The Time Travelling Taxman Series Box Set

by Rachel Ford

  “Doing that with me. I had a lot of fun. Thank you, babe.”

  He grinned. “I did too, Nance.” And the fact was, he meant it. He had had fun. Despite it being wildly out of his comfort zone, he was still having fun. “Thanks for talking me into it.”

  “Careful, you’ll only encourage me.”

  “Hey,” he said suddenly, “I want to take a picture. You know, a selfie.”

  She laughed at his odd articulation of the word. “Alright, old man. Let’s take a self-ie.”

  They did – in fact, he took several. Then he scrolled through until he found one that he really liked. He wouldn’t say he cared for his own representation in any of the pictures. Then again, he never liked his own pictures. But there was an easiness to his manner now that had been missing from his earlier, stiff poses. What particularly caught his eye, though, was the twinkle in Nancy’s eyes and the dimples in her cheeks as she smiled.

  “There,” he said, “this one’s perfect.”

  Nancy glanced over his shoulder and groaned. “I look like a dork.”

  “You look gorgeous,” he corrected.

  “Look at that goofy smile.”

  “Gorgeous smile, you mean.” He brought up his social media app, and tapped through to upload it. “Just competed in the cosplay couples costume contest with Nancy Abbot,” he wrote, tagging her profile. “Most beautiful woman on or off the stage.”

  Nancy cringed when she saw the alert that she’d been tagged pop up on her screen. “Oh no. You didn’t upload that, did you?”

  “Of course I did.”

  She groaned, unlocking her phone to bring up the post. Then, though, she blushed. “Oh God,” she said. “All my friends are going to see that.”

  He grinned. “Yes. Yes, they are. Just like mine are seeing me in Vulcan ears. And at least I’m telling the truth.”

  She shook her head, but wrapped an arm around him affectionately. “You’re either blind or crazy, Alfred Favero.”

  “Crazy about you.” He held her gaze, and for a moment they stood unmoving. He could feel the rush of blood in his ears, hear the thunder of his pulse in his temples. The truth was, he was crazy about her. He’d never felt about anyone the way he felt about Nancy Abbot. And as he stared into her eyes, the rest of the room seemed to disappear. He tried to find his voice, but it was gone too.

  She smiled softly and said, “I’m crazy about you too, Alfred.” And then, drawn by the sounds of another couple coming backstage, she glanced away. The spell was broken; the rest of the room came back into view.

  And he felt, despite the warmth of her arms around him, that he’d missed an opportunity, a moment that he shouldn’t have let slip by. He hugged her to him, and tried to process the reeling of his thoughts.

  He didn’t make much headway, though. His mind was in too much of a daze. Soon enough, the winners were announced. Three couples would go onto the finals, where all the subcategories would compete for the grand prize. He and Nancy weren’t among them.

  She smiled. “I’m not surprised. There were great costumes here. Much better than ours.”

  “If I was one of the judges,” he declared obstinately. “I would have voted for you.”

  “Then I’m glad you’re not one of the judges,” she teased. “You want to stick around for the rest of the contest? We may be able to find seats. Or you want to head to the party?”

  This, of course, brought the case to the forefront of the taxman’s mind. He remembered the Nancy who had visited him from the future, and her warning. He remembered his promise not to attend the masquerade. “Actually, Nance,” he said, “I’m a little peopled out. I’d much rather take it easy tonight.”

  “We could go for a little while,” she suggested. “Half an hour?”

  “I’d really rather not, babe.”

  She nodded. “Alright.” She was disappointed, he could see clearly. But she smiled. “Fair enough. You’ve been a good sport all day. I’ll let you off the hook on this one.”

  “We could try that new chess set.”

  Nancy laughed. “You want to skip a party to play chess?”

  He nodded. “Any day of any week.”

  She laughed again. “Alright, Mr. Favero. We’ll play chess.” Then, she grinned suggestively and nudged him. “But only if we can play some Hnefatafl afterwards.”

