“Is Drew okay?” Gina asked once Gage and Morgan returned to the Fiorelli house.
“He will be.” To Gage it looked as if the energy it took for Morgan to smile drained her power reserves. “Thank you so much for coming over to help Sheila with the kids. How are they?”
“Kelley and Brandon are watching a movie with Mom and Sheila. I stayed with Lydia until she fell asleep. She was telling me about her new protocol. I felt like I was an extra on House.”
Gage leaned around the corner. Sure enough, Sheila Tremayne and his mother were cozied up on the couch, heads together as Kelley and Brandon laughed along to the closing credits of A Bug’s Life.
“Lydia is not your typical eight-year-old,” Morgan confirmed.
“Brandon invited us to his birthday party. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course not.” Morgan dropped a hand on her shoulder, smothered a yawn. “It’s going to be quite the celebration. I want to peek in on the kids,” Morgan told Gage as she headed into the family room. “Sheila, I owe you.”
“Hey,” Gina whispered to Gage. Recognizing Gina’s conspiracy-inspired urgency, Gage cast a cautious glance in her direction and followed her into the kitchen. “Have you seen this?” She plucked a clipboard off the wall and handed it over to him. “Morgan’s insane, right? Thinking she can fix everything that’s wrong with this house by herself.”
While it was on the tip of Gage’s tongue to chastise his sister for snooping, he appreciated the fact that he wasn’t the only person who thought Morgan thrived on living on the edge of sanity.
“This list of repairs and upgrades has to be five pages long.” He flipped through the paper and a ripe combination of anger and frustration crept over him, batting against his rib cage as he tried to remind himself that this was who Morgan was. Every minute of the day had to be filled, scheduled, or planned for. But damn if she wasn’t heading for a crash of epic proportions.
“Seven and a half. Single spaced.” Gina glanced behind him as if Morgan walking in on them would spell their doom. “Seriously, Gage, a lot of this is pretty easy to do but it’s going to take her forever. These kids need a safe house. There are rooms they’ve locked because they need work. Morgan needs some relief. She shouldn’t have to spend whatever free time or money she has fixing dry rot or the leaking pipes in the basement. Sheila told me she hadn’t taken a day off for months before yesterday.”
“You got the job with her sister, didn’t you?” Gage looked up to find Gina grinning like a fool. “As long as you heard what Morgan said. It won’t be easy.”
“We’re Julianos. We don’t do easy.”
From the list Gage was looking at, neither did Tremaynes. Gage returned the list to her. “Take a picture of those and send them to my phone.”
“Already did. Check your email.”
Gage smirked. Typical. “How long do you think it would take to get that list taken care of if we rallied the troops?”
“If we plan out our strategy, and everyone on the list I’m making comes through, we could knock out at least half of what she wants to do on Saturday, more if we come back on Sunday. Getting people to help won’t be the problem.”
“What is?”
“Getting Morgan to let them.”
Gage wrapped an arm around Gina’s neck and pulled her in for a hard hug. “Kid, you truly are the wisest of us. I’ll take care of distracting the dragon at the gate and hereby put Operation Morgan in your hands. We shall commence first thing Saturday morning.”
The second he returned to the living room and sat down, Kelley jumped to her feet and propelled herself onto his lap, settling into the crook of his arm as if she’d been born there. He caught Morgan’s sleepy smile as she leaned her head on her sister’s shoulder. Either she was too tired to be worried about, well, anything, or she was getting used to him being around.
Either worked for him.
“Sheila, I hear you’re planning the birthday party of the century,” Gage said.
Sheila crossed her ivory pantsuited legs and tightened her ponytail. “It’s not every day Brandon Monroe turns double digits. We need to celebrate properly.”
“We’re going to have a bouncy castle that looks like a sheriff’s station.” Brandon scooted forward, peering at the DVD player. He pushed the button to eject the disk, pushed it again. Then he pushed it again. “Morgan, how—”
“You don’t need to know how the DVD player works.” Morgan groaned and pushed to her feet.
“That reminds me,” Sheila said, angling a look at Brandon. “I think your washing machine is broken.”
“I just replaced the hose on Wednesday,” Morgan said, casting a look at Brandon, who was paying far too much attention to a snag in the rug. “What’s wrong with it?”
“I think you need to see it to believe it.” Sheila grinned.
Gage hid a smile behind his hand. The effort it was taking for Sheila not to laugh must have been killing her. She’d turn blue any second.
