J.A. Jance - Paradise Lost

PROLOGUE

Connie Haskell had just stepped out of the shower when she heard the phone ringing. Hoping desperately to hear Rons voice on the phone, she grabbed a towel and raced through the house, leaving a trail of wet footprints on the worn carpeting of the bedroom and hallway. For two weeks she had carried the cordless phone with her wherever she went, but when she had gone to the bathroom to shower that morning, she had forgotten somehow and left the phone sitting beside her empty coffee cup on the kitchen table.

By the time shereached the kitchen, the machine had already picked up the call. Hello, Mrs.Haskell. This is Ken Wilson at First Bank. The disembodied voice of Conniesprivate banker echoed eerily across the Saltillo tile in an otherwise silentkitchen. As soon as she heard the callers voice and knew it wasnt her husbands,Connie didnt bother to pick up the receiver. It was the same thing she haddone with all the other calls that had come in during this awful time. She hadsat, a virtual prisoner in her own home, waiting the other shoe to drop. Butthis call from her banker probably wasnt it.

Im calling aboutyour checking account, Ken Wilson continued. As of this morning, itsseriously overdrawn. Ive paid the two outstanding checks that showed up todayas well as one from yesterday, but I need you to come in as soon as possibleand make a deposit. If youre out of town, please call me so we can make someother arrangement to cover the overdraft. I believe you have my number, but incase you dont, here it is.

As Ken Wilson recitedhis direct phone number, Connie slipped unhearing onto a nearby kitchen stool.In all the years she had handled her parents affairspaying bills and writingchecks after her father had been incapacitated by that first crippling strokeand then for her mother after Stephen Richardsons deathin all that time,Connie had never once bounced a check. She had written the checks and balancedthe checkbooks each month under Stephens watchful and highly critical eye.Because of stroke-induced aphasia, her father had been able to do nothing butshake his head, roll his eyes, and spit out an occasional Stupid. But Conniehad persevered. She had done the task month after month for years. After hermarriage to Ron, when he had volunteered to take over the bill-paying, she hadbeen only too happy to relinquish that onerous duty. And why not? Ron was anaccountant, wasnt he? Dealing with numbers was what CPAs did.

Except Ron had beengone for two weeks nowAWOL. For two long, agonizing weeks there had been noword to Connie. No telephone call. No letter. She hadnt reported him missingbe-cause she was ashamed and afraid. Ashamed because other people had beenright about hirer and shed been wrong, and afraid she might learn that therewas another woman involved. The woman was bound to be far younger and tar better-lookingthan Constance Marie Richardson Haskell. She was unable to delude herself intothinking there was a chance of foul play. No, Connie had made a point ofchecking Rons carefully organized side of the closet. Her missing husband hadsimply packed one of his roll-aboard suitcases with a selection of slacks and custom-made,monogrammed shirts, and left.

The main reason Conniehad kept silent about his absence was that she didnt want to have to face upto all those people who had told her so. And they had told her soinspades. Any number of friends and relations had tried, both subtly and not sosubtly, to explain that they thought Connie was making a mistake in marryingso soon after her mothers death. Connies older sister, Maggiesomeone whonever suffered from a need to keep her opinions to herselfhad been by far themost outspoken.

If you ask me, RonHaskells nothing but a gold-digging no-account, Maggie MacFerson had said. Heworked for Peabody and Peabody for six months before Mother died. He kneweverything about Mothers financial affairs, and now he knows everything aboutyours. He also knows how naive you are, and hes taking you for a ride. Forhim, youre nothing but a meal ticket.

We fell in love,Connie had declared hotly, as if that one fact alone should resolve all herolder sisters concerns. Besides, Rons resigning from the firm, so there cantbe any question of conflict of interest.

In response, MaggieMacFerson had blown an exasperated plume of smoke in the air. She shook herhead and rolled her eyes. When she did that, she looked so much like StephenRichardson that Connie had expected to hear her fathers familiar pronouncementof Stupid!

We all have to makeour own mistakes, I suppose, Maggie said with a resigned sigh. At least do yourselfa favor and get a prenup agreement.

That was the one andonly time the two sisters had discussed Ron Haskell. Naturally, Connie hadntfollowed Maggies advice. She hadnt wanted to ask for a prenuptial agreementbecause she was afraid if she mentioned it, Ron might think she didnt trusthim, which she didabsolutely and with all the lovesick fervor of a forty-two-year-oldwoman who had never fallen in love before, not even once.

But now, sitting alonein the house on Southeast Encanto Drivea house that had once belonged toStephen and Claudia Richardson but that now belonged to Connie and RonHaskellshe suddenly felt sick to her stomach. What if Maggie had been rightabout Ron? What if his disappearance had nothing to do with another woman andeverything to do with money? What if, in the end, that was all Ron had wantedfrom Connieher money?

As soon as the thoughtsurfaced, Connie shook her still-dripping hair and pushed that whole demeaningnotion aside. Surely that couldnt be. And whatever was going on at the bankwas all a simple mistake of some kind. Maybe there had been a computer glitch,a virus or something. Those happened, didnt they? Or else maybe Ron had merelyforgotten to transfer money from one of the investment accounts into thehousehold billpaying account.

By then, the answeringmachine had clicked off, leaving the light blinking to say there was a message,which Connie had already heard and had no need to hear again. The solution wasperfectly simple. All Connie had to do was call Ken Wilson back and tell himto make the necessary transfer. Once she did that, every-thing would be fine.Connie could return to her lonely vigil of waiting for Icon himself to call orfor some police officer somewhere to call and say that Ron was dead and ask herto come and identify the body.

Taking a deep breath, Conniegrabbed the phone. She punched in *69 and let the phone redial Ken Wilsonsnumber. I le answered on the second ring. Ken Wilson here.

Ken, its Connie,she said, keeping her tone brisk and businesslike. Connie Haskell. Sorry Imissed your call. I was in the shower. By the time I found the phone, your callhad already gone to the machine. I cant imagine whats going on with thechecking account. Ron is out of town at the moment. He must have forgotten tomake a transfer. Id really appreciate it if you could just handle that forusthe transfer, I mean. Im not sure what checks are outstanding, so I dontknow exactly how much is needed.

Which account do youwant to use to transfer funds? Ken asked.

Connie didnt like theguarded way he said that. It sounded wary and ominous. You know, she said. Wealways transfer out of that one investment account. I cant remember the numberexactly. I think its nine-four-something.

That would be accountnumber nine-four, three-three-three, two-six-two. Is that right?

Connie could barelycontain her relief. Thats right, she breathed. Im sure thats the one.

But that account wasclosed two months ago, Ken Wilson returned.

Suddenly Connie felther pulse pounding in her throat. Closed? she stammered. It was?

Why, yes. I thoughtyou knew that. Mr. Haskell came in and closed all your accounts except for thechecking. He said that you had decided to go with another banking institution,but since you had all the automatic withdrawals scheduled front that account, hedleave .just that one as is for the time being. He closed all the investmentaccounts, as well as taking all the CDs. I advised against it, of course,especially the CDs, but ...