by Susan Hunter
Clickety-click went my little brain as I recalled Sister Margaret telling me how precarious the school’s finances used to be. Clickety-clack it picked up speed, thinking of her recounting the arrival of Reid Palmer and the subsequent stabilizing of funds. And then clickety-clackety-click-clack-click, we rolled into the station. I heard Sister Margaret saying that Sister Julianna did everything herself. That Sister Mattea’s surprise revamping of the accounting system would take such a burden off her.
Sister Mattea’s brother. I had to get hold of him.
Scott Riordan hadn’t called me back, but maybe his snotty receptionist hadn’t given him the message. I looked at my watch. 10:00 p.m. It would be 7:00 p.m. in California. Miss Moneypenny would be gone for the day, and maybe I’d be able to leave a message directly on Scott’s voicemail. I crossed my fingers and called.
After three rings, I was readying a coherent message to leave when an actual male person answered. “Riordan Software.”
“Oh! hello. My name is Leah Nash. May I speak to Scott Riordan please? It’s very important.”
“Hello, Leah. This is Scott. What can I do for you?”
“Scott—I didn’t expect to connect directly to the boss. Last time I called, I couldn’t make it past your receptionist.”
“Miss Adams takes her job seriously. I’ve been out of the country actually, just stopped in on my way home from the airport to see what my desk looked like. You’re lucky. I can’t stand to let a phone go unanswered. What is it you need?”
“It’s sort of complicated, so I’m going to skip a lot that I can fill in later. I know you were donating a new online accounting system to DeMoss Academy.”
“Yes. I still plan to. What about it?” His tone of voice had gone from friendly to curious.
“And Sister Mattea, your sister, that is, did she provide you with financial records to be entered into the new system, so you could get it operational and ready to go when she presented the system as a surprise to Sister Julianna?”
“Yes.”
“Did you find anything unexpected?”
“Leah, I can’t really talk about this to you. The financial data is confidential.”
“I understand. I’m not asking for particulars. I just wondered if there was anything that concerned you at all. Please. It’s important.”
“I guess I can say that there is some information I plan to bring to the board’s attention.”
“Don’t! Not yet, please!” I blurted out.
“Excuse me?”
“Your sister trusted me. I need you to trust me too.”
“What do you mean?”
I told him about Sister Mattea’s note, and that I’d been working for weeks to figure out why she reached out to me and what she wanted to say. “I think part of what she wanted me to know was personal to me. But part of it might have had to do with financial problems at DeMoss. Have you found anything that indicates there could be fraud or embezzlement going on at the school?”
“You’re putting me in a tough position.”
I held my breath. Finally, he spoke again.
“The proprietary software my company developed is very sophisticated. I asked my sister to give me records going five years back in order to demonstrate all the program could do for the school.”
“The software detects fraud?”
“Yes, but it’s not that simple. It uses data mining and algorithms to classify and segment information, find associations and determine patterns and deviations in behavior. When a dissimilar behavior is identified in a pattern of transactions that should be similar, for example, it can signal a problem.”
“Like fraud or embezzlement, right?”
“I want to be clear here. These pattern anomalies are not proof of fraud, Leah. They are indicators. Further analysis and additional information is always required.”
“Has your software ever identified real-life fraud, for other companies, I mean?”
“Oh yes. Absolutely. We had a situation last year where a vice president for finance at a nonprofit had embezzled more than $3 million dollars over a 10-year period. He wrote checks to himself, forged signatures, destroyed cancelled checks the bank provided. He covered losses by inflating the number of unfulfilled pledges, and he was able to get away with it because there were no checks and balances.
“He reconciled the books and handled everything. Then, while he was seriously ill for an extended period, the organization brought in an acting manager who was familiar with our software and convinced the board to purchase it. The system revealed the indicators of fraud and within months the man was caught.”
“So, you think that could be happening at DeMoss?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“OK, but it could be right?”
“I’m comfortable saying that nonprofits and religious organizations have among the highest rates of fraud. They rely on trust rather than verification, and they invest too much authority in one person.”
