. “I got some bad news.” My plan kind of flew out the window.

“What is it?”

“Georgia McFearin didn’t work at Allied—at least not recently,” she said.

“What? Grover said that’s why she came out here to Seattle.”

“Well, it was, I guess.” Cinnamon was looking at her notes but I could tell she was just trying to look diligent. “HR won’t give out more than name and employment dates. They said she was employed at Allied from April 2014 to November 2014. That’s it.”

“No references, new job referral, reason for leaving?” I asked.

“Nothing,” Cinnamon confirmed. “They said all they were allowed to do is confirm dates of employment unless the employee specifically requested other information be forwarded.”

“Well, this babe isn’t going to be forwarding any requests,” I said. “I wonder if a request from the executor of the estate would get additional info.”

“Want me to check online to see if she’s listed anywhere?”

“Yeah. Google her and see what comes up. You never can tell when a company lists an employee on their website or something,” I said. “Dig in and let me know what you find, but don’t expect a miracle. It’s more likely we’ll find some mail or something at her house that gives us information.”

“You want me to run over and take a look?”

“Sure, but Cinnamon…”

“Yes?”

“I need a little favor.”

“Shoot, Sugar. You know you can count on me.”

“I need a ride to the airport Saturday morning,” I said.

“Morning?” She asked. “Like before noon?”

“Yes, way before noon. It’s official business. I have to fly out to meet my client on a six o’clock flight.”

“Six o’clock? In the morning? On a Saturday?” Cinnamon was looking at me like her new boss had just grown horns. I thought she was making a little much of it since she was usually in the office by eight-thirty. “I kind of have a date Friday night.”

“Yeah, I assumed so,” I said. “I do, too. I thought we could come home together after the game and whatever, and you could just stay overnight. That way, you won’t have to worry about not being able to get up in the morning. And neither will I.” The expression on her face was precious but after a few seconds it started to soften and the mischievous grin I’d come to expect from her crossed her face.

“Well, well. My new boss just invited me to spend the night with her,” she said. “What might come of that?”

It was my turn with the precious expression!

Becoming Peg

Tom called about a quarter past noon and confirmed our date. He said he’d pick me up at six-thirty Friday evening. We don’t have to worry about dinner since we’ll be eating in Geoff’s skybox. While Cinnamon continued her little investigation, I left for lunch and told her I wouldn’t be back for the afternoon.

Instead, my afternoon was spent with Stevie. You need to know a little about Stevie in order for this to make sense. She runs marathons, power-lifts 180, and dresses hair. She spent a few years as a theatrical makeup artist in New York and then came out here to do cosmetology in Seattle. She specializes in women who are in the midst of or have undergone appearance trauma. I don’t mean a bad hair day. I mean chemotherapy, mastectomy, stroke, disfiguring injury. Yeah. Me.

I met her years ago after spending a year at college, always being afraid my wig would blow off my head or my penciled-on eyebrows would run in a rainstorm. I had a little money from my inheritance and my doctor gave me a referral to Stevie. She changed my life. She worked miracles with my blank canvas of a body. She gave me confidence and taught me a whole slew of makeup tricks and techniques. What’s better is that because my baldness is a medical condition, my health insurance covers a portion of my sessions with Stevie and a new wig budget each year. Over the years, I’ve supplemented the collection with different styles and hairdos for the different aliases in my repertoire.

I called Stevie a few days ago and told her I needed a makeover, which she greeted as if it were the best news she’s heard in years. She promised to have a new look ready for me. And what a look!

It was important to me that my everyday look be kept easy. I needed to toss on my wig, know it won’t come off, and with a reasonably small amount of makeup be ready to go. This look was all that and very sophisticated as well. It had curls, new eyelashes, and new makeup. I was afraid Tom wouldn’t recognize me tomorrow night.

When I get a new look, I replace everything. A girl can get away with penciled-on eyebrows. I knew a girl who had hers tattooed on. But people freak out if you don’t have eyelashes. Those have to be glued on every morning. When Stevie got done with me, I felt and looked like a new woman!

Then we dealt with Peg Chester. I developed the Peg Chester alias as part of my undercover class with Lars two years ago. Each of the six students in his class had to develop three aliases during the year. They went from a quick and dirty disguise we could pass a friend and not be recognized with, all the way to fully developed. A fully developed alias has everything necessary to function in the real world. For me, that’s John Whitcomb, Riley Finn, and Peg Chester. They each have a driver’s license, passport, social security number, bank account, address, and credit card. Peg Chester is forty-nine years old. That’s a little younger than Georgia McFearin, but Georgia is about to become Peg’s cousin from Cleveland, not her classmate from Savannah.

