For Love of Money

by Cathy Perkins

  She glanced over at Lillian’s file cabinets but didn’t bother opening the payroll records. Drumming her fingers, Holly studied the desk Marcy had used. “Those papers you found, they were in the desk?”

  “The envelopes were crammed in the top drawer. I guess she didn’t have time to file them.”

  “Maybe Marcy planned to take the records to the satellite office. She used that office a lot.” Holly leaned against the file cabinet, thinking through the missing paperwork. Bits and pieces of misfiled paperwork she could understand, but the entire files? For all the new companies? The part of her that used to dig into financial statements for the M&A team smelled something that stank as bad as a dead skunk in the middle of Columbia Parkway.

  Holly stepped away from the cabinets, heading for the door. “It sorta makes sense that the files are at the other office.”

  If Tim—and by proxy, Marcy—was hiding something, the small, unstaffed Yakima office offered a good starting point to discover what it was. “I have to go by there anyway. If you’ll give me Marcy’s keys, I can pick up everything while I’m there.”

  Kaylin hesitated. “Tim didn’t say anything about that.”

  Holly shrugged and kept walking, the other woman at her heels. “You can drive over there yourself if you want. You’ll have to go by the post office and then pull everything I need from the files.”

  Reaching the lobby, she half-turned and hoped the woman would take the bait.

  Kaylin dropped into her chair behind the reception desk, her expression a combination of curiosity, caution, and dismay. “Where is the other office? What kind of stuff would you need?”

  Holly placed a hand on the front door and spoke over her shoulder. “Yakima. I need incorporation documents, everything that was filed with the Secretary of State. Then there’s property records, loans, any operational activity. I’m not sure how file Marcy filed them, but worst case, it shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours.” She frowned. “Maybe a little longer.”

  “I don’t know what that stuff looks like.” Kaylin opened the center drawer and removed a ring of keys. “I found these in Marcy’s desk. Are they what you’re talking about?”

  Holly took the keys and shuffled though them. She recognized three of the distinctive flat post office box keys. One box here, one in Yakima. Where was the third box? “These are the ones. Thanks. I’ll drop them off later.”

  Tim opened the door to the building’s atrium as Holly left his office.

  “Were you looking for me?” he asked.

  Not really.

  She didn’t want to talk to him, much less accuse him of anything, until she knew more about the new companies. It could be innocent, if somewhat messy. She glanced over her shoulder at his office. Kaylin would tell him she’d asked about the new companies. “Who is Alan Bowen?”

  “Alan Bowen?” Tim looked blank. “No idea.”

  He moved past her. “I don’t want to be rude, but Nicole and I have a meeting with the bankers about Southridge Park. I need to prep for it.”

  Holly’s “due diligence” radar pinged with his answer. Tim should’ve recognized the man’s name. “Bowen’s listed as the managing director on TNM Ventures.”

  Tim pivoted toward her. A flush started at his chest and climbed his neck. “What are you doing looking at TNM? I told you that isn’t an operating company.”

  Holly blinked, surprised by his anger. “Whoa, slow down. I’m confused. From the bank statement, it looked like there was substantial activity.”

  “Well, there isn’t. I set up TNM for future activity. I’m considering a development in Spokane.”

  Hadn’t he said it was to buy land for Nicole on the Snake River? Having trouble keeping his stories straight?

  “Spokane? Then why is the company registered in Wyoming?”

  Tim sighed, looking impatient. “The business climate in Wyoming is more favorable. The restrictions and regulations in Washington are out of control. The liability insurance alone is eating me alive.”

  A knot of worry loosened in her stomach. She was reading something into the situation that didn’t exist. “I noticed the premium increase.”

  His explanation didn’t line up with the facts, the tiny voice in her head nagged. Insurance followed business operations, not the incorporation location. “Tim, that doesn’t make sense.”

  A look close to panic slid across Tim’s face, then vanished. “Maybe we should talk about this.”

