Liar, Liar

by Winter Austin

  Liza eased to the edge of her seat. Spooking this guy was the last thing she wanted to happen. “I understand that you’re under a lot of pressure right now. And there’s a long line of parents who aren’t very happy out there.”

  He released a cynical laugh. “Happy? What you ran into out there are the same parents who’d scream for a lawyer if their ice cream gave them brain freeze.”

  Oh, Mr. Principal, tell me how you really feel.

  “I deal with some of that bunch on a daily basis, because they have nothing better to do than to harass me about their kids’ entitlements. While that . . . ”—his face turned beet red—“blockhead kissed their asses and allowed them to get whatever they wanted. You want new playground equipment at the elementary, sure, I’ll see to that. School meals don’t appease your kid’s appetite, how about we offer seventeen choices in the lunch line? And who had to clean up after the fallout when none of this stuff happened?” Walker slapped a hand against the desktop. “Me, that’s who. They hate me, and they want to see me burned at the stake.”

  “What kind of fallout are we talking about?”

  “The kind that cost the district money it barely had in the first place. We’re looking at severe funding shortages for the next school year, and it’s left on my shoulders to work with the school board to figure out what to do. That could mean some teachers not having jobs.”

  Now we’re cooking. “Is there anything else?”

  He blinked as if confused, then his features sagged in defeat. “Every promise Avery made to those parents and the district is exploding in my face. I can’t tell those people that there won’t be any new uniforms for the sports programs. The parking lot will never be repaved. And the equipment for the science and math department is nothing more than a defunct idea.”

  “Principal Walker, if I may, how does that put the district in a shortage of funds? I’m mostly ignorant of how school budgets and funding work. But, aren’t most of those things you mentioned fundraiser projects from the community?”

  The man gave her a hard stare. “That’s exactly what they are, Agent Bartholomew. The money the community and parents have raised is gone.” He pointed at his door. “And once the public learns about it, all hell is going to break loose.”

  • • •

  Despite their best efforts to circumvent Shane’s roadblock, he managed to keep the drivers of McIntire County away from the site of Donovan’s makeshift grave. Doc Drummond and his assistant had loaded the body and transported it out of the area. The last four hours of evidence collection and walking the whole two-mile area around the dump site left Shane feeling drained.

  And the worst was yet to come.

  What he wouldn’t give right now to hear Liza’s voice. She had a soothing quality that made him less likely to bite someone’s head off.

  Shane tracked down Pamela Frost at her office, a block off the town square. She’d chosen a prime location, and a pricey one. With the redevelopment of the square, rental prices for buildings around the town’s star attraction would run the renter into the thousands depending on location, location, location. With the way she ruthlessly defended her clients and charged them for her services, Pamela could afford the cushy little office right beside a popular coffee and bakery shop.

  The warm, yeasty aroma of freshly baked bread made Shane’s stomach howl its protest at missing lunch. A stop for one of the bakery’s roast beef and smoked provolone sandwiches on toasted sourdough bread was in order. After he delivered the devastating news. He’d need all the comfort food he could get after this.

  A digital doorbell chimed his entry into Pamela’s office. Shane removed his Resistol and hooked it over his right hand. The receptionist’s chair was empty, but Emily Schofield’s distinct Oklahoman drawl came from down the short hall leading to the back of the office space. Pamela’s receptionist had met and married Derek Schofield while he attended Oklahoma State. Somehow Derek convinced Emily to move to Eider so he could help run the family farm. Derek’s father was one of those men people loathed behind his back and smiled to his face. But the kicker of the year? Derek’s mother, Annabeth, managed to land a spot on the school board. No one wanted her, but when she was the only option, what could you do?

  It was no secret Emily despised her in-laws; she made it plain as the nose on her face. If the gossip mill was to be believed, Emily was trying to get Derek to convince his father to sell their debt-riddled farm. She wanted to move back to Oklahoma. None of it proved to be working.

  While he waited for someone to realize he was here, Shane examined the photos strategically placed on the walls between some high-falutin’ artwork. The pictures were mostly of Pamela and some of her prominent connections in McIntire County and Des Moines. There wasn’t a single photo of her and Donovan. Maybe she’d left those for her actual private office.

  The conversation from the back stalled. Shane took the opportunity.

  “Pamela, it’s Sheriff Hamilton.”

  Fifteen seconds later, the door at the end of the hall opened, and Emily emerged, followed by her boss. Pamela appeared just as coiffed and professional as she had that morning when she barged in demanding he release her client. Emily, with her wheat-colored hair and tall, athletic build, wore curve- hugging black slacks and a flowing turquoise blouse. The Oklahoman looked like she wanted to chew leather and spit bullets.

  Uh-oh, everything in paradise wasn’t peachy keen. ’Course, working for Pamela Frost had to be the furthest thing from paradise.

  “Sheriff Hamilton, if this is about our conversation this morning, I believe that was officially settled with the judge.”

  “For now it’s settled. But no, this is a different matter. Could we speak in your office?”

  With an eye twitch—or was it more of a hidden eye roll?—Pamela sighed and gestured for him to lead the way. He moved past the receptionist’s desk as Emily stiffly took her seat.

