Read Online The Sweetheart Racket by Cheryl Ann Smith - Free Book Online Page B

reputation.
    Even if she was trouble.
    â€œShe’s not feeling well today. Let me see if she’ll see you. Wait here.” She closed the door to a crack and strolled away, with a squish-squish sound of her shoes, on cream-and-gray marble. Without hesitation, Taryn pushed the large panel open and quietly hurried off behind her.
    Rick followed them through a large white foyer, where what he thought looked like an original Warhol hung, and down a long hallway to a sunny room at the back of the house. The room was big and open, with floor-to-ceiling windows. Fancy artwork covered the pale yellow walls and added color to the space.
    Oddly, there was a darker yellow rectangular spot over the fireplace mantel where he assumed a painting had once hung. On a white couch with her back to them was a woman with dark brown hair, her face turned up toward the fireplace.
    Rick shifted and his boot made a scuffing sound.
    The maid spun, realizing they were right behind her, and scowled. “I told you to wait outside,” she whispered to Taryn, who shrugged innocently. Since the woman obviously sensed Taryn was staying put, she sighed dramatically and said, “Mrs. Clark, you have visitors.”
    A loud sniff followed as Mrs. Clark unfolded from the couch, turned, and faced them.
    Rick grimaced.

Chapter 5
    T aryn managed not to react, outwardly anyway, though she may have winced inwardly. Mrs. Clark was a mess; a huge understatement, for lack of a better word. Her curly brown hair frizzed out like springs around her head, having escaped the bun someone had carefully constructed at the nape of her neck. Mascara smudged around her watery eyes in spots of black goo with a few streaks of the product making a southern dash down her face.
    Her lower lip trembled as she dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief, making the damage worse. A sob caught in her throat, leading to a trio of dainty hiccups.
    â€œOh, dear,” she said, visibly distressed, and patted the couch springs with her free hand. “I wasn’t expecting visitors. I must be a sight.”
    The maid scowled at Taryn, as if she’d somehow failed her mistress. Taryn was contrite. They should have waited outside.
    â€œYou look fine, Mrs. Clark,” Taryn said, her contrition continuing with the lie. She didn’t know Mrs. Clark’s full story but understood what it felt like to marry the wrong man. “We should have called first. But this was urgent.”
    The woman was in her seventies, widowed after a long marriage, and probably lonely; a common theme among Brinkman’s victims. She’d been a perfect mark for a charmer like Joe Clark/Teddy Brinkman/etc. From her expensive white pantsuit to the pearls around her neck, she was a walking invitation for a rip-off by a skilled con man.
    â€œWe came to talk to you about Joe Clark,” Rick said gently.
    A sob shook Jane Clark. She sat back on the couch. “That bastard.”
    â€œI’ll bring tea.” The maid hurried off.
    Taryn gave her a minute to collect herself before they joined her, Taryn on the couch and Rick in the nearby chair. He shifted uncomfortably in the spindly, vintage Victorian era piece, looking very out of place. She suspected he was more the ratty-recliner-and-a-beer sort of guy.
    Taryn explained who they were. “The reason we’re here is that we’re looking for the man you know as Joe Clark in connection to another case. You were not his only victim. There were other women he married and conned over many years.”
    Mrs. Clark sniffed into her monogramed handkerchief. This woman bore no resemblance to the photo Summer had found and texted to Taryn, off a Who’s Who of Toledo online profile. That Mrs. Clark had looked years younger than her birth age, was well dressed, and had ruled as grand dame of her local society and its cultural epicenter. Heck, she even knew the governor.
    â€œI’m not surprised,” Mrs. Clark said,