Key to Love

by Judy Ann Davis

  Elise followed her to the outer office where she dropped Todd Fisher’s private folder into a wire file basket on the corner of Linda Cook’s vacant desk before returning to her office.

  Elise surveyed the room. Linda Cook was nowhere in sight. She was either in the restroom or getting some coffee in the office lunchroom. As soon as she heard Pedmo’s office door shut, Elise slid into a seat, snatched the folder from the basket, and began to riffle through it. Amid the report of services and contacts with the foster parents, she found an entry of Pedmo’s in-home visit. In the margin, a notation read, “Child likes dogs, the color blue and French fries. Not fond of green vegetables, but loves animal crackers.” Elise smiled at the flowery script. So Pedmo wasn’t the hard case she appeared to be.

  Continuing her search, she also discovered the initial intake evaluation by Jack Morrison. It merely recommended Todd to be returned to New Castle for the child’s best interests. Beneath the evaluation, there was a single sheet of paper with Clarisse Fisher’s name, address and phone number on it. Elise stared at it a moment, wondering whether Clarisse had made contact with Child Welfare or if they had located her. From her purse, she pulled out her notepad again and quickly jotted down the information including Clarisse’s most recent place of employment, Two Horses, a local bar.

  She was about to return the folder when a niggling thought crossed her mind. She removed Clarisse’s address and compared the handwriting against Twila Pedmo’s and Jack Morrison’s. It was Jack’s writing, there was no doubt.

  Footsteps in the hall forced her to slam the folder shut. She had no sooner tucked it beneath her packet of papers when Morrison sauntered down the hall with a bottle of water in his hand.

  “Lizzie, I’m glad I caught you. I was meaning to call. How about Saturday night?”

  “Saturday night?” She peered up at him. This time he was wearing a brown jacket with a blinding gold tie accented in what appeared to be tiny lime green palm trees.

  “Yeah, I thought we’d get something to eat and catch up on old times.”

  Her mind ticked. “I heard there’s a place called Wild Horses.”

  He frowned. “You mean Two Horses? Yeah, it’s a new country and western joint. Pretty rowdy. Food’s bad, unless you’re into burgers and noise. I thought we’d go someplace with some atmosphere and class.”

  She gave him her best little girl pout. “Ah, Jack, I can get enough class in San Francisco. Why don’t we catch a nice dinner some place and go to Two Horses afterwards? I’d love doing something different.”

  Relenting, he said, “Oh, all right, but it’s a real dive. I’ll make sure we at least stop there so you can see it. Is seven o’clock, okay?”

  “Seven o’clock is fine.” She glanced down at her papers. “What do you know about Todd’s stepmother?”

  “Clarisse?”

  She thought she heard a slight hitch in his voice. “Yes, but I don’t recall her maiden name,” she lied.

  “Cramer, but she uses Fisher,” he filled in. “Nothing. I guess she was interested in custody of Todd Fisher, from what Twila Pedmo tells me.”

  “Now why would she think she could have custody, Jack?”

  He shrugged and fidgeted with some change in his pocket. It was plain to see he was uncomfortable discussing Clarisse, even though he made a valiant effort to conceal it. “I suppose she would have had some type of rapport with the child, having lived with him over a year.”

  He started to say more, but Linda Cook strolled in, a cup of coffee in her hand.

  Elise clutched her papers fanned over Todd Fisher’s folder. She expected to see hostility in the secretary’s face, but instead Linda Cook greeted her with a smile and sat down.

  “I see you got the papers you need,” Linda said.

  Elise nodded. “Yes, thank you. It looks like your agency invests heavily in Hammermill.”

  The woman laughed. “The government does, you mean.”

  Jack Morrison glanced briefly at Elise and smiled. “I’ll let you finish up here.” He headed down the hallway toward his office.

  A half hour later, Elise decided she had all but signed away her life and her dad’s farm. Now all she would have to do was distract Linda Cook and return Todd’s folder to the basket.

