Mac drew her head down on his shoulder and covered her hands with his. His were tanned and callused. Hers were rough, with the beginning of a rash. God, he loved this woman, dishpan hands, smeared mascara and all.
“Your father knew.” Even though Bonnard had not been the embezzler, he’d been Stoddard’s employer, and as such, a target for liability suits. No point in bringing that up now, though. “He probably hated to confront her, but he’d have done it, Val. That’s why he was collecting evidence.”
She laughed brokenly. “Evidence? If that was supposed to be evidence, then why did he hide it? Why not just tell someone about his suspicions?”
“Because suspicions alone aren’t enough. Before he accused an old friend, he had to be dead certain. Sooner or later he’d have gone to the authorities.”
“Only later never happened,” she whispered.
“Best I can figure, Matilda Stoddard, or whatever she called herself, had been inventing retirees, settling up accounts and shifting the money to another account for at least a couple of years. Some of the initials could represent different banks, or maybe fictitious accounts. As for the sums, add a couple of zeros and that probably represents a pretty accurate figure for each phony account.”
Once they knew what to look for it became all too clear. Matilda Lyford, complete with at least two different social security numbers—possibly others, as well, had set up four separate bank accounts, careful to keep each transaction under the limit of ten thousand dollars, which would have automatically flagged the transaction.
“And nobody ever figured out what was going on,” Val murmured.
“Because no one was looking for it. A few thousand a month here, a few thousand there—after a while it adds up to a pretty nice package. Especially once she started scooping up real money.”
“Just before she retired, you mean.”
“Couple of months. Probably figured by the time anyone caught on she’d be out of there.”
“She was right,” Val said with a shuddering sigh. Almost a sigh of relief. “Mac, it hurts. No one likes to be wrong about people, but…”
“On the other hand, sometimes being wrong is just fine.” His look said it all. He leaned over and tipped her face up for a quick kiss. Quick only because they still had some ground to cover before he headed north with the collected evidence to turn it over to the authorities.
“I take it you know where she is now,” Val said, obviously determined to get every painful detail over before the anesthesia wore off.
“Florida. One of the better retirement communities. Fancy apartment, water aerobics, weekly concerts, trips to Disneyland and Sea World. At a minimum rate of about eight grand a month she’d be set for a long, comfortable retirement. Instead…”
“Do you mind if we don’t talk about it any more?”
“Nope. I think we both pretty well accomplished our missions. Will’s in the clear. Your dad’s reputation is restored. In fact, he’ll wind up being something of a hero for having figured out what was going on. If he’d lived, he’d have taken his evidence to the authorities, and you and I would never have met. Will’s wife would never have left him—yeah, well, maybe she would, at that.”
“Go back.” She was rubbing his knuckles, then letting her fingers trace the length of each finger.
“To Greenwich? To Mystic?”
Then she came up on her knees beside him and shoved her face close to his. “Back to where you said we wouldn’t have met. Betcha you’re wrong.”
He caught on pretty fast when it came to shipwrecks and women he loved. “Betcha you’re right.”
She said, “Prove it.”
And he did.
Epilogue
She knew he was there, but refused to turn around. She’d heard him drive up. The old Land Cruiser was going to need a new muffler before long. Beach driving was rough on vehicles.
Imagine my knowing that, Val thought, amused. She turned slightly and aimed the stream of water on the other Cape jasmine. It got a tad more sun now that Mac had trimmed a few branches. Both of them were coming along nicely.
She felt his breath on her nape a second before she felt his lips. “You shouldn’t be out here in this heat,” he scolded.
Dropping the hose, she turned and let herself be folded into her husband’s embrace—which wasn’t as easy as it had been only a few weeks ago.
“Any luck?” she asked after being thoroughly kissed.
“Not yet.” In his free time her husband and a local historian were trying to get a lead on a schooner that had gone down more than a hundred years ago in the mouth of Hatteras Inlet. Neither of them seriously expected to find anything, but Mac enjoyed a challenge.
“Ever the optimist,” she teased.
“You bet. Look what optimism got me.”
When he went over to shut off the hose, Val thought dreamily—she spent a lot of time these days in that state—about the fact that neither of their worst fears had been realized.
Which reminded her—“Will called,” she said. “He insisted he doesn’t want to impose, but I insisted right back. He can have the back rooms.” Along with the rest of the house, those had been refinished and refurbished. “How good is he at painting ceilings?”
Mac laughed. They were finishing up the nursery. Marian Kuvarky had brought over a sack of baby clothes and offered to help with the trim. He had a feeling his stepbrother might be in for a surprise if Val’s machinations bore fruit. He liked the real estate agent just fine, but he didn’t know if poor Will was ready for any matchmaking.
“You hungry?” he asked, leading his bride of nine months inside the yellow house with the neat black shutters.
“Always,” she answered with a ladylike version of a leer. “One more month, and then six more weeks after that.”
He chuckled. “Six inches or twelve?”
“Twelve. I’m starved.”
They always had subs on Wednesdays. On Mondays and Fridays, Mac grilled fish. Val had discovered several new talents, but cooking wasn’t among them.
“I joined another group today,” she told him with a sly grin.
“That makes one for every day of the week. What’s this one, Mothers Against Toe-dancing?”
She elbowed him in the ribs and adjusted the thermometer. The heat pump had been one of her wedding gifts from her bridegroom. “Genealogy, smart-mouth. This baby of ours has cousins out the wazoo.”
“I keep warning you, you’re going to have to clean up your act, honey. Ladies don’t use vulgar terms like wazoo.”
“Guess what else ladies don’t do,” she teased.
“Afraid to ask.” Already grinning in anticipation, Mac tossed his baseball cap onto the coat tree she had found at the local thrift shop.
“Come on upstairs and I’ll show you.”
Besotted, he followed her swaying backside up the narrow stairway, thinking vague thoughts of sea sirens and tiny ballerinas.
Supper could wait….
ISBN: 978-1-4268-8293-7
SOCIAL GRACES
Copyright © 2003 by Dixie Browning
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*Outer Banks
†Tall, Dark and Handsome
‡The Lawless Heirs
§The Passionate Powers
**Beckett’s Fortune
Social Graces Page 14
