Chapter 39

 

“Pardon me—Mr. Anderson?” Pen asked as she approached the table. Sandy and Gracie had decided to hang back rather than overwhelm these strangers.

The man wore his polo shirt and tan khaki slacks well; everything about him said ‘successful businessman.’ The wife was attractive in an overdone way—too-long acrylic nails, too-large bleached hair, too-gaudy diamond on her hand. She might have done better to have gone a cup size smaller on the breast implants, and her lovely complexion would soon be ruined if she kept up the tanning, but none of that was Pen’s concern at the moment. She only wanted information about Frank Morrell’s plans if she could get it.

“I apologize for intruding on your lunch,” she said. So far, lunch only consisted of cocktails. “I’m looking for a man called Woodsworth Coddington. Someone said you might know him?”

Anderson’s smile brightened. “Oh, Woody! Yes, of course. Are you related?”

Related? Pen had to pause and think what he meant by that.

“I just thought … your accent being so similar.” He gestured toward the third chair at their table and she sat down.

“Oh, right. Well, no. We’re more just acquaintances.”

It didn’t seem to matter to Tom Anderson, and his wife barely smiled as she shielded her eyes from the sun and took small sips of her drink.

“We met Woody our second day on the island. Great guy. We really hit it off.”

“I wonder if he might have mentioned his plans? Where he was traveling after this?”

“Well, no. Danielle and I figured he might be down for lunch soon. Thought we’d treat him to dinner tonight. And then Monday we planned to run into town together, a little business deal we’ve got going.”

Business deal. Pen’s alarm bells began clanging furiously.

“Em, what sort of business deal? If you don’t mind my asking. It’s just that I—”

“Well, I can’t tell you the exact nature of it, of course,” Tom said.

“It’s all on the up-and-up,” said his wife, the first time she’d spoken. “Woody’s got contacts like you wouldn’t believe. He’s in the jewelry business, you know.”

“Oh yes, I know.” Pen felt a sickening flip in her stomach.

“So generous, honest as the day is long …” Tom took another sip from his glass.

“He said he could get us a super deal on some rubies,” Danielle said. The sparkle was beginning to come back to her eyes.

“Mr. Anderson, I’m afraid—”

For the first time he looked at her seriously.

“It’s just that this man calling himself Coddington … His real name is Frank Morrell and he managed to barely escape the authorities in Arizona.” She didn’t know if that part was true but it sounded more convincing than ‘he stole my necklace.’

“Oh, that can’t be right,” Anderson said. “This guy, well, he was English. So proper, so refined.”

Such a great actor. Pen could see she was getting nowhere with them.

“We’re going to the bank on Monday where we’ll check our accounts for the returns on this investment we did. Look, he put five times more into it than I did. He’s got a lot more to lose and there’s no way he’d want to do that. The man is very savvy.”

She smiled weakly. Savvy was right.

She pressed on. “But he said nothing to you about his travel plans after Cayman? Was he going home or was he going somewhere on business?”

Both Andersons shook their heads.

Pen stood and said goodbye. She’d spotted Gracie and Sandy walking a pathway toward the beach, and she headed their direction. A short stroll was all the time it took for her to relay what she’d learned from the Andersons.

“I feel badly that they also got swindled by him, but what else could I have done? They refused to believe me.”

Sandy patted her arm. “You did what you could. We have his business card and if we can get Morrell arrested we can give this information to the police.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s best.”

“I wonder if he has roots in England,” Gracie pondered. “Maybe that explains why he was on that particular flight? Going home to someone?”

Pen didn’t think so. He’d been utterly convincing as an American, a private investigator in Arizona. They walked back toward the hotel, discussing what to do next, but no one had any great ideas.

Feeling a little edgy about the deception they were pulling themselves—staying in a lavish suite they weren’t paying for—the ladies decided to hole up there with the Do Not Disturb sign out. If someone came around and confronted them, Pen would explain and pay for one night.

It was late afternoon when Amber emailed Sandy again: Found an Anton van der Went online. Diamond merchant from Amsterdam. Not a good reputation. Watch out.

Pen immediately placed a call to Phoenix.

“I don’t know how it’s related,” Amber assured her, “but when I came across the guy’s name and diamonds in the same sentence I thought you should know. Apparently he runs a storefront in the diamond cutting district, so some of his sales must be legit. But there are complaints about him too. He was accused five years ago of accepting stolen merchandise and re-cutting the stones so they could be sold anonymously.”

“Book us on a flight to London,” she said. “The first one out of here.”

Sandy was waving for her attention. “I can’t, Pen. I have to be back at work on Monday.”

Gracie nodded at Pen’s inquiry whether she wanted to go along. “I’ll call Scott and let him know.”

Amber had something to add: “Morrell was booked through to Zurich on this morning’s flight. I haven’t been able to absolutely confirm whether he actually went …”

“Make it Zurich,” Pen said, “for myself and Gracie.”

“I’ll email your confirmation numbers the moment I have them,” Amber said.

Pen turned to the others. “Let’s get a good night’s sleep here. Gracie, I know we packed for the tropics and I’m afraid we’ll find this clothing unsuitable for Switzerland in April, but we can purchase a few—”

She stopped herself. It was exactly what Morrell had done, the reason he’d abandoned his local clothing in his room. She felt confident they were making the right decision.

That night, she tossed in bed, still uncomfortable about the large hotel bill. In the dark, she padded to the hall table where the dunning notice lay. At the bottom she wrote down the information she knew—Morrell’s real name and what little they knew about him. She enclosed cash for the value of one night, the one they were spending right now. She felt badly about the nights he had not paid for, the expensive meals and the extravagant gift shop purchases—especially since he’d no doubt worn the Rolex out of here—but it was the best she could do to help.