“I’ve got people on it,” he said. “No need to worry. You know as well as I do in this electronic climate, credit cards get stolen all the time.”
“Agreed,” Gary said. “But that’s what I wanted to talk about. Who you’ve got on the case.”
“Randy Tanner. Assigned him when Chuck Willis realized there was a problem with a routine stolen wallet report.”
“You think Randy’s the best man to put on this?”
“Randy’s the best I’ve got.”
Gary nodded. “I know. I know. No question there.”
“Then what’s your concern?”
“Randy isn’t a local, Jack. You have half a force made up of people born and bred here. Couldn’t you assign one of them?”
“How does being homegrown factor?”
Surprisingly, the answer didn’t come fast. In fact, Gary hesitated so long Jack guessed he couldn’t find any diplomatic way to say what was on his mind. Not a good sign.
“You heard that Frankie Cesarini’s back in town.”
Jack had heard all right. Frankie hadn’t been in town for twenty minutes before he’d gotten his first phone call reporting the news—from his long-ago ex-girlfriend. And Karan Kowalski Steinberg-Reece didn’t pick up the phone to call him without a reason. Not since their second year of college when he’d disappointed her by realizing his calling wasn’t law, but law enforcement. A huge difference in Karan’s book.
“I heard,” he said.
“Then you know she’s running Greywacke Lodge?”
“I also know that the man who reported the missing wallet lives there. Are you saying Frankie has something to do with my investigation?”
Gary pushed away from the desk with a sharp sigh, and Jack stared at him, waiting. Call him stupid, but he just wasn’t making the connection here.
“There’s speculation Frankie is involved with the crime.”
Now it was Jack’s turn to sigh. “Do you mind telling me how you heard there was a crime? To my knowledge Randy and Chuck haven’t even determined that yet.”
“How can you not know?”
“We have suspicion of a crime.” Jack tried not to sound impatient when Gary had sidestepped his question. “Hence the investigation. Until we determine whether or not an actual crime has been committed, we can’t determine jurisdiction. Credit card fraud goes to the Secret Service. Identity theft stays with us.”
Gary closed his eyes and groaned. “Secret Service? Jeez, Jack. That’s the last thing we need. Can’t you keep the outsiders away from this?”
Not unless he wanted to commit a crime of his own. “Don’t you think you’re putting the cart before the horse? All we have right now is an elderly man who misplaced his wallet and a string of hits on his credit report.”
“Credit card fraud, then.” Gary looked sick.
“Maybe. Maybe not. Like I said, I got my best man on it. We should know something soon.”
Gary seemed to reconsider. “Okay, the sooner the better. This is a delicate situation. I think it’ll be best handled that way. The rumor mill is already grinding.”
“About Frankie Cesarini?”
“She goes by Francesca Raffa now.”
“Married?”
Gary shook his head. “Divorced. Has a teenage daughter.”
“Anything else I need to know?”
“Just buzz. But don’t you think it’s awfully coincidental the town bad girl comes home and now we have a crime?”
“We don’t know that we have a crime yet, remember?” Jack sank back into his chair and rubbed his temples. “And the town bad girl, Gary? Since when do you deal in melodrama? I don’t remember Frankie ever doing anything all that bad.”
“What do you call tear-assing down Main Street on a stolen tractor?” Gary snorted.
“The tractor wasn’t stolen. Not exactly. She worked for Ray Hazzard at the farm for a summer.”
Gary’s eyebrows shot halfway up his forehead. “What does that mean? She borrowed it for a joyride? She was like the Harriet Tubman of Ashokan, Jack. Every slacker in high school used to pay her to get them off property when they wanted to skip class. She knew every crack and crevice in the place and exactly who’d be monitoring the halls and when. She ran that racket for the better part of my junior year before Happy Harry finally shut her down.”
“One could call it enterprising.” Jack knew his fair share of students who’d paid big bucks for the service. “Frankie Cesarini never touched the juveniles this precinct deals with now. Curfew infractions. Skipping class. Leaving campus to smoke. I should be so lucky.” He’d take Frankie’s sort of rebellion any day compared to the middle school kids Randy Tanner brought in when they busted a meth cookhouse last week.
“You’re defending her?” Gary looked genuinely surprised.
“I’m not defending her. I didn’t know her. Hell, Gary, I wouldn’t have even known she existed if not for Karan and her cheerleading posse. They obsessed over everything Frankie did.”
Gary rolled his eyes. “You know what I’m talking about, Jack. She ran off to some third-world country with a guy two days before graduation, never to be seen or heard from again…until a few months ago. It’s no wonder people are talking.”
Folks did too much talking around Bluestone, as far as Jack was concerned. “Even if Frankie had been on the wrong road in high school, she must have cleaned up her act. Unless your developer hires felons for upper management. They must run background checks. If she’d been in any trouble—”
“My developer doesn’t hire anyone for anything. They partner with a management company who does that.”
“So Frankie works for the management company?”
“Same company Susanna has been with for years.”
Bingo. Mystery of the rumors solved. And Jack glanced at the clock, wondering if he had time to kill one henpecked patrol cop before his appointment with the assistant chiefs. He knew exactly where the rumors had started.
The cheerleader connection. Susanna Adams had been close friends with Karan since high school. If she’d mentioned to Karan that the police had come to Greywacke Lodge asking questions about the missing wallet report, then Karan would have been all over the news because of Frankie. Karan had probably called her buddies from the cheerleading squad—most were still friends—and started up the gossiping. The only way they could have known of any potential crime meant that Becca had grilled her husband, and that henpecked patrol cop had dished out enough details to satisfy his wife.
Damned small town.
“Listen, Jack.” Gary spread his hands in entreaty. “I’m not saying Frankie has done anything wrong, then or now. But I don’t like the way people are talking.”
“You’ve got that right. First and foremost, no one should know about this investigation. And I don’t like that people are placing blame. I can’t even say a crime’s been committed yet.”
If life didn’t dish up enough drama, then some folks weren’t happy unless they manufactured their own.
Frankie’s return was news to warm up a cold winter.
“High school was a long time ago, Gary. What do you know about Frankie now?”
With a frown Gary settled back against the desk. “She’s been