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  Stealing the Moon & Stars

  A Jordan Welsh & Eddie Marino Novel

  Sally J. Smith

  &

  Jean Steffens

  Camel Press

  PO Box 70515

  Seattle, WA 98127

  For more information go to: www.Camelpress.com

  www.smithandsteffens.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously.

  Cover design by Sabrina Sun

  Stealing the Moon & Stars

  Copyright © 2014 by Sally J. Smith & Jean Steffens

  ISBN: 978-1-60381-983-1 (Trade Paper)

  ISBN: 978-1-60381-984-8 (eBook)

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2014933746

  Produced in the United States of America

  * * * * * *

  Acknowledgments

  We would like to acknowledge the hard work of the ladies at Camel Press: Catherine Treadgold and Jennifer McCord for their patience and excellent attention to detail, as well as Sabrina Sun whose cover design absolutely rocks. Thanks to our agent, Dawn Dowdle of Blue Ridge Literary Agency, for her persistence and tireless efforts.

  A special thanks goes out to Judy Starbuck, our Sister in Crime, whose perceptive early beta-read was instrumental in our rethinking subsequent drafts, and to Lori Kurtz-Larkin for her multiple reads—one is generous, three is above and beyond the call of duty.

  —Sally & Jean

  This book is for my friend and partner, Jean Steffens, who came to me at a difficult time and enlisted my creative talents. Thank you, Jean. You’re a good girl and an outstanding writing partner. And for Dale, whose love and support lift me higher than any woman has the right to go.

  —Sally

  This book would never have been completed without my partner Sally’s experience and creativity. She was there to encourage and drive me or I wouldn’t have stuck it out.

  I want to dedicate this book to Mike, whose long hours and hard work have given me the opportunity to achieve my dream of being a published author. Without his help, I wouldn’t have been able to do it.

  —Jean

  CHAPTER 1

  The huge number loomed over their heads like the Hindenburg.

  “Eight hundred thousand?” Jordan didn’t know what else to say except, “Wow. Really?”

  Nick Brenner, the agency’s newest client, was slow to reply. When he did, his voice was heavy with despair. “I’m sad to say you heard right. Over eight hundred thousand dollars are missing from the foundation accounts. Which is why we’ve come to you, to get it back. If you can’t get it back, at least halt the bleeding.” He stopped.

  In the quiet, Jordan became aware of a muffled sound she identified as Nick’s wife, Connie, struggling to keep from sobbing.

  Nick sighed. “We’ve heard Shea Investigations is the very soul of discretion, which is what we need. Discretion. Word of this can’t leak into the mainstream, at least not right away, not before we figure it out. The foundation relies almost exclusively on donations and even the hint of scandal … Well, I’m sure you understand.”

  “I do,” Jordan said. “This need for discretion would be why you came to a private firm instead of the police. We’ll comply with what you ask as long as possible, but eventually, law enforcement will need to be notified. That will result in public attention. It always does.”

  Nick nodded. The anxious glance he exchanged with his wife wasn’t lost on Jordan.

  Nick Brenner was lean and dishy in his Tommy Bahama shirt and Ferragamo loafers, but his good looks paled beside those of his wife.

  Connie Brenner dressed like a supermodel. She was dazzling, with a to-die-for figure, luminous white skin and shiny blonde hair.

  The Brenners were counted among the wealthiest couples in Scottsdale. Nick Brenner was renowned throughout Arizona for his business acumen, and Connie’s tireless work for various charities kept her on the society pages of Phoenix magazine. Their impressive assets and generous philanthropy were general knowledge valley-wide.

  But, holy moly, eight hundred thousand dollars! That was a lot, no matter how anyone looked at it. A thief would have to sport some serious cojones to steal that kind of money from anywhere, much less a charity. Burns my biscuits. Only bottom-feeding scum stole from sick kids. Something had to be done and Jordan was just the person to do it. One of the things she loved most about her job was having the chance to set things right.

  Jordan relied strictly on instinct when she dressed for work that morning. The Brenners’ situation called for a thoughtful approach. The Albert Nipon sapphire sheath and scallop-edged jacket her mother bought for her at Neiman Marcus was professional and business-like. Her long, auburn hair had been pulled back and pinned up in a loose knot on top of her head, conveying just the right amount of seriousness. She’d even found the perfect pair of Jimmy Choo kitten heels in her closet. Good move. She had remembered correctly. Nick Brenner’s height was nearly identical to hers at five feet ten. She wouldn’t be looking down at him in those shorter heels. Better not to tower over the prospective male clients.

  She doubted shorter women had to take these things into consideration when they dressed for work. No matter. If she got the job it would be time well spent.

  Jordan and Eddie had never had the opportunity to handle a case this big or this consequential. Bagging this case and bringing it to a successful conclusion could lift Shea Investigations and Security to the next level, but screwing it up could plunge the agency into obscurity. Still, Shea Investigations needed the Moon & Stars case and vice versa.

