Not Quite an Angel (17 page)

Bernie watched without comment.

“You want a drink?” Adam motioned to the open bottle on the coffee table.

Bernie shook his head. “I gotta drive home. You got any coffee?”

“I'll make some.” Adam went into the kitchen and Bernie followed. As he made the coffee, Adam tried to make sense of what Bernie had told him. The only thing that had really registered at first was the fact that Sameh was all right, and the relief he felt was overwhelming.

“You said Tyrone and Violet took off? Together?” He must have heard wrong. Who the hell would want to go anywhere with Violet Temple?

“Looks that way to me. All their personal stuff's missing. Violet was supposed to be going to the airport to pick up Tyrone—he was in Vegas for a couple of days—but she
never came back. Delilah got frantic and called the hospitals and the police, but of course they can't do anything until somebody's been missing for twenty-four hours. So then she had Sameh call Blue Knights, and I started checking. I don't think Tyrone ever was in Vegas—his name doesn't turn up on any of the flight logs.”

Bernie leaned forward, the excitement of the chase sparkling in his eyes. “And get this, Hawk. Delilah's made a bunch of long-term investments through Tyrone—mutual funds, life annuities, all big-name companies: California Life, Utah Fire and Casualty, Lone Star Securities. That ring a bell with you?”

Adam whistled. “Investment fraud.”

“Right on. Janice called their offices today and surprise, surprise, they all say there's no record of any such transactions. A real professional job by the sound of it. Looks to me like old Tyrone's used forged documents from big life insurance companies, had copies made of their stationery, printed out statements every month, and the whole time he's squirreled Delilah's bucks away in his own personal bank account. And now he's flown the coop with a ton of Delilah's money.”

“Delilah told you all that?” Adam took two mugs from the stack of unwashed dishes in the sink and rinsed them under the tap.

“Not entirely. I had Sameh check out some stuff in Delilah's personal accounts. With Delilah's permission, of course. The old girl's hysterical, says she doesn't care about the money. The reason she wants us to find Tyrone is because she's recommended these investments to quite a few of her friends over the past couple of years and some of them stand to lose a lot of money.”

“Delilah's no fool. Didn't she suspect anything?”

Bernie shook his head. “Not till a few weeks ago. A
woman phoned Delilah, said she needed the money she'd invested with Tyrone and she'd tried to call the company but they'd never heard of her. She was pretty upset. When Delilah told Tyrone about it, he got in a flap. Delilah checked back a few days later, and the money had somehow miraculously appeared in the old girl's bank account—a direct deposit.”

“Tyrone got scared.”

“Right. Remember the files I was interested in, the ones on those older women who got swindled by some smooth-talking investment broker?”

Adam nodded, filling the mugs with coffee and handing one to Bernie. “Same M.O.?”

“Thanks.” Bernie took a long gulp. “Same M.O., all right. Same problem with prosecuting, too. Delilah doesn't want to go through court proceedings. She won't even talk to the police about Wallace. She's too ashamed.”

Adam nodded. “The publicity would be tough on her, no question. She's got reporters who think she's batty, anyhow, because of the stuff she writes about. They'd have a field day with this.”

“She wants us to keep this whole thing quiet,” Bernie confirmed. “She wants us to find Tyrone and try to get the money back from the women he's duped. In the meantime, she says she'll put money into an account to cover their losses, just in case we don't find lover boy. She's a decent lady, Delilah.”

The smell of the coffee was making Adam's stomach churn. He took a gulp and shuddered as the hot liquid hit his stomach, but at least his brain was starting to work. “The part of this I don't get is Violet Temple,” he said. “Assuming you're right and Wallace has done a number on
Delilah, why the hell would he want to cut Violet in on the deal?”

Bernie looked smug. “I've got a hunch it might just be the other way around, Hawk. See, I think it was Temple who was the brains behind this whole thing all along.”

A
DAM TOOK ANOTHER HIT
of caffeine and considered what Bernie had just said. “You think Violet Temple put Tyrone up to this investment scam?” Maybe the coffee was going to help his stomach after all.

