Art of the Con: Carter Peterson Mystery Series Book 6 Read online

  I’d heard enough. “With all due respect, Ms. …”

  “Arnahj,” she said.

  “Right. With all due respect, Ms. Arnahj, I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

  “I beg to differ. This financial snafu I suddenly find myself caught up in is most disruptive. My work demands much of me. Operations, negotiations, and day-to-day issues require my presence on the Dark Continent. As long as I’m here in the states, nothing productive occurs overseas.”

  I shook my head. “I’m sorry I can’t help, but I wish you the best of luck.”

  She gave a subtle nod while taking a single step toward the door, then pivoted around, her proximity to my face much closer than I was comfortable with. “Oh, but you can help me. And, you will, Mr. Peterson. You’ll see.” She grabbed the door handle and let herself out.

  I stood there in awe for a beat. When I finally closed the door, I turned to find Sarah standing directly behind me.

  “Naughty little squirrel? Really?”

  “No idea,” I said, still a bit stunned by the unexpected encounter.

  “Miss Victoria appears to be quite a handful.”

  “Think she said her name was Vittoria.”

  “Victoria, Vittoria, whatever,” Sarah said. “Either way, she’s insufferable.”

  “Huh. Never heard you use that word before.”

  Sarah’s face was beat red. “Yeah, well, that’s because I hadn’t gotten a load of Reynolds’s wife before today. Funny … I’m not feeling nearly as disgusted with the professor as I did last night.”

  “Hold on,” I said then took a few deep breaths. “You got all that from standing in the background, listening to what was said? Because, I was right here, and I still haven’t processed a fraction of it.”

  I got the impression Sarah was no longer listening. “I’m going to do an internet search on her right now. Let’s find out who this pretentious so-and-so really is.”

  I stepped over to the window to get a better look at the fancy car as the provocative woman and her driver motored off.

  Stretch Mercedes.

  I went to find Sarah, curious about the professor’s wife, too, and heard the clicking of a keyboard as I got closer to my office. “You know,” I said as I entered the room, “you changed your mind about the professor after learning new information about his life. Please don’t take offense to this, but maybe we should cut his wife some slack. At least until we learn more about her.”

  The expression on Sarah’s face changed and the clicking stopped.

  “Well, I feel like a total jerk,” she said, her eyes never leaving the glow of the computer screen atop my desk.

  I thought Sarah’s admission was in direct response to what I’d just said---until she continued.

  “You’re not going to believe who this woman is.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Have you ever heard of Abhorica?”

  “Think so,” I said as I took a seat in the lounge chair opposite my desk. “Aren’t they the organization that fought to get the Aborigines a workable chunk of their land back in Australia?”

  Sarah looked up at me, her expression indescribable. It was as if she’d just learned some ancient truth. “Not they, Carter. She.”

  “I’m not following you,” I said.

  “Reynolds’s wife. Vittoria Arnahj. She is Abhorica.”

  I took a moment to let what Sarah had said sink in. “Are you serious?”

  “Oh, yeah. That woman? The one who was just standing in our entry hall? Her name appears on a short list of the most respected freedom fighters alive. She helped conquer the Aborigines plight, then assisted thousands of homeless people across India. Now, she’s on a quest to do the same for a number of indigenous tribes in Africa. One article even refers to Arnahj as a living legend.”

  “That’s pretty impressive.”

  “You want impressive? How old do you think she is?”

  “I’m guessing late-fifties.”

  “Almost seventy,” Sarah said.

  “What? That has to be a misprint.”

  “Birthday was December seventh, nineteen forty-eight. Born exactly seven years after the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor.”

  “That’s crazy,” I said.

  “Want to hear crazy? According to Forecast Magazine, Arnahj still works upwards of sixty hours a week.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Guess she’s earned the right to refer to her husband as ‘Benj.’”

  Chapter 12

  “Let’s make a pact,” Sarah said as we pulled out of our driveway, headed for York, Maine, and Agamenticus Hotel and Spa. “From this day forward, let’s promise one another we’ll thoroughly vet our clients---and their families---before signing any contracts. No matter how pressed for time we might be.”

  “It’s a deal,” I said. “Sure would have made that strange experience in our front hallway go a little smoother.”

  “I’ll say. I never dreamed we’d get blindsided by Reynolds’s wife.”

  “Makes me wonder just what their life together looks like.”

  Sarah let go a whistle. “She’d be tough to measure up to. The way she was talking about her husband, I have my doubts she respects what he does for a living. Not that most people’s jobs could compare to the work of a living legend.”

  “No doubt. Maybe they’re just keeping their union intact because it’s less complicated. I don’t know how long they’ve been married, but logistics alone would make the togetherness part tough. Physically, and emotionally.”

  “Here’s a thought: do you suppose the professor took only one picture of Melody Savin because he knew it was too risky to have evidence of his affair floating around?”

  “Yep. Sounds right,” I said. “He’s got to know how sharp his wife really is. Her finding our nondescript contract is one thing. Finding pictures of some young woman is another matter, all together. As the old saying goes, he may be dumb, but he ain’t stupid.”