  Pamela, who had been watching him this whole time, narrowed her gaze. Shane did his best to keep a passive face, and headed down the hall to her sanctum.

  Pamela closed the door and rounded her gleaming black desk. “Why are you here, Sheriff?”

  “When was the last time you spoke with your husband?”

  Elegantly propping herself against a matching bookshelf loaded with law books and placed under a window, she crossed one arm across her abdomen and rested the elbow of the other on her wrist to tuck the upright hand under her jaw. “I’d say it was a few days ago.”

  “Could you be specific? How many days ago?”

  The cold, calculating eyes turned wary. “Is there a point to this, Sheriff?” The emphasis on his title sounding as belittling as she typically made it.

  Ironic. She had been the one to push her husband to run against him in the election. Yet, she acted like a civil servant was below her station in life. This coming from a woman who defended the very people she disdained.

  “There is a point, Mrs. Frost.”

  The upright hand settled into the crook of her reclining elbow. “The exact time was four days ago. It was the day he left for a weekend conference.”

  “Where was this conference?”

  “In Kansas City.”

  “What was the conference for?”

  Pamela huffed. “Sheriff, these are tedious questions. What is your point?”

  “Did you speak to him at any time over the weekend?” Ignoring her pushback was the only way he’d get what he wanted.

  Her silence was . . . admirable. However, in his lifetime, Shane had long learned to out-stare, out-think, and outmaneuver any and all opponents, whether they be bronc, enemy combatant, or criminal.

  “No,” she finally said. “When he goes to those mindless conferences, it’s to get away from me.”

  “I ask again, what was the conference for?”

  Pamela shifted her shoulders, then rose from her perch. “It was an agricultural trade conference. Satisfied?”

  “When was he due to arrive hom
e?”

  “Not until late this evening. This line of questioning has gone on long enough, Sheriff. What is your point?”

  Shane looked down at his hat, studied its swoops and curves, the tightly woven weave of the white straw. No use putting it off any longer. He met her irritated gaze. Too bad Donovan was dead—a man Shane had felt no ill will toward—but hell, he’d like to strangle the guy for leaving him with this task. He sighed.

  “Pamela, I came here to inform you . . . ” He swallowed hard. “Donovan is no longer with us.”

  Her frown deepened the permanent scowl lines around her eyes and mouth. “What is that supposed . . . oh, good God.” Her eyes widened. “He’s dead?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She stood rooted, gaping at him. One hand reached out, patting for the chair in front of her, connected with the top, and then pulled the chair closer. Her normal stiff elegance fled as she flopped into the seat.

  “H-how?”

  “We’re not certain.”

  She lost her stunned look. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Pamela, we discovered his body in a ditch. Here in McIntire County.”

  Her features paled, the makeup giving her a sickly yellow appearance. “That’s not possible. He was in Kansas City.”

  “I don’t think he made it.”

  His other words must have hit home. She mumbled body and ditch. “Wait. Are you saying . . . ? Was he . . . ?”

  “Pamela, we think he was murdered.”

  Shane didn’t think it was a possible, but her eyes widened further. She bolted out of the chair, slamming her hand on the desk.

  “Get out!”

  “Pamela.”

  “I said, get out!”

  With a slight nod, he rotated on the heel of his boots and, donning his hat, headed out the door. He made it as far as Emily’s desk when a scream and the crash of something breakable made him flinch. Emily shot up out of her chair, but Shane held out a hand.

  “I wouldn’t right this minute. Let her wind down before going in there.”

  She gave a wobbly head wag then sank into her seat once again. Her gaze lingered on him a moment and then shifted to the hallway as multiple muffled thumps came from the back office.

  It was no secret around Eider that Pamela was ruthless, but she hadn’t crossed Shane as a hothead who’d lose it after getting upsetting news. First Roslin burning her home to the ground and now Pamela destroying her office, both over the deaths of their husbands. What had gotten into the professional women of McIntire County?

  Neither woman reacted normally. Not even he had lost his marbles when the ER doctor gave him the horrible news that Cheyenne was gone. Shane went numb inside, but he didn’t cry. He’d stared at the doctor, trying to wrap his head around what the man had told him. Even during her funeral, Shane hadn’t shown any emotion. His world had been a block of ice.

  At the next violent outburst from Pamela, both he and Emily shuddered. It was time to go. There was nothing more he could glean from Pamela.

  Another scream and a thunk followed him out the door. Good God Almighty, he needed that sandwich now, with a jolt of pure caffeine.

  Chapter Eleven

  Nothing. Not a damn thing in this office to prove Gene Avery was stealing money. Or who he actually was.

  Liza slapped the leather portfolio against the desktop. Pushing away from the knee hole, she spun the chair to face the three-panel window.

  “Where’d you stash your reports, Ripley?” Please not in the house your wife burned down.

  She had jack squat in physical evidence that the man known as Gene Avery had taken any of the money that had been given to the school for his pet projects. There had been money, of that Liza had proof. Principal Walker had the secretary who handled incoming funds give her copies of all the receipts given to the parents and community that donated money. But neither one of the secretaries knew where all that cash had gone after it had supposedly been turned over to the accountant.