  “No hurry.” Holly moved toward Desert Accounting’s door, already regretting asking the questions. “I’m sure it’s just a mix up. And I can’t talk right now. I have a meeting. In fact, I was just leaving.”

  “You can’t.” Tim grabbed her arm. “We need to talk. Now. Not tomorrow.”

  He swung her around. Clutching her arms, he pulled her close. His face hovered inches away from hers. “You’re getting the wrong idea.”

  She turned her head and strained backward in the too intimate grip. “Tim—”

  He tightened his hold, grasping both her arms, nearly shaking her. “I can explain.”

  “Am I interrupting?” Nicole stood in the outer doorway, a stunned expression on her perfect features.

  Tim released Holly’s arms as if they were radioactive.

  Nicole’s eyes flicked from Tim to Holly and back. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing.” Tim and Holly answered simultaneously.

  She spun away from Tim and headed for the safety of her own office. “Don’t be late for our meeting,” she called over her shoulder.

  …

  Holly’s fingers drummed a pattern on Bruce Fairchild’s conference table. Catching herself, she stilled the nervous gesture and offered the gray-haired man a smile while her gaze slid to the clock on the credenza. 2:34. “I’m sure Mrs. Price will be here any minute.”

  Making excuses made everyone look bad—Holly, her mother, Desert Accounting. She had to pin down her mother—Donna—about why she’d been so uncharacteristically distracted this week. Groping for a topic—any topic—Holly tried to remember if the morning news offered more than the continued hunt for Marcy’s ex. Where was the guy? Outer Mongolia? The longer Lee Alders stayed hidden, the guiltier he looked.

  She glanced around the conference room. Dark leather chairs surrounded the highly polished mahogany table. Slatted shades behind heavy drapes filtered the afternoon sun. Her attention landed on a pair of mounted pheasants. “Do you hunt?”

  Bruce followed her gaze. With a smile, he relaxed, slowly rocking his chair. “I got that pair of roosters on the same day. I was out at Schoolhouse. You know where that is?”

  “Off Highway 12, near the McNeary Refuge?”

  “That’s right.” He looked a little surprised and a little pleased. He launched into one of those step-by-step reenactments that men gloried in. She pasted an interested expression on her face and silently cursed her mother. Where was she this time?

  Selling Desert Accounting’s services was different than her other job. It had taken her a while to figure out how to approach people. With the Seattle-based M&A team, clients came to them, drawn by the firm’s aggressive reputation. In a smaller town like Richland, business depended on relationships. Once she had the right project, and the right opportunity to get inside the company and up-sell, her mother was supposed to pave the way. Every time she bailed, Holly was left scrambling to cover.

  As if she’d read Holly’s mind, Bruce’s secretary appeared at the door. “Excuse me. Donna Price just called. She said she was running late and to start without her.”

  Holly pasted a fresh smile on her face. Her mother was a dead woman.

  The secretary directed her next comments at her boss. “Donna said to tell Cynthia ‘Hello’ and that she’s enjoying working with her on the Holiday gala. The chefs lined up for this year sound fabulous.”

  Major employers like Bruce sponsored the event—a primary fundraiser for area charities and one of the few dress-up affairs in the area.
>
  Bruce beamed after his secretary left. “Your mother is a wonderful woman. Terrific organizer. You must be happy to be here, working with her.”

  “It’s been a real adventure.” Holly kept the ironic note out of her voice.

  She opened her folio and pulled out the analysis Rick had produced.

  Why wasn’t Rick here, delivering this? If her mother kept pushing responsibility for the practice onto her shoulders, Holly intended to make some changes, starting with Rick’s role.

  Forty minutes later, she wrapped up her assessment of the company’s tax position. The company had overlooked several opportunities in the latest legislation. By Holly’s—make that Rick’s—assessment, they’d receive a healthy income tax refund.

  Bruce watched her over steepled fingers. “Do you intend to stay in Richland?”

  Holly smoothed the startled expression off her face. Not many clients asked this bluntly. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—lie outright. “It depends. We’ll see how this plays out.”