I was sad to take off my sexy new look in order to have Stevie work on my alias but she insisted. I brought out my Peg wig, lashes and brows. Stevie tutted over my care of things, but they’ve been in my Peg suitcase for months. When you put on an alias, it has to be complete and real. It can’t just be a costume unless you want someone to figure out who you really are. When I put on Peg’s clothes and hair, I became Peg.

For the most part, disguise is about keeping it simple. I’d be older than I am now but every wrinkle had to be in the exact same place every time I put it on. It’s better not to create readily identifying marks that people can use as reference points, too. No warts or moles or scars. An alias is someone you have to slip into repeatedly and not have people thinking something is different. Once they start to think that, they start to look too deep and the chances of getting caught skyrocket. Stevie gave me a hand cream that changed the texture of my skin. She accented the circles under my eyes and I put in my brown contacts. I let my body down into itself slightly. Most people can change their height by two inches just by standing up straight. This is the opposite. Peg always wears flats and one of her shoes has a pebble in it, which makes me favor that foot slightly. Peg doesn’t walk much. When we were finished, Stevie turned me to look in the mirror.

I gasped. It wasn’t that I didn’t recognize myself. I recognized myself all too well.

I was my mother.

I’m back home. Maizie came bounding up the stairs as soon as I walked in, gave me a single sniff, and went to lie down in Dag’s chair.

I took an Uber home because Stevie insisted I wear my alias home and I didn’t want to drive my car with someone else’s identity. I had the driver drop me at the bottom of the hill and I walked in my painful shoes to my little apartment above Mrs. Prior, letting Peg’s character find a place in me to live.

Peg Chester is a sad and tired woman.

5
What do you do with a man?

MAIZIE WAS CHASING HER TAIL around in a circle like mad today. What do you do if you catch it, girl? Then I thought about my date tonight. Hmm.

Test drive

I got up feeling a bit fuzzy, then realized I was still Peg Chester. Her hair, her eyelashes, her feeling of near exhaustion. I went into the bathroom to assess the damage of sleeping in full disguise. When I’m undercover, I can’t not be the person I’m supposed to be. I know, double negative. The point is, someone might knock on the door, see me when I get the newspaper, be spying on me through the blinds. If for a moment, I’m not who I say I am, I could be found out.

Stevie did a great job. The new foundation she put on me is like spray paint. It even changes the texture of my skin. I had to make a little adjustment to one eyelash and freshen my makeup. Then I was ready for a day as Peg Chester. Frankly, I can’t wait to get home this afternoon and wash it all off. I want to be the Deb Riley in my new curly wig. Ooh. But what to do as Peg Chester? First, I had to take Maizie out and that meant putting on those damn shoes again. If I spent very long in this outfit, I’d end up crippled, I swear it. I considered stopping in at Tovoni’s but despite Jackie saying she can see right through my aliases, I’m not enthused about showing them all to her. Maybe because she can see through them. Besides, being with Maizie would be a dead giveaway. We walked through the market and I got a cup of coffee at the Daybreak Café overlooking the water. They have the best scones. Then we headed to the office.

It was time to work on the voice. I left Maizie in the hall with a firm command to stay and then walked into the office. Cinnamon stood immediately. I like that. There is no reason a person who greets you in an office should stay seated behind a desk while you are standing in front of them. Cinnamon is more than a receptionist but being my receptionist is one of her jobs. I want people who come into my office to be welcomed, not feel like they just got to the principal’s desk at school.

“Good morning,” Cinnamon said. She paused and I thought she’d seen through me but she continued on. “How may we help you this morning?”

“You can check a computer here, can’t you? I want to know what my son is doing online at 2:00 in the morning.” The voice was just about there. Peg is a Midwesterner and there is a certain amount of twang in the accent. But accent is only part of the problem. I have to keep my voice from being recognized. For Peg, that was accomplished with phlegm in the throat. I sucked on a butterscotch candy. They never fail to cause my throat to clog. It looked like Cinnamon bought the deceit.

“Miss Riley, the investigator, will be here shortly. May I get you a cup of tea or coffee?” I shook my head no. “Did you bring the computer with you? It’s possible Miss Riley will be able to take a look at it right away.” I was satisfied. I wasn’t going to press this because sometime along the way, Cinnamon would figure it out and then it would become a game. Besides, I needed to get into my office and get some work done—in the guise of being a client.

“My dog has it,” I said nonchalantly. I snapped my fingers twice and Maizie came bolting into the room, skidded on the hardwood, and dashed at Cinnamon.

“Maizie?” she said. She looked at me and squinted. “Deb?”

“Hi, Cinnamon,” I answered. She was suitably impressed. We chatted for a while and she pointed out my makeup didn’t extend far enough into my collar line. We fixed it and got started on our assignments. I didn’t go into my office. Today, I’m Peg Chester. I’d have no business in Deb Riley’s office. But I did need Cinnamon to do a couple of things for me. She went around to pick up my car and then drove up to Georgia McFearin’s house to see if there was any mail and if the police were finished yet. I called a cab and went to Allied Computer Network Solutions. As executor of Georgia McFearin’s estate, I was entitled to a little more information than they were willing to give Cinnamon on the phone.