Bernie shrugged. “It's just a hunch, like I said. See, I never figured Tyrone for being a heavyweight in the brain department, did you?”

“Nope.” Adam shook his head. “I figure old Ty got along mainly on good looks and charm. A real smoothy.”

Bernie agreed. “Well, somebody's got to be masterminding this fraud thing, somebody with more smarts that I ever gave Tyrone credit for. And Violet's a dark horse. I thought just for the hell of it we'd do a background check on her tomorrow, see what turns up.”

“Good idea.”

Silence fell. Bernie cleared his throat. He was obviously uncomfortable but determined to say what else he had on his mind. “Sameh'd been crying when we got home the other night.”

Adam didn't reply. When he thought of Sameh crying because of the things he'd said to her, it felt as if a giant hand was squeezing his chest.

“I take it things didn't work out the way you'd hoped they would between the two of you.”

His jaw clenched, Adam shook his head.

“I talked to her today, and she's pretty upset. Over this
thing with Delilah, of course, but I figure she's also plenty messed up over you. I told her about Myles dying, and she started crying and asked where you were. I had to say I didn't know.” He pointed at the trailing cord on the phone. “You might consider hooking in to the world again, Hawk. She's probably trying to call you.”

Adam ignored the suggestion. Instead he got to his feet, picked up the empty mugs and dumped them into the sink, giving Bernie the silent treatment and hoping to God he'd leave.

His friend didn't recognize a brush-off, however. “I sure hate seeing her brokenhearted over you, y'know. You're sure you gave it your best shot, huh?”

Adam shot him a filthy look, and when it didn't faze Bernie at all, he gave up the pretense of toughness and sagged into a chair. “She won't call. I ended it in the worst possible way. I was a real jerk, Bern. I was scared to lose her, and so I made it happen sooner than it needed to. I said things I shouldn't have said, things I knew would hurt her.” He thought about the letters. “I guess I'm an expert from way back at doing that.”

“So go tell her you're sorry, take her some flowers.”

Adam shook his head. “It's too late for us. Maybe it was always too late. She's going back where she came from, but I'm staying here. I get crazy every time I think of her leaving. I couldn't promise if I saw her I'd be any different than I was the other night. It's better we end it now.”

Bernie shook his head and looked disgusted. “I hate like hell seeing two of my favorite people screw up like this. But I guess you know what you're doin', Hawk.” He gave Adam a narrow-eyed look, then said, “You do, right? Know what you're doing?” When Adam didn't answer, Bernie gave a deep sigh, looked at his watch and got to his feet.
“Fran's keeping my dinner hot. I gotta run.” He hesitated, hand on the door. “When is the funeral for Myles?”

“No funeral. Just a memorial service early tomorrow morning at the rest home. Myles hated funerals. He left strict instructions for cremation, no ceremony.” The small smile on Adam's face was genuine. “Don't you remember him telling us one night when we were all drinking that he didn't want his friends getting together for him when he couldn't have a drink with them?”

Bernie smiled, too. “Yeah, I remember. He was a great guy. I'll be there in the morning. What time?” Adam told him, and at last Bernie opened the door and stepped outside. “You're comin' in tomorrow, right, Hawk? After the memorial? I need you to give me a hand on this Temple thing. Janice is helping but there's not a hell of a lot to go on.”

“Yeah, I'm coming in.” Going to work was about the last thing he felt like doing, but it wasn't fair to expect Bernie to carry the whole work load.

Bernie thumped Adam's arm with his fist. “Hang in there, partner. See you in the morning. With all of our fine minds working on this case, I figure we can haul Tyrone and Violet in by tomorrow afternoon, max.”

 

B
ERNIE'S HUNCH ABOUT
Violet was dead right, but his optimism about finding her and Wallace wasn't. By the following afternoon, Blue Knights had a new perspective on Violet Temple, but they were no closer to finding her.

Bernie and Adam were sitting in Bernie's office, each of them with scraps of paper containing the various bits of information they'd spent the day chasing down. Janice had one hip resting on the computer table, listening. The information they'd unearthed was sketchy, but it told them enough.