With a stern look in Brandon’s direction, Morgan left the room. By the time she returned, Brandon had gotten to his feet and stood with his hands behind his back as he swung back and forth, pursing his lips over and over. “Brandon?”
“Yes, Morgan?” He turned wide eyes on her.
“Why are there coins in the washing machine?” Morgan asked.
Gage snorted then covered with a cough.
“I wanted to wash my money.” He dug his hands into his pockets. “Like on TV. You know, like they talk about on the news?”
“Do you mean laundering money?” Gage asked.
Brandon’s face lit up. “Yes.” Morgan groaned as Brandon clapped his hands. “I couldn’t remember the word, but I knew it had to do with cleaning. Did it work?”
“It did not. How much—” Morgan shot a shut-up look to her sister, who couldn’t control her laughter any longer, and triggered Gina and even had Theresa joining in. “Exactly how much money did you attempt to wash?”
“All my piggy money.” The pride with which he announced this erased the irritation shining in Morgan’s eyes. “Seventeen dollars and ninety-six cents.”
“Most of it was pennies,” Kelley added. “I bet they’re shiny now.”
“Let’s check.” Brandon attempted to race past Morgan, who caught him in mid flight and hoisted him into her arms. “I broke it, didn’t I?” He flattened his palms against her cheeks, looked into her eyes. “Sorry. I’ll help you fix it.”
“I’ll handle this one, bud. Why don’t you head on up to bed.” She kissed him and set him down. “But the next repair is coming out of the swear jar money. Bed,” Morgan told Kelley. “Now.”
“I can take them,” Gina offered from where she was perched on the arm of one of the sofas.
“Yes, please.” Brandon sprang forward and grabbed Gina’s hands. “Come on, Kelley. I bet Gina will read us two stories.”
“You’re only obligated for one,” Morgan called after them as Kelley scrambled off of Gage’s lap, snatched up the wand she’d left on the floor, and scooted up the stairs after them.
“God, I love that kid,” Sheila said as she wiped tears from her face. “What other nine-year-old would come up with that?”
“Yeah, it’s all fun and games when you don’t have to fix his experiments,” Morgan muttered, triggering a pang of sympathy in Gage’s chest.
“So, I have a new assistant.” Sheila aimed a look at Morgan, who acted as if she had no idea what Sheila was talking about.
“I have her resume, if you want to see it,” Morgan offered.
“Oh, she had a copy on her phone.” Sheila looked at Theresa. “Something tells me my life just got very interesting.”
“One’s life becomes so once you’ve met a Juliano,” Theresa confirmed. “Speaking of which—”
Gage’s phone buzzed against his waist. After having been blessedly silent for most of the day, he’d almost forgotten he had it with him.
“Someday I hope he realizes there’s more to life than work.” Theresa aimed a look at Morgan.
“Maybe they both will,” Sheila agreed.
“We are both in the room with you.” Gage would have rolled his eyes but wasn’t in the mood to be smacked with a wooden spoon. He didn’t want to have to admit to his mother he was coming around to her way of thinking. “Bouncer, what’s up?”
“Boss, you near a TV? Channel seven news.”
“Turn on channel seven,” Gage said softly, scooting to the edge of the couch as Morgan grabbed the remote.
As the picture came into focus, he saw the “Breaking News” chyron skim across the bottom of the screen. “Nemesis Strikes Socialite’s Estate” was in bold yellow against the bright blue banner.
Gage clenched his jaw so tight he was afraid he’d shatter his teeth. Media choppers circled a crime scene that looked like something out of a pumped-up episode of Dexter. Squad cars with lights blazing, news crews staked out down the street, uniformed officers milling about and stretching yellow caution tape across the metal gate to prevent anyone else from crossing onto the property.
“What the hell is that?” Gage demanded of Bouncer.
“Forty minutes ago Clarice Bell tweeted she’d been robbed by Nemesis. It’s gone viral. She’s already had her face in front of three different local news cameras and has her press agent scheduling interviews.”
“Call Rojas and Peyton in,” Gage told Bouncer and tried to ignore the fact everyone in the room looked transfixed by the story. “Looks like Nemesis just ended our weekend early. Run Bell through that new system you’re working with. I want every detail you can pull, so you’d better grab another whiteboard.”
“Got it.”
Gage squeezed his eyes shut, pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ll head over to the scene right now. I’ll see you at the office in a bit.”
