He placed his hand on her shoulder. “We’ll find the answers. You have to work with me, though. You can’t risk your life to answer these questions. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
Steven pulled up to the front of Marina’s townhome and parked on the street near the walkway. “Nice place you’ve got here.”
“Thanks, I love it. I bought it a few years ago.”
“The brick is a great feature, and the landscaping is nice. Three stories, huh?”
“It’s a three-bedroom. The third bedroom’s down on the terrace level with the garage. I use it for storage.”
“Do you park in the garage?”
“Yes. I don’t like coming in at night and having to walk in by myself. I feel safer parking in the garage. Of course, I left my opener in my car.”
“I told the officers to clean everything out for you once Forensics was done.”
Marina looked out the window toward her home but didn’t reach for the door handle. She squeezed her purse against her chest and rubbed her door key between her thumb and middle finger. She didn’t have to say what was on her mind.
Steven had seen this behavior more times than he could count. Once a person became a victim, peace was a long-lost friend who needed coercing into friendship again. But Marina would rebound. He’d seen the fight in her when she’d challenged him. If he had to make a bet, he’d put his money on her.
“Would you like me to come in and secure the place?”
She peeled her gaze from her home and leaned her head against the headrest. “You wouldn’t mind?”
“I’ve come this far. What’re a few more minutes? Come on.” Steven smiled, unbuckled his seatbelt, and climbed out of the car. Only a light drizzle floated throughout the air now, so he didn’t bother with an umbrella. He couldn’t wait to get a hot cup of coffee when he made his way back to headquarters. He made his way around to the other side and joined Marina, who already had the box of files in her arms. “You want me to get that for you?”
“Nope, I’ve got it. You can take my keys and unlock the door for me if you don’t mind.”
Steam rose from the pavement and collided with the cool evening air. Trees dropped the last bits of rain from their branches and washed fallen leaves down into the storm drains. Marina waded barefooted through the puddles in the street. Steven went around them. His suit almost hadn’t survived the last twenty-four hours. His shoes wouldn’t be the next victim in this case.
He unlocked the door and pushed it open. When Marina didn’t budge, he stepped in ahead of her into the dimness inside her home. She tiptoed in and placed the file box on the bench by the door. She reached to turn a lamp on, but Steven held out his hand to halt her.
“Let me check around first,” he whispered.
Marina nodded and closed the front door with a quiet click.
***
Marina waited by the front door as Steven searched the house for signs of an intruder. He’d descended the stairs with a thumbs up after checking the upstairs bedrooms. Now he was in the basement, but she wasn’t as worried about that area because the garage door was secure unless opened by the keypad or opener.
She clicked on the wrought iron lamp beside the door and gasped at the mess she hadn’t cleaned up when she’d left for work yesterday morning. Maybe she should turn the light back off and wait until Steven left. She sighed and shook her head at such nonsense. He wouldn’t care if her house had a little mess here and there. She suspected he went into homes all the time with messes far worse than hers.
A quick sprucing up wouldn’t hurt, though. She grabbed her purple fuzzy socks off the floor and tucked them underneath the couch cushion then folded the sherpa throw and draped it across the back of the couch. From the pallet wood coffee table, she grabbed the coffee mug, the plate with bits of day-old bagel and cream cheese on it, and the empty pint which had housed her chocolate swirl ice cream, and headed for the kitchen.
Steven came up from the basement right as she flipped on the light with her elbow. The granite countertop on her island was free of clutter, but her porcelain farm sink had a few too many dishes in it. Maybe he wouldn’t notice.
Lingering in the doorway, he laughed at her armload.
She shot him a playfully threatening look. “Don’t judge me. I’ve been too busy with the pumpkin patch and corn maze to clean lately.”
“No judging. You should see my place.” He stepped closer.
She smiled but then remembered why he was standing in her kitchen. “I’m guessing everything was clear throughout the house?”
“Everything looks good.”
“Thanks for checking.”
“Sure. Any time.” Clasping his hands, he relaxed his shoulders. Was he as relieved as she was he didn’t find an intruder? “This is a great kitchen. You spared no expense on the upgrades.”
“I wanted the house to be marketable if I ever sell it, so I went with the shiplap on the walls, the solid oak cabinet doors, granite on the countertops, and a nice walk-in pantry.” Marina pressed the trashcan lid pedal with her foot and tossed the trash inside.
Steven peeked out the window over the kitchen sink. “You planning to sell?”
“No, but you can never know the future. Times might get tough, and I might need to sell.” Her future could be bleak if someone drained her bank account.
“True. I hope not, for your sake. This is a nice place. Safe community.”
“Yep.” After placing the plate and mug in the dishwasher, she rinsed her hands in the sink and dried them on the towel that hung from the drawer handle.
“I’m going to take off for Headquarters to file my report and take care of this scrape on my cheek. Call if you need anything.” He rolled his head back and looked up at the ceiling then back at her. “I mean email me, or call from a neighbor’s if you need help. And keep your doors locked.”
“Always.”