On the computer, Bernie had found out that the woman
they knew as Violet Temple had been born Beverly Grasmick, in Detroit. She'd married Steve Zowalski, a smalltime criminal who'd been convicted of investment fraud twenty years before. Steve had died in prison, and Beverly had then changed her name to Violet Temple and moved to Los Angeles. From there on, they had to use their imaginations, to fill in the gaps between what they did and didn't know.

“She was probably involved in all Steve's scams,” Adam surmised. “For all we know, she was the brains behind them. I'm surprised she didn't get arrested along with him.”

“Maybe she got scared and decided to go straight for a while after he went to jail. Who knows?” Bernie said. “She had lots of smarts, for sure. She cooked up a whole new identity for herself when she came out here, got references, the whole ball of wax, and eventually she landed a job with Delilah as a bookkeeper.”

Janice nodded. “I think she probably made friends with Loretta, Delilah's secretary, the one who died last spring? I'll bet she got Loretta to recommend her to Delilah.”

“And as we know, Delilah didn't bother checking much on the people she hired. She didn't check Sameh's references.” Bernie shot a quick glance at Adam.

“I think Violet made Delilah dependent on her,” Janice went on. “Sounds as if she took over the cooking, the driving. It seems she was pretty much in control of the household. It must have started eating at Violet, the fact that Delilah had so much money, while Violet was doing all that work and only getting wages.”

Bernie took over the story. “So when Tyrone came on the scene, she was ready to try for the brass ring. She musta seen all the possibilities in old Tyrone, and she sure as hell sensed that he wasn't any too honest.”

Adam glanced down at his notebook. “I found out Ty
rone was licensed as a broker years ago, before he tried to break into the movies. I suspect Violet talked him into getting his license renewed.”

“And from there on,” Bernie continued, “it was probably easy to talk him into the whole scam. I figure Violet did all the paperwork, made up the phony statements and stuff, while Tyrone used his charm on the ladies. Delilah knew tons of people. It wasn't hard to find easy marks besides her.”

Janice nodded. “Then when Delilah hired Sameh, Violet got scared she and Tyrone would be found out, which was why Violet put you on Sameh's trail in the first place, right?”

“Right,” Bernie confirmed. “Brilliant. We're all bloody brilliant.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “So where the hell do we go from here? We've checked airports, car rentals, trains, even the bus lines. There's not a trace of either of them.”

 

F
OURTEEN DAYS PASSED
. Sameh knew that Blue Knights was putting all its considerable resources behind efforts to locate Tyrone Wallace and Violet Temple, but the two seemed to have vanished into thin air.

And Adam might just as well have gone with them, Sameh reflected. Her stomach recoiled as she carefully spread diet mayo on whole wheat bread and made a sandwich of tomatoes, avocados and cucumbers. She'd felt sick to her stomach ever since the last fight with Adam. She hadn't seen or heard from him since the night they'd quarreled, but not one full hour had gone by in which she hadn't thought of him and reviewed in endless detail that last fateful meeting.

She cut the sandwich into tiny triangles and put them on a pretty plate. She was making lunch for Delilah, which was
pretty much a wasted effort, because her employer wasn't eating enough these days to keep a bird alive.

Not that she was herself. Sameh didn't feel much like eating, either. Besides her concern for Delilah, a tight, hard lump seemed lodged in her chest, a lump that had to do with Adam and the hurtful accusations he'd hurled at her. She understood that he'd been angry and afraid, that he'd lashed out at her as a result of his own frustration, but that understanding didn't make her heart feel any better.

He'd wanted to hurt her, and he had. He'd seemed determined to sever the connection between them, and he'd succeeded. He'd forced her to take action, to end their relationship, and she'd done what he wanted. She hadn't seen him since and she was grateful, she told herself. She didn't think she could handle being in his presence.

But oh, Jupiter, she missed him.

Bernie was the one who phoned and came to the house to go through Tyrone's and Violet's rooms in search of any clue to their whereabouts. Tyrone and Violet. Sameh shook her head and poured lemonade into an ice-filled glass.

