For Love of Money

by Cathy Perkins

  Holly pursed her lips and shifted her weight to her other hip, grimacing at the protest from her sore feet. Alex had jumped all over her after his interview with the cops. Why was Tim ducking the police?

  And why had Alex hedged his remarks to them?

  Or…was JC lying to her about what he knew and when he knew it?

  There was also the too convenient to be coincidental fact JC had been directly behind her—without announcing his presence—when she’d tried to talk with Mrs. Ramirez.

  She gave a disgusted snort. All this paranoia was giving her a headache.

  “If I wasn’t afraid you’d tell me, I’d ask what you were thinking about.”

  “What?” She looked into JC’s amused eyes.

  “Don’t ever play poker. You can’t hide a thing.”

  “You don’t think I can do the expressionless face thing?”

  He leaned closer, trailed a finger down her cheek, and slowly slid it across her lower lip. Instantly, her heart rate picked up and her nipples stood at attention.

  A satisfied gleam lit his eyes. “I rest my case.” His voice was husky, bedroom soft.

  A blush warmed her cheeks. She took a step backward and crossed her arms over her traitorous chest. “Were you born a jerk or did you take special classes at cop school?”

  He laughed.

  The sound was so unexpected, so out of place at a wake, heads turned, and once again they were the focus of too many pairs of eyes.

  “You seem to like being part of my investigation. You’ve got the toughness to be an officer. And the curiosity. Let’s see how you do with tenacity.” He winked and sauntered away.

  Holly gritted her teeth.

  Payback would come. Oh, yeah. Somehow, she’d get him back for that.

  And payback would come before JC Dimitrak did.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Holly pushed through the funeral parlor’s front door. She’d spent the last twenty minutes wandering through the rapidly dwindling crowd, looking for Laurie. The odds were slim Laurie had decided to wait at the car, but she was running out of places to look.

  Her cell phone chirped its “new message” tone. She fished the phone from her jacket pocket and Laurie’s voice came from the speaker. “My cell’s about to die, so I’ll make this quick. My neighbor is here. You look like you’re, ahem, busy, so she’s giving me a ride home. I’ll—”

  Silence.

  “You’ve got to be kidding.” Holly glared at her phone as if it were deliberately withholding information, although obviously Laurie’s phone had died. “Damn cell phone company.” If it would post messages more reliably, she might’ve caught Laurie before she left.

  Well, at least she knew where her MIA friend was.

  She stuffed the phone back into her pocket and limped toward the parking lot. She was never wearing heels again. She didn’t care how good they made her legs look or if her suits looked stupid with flats. After wearing them all day and standing around on the tile floor at the mortuary for hours, she just wanted to get home, take off these instruments of torture, and pour a glass of wine.

  A big glass of wine.

  Naturally, she’d had to park in the back corner of the lot. She angled across the asphalt and squinted at her car. It looked like something had spilled over the hood, leaving random stripes on the paint. She moved closer and realized the streaks were huge scratches.

  For several seconds, shock nailed her in place. Then anger spiked through her like Mount St. Helens blowing its top. She stalked around her vandalized car. Deep gouges marred the paint.

  Her beautiful car. She knew she shouldn’t have parked next to the graffiti-tagged building. The ripped-up fence and rubble had warned her she was asking for trouble.

  She scowled at the damaged car. One more crappy thing at the end of a totally crappy day.

  Damn, she didn’t have time for this. Finding someone to repaint it. Dealing with the insurance company—which would probably triple her premium. Double damn. And she’d need a police report for her insurance company. A keyed car would be so low on the Pasco cops’ priority list, she’d end up waiting forever—in her stupid high heels—for an officer to arrive.

  With a muttered curse, she opened her cell, ready to call in Pasco’s finest, when the Duh. JC’s already here light flashed on. Surely, he would write up the report.

  She returned to the mortuary visitation room. JC stood at one side, talking to an unhappy-looking Hispanic man. The older man turned when she approached, but JC didn’t even glance in her direction.