The woman I met with was younger than I expected. And prettier. I wondered if she’d done time at the Condo. I’m so jaded now, I suspected those few who made it good in the business world to be peddling favors to someone. I need to discipline myself not to think that way. Just because she’s beautiful and young and in a position of responsibility doesn’t mean she didn’t get there through legitimate means. Nonetheless, she proved willing to help me and was careful not to be condescending to my middle-age stature. After I’d established my credentials we got started.

“Georgia’s father and heir understood she was working here at the past four years. Can you confirm her employment record?” I asked.

“I’m sorry,” Janna Price said. “I’m still a bit in shock over her death. She wasn’t with us her very long but it wasn’t because we didn’t like her. We were lunch buddies. She was here from April until November 2014. We went through a rough patch right about then. The founders were convinced they’d take the company through an IPO but the market just wasn’t right for a public offering. They took out a lot of loans to keep the company viable, but in the long run we had to let a lot of good people go. I’m afraid Georgia was one of them.”

“What kind of work did she do?” I asked.

“She was a systems analyst,” Janna explained. “I can give you a copy of the job description. It will make more sense.”

“That would be fine,” I said. “I was never that close to Georgia but since I’m unemployed at the moment, her father asked me to look after the estate. Our mothers were sisters. Of course, Uncle Grover’s interest in Allied is strictly one of determining if there is a retirement account and where it is held. And, of course, trying to figure out why my cousin told him she was working here the whole time since she moved to Seattle.”

“Speaking as a human resources person,” Janna said, “I’ll tell you that a lot of people find it difficult to admit they’ve lost their jobs, especially to family members who might disapprove or think less of them. We offer counseling for employees who are terminated through staff reductions. Even when a woman has reached… well, your age, it’s hard to tell someone.”

“I suppose so. Do you happen to know who she went to work for next?”

“No, I’m afraid not. I’ve been trying to think if there was anyone I could have you talk to, but I’ve come up blank,” Janna said. “I’ll send an email to the people who were in her department when she worked here—those who are still here—and ask if anyone knows where she went to work after Allied. Do you mind if I give them your contact info?” I nodded my agreement. “Now, as to the retirement account, that is handled by Dain Bosworth. Here is the contact information for their group. She only contributed into the 401k for eight months. I doubt there’s much there unless she supplemented it with something else.”

“Thank you for your help, Miss Price,” I said.

“Mrs.” She smiled and turned a photo around on the desk that showed her with a nice young man and two small children. I revised my age estimate upward again. My, my. Young, beautiful, successful, and a mother and wife at the same time. I hate her. “Good bye, Ms. Chester. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

I left and took a cab back home. I wearily climbed the steps and sat down for a bite of lunch. It was time to get out of Peg Chester and get back into Deb Riley.

I’ve got a date tonight!

More than a fig

Cinnamon and I giggled all night, first at the game and then at the apartment afterward. Our dates seemed to be fine with us going home with each other and not them. It was like a sleepover when you’re a kid, I suppose. Except I never had one. So, maybe I was making up for lost time. We’ve been tittering about our men, trying to figure out what they are up to.

Tom loved my new look, never let go of my hand all evening, and made me feel like a million bucks. And we didn’t talk shop at all! I didn’t once ask him about his cases and he didn’t even ask why I’m headed to Savannah in the morning. Jordan is treating Cinnamon like a queen and she is lapping it up. Can you spell ‘Daddy?’

How soon can you say you’re in a relationship? Tom asked if he could see me next weekend and, of course, I said yes. I’m hoping we can get to know each other a little better before I start filling in all the blanks with my fantasies. It just seems too weird. The idea of actually dating a guy I like, I mean. He’s funny, smart, beautiful, and funny. Did I mention that? What are you supposed to do with a man?

Oops. Cinnamon just declared we are not sleeping tonight. She won’t get up at 4:30 in the morning. We’re just going to stay up. As soon as I’ve got everything I need packed, we’re headed for Denny’s!

6
Airport security

AIRPORTS ARE TRICKY if you are traveling in disguise. Not that I am right now, but this is my opportunity to check out both Seattle and Savannah, since next time I won’t be me. It’s nearly four in the afternoon Savannah time, where I’ll be landing in about an hour and a half. I’ve got a round trip ticket but I’ll be flying back on a different ticket, under a different name. That’s risky.

Technically, there’s nothing illegal about wearing a disguise or costume on an airplane—at least mostly. People change their appearance all the time. I can put on a different wig, gain weight, grow up (or maybe not), and even grow or shave facial hair. I can wear different makeup, change the color of my eyes with contacts, or even fake a limp.

