Although, as Cliff Grimes had proved, keeping it all in the family was no guarantee.
I kept reading. “Success emboldens the larcenous employee,” one expert said. “Not getting caught feels powerful, and the combination of power, having a secret, and getting something for nothing is addictive.” Accidental discoveries are not uncommon.
Like Sally Grimes picking up the mail for the property management company she owned but rarely touched, trusting her husband to manage it.
But what about the cash missing from the Building Supply’s bank deposit? An example of that boldness?
Maybe Detective Bello wasn’t so wrong after all—the profile of an embezzler did fit the modern Merrily. She handled money, although others did, too, and she had other duties. She hadn’t been there long, but her friendship with Greg—and his trust—dated back decades. Though I couldn’t figure out why she’d take the money now.
But the Merrily Thornton who’d gone to prison had been far different.
When men embezzle, the article continued, they take larger amounts. Women buy extras for their families; men shop for show. In both sexes, financial straits often provide the initial push, triggered by gambling or other debts, but long-term embezzlement is driven by the desire for a more expensive lifestyle. Experts say it’s nearly impossible to identify where all the stolen funds go, with much of it frittered away on pricey meals, spa days, and other indulgences.
Not Merrily’s style, by a long shot.
“Sorry to interrupt,” the sapphire-studded receptionist said. “It’s five thirty. We’re closing.”
“Oh, geez.” I sat up with a start. Sure enough, it was dark outside the big windows. “That’s okay—I found what I needed.”
Maybe I had, I thought as I stepped around an icy puddle in the parking lot. But I didn’t yet know how it all fit together.
∞
“Stupid halogens.” Every glance in the rearview mirror was painful. The thin sheet of ice on the two-lane road amplified the brightness of the headlights behind me, and the sleety-snow angling down hard made visibility even worse.
The pattern embezzlers followed bugged me. If Merrily had stolen a pot of money twenty years ago and was stealing now, why hadn’t she stolen anything in between? If leopards don’t change their spots, as the saying goes, surely they don’t change, then change back.
Had investigators not found Merrily’s share of the money years ago because she’d hidden it so well? Or because she never had any?
Brad Larson said she’d been broke and desperate for a job when he met her, newly released from prison. If she’d had money tucked away—I pictured that cigar box—surely she’d have come back for it. But her life showed no signs that she’d dipped into a pot of gold, then or now. She rented a modest house, from a friend. She drove a dented ten-year-old Taurus. Her daughter went to a state school on a scholarship.
Had someone else found the hidden money and spent it? Her parents?
That dark idea gave me the chills.
I blinked at the brights bouncing off my mirrors. That truck was way too close. It fell back, and my grip on the wheel relaxed.
I’d only caught a glimpse of Merrily’s kitchen and dining room. The table and chairs I recognized as Granny G’s. The cookware was nice, but not pricy. Coffeemaker, decent. That KitchenAid would have been three hundred or more new, but she could have had it for years. Good coat, easy to find on sale. When she’d come to the Merc on her job hunt last fall, she’d clearly wanted a job, but she hadn’t acted desperate.
So did all that signal that she had a small nest egg and was confident she’d find a job, or that she had a million bucks squirreled away? You can never tell, like the bag ladies or street men who live in one-room fifth-floor walk-ups and leave squillions to their grade school or an art museum where they sat in the café for hours nursing a single cup of coffee.
If she’d been stealing to support a more expensive lifestyle, she sure hadn’t shown it.
The truck zoomed closer now, flirting with the centerline. “Go ahead,” I urged the driver. “Pass, before we get to the curve.”
What was I missing? What was staring me right in the mirror that I couldn’t see?
I was determined to figure this out. Not just because people and their puzzles fascinate me. Solving cases, helping the community heal—it matters. My work matters—giving people good healthy food, helping folks make a decent living, being a cog that keeps the wheels turning.
But bringing about justice is bigger than me. And pursuing it, in my own way, meant even more than selling local cheese and handmade truffles.