  He felt his cheeks flush. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

  “Probably not,” she admitted. “What do you say? Deal?”

  He grinned. “Deal. Of course.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Josh had texted Alfred several times, but the taxman didn’t check his phone until after Nancy was asleep. The first text read, “Are you sure this guy’s our perp?” Then, “Favero, dammit, answer me. You sure this guy’s the suspect?”

  Alfred yawned. “Pretty sure,” he wrote. “Why?”

  “Because he hasn’t even gone near the party. Future Nance said that’s where you got knifed, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Then how can Barret be our perp?”

  “What’s he been doing?”

  “Mostly? Making out with this guy.” Josh sent a picture of Barret and another man. The data developer seemed to be seated at a table, staring with besotted eyes at a man across from him in a red, white and blue superhero costume.

  “Who is that?”

  “A David somebody. I’ve heard him call him Dave, but haven’t heard the last name yet.”

  “Maybe he’s an accomplice.”

  “Unless he’s boning the help, I don’t think so.”

  “What?”

  “Did you miss the part where I said they’ve been making out all night?”

  Alfred sighed. He wasn’t in the mood for Josh’s sarcasm. “How does that preclude them being in cahoots?”

  “Two reasons. The first, I could no more see this guy as an assassin than I could you. Second, he’s shown no interest in anything other than Captain Patriot there.”

  The taxman frowned at the first comment, but asked only, “Captain Patriot?”

  “Dave Whoever. That’s his costume.”

  “Oh.”

  “They disappeared into their room like two hours ago. And I’m telling you, this guy definitely didn’t have murder on his mind.”

  Alfred frowned. “Well, I changed the timeline when I decided not to go to the party. He must have changed his plans.”

  Ellipses points indicating that Josh was typing appeared for several moments. But, when the message came, it said only, “Fine. I hope you’re right, Alfred.”

  The taxman rolled his eyes, though, and set his phone aside. Of course he was right. Barret fit all the particulars. He was a shoo-in for their suspect, and being amorously engaged for the evening had exactly zero bearing on that assessment.

  Thus satisfied on the point, Alfred closed his eyes, wrapped an arm around Nance, and went to sleep.

  Nancy’s alarm sounded bright and early, and Alfred stumbled for the coffee maker in their room. The coffee the hotel left out wasn’t great, but it was coffee, and in the moment that was the primary concern.

  He grabbed his phone absently as the brewer sputtered away, and saw that he had twenty-seven notifications. They were mostly from the picture he’d uploaded the night before. He had over eighty reactions on it, which for half a second surprised him – that was more reactions than he had friends and connections on the account. Then he realized that they were mostly Nancy’s friends, who had been drawn because he’d tagged her in the post.

  Still, the comments were all variations of “nice picture” and “you guys look great,” and they put a smile on his face. Even Director Caspersen had commented, saying, “Great picture!”

  Nancy, meanwhile, yawned and stretched. “I think I’m going to take my shower,” she decided. “Then we can get some breakfast and do our makeup. We just have to make sure we’re downstairs by nine.”

  “What’s at nine again?” he wondered. It was to
o early for him to try to call up any mental archive of their schedule.

  “That’s the drawing, for autograph tickets.”

  “Oh. That’s right.”

  Nancy shuffled for the bathroom, and Alfred focused on the brewer. It was starting to trickle out the first droplets of caffeinated goodness when a knock at the door sounded. “I’ll get it,” she said, tossing on a bathrobe.

  “Okay,” he agreed absently.

  Nancy’s tone, however, changed sharply as she reached the door. “Josh?”

  The taxman glanced up, adrenaline doing the job usually reserved for caffeine. “What?”

  She was opening the door. “Josh?” she repeated. “What are you doing here? How’d you even know we were here?”

  The marine pushed through the open door, shutting and locking it after him. Then, he turned around and took Nancy by the shoulders. “Nance, you okay?”

  She blinked, stunned. “What?”

