Sticks & Stones (A Hollis Morgan Mystery) (10 page)

“I’m going to give Brad Pierson a call. His firm is going to owe us a refund.”

Hollis raised her head in protest. “No
, George, wait. Let me find out exactly who Kelly is and finish reading the letters. We don’t know anything for sure. I want to follow up on a few things that Pierson may have overlooked.”

She took not
e of her own lie.

H
ollis was ready to go home, but there was one more thing she wanted to do before leaving the office. She had put it off for as long as she could. She knew intellectually it was too soon to search online for the pass list from the California Bar, but she couldn’t help herself. She clicked on the website—nothing. Historically, bar exam results weren’t released for another four to six weeks. At this rate she would be mentally certifiable in two.

She shut down the computer and headed for home.

Walking up the path to her condo, she returned the buoyant greeting from her next-door neighbor with a quick, dismissive wave. Fortunately she wasn’t counting on being elected president of the Neighborhood Watch Association. Reaching inside her curbside mailbox, she withdrew a handful of bills and advertisements.

I
nside the front door, she kicked off her shoes and tossed her purse on the entry table, at the same time pushing it back into place against the wall. Still, it wasn’t until the magnitude of the mess—the overturned chairs, emptied bookshelves and ransacked furniture—caught her attention that her situation sank in. With a sickening ache in her stomach she slid down the wall and crouched on the floor. She rummaged around in her purse and found her cellphone.

A calm male voice answered, “
Nine-one-one dispatch.”

Hollis took a breath. “Can you send the police? I’ve been burglarized.”

“Are you alone in the house?”

“I-I don’t know. I think so.”

“The police have been alerted. They notified me that unless you’re under an immediate threat, they’ll be there within the hour. Would you like me to stay on the line with you until they arrive?”

Hollis thought about it a moment
but then reassured him—and herself—that she would be fine.

She walked around the living room
, careful not to touch anything except for the small frog sculpture that lay in pieces on the floor. It had belonged to her grandmother. She placed the fragments carefully on the counter. The kitchen wasn’t spared; several drawers had been pulled out but not emptied. She sighed in dismay when she touched what was left of her battered laptop on the table.

She went upstairs to peer into the remaining rooms. They had left her roomful of boxes and junk alone.
Only her bedroom had been tossed. All the contents of her dresser were dumped on the bed; ditto with the contents of her closet. She had just installed closet organizers to finally bring order to the chaos. Now the chaos was back, tenfold.

She returned downstairs to the kitchen, put her
head in her hands and sat down to wait.

Less
than an hour later an unmarked car pulled up behind a police vehicle. Hollis could only imagine what her new neighbors were saying. She went to open the door.

“Hello, Ms. Morgan.”

Hollis stepped back in surprise and then felt a smile creep over her face.

“Why, Detective Faber, since when does homicide show up for a San Lucian burglary?” Hollis moved aside so he and the female officer behind him could enter.

He motioned to the officer. “Officer Vega is here to get your information. I just heard your address come across the radio. I was in the area and I thought—”

“You thought you would drop by,” Hollis said. She glanced
around the room. “Well, I can assure you I’m usually a much better housekeeper than this.”

He stepped into the room and gave her a
sympathetic look.

Officer Vega had already slipped on blue disposable gloves and
was walking around with a small notebook. She stopped in front of the large desk in the dining room that had been emptied.

“How long were you out of the house?”
she asked.

Hollis sighed. “I just got home from work. I was gone most of the day. I actually came home early.”

Vega looked into the kitchen. “You’ll need to make a list of anything you find missing and get it to us as soon as you can.”

Faber walked through the condo, went upstairs and returned to the living room. “I’m not convinced this was a burglary. I think they were looking for something in particular.”

Vega’s eyebrow lifted.

Hollis was taken
aback. “Why would you say that?”

He pointed to the floor. “Only papers, books,
and folders are thrown around. All your electronics are still here. The stuff that’s easy for a real burglar to fence.” He walked into the kitchen and used a pencil to poke at her computer. “Why take the time to destroy your laptop?”

Vega stood in the hall doorway.
“It would help if we could take it with us. Was there something important on it?”

Hollis shook her head. “Not really, mostly just class downloads and my study pages for the bar exam.”

Vega picked up the laptop and put it in a large folded plastic bag she pulled from her back pocket. “I’m going to head back to the precinct and write up a report. You can check online in forty-eight hours. You’ll need it for insurance purposes.” She handed Hollis her business card.

“Officer, I have a few more questions for Ms. Morgan,” Faber said. “I’ll meet you back at the station.”

Vega nodded and left.

Faber frowned. “Ms. Morgan, do you have any idea who might have done this?”

“Could you please call me Hollis?” She righted one of the dining room chairs and sat. “No, I don’t know anyone who would care enough about my law school notes and monthly bills to break into my home.”

“Is there a friend you can stay with or
someone who can stay with you?”

Hollis shook her head. “No, there’s just me. I’ll be okay.” She sat on her shaking hand.

If Faber noticed, he didn’t say anything. He rubbed his hand over his head. “Okay, all right. Vega will take it from here.” He walked over to the front door. “Actually, there’s another reason I came in on this. I … I bought these tickets to see Yo-Yo Ma on Sunday. I know it’s short notice, but I just got them today and the only person I could think of to ask to go with me was you.”

Hollis looked up to the ceiling.

“Detec—”

“John, call me John.” He laughed.

His laugh caught her off guard. It was surprisingly contagious.

“John, I adore Yo
-Yo Ma, and I would really like to go with you—”

“But.”