What I can’t do legally is travel with someone else’s identity papers. Me and the law disagree. That’s what I plan to do coming back.

Undercover

Why? When everything is at risk, why try to change identities? It’s not like it was when I flew to Belize as a man. Face it, I was desperate and didn’t have time to change identities. But you just can’t risk making a mistake when you have to get somewhere. The only way to be ready is to practice.

Dag warned me not to take unnecessary risks. I know he used a false identity when he investigated the Condo but as far as I know he never tried to disguise himself or to travel under a different identity. Every time I walk through an airport in disguise, I up the ante. It’s getting harder and harder to get through. Of course, that’s good, right? No one wants a terrorist to pretend to be someone else and walk onto a plane carrying explosives. But detecting false identity isn’t the problem in detecting terrorists. What do they care if their identity is known after they blow something up?

When I walk through airport security, I can spot the highest risk candidates in an instant and it has nothing to do with what they look like. There’s something wrong with the way they walk and the way they look at the TSA agent. They don’t know where to look because they don’t know what the agent is looking for.

A TSA agent looks at your boarding pass and ID to verify you are the person authorized to travel by the ticketing agent, who is supposed to verify things like if you are traveling with too much luggage. They might even have a miniature UV light to shine on your pass to see if it has been tampered with. While the agent is looking at the ID and boarding pass, that’s where you should look. Then comes the clincher: The security agent is required to look at the face of every adult passenger. When the agent looks at me, I look at him or her. It doesn’t make a difference if I smile or cry. If I make eye contact when the agent looks up from my boarding pass, he slides past the rest of my face. Try it sometime. See if you can look at the rest of a person’s face when they are looking you in the eye.

You can speed your way through security if you just do what they say to, as well. Don’t be searching for your boarding pass or your ID when you get to the agent. That doesn’t distract them. It makes them look at you more closely. Hand it to him facing him with the ID on top of the boarding pass. Let go of it when he takes it. I can’t tell you how many people I’ve seen look like they are going to fight the agent for their boarding pass. He practically has to jerk it out of their hands. Then he’s more likely to examine you carefully. What’s with this idiot?

Passing airport security starts before you ever get to the airport. Everything should be set before you enter the door. You should have nothing in your pockets but pocket lint. Remove your belt and wear slip-on shoes. Take off your jacket and take out your laptop. Stow everything else you don’t need to show security in your carry-on. Yes, that includes your cellphone. Don’t carry liquids. Period. You can buy shampoo, hand lotion, saline, or anything else you really need in an airport shop on the other side of security, or better yet, wait until you arrive at your destination.

Here’s another tip: Carry a plastic sandwich bag and stuff any pocket change, your cellphone, your wallet and credit cards and money, and your jewelry in it. Put that on top of everything else in your carry-on bag. Once you’re through security, you can grab that one little plastic bag off the top and completely re-equip yourself in thirty seconds. I don’t carry a purse—ever. It takes me ten seconds to get my stuff on the conveyor belt for x-ray. It takes me another ten seconds to gather it up and leave the security station. The less time you spend there, the less likely you are to be pulled aside.

None of that is unique to traveling in disguise. Just do it. Your fellow-travelers will thank you. Not really, but they would if they knew you were doing it. People who are trying to conceal things often make a big deal out of something else, falsely thinking it will distract the agent’s attention from what they don’t want discovered. Wrong. They just get examined more carefully.

Here’s my last bit about negotiating an airport in disguise. You might think you should find the shortest, fastest moving line at security. Unless you are traveling first class or with a platinum frequent flyer card, forget it. Those are the lines most subject to impromptu searches. I like to stand directly behind the husband, wife, and three kids, who have a stroller, diaper bag, and half their household goods to push through the x-ray. As soon as they get through, the agent at the scanner wants to get the line moving as quickly as possible. The next half dozen people will sail through the checkpoint before they decide they can afford to slow the line down again. You will already be at your gate.

Seattle to Savannah is an eight-hour trip with a connection in Chicago. I’d be flying coach. I didn’t need to and I knew Dag would fly business class on such a long trip, but Grover insisted he’d pay my expenses. I didn’t believe he could afford my expenses but he wants to see the receipts and I wouldn’t bill him for expensive airfares on the way to Savannah. And Peg would never fly business class.

When I got to Savannah, I’d check into a modest hotel not far from the airport. That’s where I’d change identity. Don’t believe those movies that show people changing appearance in an airport. It’s trickier than it appears, especially if you are doing anything extreme like I would be. When I went from Mexico to Croatia, all I did was change clothes and slouch a little to throw that bastard Ray off my trail. I didn’t try to make the trip under a different identity. On the way back, I switched from male to female on the train before we changed in Milan. From there, crossing national borders was all done as me.

That was a preview of Stocks & Blondes. To read the rest purchase the book.

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