I eased up on the gas as I entered the big curve near the slough. Barely half past five and full dark. Come on, solstice. Wheat fields stretched along either side of the road, and in the distance, a light glowed on a shadowy farm building.
The word community stuck in my brain. It meant so much to us in Jewel Bay. Brad Larson said Merrily moved back home to reconnect with her parents. He’d implied that was behind their divorce—she’d been getting ready to move as soon as their daughter left home.
Why would she come back here and try to repair the relationship, only to wreck it?
The reports of those old crimes still baffled me. The articles described Merrily’s work as an after-school and summer job. Merrily was a planner. Her mother was a teacher, her sister went on to be a veterinarian. Surely she’d planned on college.
That didn’t sound like a young woman who would steal from her mother’s best friend, have an affair with the woman’s husband, expect to escape, and destroy all her dreams.
The bright lights flashed in my mirror. The truck I’d thought had dropped back safely now sped beside me. Without warning it slammed into my driver’s door and pushed me toward the shoulder.
The wheel jerked loose in my hands. I tightened my grip and my instincts took over. Steer into a slide, I remembered my father saying. He’d never had the chance, sliding into a bridge at night, on a dark, icy road.
But this was no slide. The pickup—black? blue? I couldn’t tell—held steady beside me and slammed into me again. In the dark, I couldn’t have seen the driver even if I’d been able to take my eyes off the road.
He hit me once more, a metallic screech piercing the thick silence. A sharp flood of fear rose in my throat. Everything seemed so clear, yet I could see almost nothing. Nothing but the reflector on the post on the side of the road as the Subaru ran over it, down into the ditch.
Steer through the ditch, I told myself. Drive right on up the far side and into the pasture. The cows won’t mind.
Partway up the slope, my trusty little car slugged to a halt, stuck in the mud and snow and ice. It rolled on to the driver’s side, and I could hear the ice break. See the brackish water rise up the windshield. See it begin to leak in.
Adam. Mom. Chiara. Nick. The names tore through my brain. Landon and the new baby.
The babies I would never have.
I couldn’t move my arms. Why was it so dark? Why was I so cold?
Seventeen
The voices moved in and out of the darkness. They asked me questions. Fingered my wrists and the side of my neck. Shone lights in my face.
I blinked. Tried to raise my hand to shield my eyes. It wouldn’t move.
Darn light, too bright, too bright.
“Erin, can you hear me? It’s Derek D’Orazi.”
Who? Oh, right. EMT. Picture framer. Nice guy. Cute. Let me co-opt his phone last summer to take pictures of evidence before the sheriff tossed me off the scene.
“Talk to me, Erin.”
I didn’t want to talk. I wanted to sleep. If I kept my eyes closed, would they let me sleep?
“We’re taking you to Emergency.” He leaned in, and I smelled the tomato sauce and garlic on his breath. He obviously hadn’t tried my mother’s tomato sauce. She has a delicate touch with garlic.
“You’re going to hear a loud thunk,” he said, “and feel a bump. It’s nothing to worry
about—just us sliding the gurney into the ambulance, and the wheels folding up.”
Somehow they’d gotten me out of the car, out of the water, and onto a gurney.
Wait. Out of the water? How had I gotten into the water? I tried to remember. A truck. A curve. I tried to sit up. Derek put a hand on my shoulder and pushed me back down. Lights flashed everywhere. Why wouldn’t they shut off the lights? They were making my head hurt.
I tried to turn my head away, but all I got was another eyeful of lights, these from a sheriff’s vehicle. A uniformed deputy stood on the side of the road, listening to a woman who was talking with her hands.
“Is she going to be okay?” I heard her call as the gurney rolled by. “I can’t believe that pickup hit her and didn’t even stop.”
I opened my eyes and found Derek’s face. “My phone. Call Adam. Call my mother.”
“Already done,” he said. “Detective Caldwell took care of it.”