  But how? She pondered her dilemma for a moment, watching Linda Cook efficiently bang out information onto a form in her computer. She toyed with her pen, removing the cap. She remembered the many times she and Fritz had been caught in childish pranks. When you can’t bluff, her brother always said, confront your opponent with sheer confidence and boldness, or complete stupidity.

  Mustering her courage, Elise rose, plunked the papers fearlessly on Linda’s desk while she slipped the folder back into the basket. “Thanks for your help.”

  Linda turned from her computer. The woman was blessed with uncanny peripheral vision. Her hand flew to the basket.

  “This is a confidential client folder,” she said, tapping it lightly.

  Elise smiled. “Excellent! It means my papers will be treated with the same efficient care and confidentiality, right?”

  “Of course.” Linda Cook quickly removed it from her basket, then looked up, her gaze cool but not unpleasant. “Have a nice day, Ms. Springer.”

  Elise left, so nervous she took the steps to the street too quickly, almost stumbling on the last one. She had obtained more information than she had planned, but she was certain of two things. There were still a lot of unanswered questions, and she had not pulled the wool over Linda Cook’s eyes.

  Chapter Nine

  The first thought crossing Lucas’s mind was that a blue tornado had swooped down without warning.

  Elise Springer barreled through the office door, crossed the distance between them, and slammed her fist on the metal desk so hard two pencils did simultaneous jumping jacks before hitting the concrete at her feet.

  “You liar!” she shouted. Vicious claws, still splendidly colored a brilliant red, reached out, clutching the front of his shirt and jerking him by the throat.

  “Having a bad morning?” Lucas asked quietly, thankful he never made it a habit to fasten the top button. “Maybe I should make a pot of coffee?”

  “You set me up, you detestable jerk!” Her hand still held fast even when his came up to cover it. “You never told me about the seventy-five thousand dollars Mike gave you.”

  He pried her fingers loose, and she stepped back, slicing the air with the edge of her palm. “I trusted you, you lowly worm. I went in there on your behalf!” Both hands flew to her temples, massaging her forehead. She stomped to the window and back again twice. “God, what a fool I am.”

  “It’s not what it appears, Liz.” Lucas sat down, leaned back in a chair beside the desk, and hoped Fritz had not lied and this was just one of her twenty-four hour bouts of raving insanity. “Maybe you ought to sit down, and I’ll explain.”

  “You can start spouting an explanation right now, pal, and I don’t need to sit to hear your gibberish!”

  If her eyes could throw darts, he’d be dead man for sure, Lucas decided. He mustered some courage. “If I had told you Mike gave me money from his personal funds to invest for him, you would have gone into the meeting with Pedmo and tried to second guess her, just to defend me. I couldn’t take the chance. You got the kid, right?”

  She glared at him. “Yeah, I got Todd, or almost have him, no thanks to you, pinhead.”

  “Liz,” he said and patted the top of the desk. “Sit down. Please.”

  He watched her warily back against the edge of the desk and defensively cross her arms at her chest.

  “It’s not what you think. The money Mike dropped into the Atlanta account was from his foster parents, who sold some property and wanted him to share in their profits. It wasn’t stolen undercover money despite the rumors flying about. His divorce wasn’t final yet, and he wanted to be sure Clarisse wouldn’t get her hands on it. He felt it should be invested for Todd.”

  “Do you h
ave proof of this?” she asked. Her tone was still irritated, but to his relief, less hostile. Anger was slowly draining from her face.

  “It’s a little more complicated than I’d like to admit. You see, Mike deposited the money in cash, so there’d be no paper trail for Clarisse to follow. Right now, Thomas is tracing it back to New York and the bank accounts of Mike’s foster parents.” She stared at him with a wary expression, and he could see she was struggling to believe him.

  “What other pertinent information should I know?” She chewed on the corner of her lip. “Don’t even think about handing me any bull, Fisher.”

  “Of the one hundred thousand dollars Mike received from his foster parents, only seventy-five thousand was actually deposited for me to invest. There’s twenty-five thousand of the total missing as well.”

  It took a while for her to register what he had just told her. “How did that happen?”

