Free No Returns by Rhonda Pollero Page A

fingerprint guy should have the results soon. He’s going in off shift for me to see if there’s been an AFIS hit.”
    “But we know who the blackmailer was, don’t we? Steven Buckner had the equipment. The computer. The car.”
    “So what’s his motive?”
    “Money?”
    “I don’t see it. The guy is a hotel butler. Not exactly the type I’d figure for a complex operation. And there’s the fact that he’s dead.”
    “Maybe he was blackmailing someone else and they refused to pay.”
    “I don’t know,” he said. “Something doesn’t smell right to me.”
    *
    I slipped into my Robert Rodriguez sleeveless, cutout back dress. It was white and showed off my tan quite nicely. I reapplied my make-up and then spritzed some Lulu Guinness perfume. The final touch to my evening attire was my much loved pair of Rene Caovilla crystal beaded sandals. They had a crystal broach cluster with pavée crystal metallic goatskin straps. I loved the way the pink shoes looked with their glitter soles and I also loved the price. I’d found them at the Palm Peach Episcopal church’s thrift store. They were gently worn but given that they retail for almost sixteen hundred, I was beyond thrilled to get them for a mere five-fifty. So what if I’d blown six months’ worth of shopping budget. They were the deal of a lifetime.
    My mother and Deacon were in the living room having a glass of wine. My mother looked stunning in a black, one-shoulder sheath dress, her signature pearls, and a pair of Manolo Blahnik satin pumps. She was giggling like a schoolgirl.
    I had my evening bag, so I switched and transferred my wallet, my cell and a lipstick to the small envelope clutch. “Do either of you recognize these two men?” I asked as I passed them the photos of the two Cavannahs.
    They looked, then shook their heads.
    “What does it matter?” my mother asked. “You said the blackmailer was dead.”
    “He could have had an accomplice.”
    “Let’s not discuss it further,” Deacon suggested. “Is Liam meeting us here?”
    “He has an errand,” I explained. “He’ll meet us at the club. Ready?”
    “I have to change my cufflinks,” Deacon said. He went back to the guestroom.
    “You look lovely,” I told my mother.
    “Thank you. That’s a very pretty dress. If you enjoy wearing white before Memorial Day.”
    It was going to be a long night. There was a duffel bag by the door. Good, maybe Deacon was going back to his place, wherever that is.
    “Are you ladies ready?”
    Deacon picked up the bag.
    “Be careful with that,” my mother warned.
    “What is it?” I asked as my fingers lingered on the alarm pad.
    “My money,” she said.
    “You’re taking six-hundred thousand dollars to dinner?”
    “Deacon thought it was better if we kept the money close until I can call the bank in the morning.”
    “The morning is Sunday.”
    “I have private banking,” she explained.
    “It’s safe at the house. I have an alarm.”
    “So does the car,” Deacon said. “If someone should break-in to your house, they won’t get the cash.
    “He knows what he’s doing, Finley,” my mother insisted.
    “It will be fine with mine in the trunk.”
    Seemed stupid to me, but I wasn’t about to start an argument when I had to endure a minimum of two hours over dinner. It was just easier to get into the backseat with my mouth closed.
    My phone dinged so I took it from my bag and read the text from Liam. “It’s Deacon!”
    I was cofused, so I put my ear buds in and auto-dialed him. “What?”
    “Deacon is Gerald Cavanaugh.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    “The prints came back to Gerald Cavanaugh. Remember the DMV photo that was expired and the court case for fraud from ’83? All Deacon. Where are you?”
    “On our way to the country club.” I tried to keep the panic out of my voice. “Can you meet us there soon?”
    “On my way.”
    “Finley,” my mother admonished after I hung up. “It really is rude to take phone calls