  She waited at a discreet distance, shifting from one sore foot to the other, and listened to the detective’s questions and the man’s reluctant replies. Finally, it sounded like JC was finished. She stepped forward and touched his elbow. “When you have a minute, I need you outside.”

  The Hispanic man nodded once and walked away. JC’s eyebrow twitched and his eyes turned a warm shade of brown. The corner of his mouth lifted toward a smile.

  “My car,” she said pointedly.

  The smile reached grin proportions. His dimples appeared in full glory.

  She fought the urge to stamp her foot. He was misunderstanding her on purpose, just to watch her squirm. Which she refused to do.

  “What are you, twelve?” She enunciated the words precisely, as if that would keep JC from turning them around on her. “Someone keyed my car. It’s sorta dark in the back corner of the parking lot, but you can still see it. I’d appreciate it if you’d write up the incident report.”

  JC’s smile vanished. He wrapped his hand around her arm and guided her toward the door. She started to point out she could find the parking lot and her car all by herself, but the warm fingers distracted her. Little sparks kept jolting her brain and female parts, making her far too aware of his body during the trek across the lot.

  “Should’ve known you’d drive a Beemer.”

  JC’s comment shook her from her daze. It was his cop tone, not the guy voice. He released her arm and circled the car, inspecting the long scratches on the doors, fender, and hood.

  “Who’ve you pissed off lately?” He folded his arms over his chest.

  “Other than you?”

  “Come on, Holly. I can think of at least one person. Your boyfriend looked unhappy earlier tonight, and I notice he isn’t out here with you now.”

  “Why would you even go there? Like I would date some asshole who’d do this.”

  “Passive aggressive. All he had to do was walk by the car and extend a hand.” JC waved his hand in a zigzag pattern that mimicked a cut in the Beemer’s fender. He turned and made a show of scanning the parking area. “People were wandering in and out of the visitation room, but somehow nobody noticed a pissed-off boyfriend.”

  “One, he’s not my boyfriend. Two, he doesn’t have any reason to be pissed off, and three, his mother would give him an alibi anyway.”

  “If I saw my girlfriend flirting with another guy, I wouldn’t put up with it. Not many men would.”

  “I told you I’m not his girlfriend. And I wasn’t flirting with you.”

  His face said, Liar, liar.

  Yeah, yeah, pants on fire. “There’s no way Alex would mess up my car.”

  “What makes you so sure?” JC’s face turned expressionless. “He led you to a dead body. Keying a car would be a no-brainer.”

  She forced her hands to stay still so she wouldn’t slap him. “You know damned well the dog found Marcy. If you’d do your job instead of—”

  Using our personal connection to—

  She wasn’t giving JC any more ammunition in the weird war they were waging. “Never mind.”

  He moved, and suddenly he was standing much too close to her. “What were you going to say?”

  She retreated a step and smacked into the car. “Nothing. Just write up the report. I want to go home.”

  He followed her and practically pinned her against the fender. “You can’t use our past to push me away forever.”

>   “This has nothing to do with our past. And I’m really not interested in discussing that right now.”

  “I think you know something. About the car. Maybe about Marcy.”

  She shoved a palm against JC’s chest, but that was as effective as budging five-o’clock traffic in downtown Seattle. “I don’t know anything about Marcy. And how could I possibly know who messed up my car? I was inside—helping you.”

  Going to him had been a huge mistake. “Just forget it. Sorry I asked.”

  She slid sideways, but his hand again locked around her arm. “Why would your boyfriend damage your car?”

  “He didn’t. It was probably one of the guys who tagged that building.” She gestured at the graffiti-covered wall. “Let go of me.”

  “Answer my question.”

  She stared fixedly at his hand around her arm. “Or what? You’ll beat it out of me?”

  He froze and she knew she’d landed a punch behind his armor.

  He released her but didn’t move out of her way. His voice and expression were equally cool. “I have never hit a woman. Never. Or hurt a witness or a suspect. I thought you’d remembered at least that much about me.”

