Undeterred, the caller continued. “Hey, bébé, I was thinkin’, if you could just wire me a few hundred, I could be dere tomorrow. I got all da papers, but I need to fill it up wit gas and have it cleaned up pretty for you. You been such an angel puttin’ up with dese silly delays. Mebbe I’ll get my cards back, and we can go out and eat somewhere fine. You pick a place, okay?”
Hmmm, wire fraud and not bank fraud. They’d need someone on the other end to spot him. Except he probably wasn’t actually in Atlanta, was he? How did that work?
Pris followed Roark’s finger on the laptop screen. “I don’t know how to wire money. But my daughter showed me how to transfer money with my phone. Do you have a phone?”
The drawling voice hesitated—looking for the right reply in his script? Little old ladies probably didn’t often offer to have funds transferred directly from their bank account. How was Roark planning on making that work?
Most phone money apps required a phone number or an email address or both. Would they work with a burner app? Possibly, since the apps accepted texts just like any other number. But the guy would have to add the money app to whatever phone he was using...
Ariel listened to the rest of the exchange but her mind was already traveling to the ways the money could be traced from whatever bank account they meant to use to a phone app to a real phone and bank account...
Pris had reached the final “I can’t wait to see you” before Ariel tuned back in again.
“And anyone believes this crook will actually show up after he receives his money?” Ariel asked angrily, then shrank back against the door when both Pris and Roark turned to stare at her.
Had she really said all that?
Before she could flee, Roark handed her his phone. “Victims do, all the time. You can buy the scripts online or watch YouTube videos on how to do it. And the police files are filled with reports of senior citizens or lonely widowers or whatnot, losing thousands toboyfriendsorgirlfriendsthey’ve never met, or on prizes they never receive. This scumbag is working both.”
“Mom’s already sent the prize company hundreds for fees and delivery, and I’m not sure what all.” Pris crumbled a pellet from Mitch Turtle’s supply. “They probably have her credit card number and bank account by now. I talked to the bank, and they can’t do anything unless she puts me on her account, which she won’t do.”
Ariel looked to Roark, hoping he’d understand her unspoken question. She didn’t know how she’d managed the first one. She’d shocked even herself when the words had poured out with her anger.
He cocked his head. “It’s possible they haven’t hacked her account. I think we’re dealing with phone grifters, not hackers. It’s a slower process draining it out a few hundred at a time. I’m gonna guess dat...” He grimaced and corrected himself. “I’m guessing the final step will be to take a check in exchange for the ‘papers.’ Then they’ll wash the ink, put in an amount they’ve established she has in the account, and clean her out with a forged amount.”
“Mama just collected insurance money on a truck that got stolen. She hasn’t been able to drive in ages, so she didn’t plan on buying a new one. I was trying to persuade her to go to the eye doctor with the money.” Pris stood up. “What do we do now?”
“Once I trace the call,youwill alert the bank, the police, and maybe the FBI. I’m not doing anything. I don’t exist. I’m one of Evie’s ghosts, invisible.” Roark shut his laptop and stood, towering over Pris on the lower step. “Best keep Ariel out of it too. She’s no kind of witness. I’ll send a few bucks through that app. With luck, when he doesn’t get what he wants, dirtbag will quit calling, for a while.”
Deflated, Ariel watched Pris ride off. They weren’t going to catch the crook?
Roark nodded at the door, waiting politely for her to go in first. She noticed her head came above his shoulder. And then, in embarrassment, she ducked inside.
“We’ll know whether the call comes from Nigeria or New Orleans shortly. That’s my da’s photo, but that wasn’t him on the phone. They have a bunch of scum feeding those lines to a bunch of people who will never see that Cadillac.”
He let the door close behind her, leaving her alone in the front room.
She didn’t want to be left alone after that news. Hisdad?
Fifteen
“It wasn’t heart failure,”the low voice sobbed through the phone.
Handling six leashes as she walked her clients’ dogs around Witch Hill, Evie juggled the phone closer to her ear. She definitely needed to invest in ear thingies. “Stacey? Are you all right?”
“They’re saying Granny committedsuicide!” Stacey’s voice was a little louder but still tear-filled.
Remembering Granny’s bouncy ghost, Evie was going to say that was a big NO. “You have the coroner’s report?”
“After the robbery, the police had it expedited. She died of ethylene glycol poisoning. I looked it up, and I remember her telling me she thought she had a touch of flu. I was still in New York so I told her to call her doctor right away, with her heart condition, she shouldn’t take chances.” She hiccupped on a sob.
“All right, I’m taking notes. Do you know if she called her doctor?” Evie had nothing to take notes on, but her memory was good. She turned the dogs back home and jogged to urge them on. Poison flu? How did this compute?
“I don’t know. The police are searching the apartment again, but I’ve cleaned everything out, and now they’re looking at me with suspicion. She could have suffered for days!”
Evie was no medical expert, but bouncy Marlene’s spirit didn’t appear to have suffered too much. Shouldn’t ghosts reflect the means of their death somehow? The last one she’d encountered had been in a fury at being shot. Granny ought to at least be angry or ill or something. Or maybe not.
Someone hadkilledthat smart old lady? “I thought you said suicide? Why would the police be looking at you with suspicion?”