  The accountant was not available for questioning until tomorrow.

  Outside, birds flitted from the tree branches to the flower garden below them, pecking for insect meals. The bright spring morning had turned gray and cloudy, the promise of more rain to come. Had Shane and crew finished up at their crime scene? The shower could cause more problems than he already had.

  The investigator in her was curious to know who they found in the ditch. And did it have any connection to Gene Avery, a.k.a. Mr. Ripley?

  She turned from the view at the sound of a tap on tempered glass. The office door opened a crack, and the secretary who had escorted Liza to the principal’s office poked her head in.

  “Sorry to interrupt you, Agent Bartholomew, but the school board president is here, and he wants to meet with you.”

  Yay! One less person to track down. “That’s fine. Show him in.”

  Liza gathered the portfolio and file folders she had scattered across the desk and tucked them inside the banker’s box on the floor by her feet. A creak of hinges was all the warning she had to straighten before a tall man with dark-brown hair and deep brown eyes entered. He wore khaki slacks and a light blue polo with brown business loafers.

  He gave her a tight smile as he held out his hand. “Agent Bartholomew? I’m Neil Lundy.”

  Liza rose and gripped his hand—smooth palm but roughened fingers; a man who worked, but kept himself professionally presentable. “Thank you for coming to see me, Mr. Lundy. You were, in fact, next on my list to speak with.” She pointed at the chair opposite her.

  He settled in the squeaky pleather chair. “Principal Walker called me at work and asked me to come meet with you. I’m extremely baffled that an FBI agent is here investigating our deceased superintendent.”

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, but the sheriff informed me that the school board had recently become suspicious of Mr. Avery and a case of missing funds?”

  “Yes, that’s true, but we haven’t even begun to investigate the matter ourselves. Our school accountant has been sick the past week and a half. Once she returned, we were going to review the books.”

  “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather have our accountants from the Bureau do the job. They’re better equipped to find irregularities that a normal accountant won’t.”

  Mr. Lundy’s frown deepened. “FBI accountants? Which brings me back to my original question: why on earth is the FBI here?”

  Liza knew her subterfuge would eventually irritate then anger anyone involved with Avery, but the integrity of her case was at stake here, and the last thing she needed was gossip flying and more evidence hidden or destroyed. Her ass was already walking a tightrope with Montrose.

  “I apologize, Mr. Lundy, but I’m not at liberty to reveal my true reasons for being here. Those in the know have already been informed.”

  “Meaning the sheriff and the police department.” The strained tone of his voice set off a tinkling bell in the back of Liza’s head.

  “Yes, the proper authorities.”

  Lundy leaned forward. “Then what would be the purpose of you meeting with me?”

  Try to assert any authority you want, dear sir, but it’ll get you nowhere but on my bad side. “For you to give the authorization to hand over any and all accounts that have school funding.”

  “Are you out of your mind? The state would have my head if I did that.”

  “And the state has given me the right to request them. If you’d like, I could get a warrant to make it official and save you the trouble of having to explain yourself to the community.”

  The agitation fled. Lundy fidgeted, running one hand along his pant leg. “Well, we should follow proper procedure. Get the warrant, and I’ll make sure you have the access you need.” He shot up from the chair. “I should return to work.”

  “Certainly, by all means. I’ll have the warrant here within the hour. Where is it that you work?”

  “At Thayer Lotts engineering firm.”

&n
bsp; That would be on a city street, which meant Siri could lead her right to it. “Would you prefer I call you?”

  Lundy rammed his hand into his back pocket, and after some rummaging, pulled out a wallet and then a business card. “Call that number. I’ll meet up with you.”

  Taking the card, Liza gave him a relaxed smile. The man about-faced and stiff-walked to the door.

  He paused before opening the door and turned to her. “Just a word of caution, Agent Bartholomew, since you’re not familiar with our town. People talk a lot around here, and not all of it is true. The school has had a lot of problems in the past, and we’re trying to prevent any further incidents that would cause harm to the district’s reputation. Please exercise extreme care with what you’re doing.”

  “Rest assured, Mr. Lundy, I will do everything to be most discreet. However, I’m somewhat aware of how things happen around Eider and McIntire County, and I can’t guarantee that someone, somewhere, hasn’t already made their own conclusions and started talking.”

  His nostrils flared, but the man remained mute. He gave her a curt nod and then showed himself out the door.

  Once she was certain he was long gone, Liza pulled out the iPhone and brought up Montrose’s number. The SAC answered on the fourth ring.

  “Status, Bartholomew?”

  “Still digging, ma’am. Seems Mr. Ripley did a fine job of covering his tracks here. I’m afraid the fire might have destroyed what I need.”

  “He probably learned his lesson from the last time and secured his chances of never getting caught.”

  “Well, he didn’t do as fine of a job if he got killed.”

  Montrose sighed. “Pursue that avenue. See what you can learn about his death and who might have had a hand in it. And talk to the wife. She’s connected more than we know.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I also called to request a fast track for a warrant. The school board president is being a stickler. I’m not sure which had him more flustered, that I mentioned a potentially bad rap with the community or that I pushed to see the state of the district’s finances.”