  He accepted the veiled reference to her father and she didn’t amplify. Her comment had been vague enough to imply whatever Bruce wanted it to mean.

  “I hear good things about you and your mother’s firm. Fresh ideas.” He gave an approving nod.

  People talked about Desert Accounting? Called it “her” firm? “Thanks. I’ve met some terrific people here.”

  She reached for her briefcase, but stopped midway as she realized two things. She had more friends here than in Seattle…and she liked what she did at Desert Accounting. The little voice in her head muttered, No shit, Sherlock. You just figuring that out?

  Bruce made polite chitchat while she stowed her papers. After the requisite handshake, she left his office and climbed into her Beemer, armed with a follow-up meeting to discuss succession planning. Once she cleared the parking lot, she tapped the Bluetooth. “Mother.”

  The phone connected, but she wasn’t surprised when the call went straight to voicemail.

  “The meeting went well.” Holly gave her mother the one-minute version. The corners of her mouth turned up. “Did you know people refer to Desert Accounting as ‘our’ firm—as in yours and mine, rather than Dad’s? We should talk about that.”

  Chapter Thirty

  THURSDAY EVENING

  Holly parked in front of La Boutique, triumphant she’d found the store without making any wrong turns, and hurried inside.

  “Holly?” Yessica stepped away from the cash register.

  “My book club meeting starts in a few minutes—we meet at the library—but I have another question.”

  She’d already decided not to mention the pregnancy. If Yessica didn’t know, she wasn’t going to be the one to tell her. The woman didn’t need another reason to grieve. “Lillian told me about Lee coming to see Marcy at the office. About him giving her a letter. Did she talk to you about that?”

  Yessica fidgeted with her rings, then looked directly into Holly’s eyes. “I realize you’re trying to help, but why are you doing this?”

  Holly went still, wondering what she’d done wrong. Yessica had talked to her before. “What do you mean?”

  “The more I think about it, the stranger it seems. Why are you looking into Maricella’s death?”

  Holly pursed her lips and considered how to answer. At last she said, “I want to know why.”

  At first, it had been to clear her name and Desert Accounting’s reputation—plus some curiosity—but the more she learned about Marcy, the more she needed to know how and why Marcy’s relationship had spiraled out of control.

  Yessica tilted her head and waited. Her expression said, Not good enough.

  Holly straightened the brochures heaped on the counter. If she expected Yessica to open up, she had to meet her at least halfway. Painful admissions didn’t come easily. “I knew a man in Seattle…with the same dominance issues. He tried to…” How could she describe it? Rearrange? Control? “Take over my life.”

  “And?” Yessica demanded.

  “You mentioned earlier about Marcy and Lee meeting at a coffee shop. That caught my attention…I started seeing a guy that way, too…”

  How to explain? Holly sighed. “It sounds so innocuous. Like anyone else meeting a new guy. We had coffee. I mentioned to Frank I loved mocha lattes. A few days later, he brought a mocha latte to my office. I thought it was nice. I was working crazy hours and it gave me a break and us a chance to talk. He did it again the next week, and again, it seemed sweet.”

  Yessica shifted. “I don’t understand. How is this connected to Maricella?”

  “Frank started coming by every day. He expected me to stop whatever I was doing and talk to him. He never considered the fact that I was working sixteen-hour days on a transaction or that I had a demanding job. It was all about him. And he always brought the damned mocha latte. It turned creepy and controlling, like he was making decisions about what I could drink. I mean, what if I didn’t want a mocha? What if I wanted a double-shot or a decaf?”

  She forced her mouth to close. She sounded crazy.

  “Why?” Yessica asked. “You and Maricella. You’re smart. Pretty. Why would you get involved with men like that?”

  Holly fiddled with the stack of brochures. “It’s insidious. At the beginning, Frank was charming. Attractive. Charismatic.” Devon’s comment smacked her. In the boardroom, Alders was pure charisma.

  Damn. She raked a hand through her hair. “Bottom line? I got away, but it’s made me more sensitive to women trapped in a bad relationship. In Marcy’s case, I think the police are asking the wrong questions. That they’re going about this the wrong way.”

