Death, Taxes, and Sweet Potato Fries

by Diane Kelly

  When Cassidy caught my eye, her lips spread in a warm smile that, ironically, froze the blood in my veins.

  I know that smile. And it hides pure evil.

  Okay, perhaps I was being melodramatic. Maybe I’d been watching too much A y V.

  She stood and offered her hand. “Hi, there! I’m Cassidy.”

  While I shook the young woman’s hand, her boss introduced me. She did the same for Josh.

  Cassidy blinked a couple of times, the smile never faltering. “How can I help you two?”

  Before I could answer, DeWitt excused herself. “I’ve got some matters to tend to. I’ll check in with y’all in a bit.” She left the office, shutting the door behind her.

  I looked Cassidy in the eye. “Miss Briscoe, I’ll be up-front with you. Someone filed fraudulent 1099s reporting prize winnings to several people in the area.”

  “They did?”

  “Yes.”

  She tilted her head, her expression innocent. “I don’t understand. Why are you here?”

  “Because you’re the primary suspect.”

  chapter twenty-nine

  Stairway to Hell

  Cassidy’s eyes flashed. But whether it was from alarm, fear, or anger was unclear.

  “Me?” Her voice sounded incredulous as the words slipped past her smiling lips. “Why am I a suspect?”

  “Because you installed payroll software at the companies where each of the victims works. That can’t be mere coincidence.”

  She put a hand tipped with red nails to her chest, her gaze going from me to Josh as if seeking an ally. “But filing false tax reports? I’d never do such a thing!”

  “I think you might.”

  Her mouth fell open. “Why? What reason would I have to file false reports for anyone?”

  She had me there. I’d yet to determine her motive, at least where everyone other than Thomas Hoffmeyer was concerned. He was a jerk and it was obvious why anyone would want to give him a little hell.

  “Why?” I said. “Maybe because it’s the type of thing Isidora Davila would do if someone upset her. After all, she filed a false tax report on her barista boyfriend.”

  Cassidy’s eyes flashed again. Was she angry she’d been found out, that the show she loved and the character she idolized had betrayed her? Or was she was simply scared of being wrongfully convicted for something she didn’t do? “I’m innocent!” she insisted. “Ask anyone! They’ll tell you. I’m not like that. Besides, why would I do something that could get me in trouble, too? I love my job and my boss, and I certainly don’t want the IRS coming after me.”

  Why, indeed? Maybe I was like the kitten from the poster, looking up the wrong tree. “If it wasn’t you,” I said, “then who could it be?”

  “I have no idea,” she said. “It could have been someone else at the clients’ offices, or maybe someone else here, even. The account representatives have access to all the client files.”

  “That’s what your boss told me, too.” That tingle I’d felt earlier, the one that told me I was getting close to solving the case, had disappeared, replaced by a niggling feeling that I was off base here. “How many account representatives are there?”

  “Sixteen,” she said, “not including the tech staff. If you add them in it’s twenty-one.”

  In other words, twenty other potential suspects. But before I moved on to them, I needed to be convinced that Cassidy wasn’t the wrongdoer.

  “If it was one of your coworkers who filed the fake reports,” I said, “why would they have done it?” I was still searching for the elusive motive here.

  “I hate to say this,” she said, cringing. “But someone here might be trying to frame me.”

  Was it possible? Or was this just some telenovela-style melodrama? “Why would anyone want to frame you? By all accounts you’re the office sweetheart.”

  “That’s exactly why!” She let out a slow breath. “I’m young and attractive and friendly and everyone likes me. One of the other women around here is probably jealous and wants to get me fired. Or maybe one of the guys. There are some pretty ambitious types here, and they might not like that Nancy and I get along so well.”

  I’d come here convinced that Cassidy Briscoe was the guilty party, but now I wasn’t so sure, not at all. I mean, sure, she looked like Isidora and Isidora was no saint, but I’d found myself drawn to the character, too, admiring her determination, the fact that she didn’t take crap from anyone, at least not without getting even somehow. Who was I to judge Cassidy so harshly? And there was no denying that Isidora was a knockout with a dazzling style. Maybe this young woman just wanted to look like Isidora, not act like her.