  “Thank you for coming to us, for giving us the chance to make this right. It’s an honor to be asked to help.” Jordan meant every word. Having grown up with Mary Welsh, Chicago’s queen bee of charity work, the urge to take care of those who can’t care for themselves had been ingrained in Jordan from birth.

  Before the Brenners arrived at her office that morning, Jordan had executed a basic, shallow background check on both Nick and Connie Brenner.

  The couple founded the Moon & Stars Children’s Cancer Foundation at the apex of their own personal tragedy. After their young son died of leukemia, they poured themselves into the work. The foundation found quick success and took in millions of dollars every year that was immediately invested in research and used to assist deserving families with sick children.

  The best thing the Brenners had going for them, at least in Jordan’s opinion, was that they had always foregone salaries and reimbursement for personal expenses. The foundation earned the maximum four stars from rating organizations and managed to deliver to the cause a nearly unheard of eighty-five to ninety-five percent of every dollar donated.

  The foundation was a beacon of shining hope in a sea of despair, and the thought of its light dimming even a little made Jordan sick to her stomach.

  “I have to tell you,” she continued, “what’s happened here bothers me more than I can say. It’s vile. We’ll get to the bottom of this. I’m speaking for my partner, Eddie Marino, and myself. You can count on us to bag the lowlife and mitigate both the loss and exposure as much as humanly possible.”

  Connie smiled. “We’re so relieved. Thank you.” She took a pristine white linen hanky out of her designer handbag and dabbed at her eyes. Then she blew her nose and honked like a goose.

  The sound tickled Jordan’s funny bone, but she hid
her amusement behind her hand. It wasn’t a good time to smile.

  When Nick spoke, his voice was tight with emotion. “You don’t know how comforting it is to find someone we can rely on, someone who understands our position, someone we can trust to maintain confidentiality.”

  Jordan weighed the discretion issue and played devil’s advocate.

  Keeping things quiet was a valid concern. Nick was right. The families who benefited from the foundation would suffer if word got out about the missing funds.

  But wasn’t it also true contributors had a right to know if there might be a chance their money wouldn’t end up in the right place?

  Either way, it was a moot point. Jordan had committed and would see it through. It would be tricky to stay on the tidy side of obstruction of justice and still maintain confidentiality while pursuing the culprit. A real balancing act. Both Jordan and Eddie were up to the task. They had walked a similar high-wire on several other cases.

  “Ryan Avery is our attorney.” Connie’s voice lost its quiver. Her silky tones were cultured. “He sent us here, said you were the folks to see. I also seem to remember him saying, ‘They’re the very best in the business,’ meaning you, of course.”

  Nick leaned forward. “We’ve known your mom and dad through various functions for years. They’re good people. We figured the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

  “Well, ” Jordan took pleasure in the compliment, “we do try hard around here.”

  Ryan Avery, the attorney common to Jordan and the Brenners, sent a good deal of business Jordan’s way, and the reason seemed always to be the same—their discretion, a notable commodity in the big money, small-town environs of Scottsdale, Arizona. This was the first case of any consequence he’d sent them. She made a mental note to buy Ryan a bottle of something really nice and maybe even kiss him soundly.

  “You’re a young woman, Jordan,” Nick began. “How did you get to be the principal in your own private investigating outfit?”

  How, indeed? “If I’m honest, some of the credit belongs to my mother.” Yeah, right. Mary O’Connell Welsh was a loving woman with many endearing traits. Her overbearing, controlling nature wasn’t one of them. In fact, that exasperating quality had driven Jordan across the country from Chicago to Arizona. “She encouraged me to strike out on my own.” More like making a run for the border. If I hadn’t left, I’d be institutionalized by now.

  “When I first moved here, I lived with my sister, Kate, who’d moved here a year before me.” Thank God for Katie and her good sense. She got out while the getting was good, before Mary alienated her. “In Chicago, I lived off income from my paintings.”

  “Of course,” Connie said. “We bought one of your landscapes at a fundraiser last year at the Catholic crisis center.”

  Jordan nodded. “Painting was my calm center.” Until the day Mother f’d it up for me. The gallery owner let it slip that Mary’s friends had bought Jordan’s paintings, every last one. What else could I do? So freakin’ embarrassed I couldn’t look anyone in the face, much less stay in town.

  “My sister’s place was burglarized and some of the items taken were family heirlooms our Grand-mère Marie left to us. They were exquisite, personal items she brought from France when she came to America as a war bride. Irreplaceable. My sister and I were heartbroken. The police had no leads and weren’t terribly motivated to recover our treasures.

  “We hired a detective firm that did what the police couldn’t. All the heirlooms were recovered as well as the majority of other personal items. Katie and I cried in relief.”

  Nick and Connie listened. They seemed genuinely interested.

  Jordan went on. “I was so impressed I applied for a job at the detective agency. Even though I had no experience in the field, they hired me.”

