Orchard Press Online
Mystery Magazine
March 2002
Fool Me
Twice
a
short story
by Chapin Clark
Copyright © 2002 Chapin Clark. All rights reserved.
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Chapin Clark lives with his wife Barbara in Boca Raton, Florida. His mystery fiction career began in 1999 with his short story Body Piercer, which was awarded an Honorable Mention at the MWA Florida Chapter's Sleuthfest 1999 competition. Chapin's stories have appeared in Blue Murder, and have been purchased by Murderous Intent, Futures and Over my dead body. He also works as a volunteer in the detective division of the Boca Raton Police Department, and is currently working on a crime novel. |
But you said these investments were safe, Jim! You said—I remember your exact words—these stocks can’t lose. How come all I’ve done is lose money?”
“Did I actually use the word safe, Mark? I don’t think I ever truly said safe, now did I?”
Mark Donnelly was finding this conversation with his investment broker, Jim Eldridge, exceedingly distasteful. On top of his other faults, Eldridge had suddenly developed a convenient amnesia.
“If you didn’t actually say the word safe, you strongly implied it, in about every other way humanly possible!” The timbre of Donnelly’s voice was rising, verging on the hysterical.
“Okay, Mark, just calm down. You know you should never trust a sure thing. Didn’t you read the prospectus? It makes it very clear what the risks are.”
“Screw the damned prospectus, okay? I relied on what you said, not what’s printed in some dry pamphlet written by a consortium of lawyers and tax experts!”
Eldridge didn’t respond right away. But Donnelly could hear a faintly muffled sound on the line. A sound he recognized. It was laughter. The broker was holding his hand over the receiver, stifling a laugh. Maybe there was someone else with him at the other end of the phone line, sharing in the joke. The two of them laughing at one more sucker, finally realizing he’s been had. Donnelly was four hundred thousand in the tank. He was in no laughing mood.
Finally, Eldridge spoke. “Look, Mark, I’m sorry your investments didn’t work out. But, you can’t blame me. I’m not the guy they hired to run those companies....” Donnelly was again aware of suppressed laughter, “...into the ground.”
Eldridge was showing off for someone, and Donnelly felt sure it had to be his sexy office assistant, Maxine Rivers. He’d always suspected the two had something going on the side. “Are you alone, Jim?”
A pause, “Of course I am. Do you think I’d discuss a client’s sensitive business with someone listening in? I don’t like that insinuation, Mark.”
“I trusted you, Jim.”
“You should have read the prospectus.”
“If the damned prospectus tells me everything, then what do I need you for, Jim? What am I paying you for?”
There was more barely disguised snickering on the other line. “What are you paying me for? Don’t you know the stockbroker’s mantra?”
“What’s that, Jim?”
“To err is human—to get paid for it is divine.” Eldridge chuckled. “I’m sorry, Mark, but you set me up for that one.”
Donnelly sighed. He remembered ruefully the comment his wife, Ruthie, made after he’d introduced her to Jim Eldridge the first time. “Why do you call a man who invests all your money a broker?” Ruthie could be very wise, sometimes....
“Mark? You still there?” Eldridge’s voice was impatient. “Look man, I can understand your problem. Believe me, I feel your pain.”
“You should feel it; you caused it!”
“Now, Mark, let’s be adults here. I know what would cheer you up.”
I’ll just bet you do, Donnelly thought.
“There’s a hot new IPO coming on the market Monday,” Eldridge’s voice smoothly shifted into salesman mode. “You’ve got about a hundred thousand left in your account. How about I put that money into the new issue and we’ll see about making you some real dough? How’d that be, huh?”
Fool me once, thought Donnelly, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. He said, “I trusted you, Jim. It cost me. I won’t make the same mistake again.”
“Well, Mark, if you feel that way about it. I guess there’s nothing more to say. I’ve got a conference now. Good-b....”
Donnelly interrupted. “There’s one more thing.”
“What’s that Mark?”
“I want my money back.”