“Donuts and coffee?” She sounded as hopeful as a five-year-old asking for a new box of crayons.
“Yeah.” The front door opened as he hung up. “I need to go to work.”
Morgan stood frozen in front of the television, her eyes glazed as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. “Nemesis? You’re sure?” she whispered as she started chewing her thumbnail.
“Looks like.” So much for a reprieve from his real life. But the concern in her eyes when she focused cut through the bitterness of having to deal with a new crime scene. “Don’t worry, I’ll be careful.”
Morgan nodded. “I know.”
“I’ll head out with you.” Sheila gave Morgan a hug and trailed behind him. “I can’t believe Nemesis would target a media whore like Clarice Bell. Seems beneath him.”
“I have no idea what Nemesis would consider beneath him,” Gage said. “Mom, I’ll call you in a day or so. Oh, hi, Nico. Drew all set for the night?”
Angela and Nico came in looking both worn out and relieved. His mother appeared instantly, as if she’d been waiting to pounce. Gage frowned. He knew that look. He’d seen it on Gina’s face a few minutes ago.
“He’s good to go,” Angela told him. “They were able to repair the pump and his numbers are evening out. Should be able to come home tomorrow.”
“Give Drew a day to get used to the idea of his new job, then my dad will be in touch. I’ll walk you to your car, Sheila.” Once they were on the sidewalk, Gage said, “You have any trouble with Gina, you let me or my mom know. She can be pushy when she wants something.”
“You’re talking to someone who grew up with Morgan, Gage. I can handle your sister. I might work her to exhaustion, but I’ll also make sure she has some fun. Did I see her with Morgan’s clipboard of death?”
“We’ve deemed Saturday Operation Morgan Day.”
Sheila arched a brow, her lips curving. “Will we need body armor?”
“Grubby clothes and a paintbrush, I’m thinking. We’re taking on the house and Morgan’s monstrous to-do list.”
“I’ll bring a flak jacket just in case.” Morgan’s sister chuckled. “You’re good for her, Gage. I hope she sees that.”
She wasn’t the only one.
She hit the fob for her Mercedes coup, but hesitated before she climbed in. “You don’t think Nemesis is dangerous, do you? He’s never hurt anyone.”
“Maybe not intentionally.” An image of Brady flashed in Gage’s mind, but the sting had lessened. The longer he was on the case, the more he understood the pressure his friend had been under. “But I don’t think he considered collateral damage. Good night, Sheila.”
“Yeah.” She got into her car and Gage waited until she drove off before returning to the real world.
And Nemesis.
***
Given the chaos he’d watched on television, Gage didn’t even consider parking near the Bell estate. Besides, the three-block hike in the cool evening breeze got his mind off Morgan and on the job.
Clarice Bell. New money. Some would say obnoxious money if the rumor mill could be believed, cash earned by flaunting stupid antics along the west coast with her buffoon-like entourage. An uber-reality star who made the Kardashians look like posh British royalty.
Which was why Gage wasn’t the least bit surprised to find Clarice standing in the middle of the street with a rabid-looking Pomeranian tucked under one arm. Fifty pounds of extensions tumbled down her back like compost worms gone wild as she blinked tearfully into the cameras, exalting her “terrifying” tarrying encounter with Nemesis.
God, he was getting sick of this shit.
“Gage.” Evan called out to him from the other side of the crime scene tape where he stood with a short, rotund man in his dress uniform.
“Chief Randall.” Gage held out his hand, keeping his expression blank as he greeted his former superior.
Randall’s face relaxed to the point that Gage let out the breath he’d been holding. While the chief hadn’t tried to talk Gage out of taking the inspector position, he hadn’t been encouraging on the matter either. “Got your hands full with this one, Inspector.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have to admit, I wasn’t thrilled with the mayor’s order to turn the Nemesis case over to D.A. Marshall here, but I’m glad you’ll be the one dealing with the fallout from this.”
Gage managed a weak smile, all too familiar with the chief’s sense of humor. Chief Randall had at one time been Sergeant Randall and had been the one to assign Brady Malloy as his training officer. “Glad to be of assistance, sir. Okay to head inside?”
“It’s your case.” The chief turned to address the two uniformed officers by the gate.
“The last thing we need is a media presence at one of these scenes,” Gage muttered to Evan as they headed inside. Gage took in Evan’s attire. “Nemesis doesn’t need the added ego boost. You going incognito tonight?”