There, too, she'd been a wretched failure, and she felt disgusted at her own ineptitude. A competent Adept would have been able to thought-read well enough to figure out what was going on with Tyrone and Violet, but all she'd picked up were emotions that any beginning student could sense. She'd felt threatened by them. Besides, she really hadn't had any training in detecting criminal intentions.

She wiped her wet hands on the hem of her loose shirt and arranged everything on a tray. She'd teleport it to the top of the stairs and then carry it into Delilah's bedroom, she decided with a sigh. It was ironic how easy teleportation had become since she'd quit worrying or even caring about whether it worked or not.

The heavens knew she had more important things to think
about these days than whether or not she could move things from place to place, but she had learned to be careful about teleporting when Stella, the maid, was around. The portly woman had had hysterics last week when Sameh absently moved a heavy couch for her so she could vacuum behind it.

Stella was vacuuming just now in the dining room and the door was shut, so the coast was clear. Without effort, Sameh moved the loaded tray to the top of the stairs. Feeling weary and drained, she retrieved the tray at the top, still thinking and worrying about Delilah. In fact, she'd gone way beyond worrying, she decided as she balanced the tray on one knee and knocked at Delilah's bedroom door.

Delilah refused to come out of her room these days, and it seemed as though something vital in her had withered and died. She'd canceled all her seminars and abandoned work on her book. She'd refused to speak to anyone after the initial meetings with Bernie, and she spent her days in bed with all the blinds drawn. Her shining cap of coppery hair was dull, and broad streaks of gray were already showing at the roots.

Sameh was very familiar with the connection between mental and physical health. She knew that if Delilah wanted to die, she well might do so. A cold shiver ran down her spine. The thought was terrifying. Sameh just couldn't allow that to happen.

Quite apart from her own affection for Delilah, losing her at this stage would change the entire course of history; it would set the New Age movement back who knew how long, and above all, it would be such a colossal waste of energy and love and talent.

Delilah was a unique soul.

Sameh had tried repeatedly to tell her employer these things, emphasizing the importance of the role Delilah was
playing in the development of the New Age, trying to make her see the larger picture instead of focusing on Tyrone and Violet and their betrayal. It was hopeless, and Sameh understood only too clearly why her efforts didn't work with Delilah. Reason didn't work at all on her own confused feelings for Adam, so why should they work with anyone else? Love and reason were opposing forces, she concluded sadly.

“Delilah?” The tray tipped to one side now as she knocked again on the door. “Delilah?” Some of the lemonade spilled, soaking the napkin. At least it hadn't wet the sandwiches yet. “Delilah? I've made you lunch. May I come in?”

When there was still no answer, Sameh struggled with the doorknob. The door was locked from the inside, and suddenly a horrible feeling swept over her, a creeping black cloud that seemed to sift under the door like smoke. There was something very wrong in there, and it was imperative that she get the door open.

Dumping the tray onto the floor with a resounding crash, she closed her eyes and concentrated on the locking mechanism. Panic and fear made the task more difficult, and it took her several minutes to calm herself enough to try again. Even then, five full minutes passed before she heard the snick of the lock. Frantic now, she turned the knob, and the door swung open.

Stella had heard the dishes break when the tray dropped, and she came puffing up the stairs. “What's goin' on? What's the matter up here?” Her round face reflected the fear Sameh was feeling.

The room was dim and the air smelled stale. Sameh's heart convulsed inside her chest, and terror half choked her as she caught sight of Delilah, sprawled on the pillow-strewn bed, her face stark white against the peach-colored
silk sheets. Her eyes were half-open, rolled back in her head so only the whites showed. Her frail body was limp, and Sameh didn't think she was breathing.

“Oh, she's dead, she's dead, oh my Lord,” Stella screamed.

At least six vials of pills were scattered across the satin duvet that covered Delilah. Most of the vials were empty. The brightly lit aura that normally surrounded Delilah was barely discernible. “Go call 911,” Sameh gasped, and Stella ran from the room.