  “It’ll be interesting to see how this one plays out. The way I see it, Reynolds’s case is just another tangled web we’ve somehow managed to land right in the middle of.”

  “Well, it is how we get paid, right?”

  “If we deliver,” Sarah said. “Speaking of which, I wonder if James has anything more on that rental car the pickpocket guy carjacked from that poor elderly couple.”

  “Good question. Give James a call, would you, please? Here, use my phone.”

  I heard the ringer pulse a few times once Sarah had placed the call and activated the speaker. “Hey, Carter,” I heard James say.

  “Afternoon, Detective. Any news on those fingerprints from the rental car?”

  “Yeah. They don’t exist. Complete dead end,” he replied. “Like I told you before, your pickpocket-slash-carjacker was wearing gloves. Nonetheless, my fingerprint tech said the guy still wiped the car down as an added precaution. Hate to say it, Carter, but your boy’s obviously a pro.”

  “All right. Thanks for all your hard work, as always.”

  “Sorry I couldn’t give you a solid lead on this one.”

  “We’re going to keep on it,” I said. “We’ll get there. Talk to you later.”

  Sarah dumped the call and handed my phone back. “Guess we’re going to have to dig extra deep once we get to the hotel.”

  “Yep. I’m more determined than ever to find our first thread. Once we have that, we’ll be on our way.”

  “I’ve got to believe the professor will be bugging us soon, looking for results,” Sarah said. “I doubt his wife’s going to let him rest until she gets answers. By the way, what do you think she meant when she said that we can and will help her? Help her with what?”

  “No idea. Certainly was cryptic, though.”

  “Maybe she thinks the professor will dig himself a hole by hiring us, and make it easier to get at whatever truth she was talking about.”

  “Hurts my head. Their lives are so different from ours.”

  “Thank goodness
,” Sarah said. “They may each have successful careers, but what good is success if you have no one special to share it with?”

  “Maybe they do,” I said. Just, not one another.”

  “It’s sad.”

  “To us, but maybe not to them. Some folks value achievements more than they do relationships.”

  “Honestly, the last thing I want to do is judge. It’s really none of our business, beyond how it relates to solving this case, anyway. Just promise me we’ll never end up with a relationship like theirs.”

  “I don’t think there’s any danger of that happening. So, yeah, I promise.”

  * * *

  “Good afternoon, sir. Madam. Welcome to Agamenticus Hotel and Spa,” the bellhop said as he wheeled his brass luggage carrier over toward the rear of our car.

  “Afternoon,” I replied.

  I opened the trunk and handed him our bags, then walked around to get back behind the wheel---only to find a second employee standing next to the driver’s side door.

  Good afternoon, sir. I’ll park your vehicle then meet you inside at the reception desk.”

  I gave him a nod and my car keys, then took Sarah’s hand. She leaned in toward me as we made our way toward the grandiose main entrance. “You’ll need to tip them. Individually.”

  “I’m aware,” I said. “Just not sure I have any ones.”

  “You mean tens,” she replied.

  It was starting; the money bleed had officially begun, reminding me we had no business checking in to such an extravagant place. Good thing we were here on business. At least I’d be able to write most of it off on my taxes.

  “The reservation is under Peterson,” Sarah said before the desk clerk had a chance to speak.

  “Thank you for that. First, let me take this opportunity to welcome you to Agamenticus Hotel and Spa. Is this your first time staying with us?”

  “Yes, it is,” Sarah said, excitement in her voice.

  “Wonderful. I’m going to go ahead and give you both vouchers for complementary thirty-minute massages, as well as two complementary beverages at Wagner’s, our restaurant here on the property. You’ll find two key cards to room number 317 inside this packet, along with a directory of amenities and services offered during your time with us. Any questions?”

  Sarah looked at me and I shook my head. “I guess we’re all set,” she said.

  “Excellent. Enjoy your stay.”

  We made our way over to the bank of elevators---along with our entourage. Our bellhop motioned for us to enter as the elevator doors slid open. He followed us inside, our parking valet bringing up the rear, and up we went.

  A quick walk down the wide hallway and we were standing at the threshold of our room. The bellhop got the door and Sarah entered, immediately letting go a gasp as she took in the view. “Wow. Awesome.”

  Atlantic Ocean, as far as the eye could see.

  I took the receipt from the valet, handed each of the young men a ten dollar bill, and sent them happily on their way.

  As soon as the door clicked shut, Sarah came over and planted a passionate kiss on my lips. “This is a real treat, Carter. I’m so happy to be here.”

  “Glad to hear it. It’s going to be good.”

  “Do we get to dine at their restaurant tonight? Two free drinks,” she reminded me, as if that might help seal the deal.

  I smiled and nodded, masking the fact I’d looked at the menu earlier. The new credit card the bank manager handed me yesterday afternoon was about to get broken in, big-time. To say that Wagner’s was pricey didn’t even begin to describe the madness.

  I stood behind Sarah and wrapped my arms around her as we stood there, staring out at the open water. She let go a deep sigh of contentment, and that made it all worthwhile. The hard work. The stress. The danger.

  Having her in my life meant everything to me. I was lucky.