  The entry-level position put her in front of a keyboard doing research. “One specific assignment I was able to help with, a family seeking recovery of their deceased father’s war medals, showed me I could make a difference in people’s lives with this kind of work. I went to school, got my license and a few years later struck out on my own.”

  Nick nodded. “And you haven’t looked back since?”

  “Not once.” White lie. She’d looked back once or twice. Starting a business from scratch hadn’t been the piece of cake she’d hoped for. While she cringed with every withdrawal, she had to dip into her trust fund a few times to cover expenses if a needy client was unable to pay and the office lease came due. On those occasions, she had been swamped with doubt.

  Thank God cash flow and business in general had vastly improved since Eddie came on board, bringing added security clients with him.

  Her choice of career was still a sore spot with her parents—mostly Mary.

  But what did Jordan’s parents expect her to do?

  Jordan was a menace in the kitchen. So working in the family business, Welsh’s Steak & Chophouse, like her father and brother wasn’t an option. She was no good at organizing, glad-handing and schmoozing like her tireless mother, Mary, which left philanthropic causes off the table. Neither was Jordan qualified for social work—her sister Katie’s chosen profession. And while Jordan’s passion for painting was alive and thriving, her experience with the gallery in Chicago had soured her on making it her life’s work. Yet, she couldn’t just be idle. A nearly Puritanical work ethic drove her to make a living and contribute to society. Detective work turned out to be what she was good at. Damn good. Who knew?

  Her answers must have satisfied Nick. He smiled and slid a manila envelope across the desk. “I thought this might help you get started. It’s a list of our employees.”

  “Good. Jumpstart the investigation.” Jordan slipped the list from the envelope and glanced at the names.

  They talked a few minutes longer. Nick believed it was an inside job, but so far they hadn’t been able to identify any employees behind the scheme. “You know,” he said, “it was slick the way these guys used foundation purchase orders so the payables department would disperse funds straight out of the checking account.”

  “I truly hope it isn’t any of our people.” Connie fiddled with the heavy turquoise bangle on her wrist. “They’re all, well, just like family.” She lifted wistful blue eyes to her husband.

  He wrapped his hand around Connie’s fidgety fingers and stilled them. “Let’s leave that to Jordan and her partner. We need to stay out of the way and let them do their thing.”

  There seemed to be nothing further to add. They all stood and headed for the door. Jordan opened it for them and stepped aside so they could pass. “If it’s an inside job, every minute this crook goes unidentified leaves you vulnerable to another hit. I’d like to get started right away, if it’s all right with you.”

  “It’s definitely all right with us,” Nick said. “We couldn’t ask for more.”

  Jordan led them out into the lobby where petite Gina, Eddie’s nineteen-year-old niece and Shea Investigations’ front office manager, oversaw the signing of contracts and disclosure documents with all the no-nonsense regimen and staccato instructions of an army drill sergeant.

  The smile on Gina’s sweet face matched the one in her warm brown eyes. She flipped her ponytail then slipped signed copies of the papers into an envelope. “Now, Mr. and Mrs. Brenner, if you need anything, just give me a call. I’ll make sure it gets done.”

  Jordan rolled her eyes but actually found Gina’s sassy self-confidence charming.

  “Well, all right, Gina.” Nick seemed amused. “We’ll be sure to do that.”

  “Sorry,” Jordan said under her breath as Gina turned away. “She’s practically a genius at organization and computers, and we spoil her to keep the office running smoothly. I’m afraid we’ve created a monster.”

  “Not at all. She’s adorable,” Nick said.

  Jordan put her index finger to her lips. “Shush. She’ll hear you and get even more of a swelled head.” She opened the outside door. “I’ll drive over to the
foundation this afternoon.”

  Connie’s smile was warm. “Thank you, Jordan.”

  She walked out, but Nick stopped and turned back. “I almost forgot. There’s just one more thing. There will be an independent public audit of the foundation’s books in about eight weeks. We need to be able to explain this whole thing by then. Bound by fiduciary responsibility, we have to show we’ve acted in a timely manner in the best interests of the foundation. And, also important, if we determine it’s an employee, we can file against the employee dishonesty policy. It’s a chance we can recoup some of the money.”

  Eight weeks. No problem, at least Jordan hoped not. “If we can’t solve this in eight weeks, chances are it can’t be solved.”

  Nick didn’t respond right away. Uh-oh. Had she said too much? Did she sound obnoxious? He liked how cute little Gina wore her self-confidence, but maybe it wasn’t as appealing on someone more mature. Finally he smiled. “Conviction. I like that a lot.”

  She watched through the window as they walked across the parking lot to their Mercedes. They were a lovely, influential couple. A successful resolution to this case would be a real coup for the agency. Jordan rubbed her hands together in heady anticipation. A big case. She and Eddie so deserved it.

  Whether they knew it or not, the handsome pair had thrown down the gauntlet. Without hesitation, Jordan mentally reached down to pick it up. Mother always puts this attitude down to a contrary nature, but I like to think of it as being up for the challenge.

  A few minutes later, back at her desk, Jordan opened her MacBook and typed.