“I was out for a jog when I got the call from the chief. This case is starting to piss me off, Gage. Bringing out the crazies.”
“Right there with you.” Gage nodded to the officer by the door and followed the line of police through the first floor. This much police presence at a burglary scene was a fucking joke, and made Gage’s job harder. A last look at the paparazzi had him frowning as he snapped on a pair of latex gloves. “Are we attempting to prove we’re on top of the case or are we just playing to the cameras?”
Evan smirked. “That’s what happens when the queen of social media posts that she’s been targeted by a criminal mastermind. I kid you not, that was one of her tweets.”
God save him from Twitterheads and Facebook freaks. “You’d think she escaped a serial killer. What was taken?”
“Here’s where it gets interesting.” Evan led the way down the wide marble hallway toward the double-door study at the far end of the house.
Gage noticed the alarm panel blinking incessantly, as if recharging from being set off. “Alarm sound?”
“For ten minutes straight,” Evan confirmed. “Miss Bell states she was in the pool with some friends when it went off.”
“She had the alarm on with friends in the house?” Gage circled the room, noting the empty pedestal by the door, the open door to the safe, the crooked paintings and mirrors on the walls, as if Nemesis had ransacked the office in his search for the safe. Gage returned to the pedestal. “Either stupid or paranoid. What goes here?”
“According to Miss Bell, a bronze Degas ballerina statue. She also couldn’t wait to inform us that it’s insured for a cool two and a half million. She’s happy to file a claim, of course, as soon as the police report is filed.”
“A report she doesn’t plan to retract.” Gage skimmed his fingers around the pedestal base.
“Oh, she’s pressing charges. Wants to testify in court. Whatever we need her to do, media interviews, lineups for suspects.”
“Somebody’s been watching too much Nancy Grace.” Gage squatted, scanned the floor around the pedestal and desk. “Came in through the French doors?” He went to check, saw the faint shoe imprints in the damp dirt surrounding the rosebushes. One set, heading in the wrong direction.
Gage snapped off his gloves, anger and irritation boiling like an overheated pot of soup. “Where is Miss Bell?”
“Now that she’s done with her interviews, she’s gathering herself out by the pool,” Evan told him.
“Hope she’s ready for an extreme close-up.” Gage jerked his head toward the computer tech with the video camera. “Let’s see what the victim has to say, shall we?”
***
Gage’s temper had reduced to a simmer by the time he stepped off the office elevator with a box of donuts in one hand and a carafe of coffee in the other. The SIM card he’d taken from the evidence tech was jammed into his pocket, but the way his blood was percolating, the damned thing would be incinerated in the next five seconds. He found his team in various states of consciousness around the conference table.
“Oh, hey, boss.” Bouncer jerked up in her chair, covered a yawn, and glanced at the clock that said two fifteen a.m. “Just waiting for the new case information—”
“It wasn’t Nemesis.”
Bouncer blinked as Rojas and Peyton sat up and shifted to stare at him.
“Pathetic cry for publicity.” Gage tossed the SIM card onto the table. “Found the missing statue in her idiot boyfriend’s car. When you want a good laugh, or to get a good mad on, take a look at the Oscar-worthy performance of one Clarice Bell.”
“Tell me you outed her to the press,” Bouncer pleaded, extending folded hands across the table. “Please?”
“A news story will run in the morning that the investigation has concluded Nemesis was not the perpetrator of the crime.”
“How much did that cost her daddy?” Peyton muttered.
“Don’t know, don’t want to know. Not our concern. What it does show is that our withholding certain information is working. The media hasn’t gotten wind of the thank-you cards Nemesis leaves behind.”
“Not that they’re getting us anywhere.” Rojas sniffed the air. “Crullers? From Doh!Knot?”
Gage set the box down, slid it to the center of the table. “Save me a fritter. So the cards were a bust?”
“It’s plain white card stock available at any discount store. Solitary gold embossed N, run off of any color laser printer. The one he left on your car matches the others, but they’ve given us zip.” Bouncer nibbled on the edge of a maple bar.
“While Miss Bell is discussing her future with the D.A. and the chief of police—”
“They should make her pay for all the overtime. Did you hear they called in a damned chopper to spotlight search the area?” Rojas looked as if he’d been sucking on a lime.
“The mayor might have been influenced by her father’s demands for justice,” Gage said. “It’ll work itself out.” He didn’t give a crap about Clarice Bell except to curse her for wasting so many people’s time. “In the meantime, I’m sorry I dragged you all in here—”
“No, no. It’s good, actually.” Bouncer grinned at him. “I’ve got an idea I want to run past you.”
