Distrust

by Lisa Jackson

  The note made Ashley uneasy. There was no telling what Claud had done after calling Ashley this morning. She couldn’t help but wonder if her cousin had pumped John for information after getting no satisfaction from her.

  After heating the homemade chowder in the microwave, Ashley dialed John’s number at home and let the soup cool.

  “Hello?”

  “John? This is Ashley.”

  There was a sigh of relief on the other end of the connection. “Are you back in town?” John’s voice sounded anxious, almost fearful.

  “Just got in.”

  “At your father’s house?”

  “Yes. Why—”

  “Good! I’ll be there in about half an hour.”

  “Slow down,” Ashley demanded, unnerved by the calm man’s uncharacteristic impatience. Her palms were beginning to sweat. There was something about the conversation that made her more than slightly uneasy. “What’s going on?”

  “I’ll talk to you when I get there.” With that, he hung up the phone and Ashley was left to consider the unusual conversation.

  “What the devil?” she wondered, as she sat down at the kitchen table. Her mind was racing when she tested the soup with the tip of her tongue, decided it was the right temperature and began eating the delicious meal of hot chowder and warm biscuits.

  Had John discovered something out of the ordinary in the financial reports? What was it that made him sound so worried and concerned? It was almost as if he were frightened of something . . . or someone.

  “You’re beginning to sound as paranoid as Trevor,” she admonished herself, smiling slightly at the rugged image her willing mind conjured.

  Ashley finished her soup and placed the bowl in the dishwasher just as the doorbell rang. She walked to the front door, opened it and ushered in a very agitated John Ellis.

  “What’s going on?” she asked as he shed his coat and tossed it carelessly over a bent arm of the wooden hall tree near the door.

  “That’s what I want to know.”

  They walked into the formal living room and John stalked from one end of the elegantly furnished room to the other.

  “Did you find something suspicious in the books?” Ashley asked, her throat beginning to constrict. Something was wrong—very wrong. John was usually a calm individual known for his attention to detail and sound judgment.

  Tonight his face was flushed and his eyes darted nervously from Ashley to the door, the window and back to Ashley again. Several times he rotated his head, as if to relieve the tension in his neck.

  “I don’t know—” He held his hands, palms up, in her direction. He seemed genuinely confused.

  “Take your time,” Ashley insisted. “Have a seat and let me get you a cup of coffee, or brandy?”

  “Anything.” He looked as if he didn’t care one way or the other. He was restless and uneasy.

  She combined the two drinks and gave him a black cup of coffee laced with brandy. He took the mug, drank a long swallow, and then settled back in one of the stiff chairs near the windows.

  Ashley took a seat on the corner of the couch and sipped her coffee. “Okay, so tell me what’s happening?”

  “I don’t know, but I don’t like it. Claud is suspicious.”

  “About the reports I requested to be sent to Bend?” Ashley guessed, knowing the calculating nature of her cousin. It was too bad Claud was so well qualified for his job; his sharp mind and legal background made him indispensable.

  “Right. For the last few days he’s been questioning me—make that grilling me.”

  Ashley nodded. Her features showed none of her inner distress. “What’d you tell him?”

  John rolled his myopic eyes toward the ceiling. “Nothing, I think. He asked why there were so many printouts and I said that you wanted to go over the books and get a feel for running the company. Claud told me that you could never possibly need that much paper, and I told him that I was just sending you what you requested. He didn’t like it much, especially when I said that I would do the same thing, if I had inherited a company the size of Stephens Timber and it had been several years since I’d actually worked in the business.”

  Ashley let out a long, ragged breath. “Did Claud buy your story?”

  Shrugging his shoulders, John shook his head. “Who knows? I told him that I was working on this special audit with you and Claud told me that I was to report directly to him. If there were any discrepancies in the books, he wanted to know about them—pronto.”

  Ashley frowned and tossed her hair over her shoulder as she rubbed her chin. “Did you—report to him?”