Detective Caldwell. Kim was on the case. I could relax.
∞
You wreck your car, you rip your skin open, you scare the bejeebers out of yourself, and they tell you to rest. But will they let you? No.
Hospitals are full of bright lights and sharp objects. And people who want answers.
Normally, I appreciate answers. My mother says my first words were a question—probably Why? Or Why can’t I have another cookie?
But these were questions I couldn’t answer.
“What happened?”
“Do you know who might have gone after you?”
“Does this hurt?”
Now there was a question I could answer. Pretty much everything hurt. And I still felt darn cold. After all the poking, prodding, X-raying, and who-knows-what-elsing, the ER doc told me I was a lucky girl.
I’d kinda guessed that.
“Nothing broken,” she said, her voice almost as soothing as the Reverend Anne’s. “Some scrapes and bruises, and that strained ankle will slow you down.”
“Can I dance at my wedding?”
She smiled. “Unless you’re getting married in the next couple of weeks, sure.”
Uh-oh.
“No internal injuries that we can find,” she continued, “but your blood pressure is a touch low, so we’re going to let you rest another hour or two here in the ER. Keep you quiet.”
“Good luck with that.” The voice I’d been longing to hear spoke, and I turned toward it, despite the pain in my neck.
“Adam,” I croaked. I raised my arms, though one was snared in the IV tubing. The doc stepped back and let him approach. He took my hand and fell to his knees.
“You think you can get out of marrying me by driving into a ditch full of icy water? No way.”
“Darling.” My mother flooded in, Bill and Nick behind her. She came to the other side of the bed and took my hand in both of hers. No matter how much pain I felt, it had to be half of what I saw on her face.
A minute later she broke the silence, glancing around the tiny room crowded with beeping machines. “What happened? Can someone please tell me what happened?”
“We’re still piecing that together, Mrs. Schmidt,” Detective Bello said. I hadn’t noticed him come in. Over his shoulder, I spotted Kim, standing next to Nick. “Passerby called it in. She was coming from the other direction when she saw a large, dark pickup with standard Montana plates start to pass Miss Murphy’s Subaru—”
“Very bright lights,” I said. “Scary bright.”
Bello focused on me. “Can you tell me anything about the truck? Chevy, Ford? Two-door or extended cab? Full bed or short?”
But all I could say—all I could see in my fractured memory was a dark truck, and my life ending at thirty-three.
Bello continued the story. “The witness pulled over to give him room—you know how narrow the shoulders are on that stretch. That close to the slough, the road was slick, and he was passing on a curve. She thought he was an idiot. But then he seemed to steer into your car deliberately.” He peered at me from his post at the foot of the bed. “As if he wanted to hit you.”
I nodded slowly, aware of a stabbing pain at the base of my neck. “Three times. I think he hit me three times.”
“She says you fought hard to stay on the road, but the truck was too big.”
“Who would do such a thing?” my mother asked.
Bello’s eyes rested on me, the tug-of-war between us gone, the stakes too high. “Any idea?”
I told him the truth. “I don’t know. But I think it has to be related to Merrily’s murder, don’t you?”
That, he wouldn’t say. The detectives had more questions for me, though the doc kept a close eye on them. Kim leaned in close before they left. “Be careful. You’ve been my best friend since the fifth grade, and I’m not interested in opening up the job.”
Despite the pain in my neck, I had to laugh.
Bello and Kim left, and Nick walked out with them, no doubt hoping to pry loose a few more facts. Bill gave me a hefty dose of homeopathic arnica and tucked the bottle in Adam’s pocket. Homeopathic remedies don’t interfere with prescription drugs, but not every medical doctor tolerates natural medicine, even when the practitioner is as well-regarded as Bill, and a relative of the patient.
Mom and Bill headed home, though not before extracting Adam’s promise to call them immediately if anything changed. My Reuben had long worn off, and they don’t serve dinner in the ER. I sent Adam to the hospital cafeteria with a promise to bring me back something.