She shut the door behind Steven and locked it then pressed her back against it and rubbed her eyes. Everything ached. Everything felt grungy. Although she’d showered at the hospital this morning, what was left of her makeup from yesterday clumped like dried pancake batter on her face, along with remnants of paintball paint. Her feet had a layer of filth on them from walking to the accident scene and through the puddles outside her home. And they were cold.
Maybe a good soak in the tub was what she needed. Then she’d grab her fuzzy socks out from underneath the couch cushion, heat up the lasagna, and start to work on the files.
It’d be Sunday in a few hours, and Marina hadn’t had time to think about Shelly’s invitation for church, which she’d offered when she’d gone for her massage last week. She yawned and sighed and admitted she didn’t have enough emotional energy to commit to anything else right now.
Three hard knocks on her door jolted her out of her reflection and sent her scrambling for the stairwell.
Minutes crept like hours as Marina squelched a scream with her trembling hands. She tucked herself against the stairwell wall to prevent whoever was at her door from seeing her if he peeked in through her partially open curtains. A whimper grew under her breath but remained frozen there. What should she do? She was vulnerable without a phone and without an officer on watch.
Three knocks again, and she bolted for the kitchen to retrieve a butcher knife. Why didn’t she have a gun? She should get one first thing tomorrow morning—if she survived the night and if any gun stores were open on Sunday.
“Marina? It’s Steven,” his muffled voice called from the other side of the door.
“Steven?” she whispered and inched her way toward the door, butcher knife still in her hand. She tilted the blade away from her. The last thing she needed right now was to slice open her hand or another part of her body.
“You forgot your purse in my backseat.”
Placing her free hand over her collarbone, she made her way to the window and peeked out. Steven stood on her porch with her purse in his hand. Lowering the knif
e to the bench, she unlocked then opened the door.
“You scared the stuffing out of me. Do you know that? I thought someone had been lurking and had come to attack as soon as you pulled away.”
“I’m sorry. I noticed it in my backseat. You must have set it down when you were picking up the box of files.”
Heart in her throat, she agreed, “Must have. Why did you bang that hard on the door? You scared me to the point that I grabbed a butcher knife from the kitchen.”
He smirked, like he knew she wouldn’t have used the knife on him. “Again, sorry. I figured you might’ve gone upstairs, and I wanted to make sure you heard me.”
“Oh, I heard you, all right.” How could she be angry with him? He hadn’t frightened her on purpose. “Thank you for bringing it back.”
“It didn’t match my suit, and I knew there’d be too many girly things in there, so I figured you should have it.”
A smile disturbed her trepidation when he pretended to model the purse. “You clearly need sleep, Detective.” She shook her head and tugged the purse from him. “Give me that.”
He pointed to his bleary eyes. “That I do. You do too.”
She nodded. “Thanks again.”
With a wave, he left, and Marina shut the door. Stop smiling. Stop smiling. Stop smiling.
After Marina soaked in the tub long enough to nod off a time or two, she bandaged her burn and donned her blue stretchy pants and gray sweatshirt with the Statue of Liberty on it. She fingered the image. If only she could be back in New York right now. The grime from her day with the detective now washed away, and her lasagna now ready to eat, she focused on work.
Once she’d donned the fuzzy socks she’d stashed underneath the couch cushion, she carried her laptop and the box of files into the kitchen. From this location, someone on the street couldn’t see her. While the front of the house was at street level, the back was above the basement, which was on the terrace level. This privacy afforded her the freedom to come down in the mornings in her pajamas without neighbors seeing her—if she remembered to close her curtains. The kitchen always seemed like one of the safest spots in the house.
Right now, this room smelled better than any other room, as well, as the aroma of the tomato sauce merged with five different cheeses and Italian sausage. It confiscated the air and almost hijacked Marina’s ability to focus on her research. She’d rather watch a movie than work while she ate.
As her laptop powered up, she took the first bite and moaned. Somehow, the recipe tasted better today than when she’d first made it. The pasta had soaked up the sauce and bits of minced garlic, and they were now one delicious concoction of Italian bliss.
A nudge of guilt plagued Marina’s heart while she chewed. “Should I even do this investigation?”
Iris had told her on numerous occasions she had everything in order, but something didn’t add up with their finances. Yes, Iris would consider this an invasion of her privacy and a betrayal, but Marina had to know what was happening with her company. Once she finished the investigation and returned the files, she’d have to ask Iris for forgiveness if her snooping produced nothing. If she found evidence of wrongful activity, she’d confront Iris about it.
“Okay, here we go.” Marina pushed the jump drive into the USB port and commandeered the first file out of the box while she waited for her computer to recognize the drive. When the notification popped up in the lower right-hand corner of her screen, she clicked on it and waited some more. A collection of yellow folders containing the names of customers, suppliers, and utility providers appeared in the drive’s directory. She searched for the name of the file she’d pulled from the box and began her research once she opened the folder.
Thirty minutes later, she was no closer to solving the mystery than she’d been when she left the office yesterday.
Each file she sifted through produced nothing that directed her toward the source of the missing money. Everything seemed in order. Iris was a great record keeper, and each file represented normal expenses the company had incurred—everything from gas, electric, water, seeds for their products, supplies for maintaining their waterfalls and Koi ponds, gasoline for the delivery trucks, landscaping supplies, equipment, and payroll.
