The Trophy Wife Exchange

  The Trophy Wife Exchange

  Heist Ladies Caper Mystery #2

  By Connie Shelton

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  The Trophy Wife Exchange

  Published by Secret Staircase Books, an imprint of

  Columbine Publishing Group, LLC

  PO Box 416, Angel Fire, NM 87710

  Copyright © 2018 Connie Shelton

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Although the author and publisher have made every effort to ensure the accuracy and completeness of information contained in this book we assume no responsibility for errors, inaccuracies, omissions, or any inconsistency herein. Any slights of people, places or organizations are unintentional.

  Book layout and design by Secret Staircase Books

  Cover silhouette images © Majivecka and © Olgasuslo

  Cat silhouette © Jara3000

  First trade paperback edition: January, 2018

  First e-book edition: January, 2018

  Chapter 1

  The bank had been crowded all morning. By the time Sandy Warner glanced at her watch, it was eleven-thirty and she felt as if she were starving, although she’d had a decent breakfast and really should cover for the tellers as they began taking their lunch breaks. A glimpse of the lobby told her they had fewer customers than an hour ago. The tellers at windows one and four were standing around, while at window three a plump woman in a shabby T-shirt and noticeably worn denim capris stood facing the teller, her back to Sandy’s office.

  Sandy motioned the two idle employees to take lunch and caught the eye of Lisa, the slightly flustered teller at window three.

  “This client wishes to close her account,” Lisa said when Sandy approached. “I’m not sure …”

  “I’d be happy to take care of it,” Sandy told her, noting a couple more customers had walked in and waited in the velvet-roped lane a few feet away.

  The woman turned, averting her eyes as she followed Sandy toward the manager’s private office. Sandy pushed aside two folders on the desk—loan applications that needed her attention before close of business, settled into her chair, and indicated the one across the desk for her customer.

  “Now, what’s the name on the account?” she asked, tapping her computer mouse to awaken the screen she’d signed off from a few minutes earlier. “And I’ll need to see your driver’s license.”

  Without a word, the woman took a good quality wallet out of a cheap faux-leather purse, opened the clasp and fumbled for her identification. Sandy accepted it and looked at the name.

  “Mary? I’m so sorry I didn’t recognize you when you came in. You’ve, uh, done something different with your hair.” And added twenty pounds. And taken a gigantic plunge off the social ladder. The regular clientele at the Scottsdale branch of Desert Trust Bank were never, ever seen in public looking less than perfect.

  The address on the license was in nearby Mesa, but Sandy recalled they’d done their banking in Scottsdale because their kitchen and bath design business was here. She tried not to stare as she compared the woman before her—blonde hair with two inches of mousy roots showing, dull complexion, red-rimmed eyes—with the Mary Holbrook she remembered, the athletic one who ran a very successful business with her husband, dressed young for her age and probably would have never worked in the garden in the clothes she wore now, much less come into the bank dressed this way.

  “Mary, is everything okay?”

  Mary opened her mouth to speak but her eyes welled up and she merely shook her head.

  Sandy stood and crossed the room, gently closing her office door and giving a small twist to the adjustment rod on the mini blinds, blocking the view from the lobby.

  “I just need to close my account, Ms. Warner,” Mary said, not making eye contact.

  Such formality. They’d been on a first-name basis for years, and Sandy tried to remember the last time she saw Mary, one of her favorite customers. More than two years, she guessed. Mary and Clint Holbrook had been among the guests at the bank’s Christmas soiree—was it really almost three years ago now?

  She pulled her keyboard closer and entered Mary’s name. When the account information came up, she saw a savings account had been closed last January. It had been Desert Trust’s Gold Star account, meaning the balance had normally been maintained in the six-figure range.

  “So, the account you want to close is checking?” Sandy asked.

  Mary nodded. Still minimal eye contact.

  Sandy tapped a few more keys. The only checking account with Mary’s name came up. It contained less than two hundred dollars.

  “May I ask—are you switching banks?” Perhaps the Holbrooks had become unhappy with Desert Trust’s service.

  Mary shook her head and stared out the window facing the parking lot.

  “All right. Just a few more steps,” Sandy said, her thoughts torn between simply performing her job and asking after Mary’s welfare. “Would you like your balance in cash or as a cashier’s check?”

  “Cash, please.”

  Sandy printed a form and pushed it across the desk for Mary to sign. When she returned from Lisa’s window with $197.41 in notes and coins, Mary finally looked up at her. Tears brimmed in her eyes and the tip of her nose was bright pink.

  Sandy closed her office door, laid the little bank envelope in front of Mary and sat on the edge of her desk. She reached out and took both of Mary’s hands.

  “Whatever’s going on—I realize it’s none of my business—but I want to help. Clearly, you’re distraught and something’s not right.”

  Mary snuffled loudly and pulled one hand away to rummage in her purse for a tissue.

  “Mary, we used to have lunch now and then. You came to our social functions, invited me to your business’s open house. Can I help in some way?”

