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When Georgia came home and called Maxwell in for dinner, I took Earp and Hercules up to their little pen in my kitchen. I then headed to the Bird Cage to have a plate of beef fajitas with the new man in my life.
Jason was already there, and after I was seated, he slid a manila envelope across the table to me.
“I looked some more into that Rex Popov of Albuquerque you told me about. It’s all in there.”
I took out the papers and looked them over.
“Rex Popov sure is being sued by a lot of people,” I said. “After an apparent lifetime of staying on the straight and narrow, he certainly does seem to have abruptly gotten himself into a lot of trouble for being ninety-seven. I wouldn’t have thought he’d have had the energy at his age.”
I was being sarcastic, and Jason knew it.
“I know you believe Hank is the biggest victim here,” said Jason, “but I have a feeling that the real Rex Popov has been taken by a grifter on an even grander scale.”
“I appreciate you taking the time to find all this out,” I said as I motioned to the stack of documents, “but I’m not sure what to do with this information.”
“There’s no way of knowing for sure, but in order to wreak havoc on this scale, I’m afraid that the real Rex Popov probably hasn’t just had his name and social security number stolen. It’s probable that the unsavory character who’s been hanging around here hawking diamond detectors has the real Rex Popov in his clutches.”
“Clutches? You mean the real Mr. Popov is locked up somewhere and signing documents and taking out loans against his will?”
“It’s probably not quite that dramatic,” said Jason. “The old man in question is likely completely unaware that he’s being sued, but that doesn’t mean he’s not in any danger.”
“What do you suggest we do about it?”
“Well,” said Jason, “I know you’re focused on finding out who attacked Dr. Vance and how Duke Dundee ended up dead down that mineshaft, but I thought you might like to accompany me on a little trip to Albuquerque tomorrow morning and at least knock on the real Rex Popov’s door.”
I had painting I’d promised Oliver I’d finish up so he could finish putting down baseboards in Marsha’s cottage before the housewarming party on Sunday.
“I’d love to go knock on the real Rex Popov’s door,” I told Jason.
“I have to see a client in my office at nine in the morning, but we can leave right after that.”
After Jason went home, I texted Phyliss and asked if she could pop over to my apartment for a chat. What I had to discuss with her, I’d prefer not to do in front of Hank.
Phyliss rarely comes over, and I could see she was surveying my apartment and comparing it to how it looked when my Great Aunt Geraldine was alive. The furniture is the same, but I had a feeling it wasn’t as orderly. Phyliss is a genial soul, but I could see her thinking mildly pejorative thoughts about the younger generation’s attitude toward housekeeping.
“Hank tells me he got a call from Mrs. Popov regarding his joint venture with Mr. Popov,” I said.
Phyliss nodded. “She called during breakfast this morning.”
“Did you try to determine where the call that came to your phone originated from?”
Phyliss said she had found the record of the incoming call, and it was a number she didn’t recognize.
“Did it at least give a city?” I asked.
“It was an Albuquerque number.”
“Can I see it?”
I copied down the number from Phyliss’s call record, then pulled out my laptop and tried to do a reverse number lookup.
I came up with nothing.
“I guess there’s only one thing to do,” I said as I entered the number into my phone and put it up to my ear.
The phone rang eight times before someone picked up.
“Desert Holly Manor. How can I help you?”
I continued talking while I searched Desert Holly Manor on my laptop. It was a retirement home on the northern outskirts of Albuquerque.
“May I speak to Mrs. Popov?” I said.
“You mean Mr. Popov?”
I didn’t mean Mr. Popov, but the strong implication was that while there was a Mr. Popov associated with Desert Holly Manor, there was not a corresponding Mrs.
“Rex Popov,” I said. “I’d like to speak to Rex Popov.”
“Mr. Popov is not currently available for calls.”
“This is Emma Iverson,” I said.
There was a pause on the other end as if the gatekeeper at Desert Holly Manor required more in the way of identification before she was willing to give up any additional information on Mr. Popov.
“I’m a friend of the family, “I said.
Technically, that was not a lie. I try to be a friend to all humankind; we are all members of the Family of Man.
“Mr. Popov is currently undergoing rehab after a fall, so he won’t be back with us for at least a week. Would you like the number of the facility where he is currently staying?”
“I would. Who am I speaking with?”
The woman identified herself as Sharla, and after she’d given me the number of the rehab place where the real Rex was currently being treated, I hung up.
“I’m sorry I have to rush off like this,” I told Phyliss, “but Jason and I may be on the tail of the real Rex Popov.”
“I hope you are,” said Phyliss.
I hoped so, too, but I was unsure of what Jason and I could do even if we managed to track the man down.