  John seemed genuinely disappointed. “Of course not.”

  “Good.” The tension in Ashley’s muscles relaxed slightly. “So what did you find?”

  “Most everything is pretty cut-and-dried,” he replied, smiling at his own unintentional pun.

  “Except?”

  “Except for a couple of things.” John drained his cup, reached for his briefcase and snapped it open. He handed a few crisp sheets of paper to Ashley. They were copies of invoices to the Watkins Mill in Molalla.

  Ashley’s heart nearly stopped beating when she saw the price Claud had charged for the timber and the date on the invoice. “This . . . this happened last June?” she asked, her throat constricting. The transaction occurred only a few weeks before the bribery charges were made against Trevor.

  “Right. And the price of the timber is way off—ridiculously low. At first I thought it had to be a computer error. We were selling rough timber at three times that much.”

  “But you changed your mind?” Ashley prodded, barely daring to breathe. Something in John’s mannerisms told her to brace herself.

  John adjusted his glasses and scowled. “Yes. It just didn’t make any sense to me.”

  “But now it does?” Ashley was almost afraid to ask.

  “No. I know how it happened, I just don’t understand why.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He seemed to hesitate before he reached into his briefcase and extracted some gray photocopies of invoices, which he handed to Ashley. “I did some more checking. Claud was the one who gave the mill the price break, but he had your father’s approval.”

  Ashley let out a shuddering sigh. “You’re sure about that?”

  “Got the memo right here.” He handed the next incriminating piece of paper to her. Ashley accepted it with trembling fingers.

  “Dear Lord,” she whispered as she recognized her father’s bold scrawl.

  “What’s this all about?” John asked.

  “I’m not really sure,” she replied. “But I’m afraid it means trouble—big trouble.”

  “I thought so.” The young accountant rose and paced around the room. “l’m not too crazy about being in the middle of this,” John admitted, “whatever the hell it is.” He regarded his employer intently. “I thought at first that this might just be a power struggle between you and Claud. But there’s more to it than that, isn’t there?”

  “I think so.”

  “Does any part of it have to do with Trevor Daniels?” The question sent a cold shock wave through Ashley.

  “Why would you think that?”

  “I just put two and two together.” John’s mouth slanted into a sarcastic grin. “That’s my job.”

  “And did you end up getting four?”

  “I think so.” John held up one finger. “Claud’s been furious ever since you took over.” Another finger was raised. “You ask me for all of these reports. The only discrepancy concerns the Watkins Mill. Beau Watkins, the owner, was the one who was involved in that bribery mess with Daniels last summer, wasn’t he?”

  Silently, Ashley nodded.

  “Right.” He held up a third finger. “Claud’s been storming around the office ranting about Daniels’s bid for the Senate. It’s really a sore spot with him. Therefore—”

  “You deduced that Trevor was involved.”

  “Bingo.” The fourth f
inger straightened.

  Ashley couldn’t lie. She was asking too much of John to expect him to follow her blindly. “Trevor’s convinced that there are shady dealings within the company.”

  “That’s hardly today’s news.”

  “I know.” Ashley sighed. “But he thinks that Claud would go to any lengths to ruin his chances in the senatorial race.”

  “What lengths?” John’s expression was grim.

  Ashley shrugged indifferently, though the skin was stretched tightly over her cheekbones and her stomach was knotting painfully. “Bribery, sabotage . . .”

  “Attempted murder?”

  “He implied as much,” Ashley admitted.

  John ran unsteady hands over his chin. “I can’t believe that Claud would be involved in anything like that.”

  “Not only Claud, but my father as well.”

  “No way!” But the pale accountant didn’t seem convinced.

  “I have to prove that they’re innocent.”

  John looked at the incriminating memo and invoices. “I only hope we can.”

  “If we can’t, then we’ll have to face up to the problem, won’t we?” Ashley asked the stricken young man.