“Well, naturally you want your money back. Wouldn’t it be nice if we could all just get our money back after we make bad investments? But it’s not that simple pardner. I don’t have your money.”
“Then go somewhere and get it. You’re resourceful. Just do it. I’ll give you a week.”
“You’ll give me a week.”
“That’s what I said.”
“And what if I don’t do what you want?”
“You won’t like what happens.”
“Are you threatening me, Mark?”
“Call it whatever pleases you. Just have my money in a week.”
Eldridge responded by suggesting Donnelly perform an anatomically impossible act and hung up on him.
* * *
Eldridge peeled the wrapper off one of his favorite Macanudo cigars. “Can you believe that clown, Maxine?”
Maxine Rivers removed her left butt cheek from the corner of Eldridge’s mahogany desk where it had been resting. She walked around the desk and stood facing Eldridge. Under her suit coat her blouse was unbuttoned. Although the business day was only half over, Eldridge’s door was locked. He and Maxine were in conference.
She took the unlit cigar from him and placed it in an ashtray. “He’s obviously pissed at you, Jim. I guess he doesn’t know you like I do; what a pussycat you are.” She sat on his lap.
Eldridge smiled at her. The woman was a minx. “He’s got some nerve; threatening me like that.”
Maxine played with his mustache. “Relax, Jim,” she purred, “he can’t mean it...can he?”
“Of course not. The guy’s a wimp. They’re all wimps, these overfed, overpaid corporate execs.” His index finger traced a path into the valley between Maxine’s breasts. It was a deep valley.
“Besides, Jim...ooh, that tickles...you could handle him, if it came to that. Right?”
What a valley, he thought. “Handle him? Hah! He’d be crazy to make any moves on me.” He began tugging at her jacket sleeves. She helped him.
“My big, strong, Jim...you can handle lots of things.” She began nibbling on his ear, whispering, “Of course, he could surprise you.” The woman was such a tease.
He was working on her blouse now, peeling it off slowly. “No way that goofball will ever surprise old Jimmy. I’ll always be at least two steps ahead of him. You can take that to the bank, Max.”
She stood and began hiking up her closely fitted skirt. She kicked off her stilettos, then sat on his lap again, this time straddling him.
“So, you’re not worried,” her voice was a husky whisper, “and why should you be...you’ve got everything under control.” She leaned into him, cupped his face in her hands and began lightly placing kisses on his forehead, cheeks, and eyelids.”
Jim Eldridge decided it was time for Maxine to shut up. He planted his mouth on hers and that did it. Before losing himself completely, he opened one eye to peer once more at the ticker.
* * *
“Peltz & Eldridge, Investment Counselors, may I help you?” The receptionist’s voice had an annoying singsong quality that had irked Donnelly even before he’d lost his four hundred thousand.
“Mark Donnelly here. Let me speak to Jim Eldridge.” He knew his voice sounded abrupt, but so what? A week had gone by and the time for being polite was over.
“Certainly, Mr. Donnelly. I’ll see if he’s available to take your call.” The woman’s singsong had acquired a thin layer of frost.
To the accompaniment of light classical music, Donnelly waited, wondering if Eldridge would take his call. Something inside him, a lurking doubt, said Eldridge wouldn’t get on the line. On the other hand, didn’t he still have a hundred thousand in an investment account that Eldridge would want to see his firm retain?
“Mr. Donnelly?” The frost had thawed a little.
“Yes?”
“Mr. Eldridge is in conference and I’m afraid I can’t interrupt him. Would you like to leave a message?”
“Just ask him to call me right away. I’m at home. He has the number.”
“I’ll see that he gets the message. Goodbye Mr. Donnelly.”
As he replaced the receiver in its cradle, Donnelly mentally pictured the receptionist. She was another attractive female employee, just like the beauteous Maxine. Did Eldridge only hire pretty women? Was he having sex with all of them? Probably so—the bastard!
