Oakwood Clothier, Memphis TN
"I hate your dog," Dean grumbled, "So damn much."
He flinched as his crotch measurement was taken and scowled at the smirk on Sam's face.
"Old news," Sam said. "But you have to admit she's right. The upper echelon can spot cheap off-the-rack a block away."
"But we don't know if we can even get in to see the queen bee," Dean groused, "And this is gonna burn a damn card right here."
"Eggs, omelets. Hey, look at it this way. If nothing bleeds or slimes on you, you'll come out of this with one hell of a sharp suit, regardless."
"My heart's all aflutter. Where is your little bitch, anyway?"
The tailor shot him a disapproving glance. Dean glared at him until the man scurried away.
"She's out getting her own party clothes."
"Great, just great," Dean muttered under his breath. "That'll smoke another one."
Bensonville, AR
Gathering enough information on the wedding planner to create passable aliases was scary-easy. After that, it was all making a convincing phone call and suiting up.
June let out a low wolf-whistle when she stepped out of the bathroom. "Oh my word," she laughed, and fanned herself with a hand. "I feel like I've walked into one of my fondest GQ fantasies!"
Sam laughed and straightened his tie. "Thanks, but keep it to yourself for now."
Dean grinned and struck a runway pose, then gave her a wink and an exaggerated up and down. "You clean up pretty good yourself, Trouble."
When she wore clothes at all, they were sack-like pieces of crap she could duck out of in two seconds flat, so most of the time she looked like an orphan from a convent that took poverty vows seriously. Dean was certain she wouldn't be shifting out of this get-up without some serious lead time. "You gonna be able to walk in those stilts?"
"Watch me," she tossed over her shoulder as she sashayed towards the door.
Yeah. He was watching. Sam, he realized, wasn't.
"You awake?" He jerked a thumb to where June performed a lady-like dip to pick up her portfolio, turning that skirt into a spectacle illegal in the bible belt.
Sam glanced that way and then gave him a shrug. "Which of us is going to take lead over there?"
"That dog's unplugged a few cables in your gourd," Dean muttered under his breath.
Sam just waited, lips thinned.
"You," Dean conceded after a few silent seconds. "You came closer than I ever have to white lace and promises."
And that ill-timed crack did not help the atmosphere one bit, he realized way too late as Sam nodded and stalked out like some pissed off lesser Armani, June clicking along in his wake, struggling to keep up in her dangerous heels.
Even though he brought up the rear, he didn't enjoy it now.
-oOo-
"Open sesame," Dean murmured as the heavy, ornate gates of the Taberson estate swung open for Baby in all her caranuba-waxed, lovingly buffed glory.
"Impressive," Sam commented, lounging back in his seat.
"Wow. My high-school wasn't that big," June said
Sam chuckled. "Sweetheart, your whole town isn't this big."
"True," she nodded.
"Still don't see why we couldn't have done this straight-up as Feds," Dean groused.
"Because if we had, instead of getting past the gate, we'd find ourselves wading through a pack of top-drawer legal sharks backed up by the district attorney and probably the governor, too." Sam glanced at him with a sly grin. "Quit whinging over the suits."
"I feel like I'm wearing hundred-dollar bills on my back," Dean grumbled.
"You are, sugar. That's kinda the whole point," June laughed.
Dean pulled around to the rear of the mansion, to the service entrance and parking. Even that was swanky. It didn't surprise anyone that the entrance door swung open for them as they approached and they were ushered in by some minor functionary.
A few billion dollars bought an impressive array of security measures. Dean made what he hoped were covert observations as they were shepherded through the home to Miriam Taberson's inner sanctum. He was certain Sam was doing the same. No matter how good their mental notes, he was pretty sure they missed some stuff.
Still, the best security in the world is only as good as the meatware, and the meatware in this case had been easily spoofed by their faked credentials and Sam's imperious, prissy persona. They were dropped off just inside a reception area roughly the size of a basketball court. The Holy of Holies was obviously beyond a set of imperial double doors, guarded by a dark-haired woman behind an ornate desk, who eyed them with a quelling professional assessment.
"Mr. Hartmann, Mr. Garner, Ms. Larkin," the woman nodded in acknowledgment as they approached her altar. "May I see your identifications, please?"
Her voice was a sensual, Hebrew-flavored caress. You can take the girl out of Mossad...
"I'm sorry, but Ms. Taberson has been detained," she informed them as she handed their credentials back. "Please, make yourselves comfortable."
She sent them to wait across the room where a grouping of plush sofas and chairs huddled together, probably for warmth in this well-heeled barn of a room. He and Sam put their heads together over gourmet coffee and Sam's portfolio of 'wedding plans,' getting their stories lined up and comparing notes on the security they'd spotted.