  Whether I was right or wrong, it was clear I’d get no further talking to Cassidy. She’d made no confession, given me nothing more to go on. I figured I might as well speak to her coworkers, see what they had to say. Heck, one of them might even break down and confess. It happened on occasion, especially if a suspect thought they could get off easy by cooperating.

  “Who are the people you think would be most likely to try to frame you?” I asked, pen at the ready to take notes. “Can you give me some names?”

  “Okay,” Cassidy said softly, her expression reluctant and resigned. She proceeded to give me three names of coworkers who just might be envious enough of her to try to frame her for tax fraud. Two were female, one was male.

  “What do these people do?” I asked.

  She indicated that the two females were customer account representatives like her, but that the male coworker was a programmer who handled the technical end, troubleshooting software issues and customizing software for bigger clients.

  “Did all of these people work here two years ago?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “Why?” She seemed genuinely in the dark.

  “That’s when the false tax reports were filed.”

  She cupped her hands under her chin and put her elbows on the desk, her expression saying that she was thinking things through. “We’ve had a few people leave since then,” she said. “What if it was one of them?”

  Ugh. I came here for answers, not more questions. “Whoever it was,” I said, “I’ll figure it out eventually.” Isidora Davila wasn’t the only one with determination. I held up the list of names she’d given me.

  “Can you show us to their offices?”

  “I’d be happy to.”

  Josh stepped out in the hall. As I turned to exit, too, I heard a noise behind me. I glanced over my shoulder to see that Cassidy had ripped the electrical cord from her laptop and the socket. The next thing I knew, she’d flung the cord over my head and yanked back on it with all the force she could muster.

  Holy shit! I thought as the cord tightened around my neck. I can’t breathe!

  I tried to holler to Josh, who was out in the hall, but I couldn’t get a scream out. My voice came out no louder than a soft whisper. “Josh!”

  I dropped my purse and briefcase to the floor and clawed reflexively at the cord, falling backward against Cassidy’s desk as she pulled. Her hands whipped around my head, wrapping the cord around my neck a second time.

  No!

  I tried desperately to suck in some air, any air! But there was no air to be had.

  Still trying to pull the cord loose, but unable to get a finger under the strand digging into my neck, I kicked out at the chair I’d been sitting in. I’d hoped to make enough noise that Josh would turn around to see what the ruckus was all about. Unfortunately, the lightweight chair simply fell over quietly on the carpet, hardly making a sound. Shit!

  Giving up on the cord, I reached down to my waist, attempting to access my gun. Cassidy beat me to the punch, grabbing my wrist and yanking my arm up behind me. OW! I wanted to scream in pain, but couldn’t.

  I struggled to free my arm, but with sparks starting to dance in my peripheral vision, I was losing both consciousness and strength. What can I do? I don’t want to die here!

  Fortunately, I’d studied ma
rtial arts very briefly when a recent case squared me against a black belt. I remembered that self-defense often required a person to act against instinct, to sometimes run toward danger rather than to retreat. While my instincts were telling me to pull against the cord, maybe I should instead be forcing myself backward, toward Cassidy.

  I did just that, using my left hand to leverage myself up onto her desk. I put the rubber soles of my Doc Martens on the surface and pushed with all my might, forcing myself backward.

  The candy dish!

  As I pushed myself back, I kicked the candy dish as hard as I could. It sailed off the desk and through the air, crashing into the wall, strawberry candies raining down on the carpet.

  Josh peered back through the door as I flew off the desk on the other side. “What’s going on here!” he yelled, reflexively raising his hands in the air. “Stop! Help!”

  Unfortunately, with everyone in the immediate vicinity wearing earbuds, Josh’s cries weren’t likely to rouse anyone. Besides, he was the federal agent. He was the one with the gun. He was the one who was supposed to stop this, to be my help. Sometimes he seemed to forget that his technical skills weren’t his only skills.