“But Sister Mattea never said anything to you about it? You didn’t talk to her?”
“No. I didn’t pinpoint any problems until after she died. And truly, I’m not comfortable talking to you about it, Leah. As I said, I intend to talk to Reid Palmer and suggest some areas for additional data gathering and alert him to potential problems.”
“Scott, please don’t, not yet. Just give me a few days before you do.”
“I really don’t understand.”
“And I can’t explain. Yet. But if you give me just a week or so, I will.”
“I don’t know….”
“No one but Sister Margaret knows you’re working on this, right? It’s not like anyone’s waiting to hear from you. I promise you what I’m doing is exactly what your sister would have wanted me to do. I know it is. Just give me a week. Whatever is or isn’t wrong with the DeMoss accounts—a few days isn’t going to make any difference, right?
“I suppose not, but I—”
“Thanks, Scott. I’ll be in touch as soon as I can. I promise.”
Sister Julianna was stealing money. Had Reid Palmer found out? Was he covering for her like he was for Hegl? But why would he do that? And what did any of that have to do with Hegl, Lacey, and the statue?
“Damn.” The more I found out, the less I knew.
Discouraged, I slumped back in my seat.
There was a light tap on the kitchen door, and when I looked up I saw Miguel peering through the window. I waved him in.
“Chica, que va? What did Coop say about the statue? And what about Hegl? And Karen—ay mierde! Did she—Lacey, was she the one who—”
“Coop turned the statue over to Ross, who gave me grief about breaking into Hegl’s, which remember we absolutely did not do. And he’ll give me nothing about the investigation. If he even does one. Karen swore she didn’t kill Lacey—and she was out of town, so that’s probably true. But she did admit she was the one who sent the texts to Georgia.”
I got up and went to the refrigerator and got us each a beer. We both sat down at the bar, drank, and didn’t say anything for a few minutes.
“You knew it wasn’t Miller all this time, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t know it was Karen. I never thought—”
“No, but you knew it wasn’t him. Not just you didn’t think, you actually knew.”
He shifted on the stool and looked down, staring at his Supper Club.
“It’s all right. I know he’s gay. He told me. And he told me he’s coming out. But why didn’t you tell me? You let me go after him, and all the time you knew he was gay?”
“I tried to push you in a different direction. It’s hard to turn your boat around, chica. But I couldn’t tell you about Miller. Lo siento. I’m sorry. It wasn’t my secret.”
I waved away his apology. “I probably wouldn’t have listened to you anyway. I’ve pretty much had my head up my ass for the last month or so, I think we can all agree.”
“So, what’s next?”
I was a little hurt that he didn’t fight me on the head up my ass thing.
“Well, I’ve just spent the last hour backing myself into a corner of this godforsaken maze, and I can’t seem to think my way out of it.”
“Dígame.”
I explained my attempts to link Hegl, Palmer, Sister Julianna, and Sister Mattea together. I told him about my phone conversation with Scott, and my belief that Sister Julianna was an embezzler with a gambling problem. Miguel was as excited as I was at first, and then his face fell. Just like mine.
“So—what does Lacey have to do with all that? And the statue? You still think Lacey was killed, right? That it wasn’t an accident?”
“Yes. But I don’t know why.”
“Maybe she found out about the embezzling?”
I shook my head. “I don’t see how she’d even stumble across something like that. And if by some wild chance she did, I doubt she’d get the significance. She was just a kid.”
“What are you gonna do?”
“I don’t know. Think some more, I guess. It’s not like I have a job taking up all my time anymore.”
“That could be good.” The encouraging note he tried to inject in his voice was sweet, but kind of comical at the same time.
“Hey, it’s getting late. You don’t need to babysit me, I’m OK. In fact, I think I’m going to put all this stuff away for now and listen to some music and try to get some sleep. Maybe something will come to me in my dreams.”
“OK, chica, if you’re sure.”
“I am.”