He stood, lit a cigarette and walked over to the sliding door that led onto the terrace of his Delray Beach condo. He opened the slider and stepped out. The view from this height, the fourteenth floor, was spectacular. Donnelly would often stand here for hours, looking south down the Intracoastal Waterway toward Boca Raton. In any season of the year, at any time of day, the sights—luxury yachts and sailboats, seagulls and tropical birds, landscape dotted with the beautifully manicured gardens of upscale condos and ritzy homes—never failed to make his spirits soar. But now—something was spoiling the view. He’d scrambled hard to get here—to reach this place. Damn it, he and Ruthie belonged here! But, would they be able to hold onto it, with the investment account so decimated?
He stood at the railing, resting his hands on the stone ledge. It’s all Eldridge’s fault--Eldridge and his “can’t miss” investments. If only I hadn’t listened to his sleazy sales pitch and the promise of easy riches. Easy riches, hah! More like easy losses.
Donnelly watched the tendrils of smoke from his cigarette waft away on the breeze. Gone with the wind! My whole life has been hard work and upward struggle, each year scraping out a bit more gain than the last, each year a little more net worth and another rung up the ladder. Now, courtesy of Jim Eldridge, I’m reversing direction, spiraling downward.
Downward....
Donnelly peered over the railing at the entranceway fourteen stories below. A blue Mercedes had just pulled in. The driver got out. The car looked like a Matchbox miniature; the man a toy doll.
Downward....
How hard would it be? One small step up onto the little table Ruthie put here as a stand for her plants. A second step onto the railing ledge. Then...the swan dive. He snuffed his cigarette on the railing and flipped it into the air, watching as it went down, down, down.
He glanced at his watch. Ten minutes had passed since his call and nothing. He knew it. Eldridge was going to ignore him, and why not? He had no legal right to get his money back. Still, it rankled him to do nothing, to be played for a fool by Jim Eldridge—the man had no conscience.
Riinnnggg! The noise so startled him that he momentarily forgot where he was. Recovering, he rushed to the phone and checked the Caller ID. Surprise. Jim Eldridge was calling back after all.
“Hello Jim.”
“Hello, Mark.” But it wasn’t Eldridge—it was a woman’s soft voice. For a moment, Donnelly was confused, and then he recognized the voice.
“Oh, hello, Maxine. Jim asked you to handle this call, huh? Got you doing his dirty work now?”
“Actually, Jim has no idea I’m calling you. In fact, I’m sure he’d be quite angry if he knew.”
Donnelly was immediately suspicious. Why would Maxine Rivers do anything contrary to the interests of her boss or the firm?
“Is that right?” he said. “Then why are you calling?”
“I’d like to meet with you to discuss our mutual problem, and how we might work together on solving it.”
“Our mutual problem? What would that be?”
“Actually it’s a who, not a what—James B. Eldridge, III.”
If she were working a scam or a trap, he’d never figure out her angle unless he played along.
“I suppose I’d be willing to talk about that, Maxine. Where and when?”
“It won’t do for us to be seen together. We need someplace private.”
“Where do you suggest?”
“How about my place?”
* * *
Maxine Rivers lived alone, in a fashionable Highland Beach condominium that overlooked the ocean. The décor in her place reminded Donnelly of a designer’s model—chic, cold, impersonal. The touches of warmth that told you a real human lived here were nowhere to be seen. He wondered why she had called him and what her problem with Eldridge could be. The two of them seemed to get along only too well.
She was wearing a rose colored suit, over a purple-hued blouse. For some nonsensical reason, the colors seemed to complement and accentuate her red hair. She was a knockout, with a figure that was hard not to stare at. “Can I fix you something to drink, Mark?”
“Only if you’re having one.” He stared at her, in spite of himself.
She smiled, then turned and strode toward a cabinet; it opened into a small wet bar. “How about a nice glass of Chardonnay?”
“Sure.”
She returned with two glasses of wine and joined him on a small sofa, strategically positioned to take maximum advantage of the ocean view.