  “Nothing else to do.”

  “Good. Then we’re both of the same opinion.” She strode across the room and stared out at the black drizzly night. The city lights of downtown Portland twinkled in the distance. “What I want you to do is request a leave of absence. Use any excuse you want to, maybe a medical reason, too much stress on the job, that sort of thing. Then you can come here and work. You’ll be paid just the same, and you can work without Claud staring over your shoulder.”

  “Just in case we find something incriminating.”

  “Exactly.”

  John took in a deep breath before cracking a nervous smile. “All right,” he agreed.

  Ashley smiled. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

  “Why not? Because it might get dangerous?”

  She sobered. “I don’t think so. At least I hope not. If I really thought there were any danger involved, I wouldn’t ask you to be a part of this. It’s just that there aren’t many people I can trust at the company.”

  “I know. And I like being one of the few.”

  “I do appreciate it, John.”

  The accountant smiled. “Then keep it in mind the next time I’m up for a raise.”

  Ashley laughed. “It’s a deal.”

  John gathered his coat and briefcase and left a few minutes later.

  A thousand questions filled Ashley’s mind. Was Claud involved in a plan, as Trevor had claimed, to keep him out of the primary in May? And what about the accident and bribery charges? Could Claud or Lazarus have been part of such a deadly scheme?

  Ashley picked up her suitcases and began to trudge up the stairs. What about the disappearance of Robert Daniels? All these years Trevor had maintained that Lazarus had been involved in a plot which had led to Robert’s . . . Ashley shuddered. If Robert Daniels wasn’t dead, why had he abandoned his family? And where was he now?

  “I’m too tired to think about any of this,” she told herself as she reached the upper floor, deposited her bags in her room and went into the adjoining bath. She turned on the water to the sunken tub and began removing her clothes.

  Could all of the wicked rumors be true? Had she hidden her head in the sand to avoid facing the truth about her father? She stared at her image in the mirror. She was a mature woman today, worldly wise, slightly cynical, and she wasn’t afraid to face up to the truth. She only wished that she had been wiser when she was younger and hadn’t been so blindly trusting of her father or Trevor.

  After peeling off her clothes and pinning her hair loosely on her head, she settled into the hot tub and moaned as the water covered her body. “Dear Lord, what a mess,” she whispered to herself. Closing her eyes, she wondered vaguely where Trevor was, and with whom.

  * * *

  Trevor paced between the cedar walls of the Lambert cabin like a caged animal. He alternately stared out the window and glanced at the telephone. The argument with Ashley this morning had been a mistake and all day long he had half expected Ashley to call or drive over seeking amends.

  Maybe that was asking too much of her. If he knew anything about that woman it was that she had inherited her father’s stubborn pride.

  His hands clenched and relaxed at his sides as he swore, walked across the room and picked up the telephone. He dialed the number of Ashley’s cabin angrily and waited with impatience as the flat rings indicated that Ashley wasn’t there.

  “Answer it,” he ground out, desperation taking hold of him. All day he had tried to convince himself that what he had overheard this morning had been innocent. If Ashley had wanted to deceive him, she wouldn’t have taken the chance to speak with Claud.

  But Claud had called her.

  “You’re making a mountain out of a molehill,” he told himself as he replaced the receiver and took a long drink from his warm bourbon.

  Then why had she left? It wasn’t like Ashley to run away. She’d only done it once before and that was because he had asked her to wait for him. That time she had run to another man and married him. His fingers clenched around the short glass and the cold taste of deception rose in his throat.

  He finished his drink and set the empty glass on the table. His lips had tightened over his teeth when he dialed the phone again. This time there was an answer.

  “Hello?”

  “I’m on my way back to the valley.”

  “About time,” Everett replied. “You missed a couple of Christmas parties that could have been feathers in your cap.”

  “Give the governor my regrets.”

  “Already done.” There was a slight hesitation in Everett’s voice. “Did you accomplish what you set out to?”