  It had been a low blow. Guilt and regret painted a new blush over her cheeks. “JC,” she began.

  “You came looking for me. Then you had to turn it into a battle of wills. If you don’t want my help, I’ll be happy to call the Pasco PD.”

  She shouldn’t have said it. She’d lashed out because he kept pushing. “Look, I—”

  He jerked his chin toward the car. “Trust me. Alex had something to do with this. Either directly or indirectly.”

  Damn it, if he did, they were done for sure. She stared at the gouges on her car. “Why would he? Drawing attention to himself would be stupid if he has something to hide. Not that he does.” She pulled in a deep breath. What a mess. “But everyone at the wake could see he was ticked I was talking to you.”

  JC absorbed her reluctant admission. Mr. Efficient Police Officer, he stepped over to the mobile office in his car and whipped out the report, but it was obvious his already low opinion of Alex had slipped another notch.

  She wasn’t far behind him on that score. Defending Alex was the right thing to do—JC had stepped over the line with the personal attack. Still, after Alex’s quasi-seduction attempt on Sunday, the yelling match at her office, and tonight’s non-encounter with Alejandro and his mother, she wondered why she hadn’t seen this unattractive side of Alex before.

  JC handed her the signed report. He glared and used his stern, police officer voice. “From now on, stay out of my investigation.”

  Her chin lifted and Where do you get off telling me what to do? nearly came out of her mouth. “You said Yessica’s information helped.”

  Holly couldn’t resist adding, “And might I point out, she talked to me, not you. It looks to me like you need my help.”

  A muscle flexed in his cheek. “I appreciate your help. But what if your car took a hit because of it?”

  “Don’t be—”

  “And what if you’re the next target?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  WEDNESDAY MORNING

  Holly lifted a hand from the steering wheel, tapped the Bluetooth receiver, and said, “Mother.”

  The system scrolled through its electronic memory, pulled the contact, and dialed.

  “How’s studying for the CPA exam going?” she asked a moment later.

  “Eh…” Donna Price mumbled something unintelligible.

  “You are studying, aren’t you? You only have a few weeks left on your Testing Notice.”

  “I know.”

  Holly drummed an impatient finger against the steering wheel. The traffic light stayed red. “I can’t stay here forever. You have to get licensed.”

  “I will.”

  Her cell phone signaled another call. “Hang on a second.”

  She squinted at the display.

  Alex.

  Grimacing, she held the buzzing phone. Did she want to talk to him?

  Not really.

  She switched back to her mother.

  “Who was that?”

  “Alex.”

  “Oh? What did he want?”

  She really didn’t care. She’d ignored his repeated calls last night—sent them to voicemail—unsure what she wanted from him, herself, or anybody else.

  “Nothing.”

  Before her mother could ask more questions, Holly hurried to the reason for the call. “Are you going to be in the office today? We need to finish Nuclear Imaging’s engagement letter. I want to get it on paper and signed before Doug stops being blinded by your new hire’s cleavage.”

  Amusement rippled through her mother’s voice. “How’s she working out?”

  The light changed. Holly headed up the hill to Desert Accounting. As much as their new employee irritated her, they needed all the staff they could get. “She’s settling in, trying to figure out where she fits.”

  “How about you? Are you settling in?” Donna asked.

  Holly ignored that question, too. Some things were obvious.

  “You know, you could make this a permanent position, if you wanted to,” her mother said.

  Holly’s mouth dropped open. She couldn’t have been more stunned if her mother suggested that she run naked down George Washington Way, join one of the area’s New Wave churches, or perform some other completely unacceptable action.

  “You don’t have to decide today. Just think about it.”

  Had she not made it infinitely clear she wasn’t staying in Richland after her mother got licensed? Holly turned into the parking lot at her building. “You know, I agreed to help you sell the practice, but I’m starting to think you don’t want to sell.”

