"Yeah, it's too bad about his stroke."
"Ira had a stroke?" Mona grabbed her chest a second time.
"No, Mr. Sales did."
"Oh no, you're mistaken," she said confidently.
"I was with his wife this morning. She told me."
"She told you?" Mona's face froze.
"Yes, when we were over at the house."
Mona snorted. "Oh dear, I'm so sorry you had to meet her. Was it terrible for you?"
"It was unusual."
"I'll bet." Mona knew that silly Cassie must have been terrorized by a visit from the IRS and unable to deal with the stress, so she'd blurted out this ridiculous, transparent lie because she couldn't think of an effective strategy like Mona.
Schwab let out a laugh. "She called the police on me. Four squad cars, guns, and everything."
Mona erupted into tinkling laughter herself. "That's priceless. Cassie's a dear in her own way, but she's been a real financial drain. It's like a sickness, a big burden on him. Poor man. Mitch has been a real saint to put up with her." Mona raised her eyebrows. "A wife like that, Mr. Schwab, can ruin a man. But very sweet as a person."
"Are you telling me that Mr. Sales didn't have a stroke?"
Mona laughed again. "No, no. Of course not. This is the first I've heard of it. I just spoke to Cassie a few minutes ago, and she didn't mention a thing about it to me."
Mona took special note that there were brown spots on Charles Schwab's shirt cuffs. His hat looked as if it had fleas. The blue eyes that she'd thought were sweet only moments ago were marbles now. He was not thinking of making time with her.
"That's good news," he murmured.
"Poor Cassie, you really can't believe anything she says. If someone's not with her every minute, she forgets to take her medicine. It's very sad. Can I have Ira call you tomorrow?"
"No need. We have a meeting scheduled."
Mona thought she might just lead Schwab out to his car. "It's just that nobody who knows anything is here right now, and I have to-"
"That's no problem. I don't need anyone. I was just looking around, getting the lay of the land."
"I'm concerned that you're being ignored."
"No, no, not at all. I like to get the feel for a place and the people. Some people think it's absolutely all in the paper, but you'd be surprised how helpful impressions can be. You, for example, have been very helpful."
"I have? I'll walk you to your car," Mona said happily.
"Not with that ankle, you won't."
"No, it's fine, really. You know, you remind me of my first boyfriend. It's just amazing." Actually, the handsome Bruce had never given Mona the time of day, but she had loved him with all her heart. Probably still did. She gazed at Schwab. "He was the best-looking boy I ever met."
"No kidding." Charlie tipped his hat without losing his crooked grin.
"When you come back will you teach me about audits? I don't know a thing about the business side."
"I know. You're the concept person." He smiled. Clearly the man was very attracted to her.
Mona thought this encounter was going extremely well. What a break that Cassie had called the cops. Giving herself the benefit of the doubt here, even she couldn't have thought of a better stunt than that. Schwab grinned as they walked out into the parking lot, where he remarked, "You look like you're doing okay with that ankle."
"Oh, it hurts like mad, but what can you do? Hey, maybe I'll see you tomorrow. Does your wife also work for the IRS?"
Charlie IRS Schwab actually stopped short and looked at her as if no one in the world had ever asked him that question. Mona put her hand to her mouth in surprise. She couldn't believe she'd said such a thing. She never made mistakes like that.
Schwab didn't reply. He gave her a little wave, got into a beaten-up black Buick, and drove off. Trembling, Mona drew her own cell phone out of her pocket and dialed Mitch's number. This time Cassie didn't pick up.
CHAPTER 21
MONA KNEW SHE WAS ABOUT to have an asthma attack. Asthma attacks were terrifying . First the wheezing, then the throat closing up. Choking and gasping for air. Water filling her lungs and static filling her brain. Panic that she might have a heart attack, too. She could just see herself collapsing in the parking lot with no one there to save her. Well, maybe someone would save her. There were no windows in the warehouse, but surely someone would save her.
As a child, Mona had barely survived many asthma attacks. In fact, it was her first bad attack when she was only three that had caused her mother-who disappeared for long stretches of time-to take her to the hospital, leave her there, and not come back for her for nine whole years. During all those years, each time she had an attack her bitch of a grandmother (who was so rich) and her aunts (who didn't like her one bit and always hinted she was illegitimate) would scold her and tell her to get a grip until she was almost at death's door. They always let her get really sick before they'd finally bundle her up and take her to the emergency room. Death's door every time. No wonder she was insecure.
She felt so sad and lonely and panicked right now, she could hardly breathe. Mitch always knew what to do when she felt an attack coming on. He'd calm her right down, then he'd yell at someone to get her a warm drink and tell her a joke to distract her while they waited for it. Usually the joke was something about balls and chains, how he had two. Mitch was a big kidder, and she loved him so much that she hadn't had a single full-blown attack in all the years she'd known him. Only little mini ones that all had to do with Cassie.
As she stood in the gap in the parking lot made by Mitch's missing Mercedes, she scratched the first mosquito bite of the season. It was in the middle of her knee and starting to swell like a huge hive. Maybe it was a hive. She was an allergic person. She panted a little, experimenting with her wheeze and heartbeat. Her brain was as clear as Evian, however. Of course it made total sense. For Mitch not to call her, he had to be really sick. And since the first day they'd met, he'd never been too sick to call her.
She took control of her panic, found her car key, and unlocked the door of her little red Jaguar. She slid in, grimacing a little at the blistering heat of the tan leather seat and the sunbaked stale air. She fanned herself with the take-out menu of a Chinese restaurant she used when Mitch was at home with Cassie, and dialed Ira Mandel's number on the car phone.
"Local spies. Employ people from the local district."
Cissy, the receptionist, answered on the first ring. "Mandel and Blathar."
"Cissy, it's Mona. How are you doing, honey?"
"I'm doing just fine, Miss Whitman. He's not here right now."
"Who isn't there?"