Frankie's Back in Town

“One could call it enterprising.” Jack knew his fair share of students who’d paid big bucks for the service. “Frankie Cesarini never touched the juveniles this precinct deals with now. Curfew infractions. Skipping class. Leaving campus to smoke. I should be so lucky.” He’d take Frankie’s sort of rebellion any day compared to the middle school kids Randy Tanner brought in when they busted a meth cookhouse last week.

“You’re defending her?” Gary looked genuinely surprised.

“I’m not defending her. I didn’t know her. Hell, Gary, I wouldn’t have even known she existed if not for Karan and her cheerleading posse. They obsessed over everything Frankie did.”

Gary rolled his eyes. “You know what I’m talking about, Jack. She ran off to some third-world country with a guy two days before graduation, never to be seen or heard from again…until a few months ago. It’s no wonder people are talking.”

Folks did too much talking around Bluestone, as far as Jack was concerned. “Even if Frankie had been on the wrong road in high school, she must have cleaned up her act. Unless your developer hires felons for upper management. They must run background checks. If she’d been in any trouble—”

“My developer doesn’t hire anyone for anything. They partner with a management company who does that.”

“So Frankie works for the management company?”

“Same company Susanna has been with for years.”

Bingo. Mystery of the rumors solved. And Jack glanced at the clock, wondering if he had time to kill one henpecked patrol cop before his appointment with the assistant chiefs. He knew exactly where the rumors had started.

The cheerleader connection. Susanna Adams had been close friends with Karan since high school. If she’d mentioned to Karan that the police had come to Greywacke Lodge asking questions about the missing wallet report, then Karan would have been all over the news because of Frankie. Karan had probably called her buddies from the cheerleading squad—most were still friends—and started up the gossiping. The only way they could have known of any potential crime meant that Becca had grilled her husband, and that henpecked patrol cop had dished out enough details to satisfy his wife.

Damned small town.

“Listen, Jack.” Gary spread his hands in entreaty. “I’m not saying Frankie has done anything wrong, then or now. But I don’t like the way people are talking.”

“You’ve got that right. First and foremost, no one should know about this investigation. And I don’t like that people are placing blame. I can’t even say a crime’s been committed yet.”

If life didn’t dish up enough drama, then some folks weren’t happy unless they manufactured their own.

Frankie’s return was news to warm up a cold winter.

“High school was a long time ago, Gary. What do you know about Frankie now?”

With a frown Gary settled back against the desk. “She’s been running Greywacke Lodge since the doors opened and must be doing a decent job. I worked closely with the developer when they were putting together the deal for the property. The management company is top-notch. The investment bankers, too. I had no idea senior living was such big business.”

“Makes sense,” Jack said. “Baby boomers grow up.”

“As far as I know they’re running a first-rate community up there. Really, Jack, Frankie is the director of operations. The whole property answers to her. Including Susanna. Frankie must know what she’s doing or we’d have heard something.”

“You’d think.”

Jack tried to remember back to the “good old days,” when he, Karan, Susanna and her then-boyfriend Skip had been a frequent foursome. Susanna hadn’t seemed much for instigating gossip, but as a member of Karan’s cheerleading squad, she’d been part of a group that obsessed about Frankie.

Jack had never understood why. In fact, he really didn’t remember much more about Frankie than she’d been orphaned young and reared by her grandmother. With the obtuseness of a teen who’d been more interested in football than girl drama, he’d only listened hard enough to figure out how to shut them up.

Especially Karan. When she started to rant, she could go on for hours, working herself up so much that nothing he did could bring her down again. That much he remembered.

The good old days. A chill ran down his spine.

“All right,” Jack conceded. “I know why you don’t want to add any more fuel to the fire, but I still don’t understand your concern about Randy running the investigation.”

“I don’t want to add any more fuel. That’s the whole point. Randy’s the best you’ve got, no question, but that doesn’t change the fact he isn’t local. If people are on fire already, I don’t want to give them anything else to speculate about. If you put another detective on the case with Chuck, say Rick or Brett Tehaney, then no one can say your people didn’t cover all the bases. Rick or Brett knows the history around here. They’re not likely to miss anything.”

“Neither is Randy.” To hell with anyone who even thought his department wouldn’t run a tight investigation.

“I’m not telling you what to do, Jack. Just consider what I’m saying. Greywacke Lodge is a draw to Bluestone. Half the movers and shakers in this county have sent their old folks to live there. Kevin Pierce called my office an hour ago asking if he should be worried about his grandfather. He didn’t come out and question my integrity, but he made it loud and clear that he knew something was going on up there.”

Bull’s-eye. The real reason for this visit.

Pressure from the competition.

“I hear what you’re saying,” Jack said. “And I’ll take another look at the situation, but I can’t jeopardize an investigation—”

“I don’t want a few malcontents who can’t get their heads out of the last millennium starting up bad press about Greywacke Lodge.” Gary checked his watch. “I’ve got to go. So as long as you know you’re sitting on a powder keg here, I trust you’ll deal with it. Do me a favor, though. Keep me up on what you learn. I don’t want to be sideswiped by anyone else.”

“No problem.”

“Good luck then.”

The door had barely shut behind Gary before Jack followed.

“I’m heading over to Professional Standards,” he told his assistant, without adding that he’d be making a pit stop on the way. If he managed to restrain himself from throttling a patrol cop who couldn’t keep his mouth shut, he would at least insist on some answers from his best detective.

Chuck was off duty, but Jack found Randy working at his desk. “Where are you on the Hickman case?”

“You got ESP?” Randy leaned back in his chair and tilted the computer monitor toward Jack, who glanced at the display.

“The Federal Trade Commission. You got something.” It wasn’t a question. The FTC’s Identity Theft Data Clearinghouse ran a complaint database that catalogued identity theft victim and suspect information nationwide.

“Not yet, and let’s hope I don’t. Just got a call from one of your council members who heard we were up at Greywacke Lodge. Says his grandfather is there, and he’d appreciate it if we’d keep him up on how the investigation is going.”

Jack winced against the dull ache starting in the recesses of his head, the foreshadowing of what promised to be a headache unlikely to go away any time soon. “Kevin Pierce.”

That also wasn’t a question.

“I gave him your cell number,” Randy said with a chuckle. “But I’m guessing I better not drag my heels on this.”

Randy didn’t know the half of it.

“Don’t worry, Jack,” Randy said. “Natural for folks to worry after that grocery chain got hacked. Two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand debit card numbers. Friggin’ nightmare. I’m heading back up to the lodge. I’ve got more questions for Hickman. If this does turn out to be identity theft, I’ll walk him through the process. He’ll have to file a fraud alert because I’ll need his help to have a shot at nailing the perp.”

When Jack didn’t reply, Randy kept going.

“If he’ll give me authorization, I can get his theft-related transaction records from creditors without a subpoena, which will save me some time. We need a list of the places where he’s used his cards recently. But I’m putting a Clearinghouse Alert out first since we’re dealing with national transactions. Maybe another agency can help me fill in the blanks.”

“Sounds good,” Jack finally said. “Any clue what we’re looking at yet—credit card fraud or identity theft?”

“No. But I should know after looking at Hickman’s records. A lot will depend on who had access to his credit card.”

Precisely the problem. Jack already knew of one person who had access—the Greywacke Lodge employee who had found the missing wallet. That employee would be seen as an obvious connection to Frankie Cesarini. Throw Kevin Pierce into the mix, and this situation could become a train wreck fast.