  “No one can,” came the muffled reply. “Clint left me last year, took all our money and hooked up with someone new.”

  “But, he can’t do that. The court would have awarded you half of everything, and you guys had a successful business.”

  “Well, he did it anyway. I got our house—mortgaged up the wazoo—and what was in our checking account. By the time the judge ever saw any paperwork at all, Clint had drawn all the accounts down to nearly nothing. The house was foreclosed eight months ago.”

  Sandy felt her own eyes dampen, her heart going out to her friend. She noticed more details—Mary’s shirt and capris could have come from Goodwill, and although her wallet was of good quality, the purse was a cheap one.

  “If you feel up to it, let me take you to lunch. Two of my tellers are back now and I was about to grab a bite anyway.” She put on a perky smile. “My treat. Really. I insist.”

  The mention of food brought a flicker of longing to Mary’s face. She nodded. They walked out into the searing midday heat—September seemed the longest month. While the rest of the nation enjoyed autumn weather, Phoenix area temperatures would hover in the high nineties for several more weeks.

  Offhand, Sandy couldn’t think of anyplace in Scottsdale that would make Mary feel comfortable enough to talk about her situation. She ended up steering her blue Mazda sedan onto the 101 Loop and parking at a Denny’s a few exits away.

  They took a corn
er booth and ordered sandwiches. As the story came out, Sandy found herself growing angrier by the minute. Clint’s deception and betrayal struck close to home, vivid reminders of an early relationship. Sandy had supported her man through law school, only to have him turn the laws to his advantage when he left.

  “I have an idea,” she told Mary. “Let me speak with some friends of mine and get back to you. What’s your number?”

  Chapter 2

  “She said she would have to come back to the bank and find me. She doesn’t have a phone or a car. She sold her vehicle four months ago and barely got enough for a few months’ living expenses. I don’t know how she’s surviving.”

  “My god, the poor woman.” Over the phone, it sounded as if Penelope Fitzpatrick had come to a dead stop. She’d told Sandy she was watering the potted plants on her deck, but Sandy could sense Pen’s one-hundred-percent attention.

  “I’d like to get the group together and tell everyone what I learned. Maybe there’s a way we can help Mary.”

  “By all means,” Pen agreed.

  Within thirty minutes, Sandy had received text message replies from Gracie Nelson and Amber Zeckis; a meeting was set for seven o’clock at Sandy’s home. The four women had followed the trail of a missing diamond necklace last April—maybe they could track the money Clint Holbrook had taken and find a measure of justice for his struggling ex-wife.

  Sandy left the bank a few minutes early, picked up take-out Chinese for her dinner and went home to tidy up. Her two black cats, Heckle and Jeckle, greeted her at the door with plaintive meows to suggest they were starving. She knew better. She put food out for them, then dug into her carton of moo goo gai pan with her favorite pair of chopsticks, purchased on a banking trip to China a couple of years earlier. She walked through her living room, deciding once she’d picked up some stray magazines and taken her morning coffee cup to the kitchen it looked good enough for an impromptu meeting with friends. She changed from her business suit to cotton slacks and a loose top, wishing she could drop the spare twenty-five pounds that never seemed to leave her hips these days. The joy of menopause.

  Pen Fitzpatrick was the first to arrive. Stately, in her seventies, with a Lauren Bacall aura that never seemed to wilt in the summer heat. It was Pen’s stolen necklace the group of friends had searched out, dubbing themselves the Heist Ladies as they trailed a gang of jewel thieves last spring. Pen immediately asked about Mary, inquiring whether Sandy had come up with some ways in which the group could help.

  “We had a long talk over lunch today,” Sandy said. “Let me relay the information to everyone and we’ll see what we come up with.”

  Pen nodded, dropped her small Versace bag onto a chair and knelt to scratch one of the cats behind the ears.

  The doorbell rang a moment later. Gracie and Amber had arrived at the same time. Sandy admitted them, offered iced tea and everyone settled in, both cats immediately curling up on Amber’s lap. She smiled and shifted her iPad to the small side table by her chair.

  “A few months ago, we all jumped on board to help a friend, and I think we had some fun in the process.”

  Gracie groaned in a playful way, turning it into a smile.

  “Well, aside from Gracie’s one injury on the job.” Sandy took a deep breath. “One of my customers, who’s also a friend, is in a pinch. Ex-husband, younger woman … Mary and Clint had a fairly successful kitchen-and-bath business they both worked in, taking jobs with some of the major builders, and money wasn’t a problem. Three years ago, Mary had to quit to take care of her ailing parents, and she trusted her husband to handle business as usual. With everything else on her plate, she admits she didn’t know their true financial picture.

  “By the time Clint left her for a younger woman, apparently he’d obtained second and third mortgages on their house and either spent or moved money from the bank accounts. Mary has no idea where it went. During the divorce proceedings, he didn’t put up a fuss about giving her the house, even said he would continue to make the payments. Well, that promise was easily broken and she lost the house to foreclosure. It wasn’t as if this couple lived beyond their means—it was a lovely home in a nice neighborhood.”

