Free Phantom Angel by David Handler Page A

Long Trail. “How did Farnell pay her?”
    â€œCash. Boso had the thirty thou in her briefcase, along with an additional ten thou security deposit.”
    â€œAnd Gretchen handed over the keys to a multimillion dollar house just like that?”
    â€œShe’s been an East Hampton realtor for twelve years. She’s dealt with rock stars, pro athletes, super models. As far as she’s concerned, this was business as usual.”
    â€œWhat about references, a signed lease agreement…?”
    â€œI’m guessing Boso schmeared her an extra couple of grand to bypass the usual reference check. And it so happens that Farnell did sign a lease agreement. Boso delivered it to him. He signed it and mailed it back to Gretchen. She showed it to me when we got back to her office. I saw the man’s signature.”
    â€œI wish we had a Xerox of that lease.”
    â€œWe do,” Mom assured me, smiling faintly.
    â€œGod, you’re good.”
    â€œHe provided Gretchen with his residential and business addresses here in the city. I stopped off at his apartment building on East 72nd when I got back. There’s no R. J. Farnell living there. And the doorman’s never heard of him. And his office address in lower Manhattan—39 Broadway, suite 704—is a fake. There’s no suite 704 in that building.” Mom set her notepad aside and took another sip of her drink. “I asked around on Lily Pond Lane. Talked to the UPS man, the landscapers, pool guys. No one remembers seeing a man living in that house last month. They do remember seeing the girl. Men never forget a girl like that. Especially one who likes to sun herself by the pool in the nude. The gardener next door couldn’t believe his eyes. But he only recalls seeing Boso there by herself. I checked with the gourmet grocers and wine shops and so on. No one made any deliveries out there. Miss Beausoleil returned the keys at the end of the month. Gretchen told me the house was in perfect condition, although it wouldn’t surprise me at all if that ten thou security deposit ended up in Gretchen’s pocket, too. We’re all a bit corrupt, you know.”
    â€œWho paid the utility bills?”
    â€œThey never got switched over to a new account. Gretchen told me they usually aren’t for short-term luxury rentals.”
    â€œSo R. J. Farnell, alleged hedge fund hotshot, tells Morrie he wants to bankroll Wuthering Heights to the tune of twelve mil,” I said, mulling it over. “Morrie goes out to R.J.’s estate in East Hampton and comes away convinced that R.J. is his lifeline. But it sounds as if R.J., or whoever he really is, rented the place for the sole purpose of using it that one afternoon to scam Morrie. Agreed?”
    â€œAgreed,” Mom said, nodding her head.
    â€œThis guy is a pro, because Morrie Frankel is no dummy. Crazed and desperate, yes. A sap? No.”
    â€œMorrie was already circling the drain on his own,” Mom pointed out. “Why not just stand back and let him go down? Why go to so much trouble?”
    â€œTo humiliate him,” I reflected, drinking down the last of my IPA.
    Mom studied me, her brow creasing. “You look tired, Bunny. You should go up to bed. But first give your mother a kiss.”
    I got up off the couch and gave her a peck on the forehead. “How about you?”
    â€œI’ll lock up soon. I just want to finish inputting my notes.” She swiveled around to face her laptop again. “Myron hates it that Rita’s here day and night. He’s making her miserable.”
    â€œThat’s not possible. Dentists named Myron don’t make beautiful women miserable.”
    â€œIf you ask me, Rita was much better off when she was with you.”
    â€œShe wasn’t ‘with’ me, Mom. We were just two friends helping each other out. Rita needs a nice, normal, age-appropriate guy like Myron.”
    â€œThe trouble with