  Sarah spun around and gave me a big smile. “I’m going to take another look at the spa brochure.” She grabbed the thick booklet from atop the dresser then tossed herself onto the plush, king-size bed.

  I grabbed the hotel directory and got my bearings, taking note of where our room was located in relation to the elevators, amenities, and security office. I’d decided on the ride up here that I’d take it upon myself to do the bulk of the legwork, giving Sarah the opportunity to drink-in the getaway aspect of our stay. She could just contribute to the workload if she wanted to, or simply kick back and luxuriate. I was good with either scenario.

  “Ooo,” she said. “They have a few little shops off from the main lobby. Mind if I---”

  “Go right ahead,” I said.

  “Care to come with me?”

  “I’m going to start putting a game plan together, if you’re OK with that.”

  “You’re right,” she said. “Business before pleasure. What can I do to help?”

  “Nope. I’m good. Go ahead and tour the facility. We’re here for less than a day. I want you to enjoy yourself.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Go,” I said and pointed toward the door. “Make sure you have your key card on you. I may go down and pay the head of security a visit while you’re out.”

  “Thanks, babe,” she said and disappeared.

  I picked up the spa booklet Sarah had been leafing through and got myself familiar with the entire list of services they offered, wondering which ones Melody Savin might have taken advantage of while she and the professor were here.

  I opened my notebook to review what I’d jotted down: estheticians, nail techs, hair stylists. Investigating those three disciplines would take some time. Time I’d be able to save if I could persuade the head of security to work with me on locating and sharing any records pertaining to Reynolds’s stay.

  I scanned my notes for the retired cop’s name, only to remember I’d never recorded it. Vittoria Arnahj had come calling, making her dramatic debut in our lives just as I was about to jot the information down.

  I pulled out my phone, brought up the hotel’s website, and found the guy’s name again.

  Kendrick Coughlin.

  Chapter 13

  The security center for Agamenticus Hotel and Spa was located off the grand lobby, opposite the hotel’s reception counter. As I entered the public section of the designated area, the space reminded me of a scaled-down, dentist’s office waiting room: half a dozen chairs lining the walls, coffee table in the center, and a reception counter with glass divider extending from surface to ceiling. A solid steel security door was located off to one side, providing authorized access to the offices beyond. Though not as fancy as the rest of the hotel, it was the nicest security area I’d ever seen.

  “How can I help you, Mr. Peterson?” the woman in uniform asked.

  I was initially thrown by the fact she already knew my name, but should have expected it.

  This was the future.

  “I’d like a word with Kendrick Coughlin. He around?”

  “I’m sorry, sir. Our head of security had to leave early today. My name is Jane Sayer. I’m Assistant Head of Security, in charge of the entire Agamenticus facility in Mr. Coughlin’s absence. How can I be of service?”

  I took a look around to make sure no one had come in behind me. “My partner Sarah Woods is here with me. We’re guests of the hotel this evening, but our visit is a combination of business and pleasure. We’re private detectives, investigating a financial crime against a New Hampshire resident. Our client was a guest here about two weeks ago. As it turns out, the woman who accompanied him is an alleged con artist. He’s hired us to track down this woman and her accomplices. We’re looking to bring them to justice, and need your help in doing so.”

  Sayer had begun writing shortly after I started explaining our situation, keeping pace with my words without missing a beat. “I understand, Mr. Peterson. Excuse me for a moment,” she said, then disappeared through a doorway in the back wall of her office.

  I stood alone in the waiting area for about thirt
y seconds before Sayer returned. She simply walked back to her chair and sat down without saying a word, or even making eye contact with me.

  I felt confused, and was about to ask her what was going on when I saw the steel security door swing open.

  There stood Kendrick Coughlin.

  “Mr. Peterson. Come on in.”

  I looked through the glass at Sayer, who’d long since busied herself with other tasks.

  “Please don’t be upset with her,” I heard Coughlin say as I followed him down a short hallway. “She was following protocol. Keeps me free to prioritize.”

  “Screening your clientele. I get it.”

  “Have a seat,” he said as he ushered me through the door of his office then shut it behind us. I was in awe as I looked around, the bulk of the wall area covered in dozens of high-resolution screens. “Chief of Police here in York gave me a call a while ago. I’ve been expecting you.” He reached inside one of his desk drawers, pulled out a manila envelope, and tossed it onto the desk. “You’ll find an itemized bill in there, along with a few video stills of Professor Benjamin Reynolds and his companion.”

  I was impressed. I reached for the folder, but hesitated in picking it up as a thought hit me. I reached for my notebook instead. “Companion. Good word. How did you know I’d be looking for photos, and not just records of their transactions? I forgot to specify that I wanted images to be included in the warrant.”

  “I was a cop,” Coughlin replied. “So were you. We both know … a PI doesn’t come looking for information without wanting every piece he or she can get. Thought I’d save us both some time. Not only that, but there were circumstances surrounding this woman’s actions that raised a few eyebrows around here. In fact, as a result, the spa side of our organization had to let one of their key employees go.”

  “Fired?”

  “That’s right,” Coughlin said.

  “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to share the details surrounding this person’s dismissal, would you?”