Thirty-Five
After Miguel left, I putzed around in the kitchen for a while, putting stuff away, doing the dishes, wiping down the counter. I’d told him I wanted to get some sleep, but I was too restless. On the other hand, my brain felt too fried to figure out anything coherent. I walked down to the hall closet and reached way back on the top shelf and pulled out a sturdy banker’s box marked Lacey.
I carried it into my bedroom, set it on the bed, and sat down next to it. Sometimes, Mom would get the box down and look at the things inside, but I rarely did. It was just too hard. But that night I wanted to remember.
I took the top off and started sifting through the contents. Cards she’d gotten from me and Mom, a wall poster of Wicked. A small notebook filled with quick drawings of things that caught her fancy. I flipped through a few pages—a tree with bare branches, her cat Zoey, Mom sleeping on the couch, a bird, the swing on our front porch.
I put it aside to look at later, with the half-formed idea of pulling out some of the pictures to mat and frame for my mother’s birthday, then resumed my digging. A book of word puzzles. She loved crosswords, word search, anagrams, all that stuff. Some old report cards. The next thing I pulled out was a half-bald, one-eyed, matted, stuffed dog she called Fluffy Pete that I gave her when she was three. For years, she wouldn’t go to sleep without it.
That’s when I started to cry. Once I began, I couldn’t stop. It went from tears running down my face to shoulder-shaking sobs. I cried for Lacey and the life that was stolen from her, for my mother and the pain she had endured, and for myself and my inability to save her. I cried until my nose was stuffy, and my eyes were swollen, and my throat hurt. And then I cried some more.
When I finally stopped, I reached in the box for one more thing. Lacey’s MP3 player. If I could listen to what she loved, maybe I’d feel connected to her again. Maybe somewhere, somehow, she’d know how sorry I was. I fumbled to turn it on, but, of course, it wasn’t charged after all this time. I plugged it in the charger, and put the rest of the stuff away except for the sketch pad and Fluffy Pete Then I laid down on my bed with the tattered stuffed animal beside me and fell asleep.
The next thing I knew my iPhone pinged. I leaned over and looked at the time: 7 a.m. When I saw that RalphieP had accepted my friend request, I shook off my sleepiness. He was still online. I started typing.
Danny—I’m Lacey’s sister.
I know who you are.
Can we meet or can I get your number and call you?
Not a good idea.
Why were you with Lacey the night she disappeared?
I hated DeMoss. She said I could go with her.
Why didn’t you?
You tell me.
What do you mean?
She left me. Went to get a car. Never came back.
She didn’t leave you. Lacey was killed that night.
He didn’t respond for so long I wondered if he’d left his computer. Then the cursor started moving.
I got outplaced. Off the grid. No TV, no Internet. Home schooled. No one told me.
How long were you there?
Two years. Ran away.
What happened after Lacey’s friend Cole took off?
Lacey went to get the car. She didn’t come back.
What did Lacey know that would make someone want to kill her?
I don’t know. I have to go.
And that was that. He went offline. But I learned three things from our chat: he was scared, he knew something, and I was right, Lacey was in the administration building the same night Hegl and Delite were there. But why would Hegl have had to kill her? All he’d need to do was call security and report her. If he wasn’t her abuser, what was the motive?
But what if it wasn’t Lacey coming in at 10:45? Maybe Hegl and Delite heard someone else enter the building, not Lacey. Not yet. If Sister Julianna or Reid Palmer—or both—were on the scene, Lacey could have walked right into the middle of something when she got there. And never walked back out.
I got out a pencil and paper and made a timeline. Delite and Hegl get to Sister Julianna’s office just after 10:30. They have round two of their romantic tryst, and as they finish up, they hear a noise in the outer office. Delite runs out the back door at 10:45, leaving Hegl with his pants down. Literally.
According to Cole, he got his ticket on Dunphy Road, a five-minute drive from Simon’s Rock, at 10:50. If that was true, then he must have left Lacey at 10:45. It would take her at least 10 minutes to get to the administration building from the Baylor Road entrance, especially in the dark. And Delite was very sure it was 10:45 when they heard the noise. If it wasn’t Lacey coming in, who was it?