  He shrugged. “Originally, his plan was to deposit twenty-five thousand in four separate installments. My accounts in Atlanta show only three.”

  “And you didn’t question him?”

  “Elise, I was in Atlanta. He was here in Scranton. Of course, I never questioned him. I received three payments. I had no reason to believe he wouldn’t pay the last one as we planned. Anyway, my accountant, who helps takes care of the business end of the garage in Atlanta, was handling the transactions. When I found out there were only three deposits, I figured Mike was having a cash flow problem and needed to buy a car or fix up his apartment. How often do you discuss your savings and finances with your brothers?”

  “I don’t.”

  “Exactly.” He stood, pushing back his chair, and leaned an elbow on a new filing cabinet positioned diagonally behind him. “Remember when I told you yesterday I had adequate funds to cover the cottage repairs?”

  “Sufficient,” she corrected him.

  “Sufficient then.” He leveled a gaze her way. “Actually, I took care of it this morning.” He opened the top drawer of the cabinet and withdrew a checkbook with a card. “I dropped fifty thousand into this account for you to use. As soon as you sign the signature card and return it to the bank, you’re in business to work on the cottage.”

  “Fifty thousand? Holy cow!” She arched a brow. “Aren’t you going a little overboard for paint and carpeting?” She took the checkbook he handed her.

  “The slate roof will be pricey. I don’t know what you’ll need. I don’t know what the materials might cost.” His hands flew palms up. “I don’t care what you do, just get it operational. I need the place livable as quickly as possible.”

  “Wait, why do I have to I sign the card?” Warily, she flipped up the cover where temporary checks were concealed. “Why use my name?”

  “So you can pay the bills, why else?”

  “I’m not going to be here for very long,” she pointed out.

  He studied her a moment. She had let her hair fall loose about her shoulders. The soft blue suit she wore hugged her body and fell in perfect lines to accentuate her trim figure and baby blue eyes. It made her look youthful and fresh, and he knew she had selected it for the meeting to give the appearance of innocent trust. She also looked incredibly sexy. He thought about begging her not to return to California, but it would be an effort in futility.

  “I know. We can put your dad’s or Fritz’s name on with a blind signature, if you’d like. I’d prefer if my name and money are not flashed about at the moment. This business about Mike is not resolved, and I need to keep a low profile. Trust me on this.”

  “So you think the undercover money does exist?”

  “I think it not only exists, but I also think someone is waiting in the wings hoping to discover it or waiting until we do. This morning I found a back window in the showroom jimmied. Someone was in here snooping around. Perhaps hoping to find some information to lead him or her to it.”

  Elise pushed herself from the desk with worried eyes. “We should go to the police, Lucas. It’s the sensible thing to do.”

  He shook his head vehemently. “I can’t be sure it wasn’t just kids pulling a prank. And I want the police out of it—completely uninvolved for the moment. They already suspect me, and it might be best if everyone thinks the same.”

  “Why?” She heaved a sigh, not understanding his logic.

  “Listen, Elise, what if there’s someone close to Mike who knows the money wasn’t recovered? If my name is cleared, he’ll have to make doubly sure he doesn’t get careless searching for it. With me as a prime suspect, he just might let down his guard and hopefully make a few mistakes.”

  “So even if someone finds it, what difference does it make? Thomas will clear your name.”

  “Yeah, but I want to clear Mike’s. I don’t want the entire police force to think my brother was a thief.” He considered telling her he didn’t think Mike’s death was an accident either, but instead, he pushed up the sleeve of his flannel shirt and checked his watch. “Are you hungry? We can finish this over lunch.” He remembered Fritz’s description the other night. He hoped she had calmed down and was over her anger. If only he could tell her the truth...the real truth...that he was rich and he didn’t need anyone’s money for anything—even to take care of Todd. All he wanted to do was catch Mike’s killer and clear Mike’s name for both Todd and himself.

  She smiled. “Starved. I know a small diner where they make the best vegetable lasagna.”

  Half an hour later, he sat across from her in a secluded corner of the restaurant, watching her shovel the final bite of pasta between her lips as she related the incidents in Pedmo’s office.