“Go.” Gage took a seat.
“So we’ve been looking into the backgrounds of all of the victims, right? When I did a search, each of these names popped up all within the last two years as being a headline story in the Lantano Valley Times.”
Gage shrugged. “They’ve spent most of their lives in the media spotlight. Any publicity is good publicity, as evidenced by tonight’s events.”
“Yeah, you’d think, but check this out.” Bouncer aimed a laser pointer at the first board on the left. “Grant Alvers, Nemesis victim number one. He was accused of calling in a raid on his own sweatshop to avoid paying the illegal workers he’d hired. The fine he was given was less than the wages he’d have to pay. Victim number two, Emily Goodwin—”
“You mean her husband, Herman,” Gage interrupted.
“Aha. That’s just it. I don’t think so.” Bouncer shook her head. “Stay with me. Emily Goodwin was accused of refusing to pay the medical bills of two of her maids after she demanded they use unsafe cleaning products on her custom wood floors. One was diagnosed with lung cancer, the other developed severe asthma. What went missing? Not the Monet painting her husband spent a small fortune on, not the stack of bearer bonds sitting right inside the safe, but Mrs. Goodwin’s antique jewelry collection, including the emerald and diamond necklace rumored to belong to the Romanovs of Russia. The collection she’d bragged about in a local TV news interview a few months before. Then there’s Adam Swarthmore’s negligence at his factory that left half his workforce with pneumonia. All of these stories were headline news in the Times.”
Gage leaned forward.
“Here’s what I did.” Bouncer shifted her focus to her computer, hit a few keys, and a projector popped the image of a chart onto the blank wall at the end of the room. “Every Nemesis victim was featured for unsavory actions against their employees, their stockholders, or someone less fortunate than themselves. Then see here, no more than three days later, they’re hit by Nemesis and each theft is tied directly to the personal collection of the owner. Nemesis didn’t wipe them out. He was selective, meticulous even. He took what he determined would hurt them the most. I mean, look at the stack of cash left in the Cunninghams’ safe. That’s a freaking fortune and then there’s the fact that by stealing one or two items, they’re easier to fence, get them out of the country. And then, as we know, the money from selling them comes back to the people Nemesis’s targets let suffer. Those two maids were able to pay off their medical bills with what they said was left in their mailboxes.”
“Nemesis was the Greek Goddess of retribution and revenge,” he murmured. Jackson had been right, and so had Gage’s gut. “Every single one of Nemesis’ victims stuck his or her foot in their mouth, very publically,” Bouncer added, her face shining with pride. “Every incident connects to a burglary.”
“That doesn’t explain why they withdrew their charges,” Gage reminded them.
“Yeah, well, I’ve got a theory on that.” Rojas leaned into the conversation. “What if Nemesis didn’t steal just one thing? What if he took things he knew the victims wouldn’t want to report? What if he got his hands on information about these people, information no one would want getting out.”
“Blackmail. Interesting idea.” Gage nodded. “Got any proof?”
“Not yet.” Peyton got up to refill his coffee. “But there is this. What Jackson Tremayne told you checks out. At least four of Nemesis’ victims, including the latest, Cunningham, had the same attorney of record.” He pointed at the whiteboard and victim number three. “James Van Keltin.”
That couldn’t be a coincidence, and even if it was, Gage didn’t believe in them. “Shift focus to Van Keltin. I want to know everything about him from the time he was born. But this is great work, guys.” He could feel the break coming, just out of reach. “Really great work.”
“Wouldn’t have gotten this far without Bouncer,” Rojas said, and Peyton nodded.
Bouncer smiled. “If all this tracks, Nemesis works backward from what we thought. He finds people who need help and then picks his targets. We’ve been focusing on the ‘victims,’ when we should be looking at those receiving the money. We just have to keep an eye on the papers and local newscasts for someone fitting the pattern of the victims and tie them to someone Nemesis would deem worthy of helping. The D.A.’s ‘threat’”—Bouncer air quoted threat—“did part of the job, but we need to be scouring every paper, every article since the last robbery to see who might be Nemesis’ next target. Now that we know how he thinks, what he looks for, we might just be able to catch him in the act.”
And then, finally, Gage thought, he could close this case and move on with his life. A life that would hopefully include Morgan.