Lizzie described Theresa’s experience with the staff and the facility. The following slide was a split screen; one photo was of Theresa’s mother and Dottie, where the ring was prominent. The photo next to it was a close-up of the hand of the woman who was sitting in a wheelchair.
“The rings look identical,” Myra said calmly.
“I know that style was immensely popular, but what are the odds that a woman who resembles Theresa’s mother, obviously decades older, would be wearing a ring like that? In the same place?” Lizzie went on.
“Alright. Let’s assume the woman in the wheelchair is, in fact, Dottie. Why do you suppose they told your friend she passed away?” Charles posed a logical question. “And why the ruse?”
“That is the big question: why?” Lizzie agreed. “When Theresa offered to make the arrangements, they hustled her out the door. Oh, I almost forgot to mention, she was run off the road the day before when she first visited the facility.”
“Wait a minute!” Annie was incredulous. “Theresa was run off the road after her visit?”
“Correct. A dump truck sideswiped her, and she ran into a pole.”
“Is she alright?” Myra asked with deep concern. It wouldn’t be the first time she encountered such nefarious deeds.
“She got a little bruised from the airbag, but the car had to be towed.”
“What about a police report? Who was the driver?” Myra’s voice was stern.
“There were no markings on the truck, and Theresa didn’t think there was a license plate.”
“So where are the police with the investigation?”
“Unfortunately, the CCTV on the perimeter was down at the time. They claim it was due to an overheated transformer.”
“How coincidental,” Annie blurted sardonically.
“Well, we all agree that there are no such things as coincidences,” Myra added.
“Where is your friend now?” Charles asked.
“She’s still in Arizona. I told her to sit tight until she heard back from me.”
Myra interjected. “Annie and I couldn’t find any information about the corporation on their website.”
“Exactly. When I spoke to Theresa, she wanted to know if there had been any complaints lodged against them, and I couldn’t find anything, including ownership. Articles of incorporation are buried inside layers and layers of shell companies and offshore accounts.” Lizzie pulled up a flowchart that led nowhere.
“Sounds a bit dodgy, eh?” Charles directed his comment to his cohorts.
“First thing is to peel away the layers and determine who is behind this extravagant operation,” Fergus concluded.
“It may take us a day or so, depending on who is at the helm”—Charles took a deep breath—“especially if they are rich and powerful.”
“Well, so are we.” Annie rolled her chair away from the table and propped her rhinestone-clad cowgirl boots on the edge. She crossed her ankles to punctuate her sentence. The three women slapped one another a high-five.
Fergus gave Charles a nod. “Let’s get to work, mate.”
“Didn’t someone promise dessert?” Charles chuckled.
“I’ll get you boys some pie,” Myra said, and gave them a tight smile.
“Only one piece for Fergus,” Annie proclaimed. She got up from her chair, leaned over and patted his stomach, saluted Lady Justice, and headed up to the kitchen. Myra followed, and Lizzie stayed behind in case the two men had additional questions.
Myra went into the pantry and produced two freshly made pies—apple and blueberry.
“Don’t tell me you’ve got your hand in the kitchen now?” Annie asked suspiciously.
“Only when I’m pinching Charles’s cheeks.”