Hollis nodded. “But someone else already asked me.”

“Already asked you to hear Yo
-Yo Ma?”

“I know
. What a coincidence!” Hollis slapped her thigh. “I don’t have a date for six … never mind.” She blushed.

John laughed. “Look, maybe some other time then.”

“I would really, really like that. Please ask me again.” Hollis said in what she hoped was her most earnest voice.

He looked her in the eyes and said, “You can count on it.”

After the detective was gone, Hollis just sat, dejected, in the middle of the room. Taking a breath, she started to put the sofa pillows back in place. She didn’t usually cry, but she felt tears were just a few eye-blinks away. Pulling her thick hair back into a ponytail, she began to return books and CDs to their places on the shelves. Who would want to burgle her? She exhaled a long sigh and replaced the dining room chairs around the table.

It took the rest of the evening to
return her condo to a semblance of order. She wiped her kitchen counters down with disinfectant and vacuumed the carpets twice.

A folded piece of paper under one of the corners of the living room throw rug caught her eye. It looked like binder paper
—the type a child would use in school. It was folded several times until it was about one-inch square. She opened it carefully. She didn’t watch much TV, but enough to know there might be fingerprints.

She froze. It contained her name and address.

John was right, this wasn’t a random crime. She had something someone wanted, but what?

The next morning she parked her car in the rear lot of Open Wings. On one hand, she was reluctant to leave her home so soon after it was ravaged, but she knew she had to push past her fear and not let it hold her hostage. Cathy’s case was more important.

Determined
to get some real answers, she took a deep breath and entered the double glass doors. By now Hollis was used to visiting shelters. Open Wings resembled a store front with large corner windows and a modest sized reception area. A large sign in the window boasted a notary and clinic services.

Hollis was greeted almost exactly the same as
in the previous two places. This director, who introduced herself as Lilia Martini, led her to a small office with a window looking out onto the reception area.

Sitting
at a black metal desk with matching chairs, Lilia said, “No, Miss Morgan, I haven’t received a call from Mr. Bartlett about you. But then I’ve been on vacation until yesterday.” Lilia blew into a tissue, leaving her nose strawberry red. “But there’s no problem. From time to time we get people wanting to see our facility for themselves.”

Hollis looked out the window. “Is this your entire facility?”

“Yes. All the lockers are along that back wall.”

“Lockers?” Hollis took not
e of the triple rows of beige lockers. It reminded her of the girls’ gym in high school.

“For the mail.”

Hollis flipped though her notepad. “Miss Martini, I’m sorry. I should have asked this when I first came in. What does Open Wings do?”

“We are a mail location for the homeless. They don’t have permanent homes like you and I do. They need a place to collect their social security or disability payments. We give them an address they can use free of charge. By the way, you can call me Lilia.”

Hollis smiled and nodded in understanding. She reached for the annual report and turned to the page she remembered reading.

“Lilia, how many employees do you have?”

“Counting me, one.” She laughed.

It was starting to make sense, or at least a thread was beginning to form. She opened up the report for Lilia to see. “I’m a little confused. Did you prepare this annual report?”

“Me, oh no.”

“Isn’t this your signature under
‘Director’? It says you prepared the report.”

Lilia started to pale and licked her lips. “Yes and no. I signed it because this young lady from Mr. Fields’ office told me to. I’m not good at writing and arithmetic. Mr. Fields’ office sent me this lady
—I think her name was Phyllis—to help me do our reports.”

“Do you know what it says?”

“Well, I guess I’m not good at reading, either. Mr. Bartlett said I could leave everything up to Phyllis.”

Lilia’s revelation
told Hollis what she needed to know. Hollis wasn’t going to ask about the missing four employees.

She made a couple of notes. “How much money do you receive from
Fields of Giving each year?”

“Well I don’t know, enough to pay me and pay the rent. Phyllis gets all the bills.” She hesitated. “Is there a problem?”

Problem?
Hollis thought to herself, not a problem except that the million dollars showing as total operating costs might be a tad overstated.

“So how did you leave it with her?” Mark had started to wear glasses, which were currently perched on the top of his head. “You did tell her you were representing a defendant?”

They were sitting in Triple D’s meeting room with Cathy’s files.

“I told her before I left and she didn’t seem to mind,” Hollis said. “I got the feeling that as far as she was concerned, since she was telling the truth, she had nothing to hide. Although, I bet if Wade Bartlett had gotten to her it would be a completely different story.”

Mark slipped his glasses back on. “Okay, here’s what we’ve got. The first hearing date is in two weeks, which is just a formality to go on record with the continuance Fields gave us. I should finish deposing Fields’ staff next week. I’ll have to work analyzing the responses into my schedule. What have you got to report?”

“My, my, you seem to be taking on the role of authority. What else have I got to report?” Hollis mocked, and then her smile faded. “I’ve got a lot of bread crumbs but no loaf. I do have this kernel of an idea. Cathy wrote that Fields was using his non-profits to launder money, but I wonder if there was something more …. We’ve got grossly inflated annual reports and barely operational charity organizations.”

Mark ran his fingers through his hair. “I would give anything to know what Cathy found that would push her to risk everything on this story.”

“The board director you mentioned, the one who wanted to be the last resort, can you identify him?”

“So far I haven’t had any luck, but I’m not giving up. Cathy was pretty secretive.” He leaned back into the sofa and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “You know money laundering is not so farfetched. It explains Cathy’s focus. The problem is
, we don’t have a lot of time to prove it. On the other hand, if we stumble onto pay dirt, we are going to have some powerful people trying to shut us up.”