  Gracie spoke up: “So what’s his explanation? He just quit making house payments and doesn’t say why?”

  “Apparently, that’s pretty much the way it went. Mary had a few thousand in a savings account, but the bulk of their cash had disappeared. Her parents only passed away this summer and she hasn’t had a chance to get work yet. She cleared the last two hundred dollars from her checking account today, and I really fear for how she’ll manage to eat.”

  “Does she have any ideas about what she’ll do next?” Penelope asked.

  Sandy shook her head. “She’s clearly not taking care of herself—she’s put every scrap of her energy into her parents’ care. I’ll do some more checking but, seriously, she looks like a street person. Mary Holbrook was never that way. She used to be slim and athletic, well-groomed. Never flaunted money but never lacked it either. She didn’t come right out and say so, but I have the impression she’s living in a shelter. She’s devastated.”

  Amber, Gracie and Penelope exchanged glances and each gave a small nod.

  “Well, then,” said Amber. “It looks like the Heist Ladies have another job. Last time it was diamonds, this time it’s cash. And this time we know who the crook is.”

  Pen raised her iced tea glass. “All of you helped me when it meant recovering a family heirloom. Absolutely—we must help Mary take back her life and her dignity! Those are far more important.”

  The others raised glasses as well. “All right, then. To the Heist Ladies!”

  Chapter 3

  Sandy saw Mary tentatively hovering outside her office door the next day and motioned her to come inside. She noticed Mary was wearing the same clothes as yesterday, although her hair looked freshly washed.

  “I was hoping you would come back soon,” Sandy said. “I have good news—my friends are very much interested in helping. We want to get your money back for you.”

  Mary gave an inquisitive look.

  “I think we can do it.” How much to tell? Sandy wasn’t sure giving details about the million-dollar necklace heist would be a good thing. “Let’s just say a couple of our members have been pretty successful at tracking money and other missing items.”

  “I don’t know …”

  “Please. Let us at least try. Obviously, your ex isn’t going to willingly give you anything. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have hidden assets from the court and cheated you out of your share, right? We want to help you.”

  “I can’t pay for an investigation.”

  “Right. I’m sure you would have already pursued it if you could. Mary, I assure you it isn’t a problem for us. It’s purely a matter of doing the right thing, of correcting the wrong that’s been done to you.”

  “All right. But I’ll do something in return. I’ll pay you back somehow.”

  “We’ll deal with that later. First, let’s see if we can solve this thing.”

  Mary fidgeted with the clasp on her vinyl handbag, sending nervous glances around the office. “Where will you start? How will you know what to do?”

  Good questions. “We’ll think of something. First, I’d like you to meet the group and tell your story. Any little detail might be of help. Can you come to my house tonight?”

  Mary’s gaze drifted toward the door.

  Of course. The woman didn’t have a car. “How about this? Come back here to the bank around five o’clock. I’ll take you home with me, we’ll have a salad or something and I’ll drive you home afterward.”

  A tilt of her head was all the acknowledgement Mary gave before she basically bolted out the door.

  Oh my, Sandy thought. She’s like a skittish fawn adrift in the city.

  She picked up her phone and sent a text to Gracie, Amber and Penelope. My house, 6:30 tonight. Within a few minutes each had confirmed she would be there.
Now, if Mary would actually come back.

  Meetings consumed her afternoon and the tellers had balanced their cash and left by four-thirty. Sandy glanced at her watch. It was too late to call the home office. Although she had paperwork to review, her mind wasn’t on the task and she found herself staring out the window. At 4:45 a bus pulled to a stop across the street, discharging one passenger. It was Mary.

  At least this explains how she gets around town, Sandy thought. With her own car always at her disposal, she’d never realized the logistics needed to plan even a simple trip across the valley to another part of the huge city. It couldn’t be easy to do everything you needed to without even the basic freedom a car provided. She gathered her purse, closed her blinds and met Mary at the front door.

  “I’m so glad you came,” she said as she locked up.

  They walked together across the parking lot and Sandy unlocked her vehicle. Mary’s eyes met hers across the top of the car.

  “Thank you. Earlier, I didn’t mean to sound like I didn’t want your help. I guess I’m just not used to asking for it. I’ve always been so capable. Together, Clint and I were self-sufficient. Nothing has felt normal for the past year.”

  Sandy gave a sympathetic smile. “I know. This whole thing must have been so difficult for you.”

  For the first time, a hint of the old Mary came back when she pulled a wry grin. “You could say that. Ah well, I’ll end up okay, no matter what happens.”

  Sandy wanted to ask a dozen questions but could see the shy little fawn still hovering below the surface. She drove quietly, letting Mary enjoy the car’s air conditioning, pulling into her driveway twenty-five minutes later.

  “Here we are. I hope you don’t mind cats—I have two and they’re always around.”