Читать книгу The Dryline - Jack Grubbs - Страница 28

Seventeen

Monday Afternoon,
February 1

San Antonio, Texas

Vic Bolton—at least, that was his name while in Texas—found the address and phone number via the Yahoo! browser. An hour later he pulled into the parking lot at the Red Tree Plaza in Windcrest on the northeast side of San Antonio. The small strip mall had seen better days. A beauty school had been taken over by Marshall’s, and behind blank facades, numerous units were vacant. The Children’s Medical Clinic, a Szechuan Chinese restaurant, a branch of the Gibraltar Bank, a check-cashing facility, and an insurance company still managed to scrape by… along with a small income tax company: Gardner Tax Consulting. Vic waited about five minutes until a sixtyish woman walked out of the office door with Taxes Need Not Be Taxing stenciled in coral-blue letters. Vic quickly exited the car and caught her just as she started to open the car door.

“Excuse me, ma’am.” He spoke pleasantly.

The woman turned around, clearly nervous and untrusting. He picked up on her nonverbal cues.

“I don’t mean to startle you, but I noticed you just came out of the Gardner Tax Office.” Vic smiled in an attempt to allay her fears. “I’m hunting for a tax consultant and I just wanted to know what you think about their services. I’ve lived in San Antonio a grand total of three weeks and need to find a good accountant.”

The woman gave a quick sigh of relief and did a complete turn-around. Not only did she feel secure about answering Vic’s question, she wanted to tell him the story of her life.

“Oh, they’re the best. We always get back much more than we think we should. My husband and I use her for both our personal and our business taxes.”

Vic asked, “You mentioned ‘her.’ Who is ‘her’?”

“Nancy. Nancy Gardner. She owns the business. Actually, I think it’s only her and a secretary. We heard about her from a friend and let me tell you…”

It took ten minutes for Vic to disengage from Elvina Ackerman and her life history. He finally succeeded and, in the process, ascertained that Nancy Gardner was not your average tax consultant. She was good—really good. So good, in fact, that she might be a little bit of a crook. At least he hoped so.

Vic spoke with four more customers. Their comments were identical. More money saved than they thought possible. She might be a Robin Hood sort of crook, thought Vic. I think we have something here.

Vic, new name and all, walked into the office just short of five o’clock.