I was alone when my ever-fatter, ever-slower sister and her family trundled in.
“What do you think you were doing?” Chiara said.
“Hello to you, too, big sister.”
“I’m sorry.” She lowered herself into the chair next to the bed and reached for my hand. It was a stretch, given her belly and the medical equipment, so we had to be content touching fingers. “I was so scared.”
“Me, too.”
“Auntie, your face is a mess,” Landon said. He put a knee on the bed to climb up, but Jason grabbed him. “Hey, little man. Not a good idea.”
“But I want to kiss Auntie Erin and make it better.” He burst into tears.
“I’ll take him.” Jason started to pick up his son.
“Jason, would you stay?” I said.
Head cocked, eyes wide, he set the still-sobbing child down. Chiara pushed herself up. She glanced between us and led Landon into the hall.
“Let’s sing,” I heard her say, followed by his wobbly voice joining hers. “We three kings of Orient are …”
“Great,” I said. “I needed a new earworm.”
“Sorry.” Jason took the seat Chiara had vacated, bumping the IV stand with one khaki-clad knee. “Tough day in the first grade. When he heard about your accident, he completely fell apart.”
“It’s okay,” I said, “though I’ll be singing that song for days. Did Greg Taylor call you about breaking that firewall in the Building Supply’s computers?”
“Yeah. Thanks. Interesting job. Took me most of the afternoon to make the first crack. She set up some pretty serious obstacles. But I’ll get in and see what she was hiding.”
“How did an assistant bookkeeper who did general office work have that kind of access? Not to mention that level of computer skill. And who knows you’re on the case?”
“Good questions,” he said. “I may be able to detect the digital fingerprints, see if I can identify who set up those blockades. The cops know I’m digging for evidence. They don’t have the resources to do it themselves.” He grew cautious. “The Building Supply staff know I’m there. I needed Cary’s help on a couple of programs. Why?”
The thought had been torturing me ever since Bello reported the witness’s account, confirming my own sense of what had happened. The thought that alternately made me want to back off and flee to Mexico, and fight harder than ever to find the killer.
“If I was hit on purpose, they might come after you next.”
Jason sucked in his breath and leaned back. The sounds of his son’s singing had faded away, but I knew he was thinking of his family. My brother-in-law, fiercely protective behind the sweet, nerdy façade.
“What about Lenhardt? Is he a target, too?”
“Could be,” I said. “I don’t know.”
“He’s got a kid on Landon’s soccer team, and an older boy. Seems like a nice guy.”
“I always thought Walt and Taya were nice, and they rejected their own kid. I thought Merrily was nice, and she may have betrayed a man who trusted her when no one else would. Heck, I’m starting to think Detective Bello is nice.”
“You sounded pretty lucid until just now,” Jason said and we both laughed.
The best medicine.
∞
The ER doc came in as I finished devouring the chicken Caesar wrap Adam had brought me, and said if I was that hungry, I was probably on the road to recovery. After one more good going-over, she set me free.
“Now I’m sorry I splurged on the basement,” Adam said a few minutes later as he drove into Jewel Bay. “You’re going to need a new car.”
“And a new phone.” I pushed a few buttons, but the thing just sat in my hand. “With a waterproof case. Not that I’m planning to plunge into the drink again anytime soon. Would you stop at the grocery store for some rice? I want to see if I can dry this thing out.”
“The more you poke it while it’s wet, the more likely you’ll damage the battery.”
“Probably right.” I tossed the phone into my soggy leather bag and leaned my head back. It didn’t hurt too much, though I expected to have a lovely black eye the next morning. “I still can’t believe this happened.”
Adam made a noise I couldn’t decipher, as if he were trying to decide what to say. “Which brings us back to who did it. If you were hit on purpose, someone wanted to stop you from investigating. Who, and why?”
And what—if anything—linked the murder, the theft, and the hit-and-run?
As the Christmas Cookie Crumbles Page 13