“Since I invited you here, why don’t I tell you why.” She turned to face him, tucking one leg under the other. “Let me speak frankly. I hate Jim Eldridge. He lied to me and denied me a partnership after promising it. But that’s not all.” She took a sip of her wine, licked her lips and shifted her position to lean closer to him.
“The man is dishonest with clients, Mark. He borrows from their accounts to fund his own investments. That’s unethical and illegal.”
Donnelly was having a little trouble concentrating, being this close to her. “Are you going to blow the whistle on him?”
“No. He’d just deny it and I’d probably get fired. I have another solution in mind. By the way, how’s your wine? You’ve hardly touched it.”
Donnelly had forgotten about the wine. He took a taste. It was good. “So,” he said, “you want to get even with him, and you...let me guess...want me to help?”
She smiled; her eyes seemed to glisten. “You’re pretty smart, Mark. I like smart men.”
“Forget the flattery, Maxine. What’s the plan?”
“Let me show you something.” She stood up, walked over to a writing desk and picked up an envelope sitting on the desktop next to a brown paper shopping bag. She handed it to Donnelly. “Open it.”
He opened it. It was a one-page, handwritten note, written on Peltz & Eldridge stationery. In the note, James B. Eldridge, III confessed to bilking client accounts to the tune of $500,000 and declared he’d decided to end it all, rather than face prison.
He handed the note back to her. “A suicide note? Would Jim actually consider suicide?”
“Of course not. I wrote the note. After seven years as his executive assistant, I can mimic his handwriting perfectly.”
“But, you said he won’t commit suicide. So, what’s the point?”
“He won’t take his own life, but it’s going to look like he did. The point? Our firm has a key man insurance policy on his life in the amount of one million dollars. If he dies, even by his own hand, the firm is paid the face value of the policy. And, with Jim out of the way, my path to a partnership is clear. Nathan Peltz and I are...let’s just say we get along well.”
Donnelly couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The woman sounded so confident. He wanted no part of this. “Just how will Jim appear to do himself in? I hope you’re not thinking I’d get involved in any such thing.”
Maxine reached out to touch his hand. “I’ll pay you $500,000 to do it. You see, I have signature authority for client accounts. It will look like Jim has actually embezzled the funds. The money’ll never be found, because you’ll have it—in small denominations, unmarked. When the insurance pays off, half of it will go to cover the shortages in our client’s accounts. The firm will keep the other half, as...compensation for the loss of the brilliant Mr. Eldridge.”
Donnelly stood up. “No deal, Maxine. What makes you think I’d go along with this?”
She stood to face him and moved closer. “Because he lied to you too. And you need to get even.” He could smell her perfume, practically touch her. He felt like touching her.
She said, “There’s a down payment of $100,000 in that paper bag on the desk. Untraceable bills, just like the rest will be—after it’s done.”
He went to the desk and opened the bag. It contained multiple, tape-wrapped packages of bills, totaling $100,000, a handgun and an electronic cardkey.
“The gun is loaded. It belongs to Jim. He keeps it at the office for protection, probably against pissed off clients.” She laughed. “The key will get you into the office after hours. You can destroy it once the deed is done. I’ll let you know in advance when Jim will be working late...alone.” As she spoke, she was moving closer to him, her voice a hypnotic, sexy purr.
Donnelly was tempted. Could the plan work? No! He couldn’t. But...a half million dollars! He began to waver. “Maxine...I, I don’t know...this is something I’m not sure I can go along with.”
“Oh I think you’ve got the guts for it all right. What you need is a little more encouragement.”
She stood about two feet from him now. She began to unbutton her blouse. “What do I have to do to get you interested in this, Mark? I know you want the money. Maybe there’s something else you want?” She wasn’t wrong there.
He watched as she did an erotic striptease, slowly shedding her clothes. “What’s it gonna take, Mark?” She was a natural redhead. “This?” She kissed him, her tongue searching. “Or maybe, this?” She caressed him wantonly—in a way his shy Ruthie never had—knowing what he needed, reading his mind.