  Alfred felt his heart race. How, he wondered, was he possibly going to explain Josh’s presence? And what the hell is that dumbass jarhead doing here anyway?

  “Nance, you gotta listen to me. You gotta call Josh, get him over here.”

  Her expression morphed from surprise to concern. She placed a hand on his forehead. “Josh, are you alright?”

  He took her hand, though, and said, “I’m not crazy, Nance. I’m from the future. Half an hour in the future.”

  “What?” If her expression was anything to go by, this proclamation didn’t help his case.

  Alfred, meanwhile, grabbed a seatback to retain his balance. “What do you mean, half an hour in the future?”

  The marine glanced over at him now. “I was watching Barret, like you told me. It’s not Barret, taxman. He and Dave didn’t leave their room. Whoever your killer is, it’s not him.”

  “Wait,” Nancy said, “what the hell’s going on here? Alfred, what’s he talking about?”

  He gulped. “Uh…”

  “Tell her the truth. You need to level with her, now. Otherwise, you both end up dead, Alfred. Knifed in the elevator, on your way down. Both of you.” He glanced back at Nancy now. “I…I took the device. To warn you, before it was too late.”

  “Sugar cookies.”

  “Call Josh,” the marine said. “Forget about Barret. He needs to watch-” He cut off suddenly, disappearing without a trace.

  Nancy yelped. Alfred took a seat. “Sugar cookies,” he repeated.

  “Alfred Favero, what in the hell is going on here?”

  It took a few minutes of explanation before he was able to bring her up to speed on the particulars. She was livid, and he was grateful for the fact that he had to call Josh to stem the tide of her anger.

  The marine was astonished. “You’re saying I used that device?”

  “Yes.”

  “Bullshit. I know better than that.”

  “Future you didn’t,” Alfred said, adding dryly, “You must have been overcome by the sight of me, dead in that elevator.”

  “I’m on my way,” Josh said in a moment. “Don’t open your door to anyone else. Understand?”

  “Understood.”

  Now, the taxman was again faced with Nancy’s wrath. “So you knew about this since last week?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ve been lying to me for a week and a half, Alfred?”

  “Not lying.”

  “Lying!”

  “Concealing. For your own protection.”

  She glared at him. “Lying by omission. And my protection?” She scoffed. “How many times have I died now, in these alternate timelines?”

  “A few,” he admitted. “But they never come to pass. Because we change them.”

  “Why the hell would you conceal that from me, Alfred? Don’t I have the right to know when my life’s in danger?”

  He stood silent in the face of her anger for a moment. Then, he said, “I don’t know. I thought…it was the right thing to do.”

  “Dammit, Alfred!” She shook her head. “I thought I could trust you.”

  “You can,” he pleaded. “Nance, of course you can.”

  “Can I?”

  “Of course.”

  “You’ve been hiding this all this time, lying to me.” She shook her head. “All that shit about crowds and not wanting to go the party…was any of that real?”

  He swallowed. “Not entirely.”

  “Not entirely? You mean, not at all. What, you had to change the timeline?”

  He nodded. “You – you from the future – warned me.”

  “Me?” She frowned. “I thought you said I died?”

  “Some of the times. But I died that time.”

  Her frown deepened, but there was less anger than a moment before. “You died?”

  He nodded. “You came back. You used the device.”

  “That’s why you wanted to take it,” she realized. “It wasn’t that you were afraid of break-ins.”

  “No,” he admitted. “I didn’t know if we’d need it.”

  “Dammit Alfred,” she said again, but there was more injury than fury in her tone. “Why didn’t you just tell me from the beginning.”

  He took a seat again, feeling rather miserable. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “It made sense at the time.”

  She paced the room, then she came back to him. “Alfred, you can’t lie to me like that. You can’t – you can’t hide shit like that from me. I need to know I can trust you, that when you tell me something, I can believe it.”

  He nodded glumly. “I know, Nance. I know now, I mean. Josh was right. I should have listened; he said we couldn’t keep you in the dark.”

