did not take lightly. You’ve heard stories about ill-advised amateur wizards who invoke supernatural entities that invariably turn on them, and my phone call tip was like summoning a powerful and uncontrollable demon. But the IRS was the only thing I knew that was scary enough to take down the Smile Syndicate.
The men in suits locked down the entire building and held a perimeter. No one was allowed in or out. A larger crowd began to gather, watching the commotion. I bought coffee for us from a cart on the corner.
I assumed that the auditors would find some way to track down Angela Drake in Tasmania—if indeed that was where she’d gone . . . if she was even still alive. They would take her statement, get her to turn state’s evidence on Missy Goodfellow. She would also be a helpful witness in Irwyn’s trial.
The three of us watched as a group of clerical golems marched out of Smile HQ dressed in business suits, white shirts, and black ties. They had been hired as office workers from Irwyn Goodfellow’s own Adopt-a-Golem program, and now the ten clay figures walked in perfect single file, each carrying a banker’s box full of confiscated financial records.
“The Smile Syndicate is finished,” I said. “I don’t know what’ll happen to all those souvenir shops. And I hope Stu ends up running the Goblin Tavern on his own. We’ll have to wait and see what happens.”
Sheyenne asked, “If Angela purchased those hearts and souls from the pawnshop using Smile Syndicate funds, then won’t all the Mason jars be considered company assets during the tax proceedings?”
“If this turns out as I suspect, they’ll have to liquidate the company in order to pay back taxes,” Robin said. “I’ll file an immediate claim on behalf of the original owners of the hearts and souls. We’ll arrange to buy them all back.”
“And what about his charity work?” I asked.
“Even though his reasons might have been corrupt, Irwyn knew what he was doing in the philanthropy department. Fortunately, all of his finances were locked into the nonprofit, shielded from Smile Syndicate operations. They should be immune from confiscation, no matter what the IRS finds in the audit.” Robin had been looking into the matter since Irwyn’s arrest. She had decided to join MLDW as a full member and legal advisor; Mrs. Saldana was the head of the board of directors and would be taking over the charities.
We stood there for hours, watching the proceedings and never growing bored. Yes, it was turning out to be a good day.
Now, when I take on a case, the job is all about getting the client what he or she wants, to solve a mystery or wrap up a crime. Gloating isn’t supposed to enter into it, but I did feel a warm glow of satisfaction as we watched the squad of agents herding goldenrod-haired Missy, her hands cuffed behind her back, forcing her to do the perp walk to one of their unmarked vehicles. I took a few photos for my scrapbook.
As the men in suits pushed her toward the car, Missy’s eyes met mine, and a flash of understanding crossed her face. Her lip curled down in vengeful fury—not at all like the smile the company sported on their logo. She tried to shout something at me, but one of the agents pushed her head down and strongly encouraged her into the backseat of the car.
Even though Missy couldn’t hear me, I said, “We hope your day is a sunny one.”
CHAPTER 52
The ghost of Alphonse Wheeler escaped from prison, to no one’s surprise.
Instead of simply drifting between the bars or walking through the solid walls, the ghost bank robber went the extra mile and arranged a daring escape, as his reputation required. He had obtained a jeweler’s file from somewhere (rumor had it that he slipped out one night and stole it from a hardware store, then sneaked it back into the prison) and patiently cut through the bars of a high window. He tied sheets together so he could drop down, even though he could just as easily float, then threw one of the sheets over a guard and tied him up so he could have enough time to slip away.
My suspicion was that Wheeler just wanted the attention, and he played by the rules to maintain his cachet of notoriety. During his bank-robbing career, Wheeler had been quite a showman, so his escape from prison couldn’t be as simple as floating