  She sighed contentedly and leaned back, tapping her nails on the red checked tablecloth. “Now tell me the rest of your dark secrets. I tend to take bad news better on a full stomach.” Her blue eyes danced merrily.

  He smiled. He’d remember that next time. “I should have made you breakfast before I sent you into battle with Children and Youth Services.”

  He reached across the table and took her hand in his. She was wearing an expensive opal ring he hadn’t seen before. It looked so delicate, like her, especially compared to the chunky black watch with all its beepers she wore tucked up high on her wrist under the sleeve of her suit.

  He rubbed her ring finger. “Another gift from Chuck?” he asked with a grudging tone.

  “As a matter of fact, it is,” she said and pulled her hand away.

  “So this guy is...what?”

  “Generous?” she offered, as if she could read where he was going with his questions and wanted to head him off.

  “Could you be more specific?”

  “What’s more specific than generous?” she asked dryly.

  He leaned forward and said in a hiss, “Dammit, Lizzie, don’t play coy. I hate head games.” He could see flames leap in her eyes. Her face went from white to red to white again.

  “Are you asking me if I’m sleeping with him?” she asked. “What are you? Part of the Springer brothers’ protect-little-sister brigade? Did they make you an honorary big brother?”

  “Yes. Answer my question.”

  “I will not! I don’t need this, you know. You have a lot of nerve.” Throwing her napkin aside, she signaled for the waitress, who was one table away. “Can we have our check, please?”

  Before the receipt even hit the table, she had it in her hand and was storming toward the cash register.

  Teeth clenched, Lucas rose and threw some bills on the table for a tip. He caught up with her tearing across the parking lot as she headed to the car.

  “Lizzie, wait up!”

  She slid into the passenger’s seat and slammed the door with a sharp crack that made him wince. If he didn’t get something else for her to drive, the poor car would be in pieces and the buyer in Atlanta would never get a chance to smell the leather cleaner on the seats.

  He opened the driver’s side, heaved his tall frame down, and shoved the key into the ignition. “You know, your brother is right, you
are a raving maniac when you are on a mission...or maybe when your hormones go ballistic...or maybe when you need chocolate.”

  “Oh, terrific, so you’re analyzing me now? I hope you weren’t discussing this with those two baboons I call brothers.”

  “No.” He threw the car into gear and peeled out of the parking lot. “But we did discuss Lady Godiva.”

  “What? Are you morons? What’s with Lady Godiva?”

  “Chocolate, I guess. Hell, I don’t know.” He swiped a hand across his face. Being around this woman made all logical reason fly out the door. He could barely think straight. He continued, “I once watched a television show about women who are addicted to chocolate for the good feeling it causes, and they have withdrawal symptoms when they don’t get enough of it. I noticed you didn’t have any of Fritz’s chocolate cake last night.”

  “Oh, dear Lord, you three really are certifiable imbeciles! I didn’t eat chocolate cake because I wasn’t hungry for dessert!” She jammed her sunglasses on her face and muttered, “Where are we going, Freud?”

  “I don’t know that either.” He mustered all the strength he had to keep from sniping back at her. He nudged the accelerator, pressing her backwards into the seat. “Liz, I was only curious about Sanders.”

  “Sure, sure you were,” she countered. “Why don’t you just run a criminal background and credit check on him while you’re at it? Get a private investigator to dig up some dirt. Maybe have a quick interview with his elderly grandmother, too. Do you want her address?”

  Refusing to rise to her bait, he turned on the radio and turned the volume down to low. From the corner of his eye, he watched her fall silent, settling herself stiffly in her seat and snapping her seat belt. Minutes later, he turned off into Nay Aug Park, glided the car into a parking place, and cut the motor.

  “We need to talk,” he said in a quiet voice and turned toward her.

  “So talk. Just so it’s not about my personal life,” she muttered. She refused to look at him. She removed her sunglasses, squinting out the windshield. Through the open window, the cry of a redwing blackbird taking flight rent the air.