  She sighed and shook her head. “I can’t believe you’d involve Josh before you’d involve me. Dammit, Alfred.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Josh arrived shortly thereafter, to find Nancy in a contemplative mood and Alfred in a sullen one. “Alright, tell me everything. From the beginning, this time.”

  The taxman’s first explanation had admittedly been rather scattered. He tried again, starting with the marine’s arrival this time.

  “Oh hell. I knew it wasn’t Barret.”

  “What made you suspect Barret, anyway?” Nancy wondered.

  “Well, he had modified the audit file.”

  “Yeah, but he probably pulled it,” she reasoned. “So his name would be on the list.”

  “And he pinged me about the file size as soon as I started my search.”

  Nancy shrugged. “Well, you were pulling a lot of data. That would slow everyone’s search.”

  Alfred blinked. “But he was here at the same time we arrived.”

  “He probably cut out early too. I know he’s a big fan of Swell Dude.”

  “You mean, that might all just be coincidence?”

  “I think it has to be,” Josh said. “If I – future me, I mean – said he didn’t leave his room, he didn’t leave his room. Therefore he’s not our guy.”

  “Sugar cookies. If he’s not, who the heck is?”

  “I don’t know,” Nancy said, “but we have to find out. And sooner rather than later.”

  “How are we going to do that?”

  Her brow creased. “I can pull up the audit history.”

  “I thought you needed special access for that?”

  “You do,” she said, flashing the first smile he’d seen from her since his revelation. “I have it already.”

  He frowned at the idea that someone from the nerd bunker was granted more clearance than a senior analyst with the IRS, but decided not to push his luck with her by mentioning these concerns. Not now, anyway. “Okay,” he said. “So you can see who looked at the file?”

  “Yup. Let me grab my laptop.”

  “How is that different from the list Alfred saw?” Josh wondered.

  “Alfred was looking at who modified it. That shows in your file revision history. I’m going to be pulling everyone who even looked at it – whether they made changes or not.”<
br />
  “Oh.”

  She’d fished out her laptop, and brought it to the desk. Then, she sighed. “So much for the no-work-weekend pledge.”

  In a few minutes, Nancy had connected to the hotel’s wireless internet, and brought up the audit log in question. “Geez,” she said. “This is a popular file.”

  “Is it?”

  “Yeah. It’s got me, of course, and Agent Dixon.”

  “Who is Dixon?”

  “The agent who requested the IP check.”

  “Ah.”

  “And then there’s…let’s see. Six other names.”

  “Six?” Alfred frowned. That seemed unusual to the taxman, for a file related to a charity that was undergoing a passive audit.

  “Yup. Rae Macron, Tully Sanders, Randall Walker, Dan Li, Sue Boucher, and May Fitzgerald.”

  “Any of those names mean anything to you?”

  “Not a thing,” she sighed. “Let’s bring up the org chart.”

  After half an hour of fruitless investigations, starting with the IRS org chart and directory, and culminating in targeted cyber snooping, they still came up emptyhanded. There was nothing suspicious about any of them on their social media profiles. Sanders, Macron, Boucher and Li were junior analysts, Fitzgerald was a data quality tech, and Walker was a network engineer. In theory, they all had reasons to be in the file. Nor did the access logs show that it had been opened at odd hours.

  “I don’t know,” Nance sighed. “Any one of them could have been in there for legit reasons. This is a passive audit. The ECF doubled its fundraising last year, that probably flagged it for an audit. When Dixon sent me the file, it sounded like he was not particularly interested.”

  “You think he farmed out the auditing, to the analysts?”

  “Probably,” Nancy nodded. “He’s a special agent. He’s not going to waste his time crunching numbers unless he actually suspects something.”

  Alfred frowned at this dismissive description of his role. It was, he knew, how many of the special agents felt. But, still, as far as he was concerned, analysts were the backbone of the organization. Without the ‘number crunching,’ the field monkeys like Agent Dixon would either have nothing to do or would have to learn to do the real work themselves.