  Yessica’s lips thinned. After a long moment, she said, “Maricella was very angry after Lee came to see her. He had no right to come to her office. She had the paper to make him stay away.”

  Yeah, yeah. He walked right through that restraining order and put her in intensive care. The line from the old song rolled through Holly’s head and she nearly gagged. No. No country music. She had to get back to Seattle, home of Nirvana and grunge music. “Did she mention other papers? Lillian said Lee gave your sister an envelope. Whatever was in it upset Marcy.”

  “Lee made a divorce settlement offer. It was an insult.”

  Gee, what a surprise. Lee tried to stiff Marcy at the end of their marriage. “You didn’t mention the settlement offer the other day.”

  Yessica’s hands lifted and fell. “What was there to say? It was another example of what a cabrón he is. Lee wasn’t just a bastard, he was a cheap bastard. Maricella didn’t sign the divorce papers. Are they important?”

  “They might be. One last question. Did Marcy sign a prenup?”

  “A what?”

  “A prenuptial agreement. Papers signed before they got married that said what would happen if they divorced.”

  Yessica shook her head in baffled silence. “Maricella never mentioned anything like that.”

  Holly wrestled for a nanosecond over who should tell JC. He might not listen if she tried to explain it. His brusque “Stay out of it” carried the day. “You should tell Detective Dimitrak about the separation agreement.”

  “Why?”

  “Money’s a huge motive for murder.”

  And Lee Alders had at least ten million reasons to kill his estranged wife.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  THURSDAY NIGHT

  Holly and Laurie waited for the book club leader outside the library’s community room. Stragglers from the meeting filtered into the lobby and headed to their cars. Gwen turned off the light and closed the door. With her messy bun and horn-rimmed glasses, the woman looked more like a stereotypical librarian than the women who worked in the library.

  The book club meeting had been the usual mix of analyzing the novel while dishing on kids, husbands, and friends. Marcy had been mentioned, but the club members weren’t personally involved. They’d already moved on, relegating Marcy’s murder to the past.

  Holly couldn’t let t
he investigation go that easily. In addition to the unhealthy relationship issue—pick the bastard du jour: Lee Alders, Frank Phalen, Creepy Security Guy, or anyone else screwing up a woman’s life—Tim was tangled up in something and Marcy seemed to have been right there with him.

  Maybe Laurie could help unravel a few threads. “You want to grab a cup of coffee?”

  “Holly, don’t forget to send out the reading selections for next quarter.” Gwen tucked her novel into her tote bag.

  “Don’t pick any more of these dreary ones off the Book Club List,” Brittney, the perpetual class clown, said. “If I want to be depressed, I’ll call my mother.”

  “Well, I don’t want any of those vampire ones you like.” Gwen locked and tested the door.

  “What about something just for fun,” Laurie suggested. “Like romantic suspense. We could compare love scenes and decide if it’s anatomically possible.”

  All four of them laughed.

  “Guess you single women actually get to have a love life.” Brittney lifted a significant eyebrow. “Do share.”

  “What are you complaining about?” Holly asked. “You obviously have one. You’ve got two kids.”

  “And your point is? Trust me, those critters put a serious crimp in your love life. So.” Brittney turned back to Laurie. “Inquiring minds want to know. Creative love scenes? Details, please.”

  “Herman and I have made a serious commitment,” Laurie replied, straight-faced. “He’ll love me as long as his battery lasts.”

  “You named your vibrator ‘Herman’?”

  “Herman is not a vibrator.” Laurie folded her hands in an imitation of a prim schoolteacher, an image totally at odds with her blue-streaked, spiked hair. “He’s an anatomically correct, inflatable companion.”

  Brittney burst out laughing. “They make male blow-up dolls?”

  Laurie feigned a moue. “Don’t hurt his feelings. He was a special order.”

  “Oh, bullshit. I’ve known you for fifteen years. There is no way—”

  Gwen’s face flamed a brilliant red. “You two are embarrassing me.”