* * *
Mark Donnelly awakened with a jolt, sitting upright in bed, his pajamas damp with nervous sweat. The dream had been horrible. In it, Maxine lay naked on her couch, arms outstretched, beckoning him to join her. He slipped into her embrace—but as he leaned to kiss her, her face changed into a hideous gargoyle, lips slavering, mouth opening wide as if to devour him, baring fanglike teeth, her breath fetid with the perfume of death....
“Time to rise and shine, Mark!” It was Ruthie, calling to him from the kitchen.
“I put your coffee and the newspaper out on the terrace. It’s a beautiful morning, honey. Don’t waste it in bed.”
He sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, rubbing his face. Only a dream; it was only a dream. Then his mind seized on another image. This one was no dream. He knew he’d never forget this picture. Jim Eldridge, face down on his green desk blotter, the gun in his hand, blood oozing from the gaping wound in his temple. And, on the blotter beside the gun—where he, Donnelly, had placed it—the note.
He dressed hurriedly in shorts and polo shirt, grabbed his laptop and headed out to the terrace. Ruthie was right; it was another idyllic spring day in South Florida. Sun, crisp air, lightly scented with the Jasmine from Ruthie’s plants.
Donnelly took a big gulp from his coffee mug, plugged in his laptop, powered it up, and then sat down with the paper. He began to scan it frantically. Nothing on the front page or in the first section. He quickly thumbed to the Local section and there it was—Boca Raton Investment Specialist Found Dead. The police weren’t yet listing a cause of death, but the article confirmed the deceased had left a note possibly material to the investigation. The medical examiner had determined death occurred sometime between nine and ten p.m., well after normal office hours. There were apparently no witnesses.
Donnelly sucked in air, then exhaled, pushing it all from his lungs in a long, welcome release of tension. Yes, things were going to work out.
He logged on to the Internet and hit the keys to bring up his brokerage account. Maxine had said the full amount would be deposited first thing this morning. It was ten o’clock now. The money would be there. His original hundred thousand, plus the remaining four hundred thousand from his devil’s bargain with Maxine! That, plus the hundred thousand Maxine had given him in cash. He and Ruthie were safe. No more fly by night investment schemes for him. That was all in the past now.
He looked at the screen. Something wasn’t right. The account balance registered zero! He logged out and hastily repeated the log in process. He must have made a key entry error! Again, the screen showed a zero balance!
“Mark, honey, there’s two men here to see you. It’s about Jim Eldridge. He’s, he’s....”
“He’s dead, Mr. Donnelly.” The big man identified himself as homicide detective Dugan. He didn’t introduce his partner, who stood blocking the doorway. “Sir, we wonder if you’d be kind enough to come with us. We need to ask you some questions.”
“Sure, officer,” Donnelly willed himself to appear calm, hoping desperately it was coming off that way. He wasn’t calm inside. He caught Ruthie’s expression; high anxiety personified.
Donnelly had to ask the question. “Uh, why do you want to question me?”
“Well, sir,” the big man had a drawly way of speaking, like he was from Texas maybe, “we’re interviewing his clients. Seems there may have been some irregularities in the firm’s accounts.”
“Irregularities?”
“Money missing.”
“Oh.”
Mark Donnelly changed into slacks and sport coat. He kissed Ruthie, told her he’d be back soon and left with the officers.
He never came back.
* * *
“Peltz & Rivers, Investment Counselors, how may I help you?” The firm’s name had changed, but the receptionist’s singsong voice hadn’t.
“This is Herbert Miller, Midwest Casualty, calling for Nathan Peltz, please.”
“Certainly Mr. Miller. He’s expecting your call.”
The connection was made. “Hey, Herb! Great to hear from you.” Nathan Peltz sounded very chipper, upbeat.
“Just wanted to make sure you received the claim check.”
“Got it, Herb, and thanks. Of course, nothing will replace Jim in our hearts, but the million will help us get a start on rebuilding.”
“I hear you’ve promoted Maxine to partner.”
“That’s right. She’s a bright girl.”