Marina drummed her fingertips on the keyboard but didn’t press any of the keys hard enough to type anything. This was one of her nervous tics Iris had tried to get her to stop. “Something’s off here.”
The last file, the largest by far, contained about two inches of nothing but invoices from a company called Blossom Marketing, all stamped as paid. What service had this company offered Acres and Fields? Marina searched each invoice for the services rendered, and each one listed advertising as the service with the billing cycles running from Monday to Friday of each week, for more than two years.
“Advertising?”
Marina scooped another forkful of saucy delight into her mouth and added up the invoices in her head. They totaled approximately $150,000. That matched the estimated missing amount. Her heart raced, and a zing of adrenaline rushed through her veins. She was on her way to solving this mystery.
A digital folder had matched each physical file so far. She searched the drive for the Blossom Marketing corresponding folder, but her search resulted in nothing. Sorted alphabetically, Blossom Marketing should have been one of the first ones. She scrutinized each of the other folders to make sure the one for Blossom Marketing wasn’t hidden in one of them. Nothing. Someone didn’t want her or Iris to know about this expense.
Mid-chew, she stopped, and her lasagna congealed in her mouth when reality sunk in. These were Iris’s files. She’d had to authorize these expenses. In fact, she would’ve been the one to write the checks.
The lump of lasagna crept down when Marina swallowed then chased it with a gulp of water. Sighing, she ran her fingers through her hair.
Why had Iris spent that much without consulting her? If that amount had been spent on advertising, why weren’t they the top nursery in the whole state by now?
Marina searched for Blossom Marketing’s Better Business Bureau rating or any reviews from previous customers. Unsuccessful, she combed the Internet for its website, but the company didn’t seem to exist on the Internet.
Irritation needled at her. Why couldn’t she find anything? “This is ridiculous. You give that kind of money to a company for advertising—for anything—and they should at least have a website.”
Steven needed to know about her discovery. From her purse, she grabbed the bag of rice. Maybe her phone had dried out enough to work. With a shake, the excess rice fell away from the phone. She snapped the battery and back cover into place, powered it up, and waited.
Chapter Seven
Steven tapped a pretzel rod on the edge of his oak desk in the corner of the Narcotics Department at Headquarters and reviewed his mental notes while officers buzzed around him.
Six months ago, the Lewistown Police Department had received an anonymous tip about suspicious activity at Acres and Fields Nursery. Because of Mark’s hard work and surveillance before his death, Steven had firsthand knowledge that unmarked trucks came in and out of that nursery several nights a week. If his investigation turned out in his favor and as Mark had suspected, he’d turn the case over to the Feds soon.
Rocking in his leather desk chair wasn’t helping him shake the aggravating hunch in his gut Mack Jarvis, the husband of Marina’s business partner, was guilty. But guilty of what?
Jarvis appeared harmless, like one of the many trendsetters who frequented the park in Lewistown on Sundays while eating organic food and riding bicycles to save the ozone layer. He seemed friendly enough and appeared to view Marina as a kid sister. When she’d acted suspicious of him for being at the office, he’d explained his reason without a shred of aggression except for the tough love he doled out. His desire to protect her seemed legit. Steven had no reason to doubt his loyalty to her.
Something didn’t fit, though. Jarvis had twitched and s
ighed and shifted from one foot to the other while they’d talked. He’d avoided eye contact with Steven until he all but accused him of letting a criminal get away. He’d recognized Steven was a cop, which meant he had some experience with law enforcement.
Returning his focus to the notes he’d taken over the last few months, he pressed himself to find what he’d overlooked. “Could Jarvis be the one behind the late-night shipments? How did this tie in with what happened last night and with Marina’s missing money? Or did it?”
Steven took a swig of his coffee and spat it back into the mug. “Disgusting.” He pushed his chair away from his desk and stood. After stretching with a yawn, he headed to the coffee pot with his mug in hand.
“What’s disgusting, partner?” Detective John Roper stepped into the room in a gray suit and leaned against the door facing. He carried a file in his right hand and a bottled water in his left.
“This coffee. I can’t stand when it gets cold.” Steven poured the contents of his mug into the sink by the coffee pot and replaced it with fresh coffee until his mug almost overflowed.
John held up his water bottle and smiled. The crow’s feet at the outer corners of his brown eyes cut deep crevices in his cheeks and made his smile that much more welcoming. “You and that coffee. Water’s the only way to go.”
Steven held his mug up to his face and grinned like a mischievous child. John had tried for years to help him kick his addiction to caffeine and processed foods with nitrates in them. He’d won the battle with the jerky, but it’d be a while before he attempted to give up coffee.
John shook his blond head and groaned. He was one year Steven’s junior but pretended to be his big brother. He’d never give up trying to fix his problems or trying to find him a wife. “Why didn’t you call me and tell me about the latest development in our case? I heard it from Sergeant Collins.”
“I knew you were working the pre-Thanksgiving festival at the church and you had lunch at your grandmother’s. Right?”
Grafted into Deceit (Intertwined Book 3) Page 7