  My back impacted Cassidy’s chest and she released my arm. The cord loosened for a split second as we fell to the floor behind her desk, just long enough for me to gasp a single breath of air. Uh!

  Cassidy wriggled out from under me and managed to get to her feet, both hands still grasping the cord. Backed against the wall behind me, she yanked up on the cord, lifting me by my neck.

  “Let her down!” Josh ran over and grabbed my legs, trying to pull my feet back down to the floor. I bobbed up and down on the floor like a human yo-yo on a tangled string. My entire face throbbed, the blood trapped, unable to circulate. Again, lights flared around the edges of my vision, darkness closing in after them.

  One thought went through my oxygen-deprived brain at the moment. If I lose consciousness, I’ll lose my life. Nick and I would never marry. He’d never become father to Hank or Waylon or Reba or Dolly, at least not with me as their mother. All that work and time my mother and Bonnie had put into planning the wedding would be lost. My cats would wonder why their mommy had never come home. I’d never be able to enjoy sweet potato fries again. I can’t let that happen.

  With my right arm free, I began to go for my gun again, but then I realized it wasn’t the right weapon for the situation. At least not yet. I couldn’t shoot someone who was behind me. How would I aim? And with Josh and Cassidy jerking me back and forth and up and down like a tangled mini-blind, a bullet could end up going through the floor, ceiling, or wall and hurting or killing Josh or one of Cassidy’s coworkers. I couldn’t take that risk.

  A file folder with the Financial Force logo caught my eye, providing me with inspiration. If those Fs could take off like rockets, so could I, right? When Josh managed to pull me down, I got my feet under me, my knees bent, and summoned all the strength I had left, pushing against the floor and shooting up like a rocket, my feet momentarily leaving the ground.

  The force nearly broke my windpipe and failed to free me from Cassidy’s clutches. The only thing it managed to do was knock Josh back on his ass. Dammit! Beyond desperate now, I flung myself back against Cassidy again, slamming her against the back wall. I heard a soft thud as her skull hit the wall. Good. Maybe I’d knock this crazy bitch out.

  I slammed her back again, this time throwing my own head back, the upper part of my skull impacting what felt like the bridge of her nose. Her head hit the wall again. Thud!

  The cord loosened for a split second, but I wasn’t about to wait for a second chance. I twirled toward her, the motion unwinding the cord one rotation. Another spin and my neck was free. Glory hallelujah! I gulped air through my mouth. UH-UH-UH-UH! My God, why had I never realized how wonderful oxygen is?

  Having caught my breath, I threw a punch at Cassidy’s face, my fist hitting her right in the mouth. Both she and Josh screamed as her lower lip exploded in blood. Her smile will never look the same. Ha!

  Dropping the cord, she put her hands on my shoulders and shoved me backward into Josh before running to the door. She turned left, wrenching open the door to the stairwell. I was after her in an instant. I leaped onto her back, hoping to take her down.

  And take her down I most certainly did.

  Thump-thump-thump-thump-thump! With Josh scurrying after us, trying ineffectively to pull us apart, Cassidy and I rolled head over heels down the first flight of stairs, careening toward the landing. No doubt I’d have a nice assortment of bruises tomorrow, but for now there was too much adrenaline going through my system for me to feel the pain.

  Luckily for me, I ended up on top when we came to a stop. I leveraged myself to a stand and whipped my gun from my holster, pointing it at her face as she sat up. “Don’t move!”

  Josh glanced over at me, saw my weapon, and pulled his, too. “Don’t move!” he shouted, too. A little redundant, but what the heck.

  Cassidy looked up at us, her split, bloody lip quivering, and began to blubber. She put her hands over her face to cry into them. Good. With her wrists easily accessible, it would make it that much easier to cuff her.

  “I’m so sorry!” she cried. “I’m so, so sorry!”

  “Save it for the judge.” I shoved my gun back into the holster, grabbed one of her hands, and slapped the cuff on it—click—pulling it behind her. I grabbed the other and pulled it up behind her, too. But before I could get the cuff on, she twisted her hand to grab my wrist and dove down the next flight of stairs, tucking into a roll and taking me with her. Thump-thump-thump-thump-thump! Sorry, my ass. I prayed Josh wouldn’t take a shot. With Cassidy and I engaged in this catfight, he had just as much chance of hitting me as hitting Cassidy.