June rose after a moment and approached the receptionist with all her charm shining. Dean listened with half an ear as June chatted her up. By the time she got around to asking questions about Miriam's shifty shifter, Dean realized June was flirting outrageously, and a stealthy glance over his shoulder showed him that Dimona- they were on first name basis now- was flirting back just as blatantly. Whatever, it was working.
By the time Miriam buzzed for them, June had the fiance's name, age, phone number, place of employment and for all he knew, the bastard's cup size. He was pretty sure she also had Dimona's phone number as well, but he wasn't about to ask about that either.
"Ms. Taberson will see you now," the receptionist called across the room to them, and led them all over a few more acres of carpet so thick you could sprain an ankle in the stuff. When she opened the thick inner office door, Dean wasn't sure if they were supposed to shake hands, genuflect or give a full salaam.
The woman pacing in front of a desk roughly the size of the Impala held up a restraining hand, her focus obviously on her earpiece. "I accept your apologies, but they won't make that shipment arrive on the loading dock by the deadline. You find another source or we'll make other arrangements."
She tugged the earpiece off and laid it on her desk, tucking a displaced strand of hair back into order as she turned. Dean decided that the woman, for all her wealth, did not photograph well. The real deal was an intriguing mix of mismatched features that went from homely to striking and all points in between with every change of angle.
"Gentlemen," she sighed. "Please tell me that you can handle whatever this crisis is on your own." She gestured to the plush chairs in front of her desk, and leaned her hips back against the edge. "Please, be comfortable."
He and Sam sat down, and June perched herself on an overgrown ottoman slightly behind Sam, the perfectly inconspicuous assistant's assistant.
"Actually, we can, Ms. Taberson- but the crisis you're facing is much more serious than a problem with legal capacity of the venue," Sam began, leaning forward slightly.
Miriam closed her eyes. "The church has burned down, hasn't it?"
"No, nothing's wrong with the church," Sam assured her. "But we have information regarding your fiance and his true motives toward you that you need to act on immediately."
"Information on Douglas? What are you talking about? Who are you, really?"
Miriam straightened from her half-sit, her voice going sharp.
Sam glanced at Dean and they both reached into their breast pockets as if the move was rehearsed. "I'm Agent Hartman," Sam told her, "This is my partner Agent Garner, FBI Fraud Division."
"Agent Larkin, ma'am," June spoke up and flashed her own badge. "Forensics division."
"Forensics and fraud?" Miriam gasped. "Exactly what is this about, Agents?"
"Ms. Taberson, we have strong reason to suspect that Douglas L. Forsyth is the perpetrator of a large number of fraudulent marriages for financial gain."
"All ending in the suspected murder of his unfortunate spouse, and an illegally plundered estate," Dean added.
Miriam went white and sank back onto the edge of her desk again. "Douglas? No- no- I don't believe you. There must be some terrible mistake! Douglas has never been married! Believe me, Agents, I performed my own quite thorough background check before he and I became serious. I'm not some foolish young woman with stars in her eyes, blind to reality."
"I'm sure you're not, Ms. Taberson," Sam assured her. "But this criminal is a consummate professional. He's made an entire career of preying on women as intelligent and cautious as yourself, and has covered his tracks almost completely."
"Until now," Dean added. "He's over-reached himself, going for you. Become a little too public for his own security.
"We request that you delay your wedding while we conduct our investigation," Sam told her in his mildest tone.
Miriam drew herself together, despite the lingering paleness around her mouth. "No. That is not possible. I refuse to change my plans."
"A few days, a couple of weeks at the most, that's all we're asking," Dean said. "By then we'll have enough tangible evidence to clear Mr. Forsyth or to make an arrest."
"I know Douglas, Agents. I trust the sources who gathered information on his identity and background. I want to see proof of these allegations before I say one more word without my lawyers present."
"Agent Larkin?" Dean said. June rose and moved to Miriam's side.
"Ms. Taberson, we aren't at liberty to disclose details of an ongoing investigation, but if you feel it necessary to double-check our credentials you may speak to our Regional Director." She handed the woman a business card with a number that would ring one of the eleven or twelve phones hanging in Bobby's kitchen.
Miriam dropped it onto the desk as if it were slimy. "Then we are at an impasse, gentlemen, Ms. Larkin. Unless I'm subpoenaed or you can produce convincing evidence of your allegations, I have nothing further to say to you."
She moved around behind her desk and pushed a button. "Dimona, see that these Agents are escorted off the property. They are not to return without a warrant."
She looked up as the office door opened behind them. "Forgive me for not wishing you good day."