  “I am having second thoughts,” Donna admitted.

  Holly absorbed this new information. She grabbed her briefcase and slammed the car door. Could her mother run the business by herself? She seemed to be handling her husband’s desertion, but how much of that was a façade intended to reassure the clients?

  And her daughter.

  “Don’t worry. I won’t deliberately fail the exam.”

  “That thought hadn’t even occurred to me.”

  Until that moment.

  Holly tugged open the outer door of the office building. She walked into the office and stopped dead in her tracks.

  “Oh. My. God.”

  “What? What’s the matter?”

  “Gotta go.” Holly ended the call.

  Open-mouthed, she looked first at Tracey and then the metal contraption in the center of Desert Accounting’s lobby.

  There was a pig.

  In a cage.

  In the middle of the lobby.

  “We’ve been pigged,” Tracey announced.

  The porker shuffled through the litter and emitted a few grunts.

  “No kidding.” Giggles built in Holly’s chest. The complete absurdity of the situation hit her. “Please tell me somebody didn’t use him, uhm, her? to pay their bill.”

  The receptionist’s laughter rolled across the lobby. “It’s a fundraiser.” She held out a bright green piece of paper.

  Only in Richland.

  “What’s the deal?” Holly managed around her giggles. She ignored the buzzing phone in her pocket. Her mother would find out about this when she got to the office.

  “A guy from FFA dropped her off. Sammy’s sister’s dating the FFA advisor, so they probably got Rick’s name through him. Anyway, Rick has to come up with three hundred bucks to get rid of her. The pig. Not the sister.”

  “Is anyone not related in this town?” Holly glanced at the flyer. The pig stayed with the recipient until they raised the “purchase price.” Once the money was delivered and the pig “owned,” the owner chose the next target/recipient. Thanks, Future Farmers of America.

  The pig made a wet, sputtering noise.

  “Ugh,” Tracey and Holly groaned in unison and clamped hands over their no
ses.

  “Are there any clients in the office?” Holly asked.

  The receptionist shook her head.

  Holly dropped her hand and yelled, “Rick!”

  A moment later, the manager stuck his head around the corner. “You bellowed, boss?”

  “You really didn’t want to go to the big city.” She nodded at the pig.

  “Figured you needed to see where bacon came from.”

  “I hate bacon. Get this thing out of here.”

  Rick ambled into the lobby. He stopped a few feet from the crate and inspected its contents before giving her a disingenuous smile. “I hit up the staff, but I need another hundred. Open your pocketbook and pony up.”

  “Why is this my problem? The crate has your name on it.”

  “Your lobby. Enjoy the ambience of eau-de-pig.” He turned and sauntered toward the staff area.

  Dammit.

  Rick knew she couldn’t leave the pig in the lobby and that she wouldn’t fire his insubordinate butt. She jerked open her purse. “Lucky for you I hit the ATM on the way to work.”

  He re-crossed the lobby and reached for the money. “Think of all the happy future farmers.”

  Inspiration flashed on the one bright spot in Piggy-Gate. She whipped her hand back. “You get the cash on one condition.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Which is?”

  “The pig goes to the police department when it leaves here.”

  He tried to hide his smile. “Any particular officer? Or should I say detective?”

  She tapped a finger against her cheek, pretending to consider his question. “The Franklin County Sheriff’s Department could use a laugh today.”

  “Done.” Rick grabbed the cash. “This job’s been good for you. A couple of months ago, you wouldn’t have bellowed.”

  “I didn’t bellow. Bellowing would not be an improvement in my disposition.” Bellowing was a nosedive off the IQ platform.

  “Sure it is. You needed to loosen up.”

  The pig flopped on its side. Shavings drifted through the wires and littered the carpet.

  Holly turned to the amused receptionist. “Think the cleaning service has some industrial-strength deodorant?”

  Tracey’s laughter followed Holly down the hall. She’d love to see JC’s reaction when the pig showed up. After all, she could sweetly explain it was for charity.