Fool Me Once

Maya had been walking through the parking lot, still blinking away the onslaught of the light change, when she spotted it. At first it meant nothing. She was seeing it at a great distance, and there were plenty of them on the road.

Plenty of red Buick Veranos.

This one was parked in the far corner of the lot, half hidden between a fence and a Cadillac Escalade, a big SUV. She looked back toward the door. Meathead was checking out her ass. Big surprise. She waved and started toward the red vehicle.

She needed to see if the license plate matched.

Along the top of the fence, Maya could see surveillance cameras. But so what? Would anyone be watching right now, and if so what would be the harm? She had a plan of sorts. In one of her very rare smart moves recently-not wanting to get caught unprepared again-she’d bought several GPS trackers at the mall. The first was, of course, on Hector’s truck.

A second was in her purse, ready to go.

The plan was simple and obvious. First, make sure she had the right car by checking the license plate. Second, walk past the red Buick and slap the GPS tracker under the bumper.

The second part might provide a little bit of a problem. The car was parked in the corner, against a fence, and a casual stroll past it, if spotted, would be awkward at best. Still, the lot was quiet. The few people who pulled in parked on the other side, and while most people might not have any reason to be embarrassed about being here, they weren’t exactly puffing out their chests with pride about it either.

The license plate started to come into view, and yes, it was the same car.

WTC Limited. A holding company, maybe for Leather and Lace?

“Wrong way.”

It was Meathead. She turned. He moved right next to her. She forced up a smile.

“Sorry?”

“That’s the employee parking area.”

“Oh,” Maya said. “Is it? I’m sorry. I’m so ditzy sometimes.” She tried a “tee-hee, aren’t I a ditz” laugh. “I parked in the wrong place. Or maybe I wanted the job so badly-”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Pardon?”

He pointed with his beefy finger back the other way. “You parked over there. On the other side.”

“Oh, did I? I’m such an airhead sometimes.”

She stood there. He stood there.

“We don’t let no one into the employee area,” he said. “Company policy. See, some of the guys, they’ll come out and they’ll wait by a dancer’s car. You know what I mean? Or they’ll try to get the license plate and call her. We gotta escort the girls out here sometimes so they can avoid the creepy guys. You get my drift?”

“Yes, but I’m not a creepy guy.”

“No, ma’am, you certainly are not.”

She stood there. He stood there.

“Come on,” he said. “I’ll escort you to your car.”

* * *

There was one of those giant warehouse stores across the street and maybe a hundred yards down the road. Maya parked in the lot, positioning her car so she could stake out the employee lot of Leather and Lace. Her hope was that someone would eventually get into the red Buick Verano and then she could follow him.

And then what?

One step at a time.

But what about all that nonsense about looking several steps down the road when you make a plan?

She didn’t know. Preparedness was all well and good, but there was also a little something called improvisation. Her next move would be dependent on where that red Buick went. If, say, the car stopped for the night at a residence, then maybe her move would be to figure out who lived at that house.

A strip club gets a fairly varied clientele in dress, if not gender. There were the blue-collar guys in work boots and jeans. There were business suits. There were guys in cargo shorts and T-shirts. There was even a group of guys in golf clothes, looking like they just came off the links. Hey, maybe the food was good, who knew?

An hour passed. Four people left the employee area of the lot; three entered. None involved the red Buick Verano parked against the fence.

Maya had time to sort through all the recent developments, but time wasn’t helping her. She didn’t need time. She needed more information.

The red Buick was leased by a company called WTC Limited. Was that something the Burketts held? Caroline had talked about payouts to and from offshore accounts and anonymous companies. Could WTC Limited be something like that? Had Claire known the driver of the red Buick Verano? Had Joe?

Maya and Joe had several joint accounts. She opened them on her phone app and brought up the credit charge charges. Had Joe visited Leather and Lace? If so, it wasn’t showing up on the statements. Then again, would Joe be that stupid? Didn’t places like Leather and Lace know that prying wives might check their husbands’ credit card charges and, knowing Lulu’s desire for discretion, use another name?

Maybe WTC Limited?

With new hope, she searched for any charge to WTC Limited. Nothing. The club was in Carlstadt, New Jersey. She searched for any charges made to that city. Again nothing.