  We scrabbled briefly on the next landing before tumbling down the next flight of stairs. Thump-thump-thump-thump-thump! This process repeated—thump-thump-thump-thump-thump!—until finally we reached the bottom floor. It’s about damn time! Good thing Financial Force wasn’t on the top floor of a skyscraper or Cassidy and I would be nothing but broken bones and mashed flesh.

  Though we were both disoriented, my brain righted itself quicker than hers did. I clicked the other handcuff onto her wrist, ordered her not to move, and whipped out my cell phone, dialing the marshal’s office. “I need transportation for a female suspect,” I told them, my voice so hoarse it was barely audible. It was no wonder. My windpipe had nearly been crushed.

  “Sorry,” the woman said. “I’m having trouble hearing you. What did you say?”

  I repeated the request.

  “Is she violent?” asked the dispatcher.

  “Little bit,” I said. “She tried to choke me with an electrical cord and dragged me down five flights of stairs.”

  “My goodness! Sounds like you’ve had your share of drama.”

  “And then some.” Frankly, I’d had all the drama I could take. Then and there, I swore off Amor y Vengaza. From now on, I’d stick to sitcoms and my favorite shows on the BBC network.

  “I’ll send two marshals,” the woman said, “just in case she hasn’t gotten everything out of her system.”

  The door to the stairwell opened and three faces—two male, one female—gaped at us.

  “We heard some noise,” one of the men said. “Are you three okay?”

  I looked to Josh to explain. It hurt too much for me to speak. When he finished telling them how he and I had come to interrogate Cassidy and she’d gone berserk, their mouths fell open even further.

  “That’s crazy!” the woman said.

  “Believe it or not,” Josh told them, “this isn’t even close to the strangest thing that has happened to Tara on the job.”

  They looked to me. “Seriously?” asked one of the men.

  I shrugged. What could I say? Something about me brought out the crazy in people.

  Twenty minutes later, everyone from Financial Force gathered in the parking lot to watch as the c
oworker they’d all thought was so sweet was taken off to the klink. There was lots of murmuring and exclamations of disbelief.

  Nancy DeWitt shook her head, her eyes wide in shock. “I never thought she had it in her to attack someone!”

  “I feel like this can’t really be happening,” the guy from the office next door to Cassidy said. “It’s like we’re trapped in some warped dream.”

  A woman who was pushing forty offered a wry shrug. “I never much liked her. She seemed like a phony.”

  Yep, she was one of the women Cassidy thought might be jealous of her. Looked like the little criminal had been right.

  I raised a hand in good-bye and Josh and I returned to my car. I slipped gingerly into the driver’s seat. After the tumble I’d taken, my entire backside felt like one big bruise. My neck and throat were sore, too. It had been worth it, though. I’d done my job, taken another criminal off the streets.

  I phoned Lu. “You can call Perky Ernie,” I rasped, “and tell him I just arrested a young woman who works at a payroll processing firm.”

  “Tara?” Lu asked. “Is that you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why does your voice sound funny? I can hardly make out what you’re saying. You’re not getting sick, are you?”

  I handed the phone to Josh. He put it on speaker.

  “Hi, Lu,” he said. “It’s Josh. We’ve arrested Cassidy Briscoe. We’ll explain it all when we get back to the office.”

  “Okay,” she said, curiosity in her voice. “This girl you two arrested? You’re sure she’s the one who did it?”

  “Oh, yeah,” he said, cutting a glance my way. “She did it all right.”

  “Okeydoke. See you in a bit.”

  He ended the call and handed my phone back to me. I slid it into the cup holder, started the engine, and exited the parking lot to head off in victory, another case solved. While the tax fraud charges might not have gotten her much, if any, jail time, Cassidy would now face indictment for attempted murder of a federal agent or, at the very least, for assault. If she’d been looking for a way to add more drama to her life, she’d certainly found it.