“You’ll find them everywhere,” he had said. “They’re like vultures that prey on everyone from lottery winners, to the elderly, to the lonely, to the ambitious, and to the vulnerable. Many people who get ripped off are then too embarrassed to report it. They think they should have been smarter. Big Hollywood celebrities get duped by investment advisers. People with less money get involved in pyramid schemes that collapse around them. It’s bad out there, and these scam artists, when cornered, can be very dangerous. They lash out…”
The slide show displayed grainy photos of just a few of these people in action.
Yes, Regan would have loved this, Nora thought. What a shame.
“Mrs. Reilly?”
Nora turned away from the food table and smiled. “Yes?”
A rather imposing, breathless woman, with her hair swept up in a bun and a notebook in her hand, dropped her purse on the floor. “I’m Mary Ruffner, a reporter with the New York World. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about the conference.”
“Of course.” Nora led her to a table.
“Everything happens at once. My editor wants me to run over to Gramercy Park to the Settlers’ Club. Some guy who just got sprung from jail is filming a movie there, and the rumor is that someone was murdered in the club last night.” Mary laughed mirthlessly. “As long as he doesn’t expect me to spend the night there. I write about arts and entertainment.”
Nora’s stomach took a dive as her smile faded.
“Anything wrong, Mrs. Reilly?”
“No,” Nora said.
“Your daughter’s here too, isn’t she?”
“She’s in town.”
“I know that. Her picture was in our paper this morning.”
Now it was Nora’s turn to laugh mirthlessly.
“Is she at the convention?” Mary Ruffner continued.
“Actually, she’s working,” Nora said.
“On a case?”
“Well, yes, she’s working in New York, but I’m not at liberty to say on what.”
“I hope I get to interview her before the weekend’s over,” Mary said as she pulled the cap off her pen with her teeth.
Something tells me you will, Nora thought. For better or worse, something tells me you will.
20
Lydia sat propped up on one of her love seats, cordless phone in hand, calling all her lovelorn pups who had been present the night before. There had been nineteen of them. Not bad, she decided. She’d been having three parties a week since Valentine’s Day, and as an introductory offer, her “clients” had only had to pay twenty-five dollars a shot if they’d bought a package of four.
She had to admit she felt like she was stealing from some of them. Like the man who wore sandals with his suit and seemed to end every sentence with the phrase “and stuff like that.” Or the fortyish woman who hung on to her Snoopy purse all night, as though it were a security blanket. Actually, Lydia thought, it’s too bad those two didn’t hook up. There should be someone for everyone out there.
By the time she had finished making her calls, talking to some and leaving messages for others, ten had said they’d be glad to come by, a couple had told her they wanted their money back, and three more said they’d prefer to meet a new batch of people.
“Why would I want to come back tonight?” one guy had said. “Nobody there was my type. Isn’t the club’s big anniversary party going to have new people at it?”
“Yes,” Lydia had answered optimistically.
“I’ll see you then.”
After he hung up, Lydia had added his name to her list of those who wouldn’t be in attendance. She’d give the list to Regan later.
Lydia felt suddenly unsettled. What if it was someone in this group who had stolen the diamonds? She was in the business of welcoming strangers into her home. She’d invested her money in a business that could actually be dangerous. She never did background checks on people who came to her parties. How could she?
There were so many creeps out there. She’d met enough of them in her thirty-eight years of being single. She wanted her business to be a happy one. She wanted Meaningful Connections to bring love into people’s lives in New York City. She wanted to boast the most marriages of any dating service.
Lydia looked at her watch. She wished Maldwin would get back soon. It would be at least another hour.
Her phone rang. She pressed the button and answered in a cheerful tone. “Meaningful Connections.”
“ Lydia, I want to come to your parties.”
Lydia ’s face flushed. “Burkhard, no. I told you I don’t want to see you anymore.”
“You can’t keep me away.”
“Yes I can.”
“I love you, Lydia.”
“No you don’t.” Lydia pictured her recent boyfriend, who at first seemed so impressive. It didn’t take long to realize that behind the one expensive suit he owned, there was nothing there. He took Lydia for granted, then when she dissed him, he hounded her. The guy had no job, no employment record-it was as if he appeared out of thin air.
“I’m going to join the club.”
“Burkhard, please, just go away.”
“I always get what I want,” he said in a tone that, if it weren’t so scary, would have been pathetic, like that of a spoiled child.
“You can’t come to my parties.”
“Then I’ll see you at the anniversary party. And I want to get a picture taken with you, Lydia. I know the press will be there. I’m sure they’d be interested to know how you make fun of all your clients.”
“I do not!” Lydia shouted, but the phone clicked in her ear.
“Why did I ever have to meet him?” Lydia screamed as she threw the phone across the room. She felt as if she were about to throw up. No one would want to sign up for a dating service if they thought the owner was unsympathetic. Or if they thought