  Trevor’s smile was grim and filled with self-mockery. “No.”

  The statement should have put Everett’s worried mind at ease. It didn’t. The campaign manager came directly to the point. “So what are you going to do about Stephens Timber?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “And Ashley?”

  “I wish I knew.”

  “I hope you come up with some better answers before you start campaigning in earnest, my friend.”

  “I will.”

  “Then you didn’t find anything out about your accident or the bribery charges?”

  “No—not yet.”

  The reply sounded ominous to Everett. “Then, forget them. At least for now.”

  “A little difficult to do,” Trevor stated, rubbing the bandage over his abdomen with his free hand.

  “Concentrate on the election.”

  “I am.”

  “Good.” Everett let out a relieved sigh.

  “You worry too much.”

  “With you, it’s a full-time job. When will you be back?”

  Trevor’s eyes narrowed as he stared out the window at the darkness. “Tonight.”

  “Call me when you get in. I’ll meet you at the house.”

  “See you then.” Trevor hung up feeling suddenly very old and incredibly tired. He raked his fingers through his coarse hair and sat on the edge of a recliner positioned near the windows. What if Ashley was coming back to the cabin? What if she had only gone out for the day—shopping, or to clear her head. What if she was, now, at this very moment, returning?

  “You’re a fool,” he muttered under his breath, “a damned fool!” Once again he reached for the phone.

  * * *

  Everything was going as planned. John Ellis had requested a three-week medical leave, which Ashley had granted. Claud had muttered unhappily when he heard that the head of the accounting department was taking an unscheduled leave of absence, but hadn’t made too big a deal about it.

  “Why now?” Claud had grumbled.

  “Because he’s ill—stomach problems. Probably too much stress on the job,” Ashley had answered with a patient smile,
though her throat constricted with the lie.

  “Lousy timing, if you ask me,” Claud had pointed out. “Year-end is always a bitch for the accounting department. Ellis couldn’t have picked a worse time if he’d tried.”

  “Give the man a break, for crying out loud. He’ll be back soon. I’m sure that the rest of the staff is perfectly capable of pulling his weight, at least for a couple of weeks.”

  Claud had glared unhappily at Ashley for a few uncomfortable minutes. Then, with a sound of disgust, he had snapped open the morning edition of his favorite financial journal and turned his attention back to an article dealing with mining rights.

  Ashley, displaying professional aplomb despite the fact that her knees were shaking, turned on an elevated heel and walked briskly out of Claud’s office. Deception had always been difficult for her, even with her slightly underhanded cousin. It had been difficult hiding the fact that John Ellis was working at her house in the West Hills. So far, no one knew that he was there other than Ashley, John’s wife and Mrs. Deveraux, who were all sworn to secrecy.

  This cloak-and-dagger business will be my undoing, she thought ruefully as she entered her own suite of offices. I’m just not cut out to be a spy.

  She sat down wearily in the chair her father had occupied for so many years, closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. The nagging headache behind her eyelids began to throb.

  In the last week, neither she nor John had found any other incriminating evidence against either Claud or Lazarus. Even if her father had been involved with Beau Watkins of the Watkins Lumber Mill in Molalla, that didn’t necessarily mean that he instigated the bribery charges. So far, the evidence was only circumstantial at best.

  But the invoices represented the first set of concrete facts indicating that Trevor’s charges against her family might be more than the idle speculation of a wronged son.

  Thoughts of Trevor, his eyes narrowed suspiciously and his chin set in ruthless determination, invaded her mind. His charges against her father and Claud couldn’t be ignored. What about the spraying of the pesticide near Springfield? Did Lazarus understand the health hazards involved and then just go ahead with the spraying, neglecting the welfare of the public? Ashley couldn’t find it in her heart to believe that her father would do anything so cruel. Though not a particularly warm individual, her father had taken care of her when Enora, Ashley’s mother, had died.