Everyone else was at the dinner, which didn’t end until after 11. Including Sister Julianna and Reid Palmer, except maybe not. I recalled the bitter words of Marilyn Karr. How he had sabotaged her. How he had offered to retrieve the drawing he’d forgotten in his office. How he didn’t get back until it was too late for her. Had his unexpected arrival at the administration building ensured that it was too late for Lacey, too? But why?
“Damn it!” I shouted out loud, then immediately shut up so I didn’t wake my mother. I sighed and pulled Lacey’s MP-3 player out of the charger, inserted my ear buds and hit play. I picked up the notepad of drawings I’d set aside the night before, intending to leaf through it while I ate my breakfast. My mother’s door was still closed as I passed down the hall. I set the sketchpad on the bar and went into the kitchen.
The songs on Lacey’s player moved from Avril Lavigne to Justin Timberlake and on to the Black Eyed Peas. I had to smile when Simon and Garfunkel showed up. We are our mother’s daughters, I thought, as I put bread in the toaster, poured a glass of orange juice, cracked an egg into the frying pan. Then a song came on that made me stop in my tracks.
Except it wasn’t a song at all. It was two people talking. And what they said turned my stomach.
Danny, what are you doing in here all by yourself? The unmistakable soft Southern drawl of Reid Palmer.
Listening to my player. A young boy, nervous and high-pitched.
Well that’s fine, Danny. I know that’s a favorite past time of boys your age. But wouldn’t a nice soak in the hot tub after all our exercise today feel good?
That’s OK, I want to stay here.
Danny, what’s wrong? Didn’t you have fun today? Didn’t you like the horses? Didn’t we have a grand time?
I
guess.
Danny. Let’s go now. Everyone is waiting.
Silence. Then Danny’s voice came in a rapid-fire burst.
I don’t want to. Just take me home. I just want to go home, Mr. Reid.
Home, Danny? You mean back to DeMoss? Well, of course, you can go, anytime you want. But I would have to tell Sister Julianna that I think you are having some adjustment problems. And that could mean you need to be outplaced. Then you wouldn’t be able to stay in touch with your little brother. What is his name now? Justin?
You can’t do that!
Of course I can. Not that I want to. I hope you’ll realize that my friends are your friends, too. They all like you very much. Is it the camera, Danny? Does that worry you? Don’t even think about it. We all like to remember special times, don’t we, Danny?
I just don’t want to do it. Please, Mr. Reid.
It’s up to you, of course. I can take you back to DeMoss. And you can abandon Justin. Like your mother abandoned you.
The small voice of a frightened and defeated 12-year-old whispered, Fine. I’ll stay.
That’s wonderful. Why don’t you put away your music now?
That’s why Danny wanted to run away. That’s what Lacey knew. And that’s why she died, to stop Danny from suffering the same way she had.
I went to my laptop and Facebooked Danny with my phone number and a message: I know what Palmer did to you. I have the recording. Call me.
Then I waited. Within 10 minutes my phone rang.
“It’s Danny.”
“I know about Reid Palmer. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“My little brother is only 10. He thinks I’m in technical college. He can’t know about what happened. What I did. What I am.”
“Danny, I need your help. We can stop this. Stop Palmer.”
“No. You can’t. Lacey thought she could, and she’s dead.”
“Is it just Palmer, Danny? Do Sister Julianna and Father Hegl know what he did to you? Are there others?”
“They know. Sister Julianna picks out the kids. The ones like me, with nobody who gives a crap about them. If you go along, you get special privileges. If you don’t, you get outplaced. And if you tell, nobody believes you. And they have pictures, video, stuff that shows what you—that you—everybody can see what you did. Anyway, you’re just a lying screw up. That’s why you’re at DeMoss, right? After Lacey left—died—Hegl said, if I kept my mouth shut, they’d take me off the website. And they’d let me stay in touch with Justin.”