“And pretty, if I may say so, Nathan.”
“Of course she is. Brains and looks; an unbeatable combination. Wish I had one or the other!” They both laughed at the anemic joke.
“Boy, Nathan, I still can’t believe how Jim was killed. Disgruntled client breaks in after hours and uses his own gun on him!”
“Maxine and I are still in shock, of course. Jim kept the gun to defend against that very risk. We kidded him for being paranoid. Little did we know.”
“And the note. What a remarkable coincidence—I mean, who’d ever imagine a set-up where a guy sits at his desk and writes a note saying he’s in fear of his life from this nut, Mark Donnelly; then Donnelly comes in and kills him! Just too bizarre, if you ask me.”
“Yes, that’s the word for it. Bizarre!”
“Well, Nathan, is there anything else we can do for you?”
“There is one thing.”
“Yes?”
“Now that Maxine has been elevated to partner, I suppose, just to be prudent, we’ll need key man, or should I say key woman, coverage for her.”
“Of course. You’re right. She’s a major asset for your firm. How much shall I write the policy for?”
“Well, inflation is always taking its toll, and the value of client portfolios is always rising. Let’s make it...oh, say...three million.”
“Three it is. I’ll have the papers to you by tomorrow, a.m.”
“Thank you Herb. And, thanks again to you and your company for the very professional way all this has been handled.”
Nathan Peltz hung up the phone and swiveled his desk chair 180 degrees to take in the view from his large picture window. The sun bathed the swaying palms and created millions of water sparklers in the fountain on the plaza below.
He stared at his reflection in the plate glass. Maxine had been an asset all right. She had discovered Eldridge’s pilfering from client accounts, but had had the good sense to tell Nathan privately, rather than making a nasty public show of it all. If Eldridge’s stealing had been publicly exposed, the firm would have had to cover the losses, and the scandal might have permanently buried the business. But, Maxine had come up with a plan.
She’d recruited that schmuck, Donnelly, to do Jim in, paying him with his own money, and switching envelopes on him, fooling him into leaving an incriminating note with the body that pinned the whole crime on Donnelly himself. The note, plus the phone tape of Donnelly threatening Eldridge, had been enough to sink his ship with the cops. They’d dismissed his farfetched accusations against Maxine, sweated him for awhile and he’d confessed.
Yes, Maxine had figured it all out. The insurance on Jim’s life was more than enough to cover his embezzlement. The firm made a net gain, Jim was eliminated and the clients were none the wiser. All Maxine had wanted out of the deal was a partnership. He’d given it without hesitation.
But that was then, this was now. Maybe Maxine was just a bit too smart. Maybe after a little time passed, Maxine would have to have an unfortunate accident. The firm could always use the money, and who said Nathan Peltz needed a partner anyway?
He picked up his phone and hit six on the speedial.
Maxine answered on the second ring. “Hello, Nathan.”
“Hey, Maxine. Listen, the insurance check was just delivered and I thought we should go to lunch to celebrate. How about Pfeiffer’s Café, on the ocean.”
“Sounds great, Nathan. See you in the lobby in ten.” She hung up.
Maxine Rivers sat back in her well-cushioned executive chair, made a tent of her fingers and reflected. The call she’d just received from the insurance man, Herb Miller, confirmed that Nathan Peltz was wasting no time. But he wasn’t dealing with a fool. Jim Eldridge fooled me once, and he paid for it big time. Nathan Peltz won’t get the chance.
She stood and checked the items in her purse one more time—lipstick, compact, wallet, address book, untraceable poison—especially effective when mixed with gin in a very dry martini, the kind favored by Nathan Peltz when he’s celebrating.
She’d checked the partnership documents carefully, especially the survivorship provisions. Jim Eldridge wasn’t the only partner with a key man policy on his life. Nathan Peltz, with his heart condition, also had one.
She made a mental note to cancel the policy on her life once she’d inherited full ownership of the firm. It wouldn’t be needed.
Contact the Author - CClark1993@aol.com