Page 113 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
After all, she had led an S.E.C. agent to my family’s cottage the day of the F.B.I.-S.E.C. raid on the Winthrop Estate. I’d only seen the back of his head, but he wore a windbreaker with S.E.C. printed on it.
Either way, Dick Kremer, the private investigator Delilah hired for me, needed to deliver, or I would level the state searching for answers.
Dick popped a sugar-free Jolly Rancher into his mouth, and I already knew I would dislike him and anything he had to say. I pulled out my phone and shot a text to Delilah.
Nash: Where did you find this guy? Last I checked, Craigslist shut down personal ads.
Delilah: Haling Cove Flea Market. He came with my used tea set. Be gentle. Neither is refundable.
The pad of Dick’s thumb swiped at his nose. He clutched the chair handles with that same finger before drawing his eyes away from my penthouse view. “Emery Winthrop has taken out, like, a ton of student loans. Before this, she had a job at a diner in Alabama near Clifton University’s campus.”
Fika hadn’t told me that.
Fika hadn’t told me a lot of things.
Dick continued, “She used all of that diner money to pay a company called Atgaila. It’s Lithuanian for penance. The company is registered under her name in Lithuania, and other than that, it’s like it doesn’t exist.”
Student loans.
Diner job.
Shell company.
Penance.
I had been given a puzzle with a million pieces, and the biggest one had been hidden. What I did know was, the word penance implied she had done something wrong to atone for. I latched onto that like fingers gripping the edge of a cliff.
“What does the company do?” I finally asked.
“Dunno.” Dick scratched his belly, the one he had shoved into an Ed Hardy tee two sizes too small, the gym rat muscles peeking out in a way that was very much obscene.
I rarely raised my voice. Speaking threats at a level volume always worked better than shouting them, but I upped mine a notch or two, because Dick was that type of person. The type that mistook aggression for strength. “How much is it worth?”
He withered in front of me. The two-hundred-and-seventy-pound boxer in the distressed True Religion douche jeans and hot pink Tap Out briefs peeking out actually withered in front of me. “I don’t know.”
“Where is its headquarters?”
“Um, I don’t know?”
I wanted to strangle him. “Dick—”
“It’s Richard.”
“Dick, take a break from your Jamba Juice green smoothies, extra-strength steroids, and failed super heavyweight career, and teach your concussed ass how to do its fucking job.”
First Fika.
Now Dick.
Un-fucking-believable.
Competence, it turned out, was the Lochness Monster—it never existed in the first place, but people sure as hell liked to say it did.
I pointed to the penthouse door. “Get out.”
“But—”
Sliding Emery’s wallet out of my pocket, I tossed a few hundred-dollar bills at Dick’s stunned face. “Buy yourself a new fucking brain, and get out.”
