by Jeff Shelby
I almost felt sorry for her.
“Why did you hang up on me?” she demanded.
The sympathy evaporated. “Because I had nothing else to say,” I answered truthfully.
“I need your help!” she cried. Fresh tears welled in her eyes.
I took a deep breath. “I don’t know how to help.”
“How can you not know? You’re a private investigator, for crying out loud! This is what you do!”
“No, this is not what I do,” I said, shaking my head. “Contrary to what everyone in this town thinks, I am not an investigator. I worked at a firm. I filed papers and I scheduled appointments and I typed up reports. I was a glorified secretary. That’s it.”
If she heard me, she made no indication. Instead, she breezed past me and into my house. I did a double take when I noticed what was tucked under her arm.
Her dog.
“Please, Rainy,” she said, taking a deep breath. “I need you to help me figure out what’s going on. My entire life is at stake here!”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Her entire life? Sure, things looked suspicious regarding the missing money, but I wouldn’t consider it a life-or-death situation. Especially if she didn’t do it.
She parked herself on my couch and looked at me expectantly. Tallulah was already curled up on her lap, nudging Sophia’s hand for food or pets; I wasn’t sure which.
I stared at the two of them for a moment. Sophia’s eyes were still red-rimmed from crying, but there was a look of determination on her face, one that I had seen before, and I knew exactly what it meant.
She wasn’t giving up.
She was going to stay in my house, glued to my couch, until I agreed to help.
Once again, I found myself weighing my options. I could stand firm and refuse to do anything, or I could give in and try to figure out what had happened to the missing money.
Or I could just walk away and hope she eventually left my home. I mean, at some point she would have to leave to go and open the boutique, and I was pretty sure Walter would come looking for her if she stayed away from home for too long.
“Please, Rainy,” she said again. Her voice was soft and pleading.
I sighed. Loudly.
“Please.”
I stared at the open door, then back at Sophia. She’d produced a treat for Tallulah, who was busy licking it along with Sophia’s fingers.
“I know I’m going to regret this,” I muttered as I kicked the front door shut.
I heard Sophia answer with a sigh of relief.
I sat down next to her on the couch. “Alright, tell me everything you know.” I waited a beat. “And don’t leave anything out.”
Sophia nodded. “I…I’m the treasurer for the society. I keep track of expenses and payments received, I write checks, and I give a monthly treasurer report. It made sense for me to volunteer for the position because of my involvement with the bank.”
“Your involvement?”
Her cheeks colored a little. “Well, Walter’s involvement. He was able to help us set up the right account for a non-profit, and he also helps with the taxes.”
“Tell me about the checkbook,” I said. “Is this something you keep with you or do you only carry it in when you have checks to write for society events?”
Sophia stroked the dog in her lap. “No, I always carry it.”
“Why?”
She gave me a puzzled look. “Why wouldn’t I? We have monthly meetings where I might have to write checks to reimburse members, and I’m always on the lookout for things we might need for the events we hold: the Halloween party, our Mother’s Day luncheon, our holiday bake sale and art show. It’s easier to just carry it with me so I always have it. That way I can’t forget to bring it.”
Her explanation made sense. Sophia was much younger than me—I put her at least ten years my junior—but I could relate to her logic. I was always forgetting things: items to buy at the grocery store, errands I meant to run, where I’d put my keys or my slippers. If I were in charge of an organization’s checkbook, one that I was responsible for bringing to various events, I’d probably default to just storing it permanently in my purse.
My gaze drifted to Sophia’s boot-covered feet. A brown Coach purse sat next to her.
“Do you have it now?”
She blinked. “The checkbook?”
I nodded.
“Why, yes, I think so.” She frowned. “I mean, there’s no reason why it wouldn’t be in there. Unless someone stole it…”
It was my turn to frown. “You mean you haven’t looked for it?”
Slowly, she shook her head.
My frown deepened. If I had been in her shoes, with missing money from an account and the newfound knowledge that a check had been cashed—a check from a checkbook I was supposed to be in possession of—the first thing I would do would be to dump out the entire contents of my bag.
“Can you do that now?” I suggested.
She blinked again and then nodded. She reached for her bag and Tallulah whined her displeasure when she was jostled from Sophia’s lap and onto my couch cushion.
Sophia rummaged through her bag, her nose inches from the opening as she peered inside. Within seconds, she withdrew her hand, a navy blue leather checkbook secured in her grasp.
“Here,” she said, holding it out to me.
I flipped it open. The checkbook held a register of duplicate checks, with a carbon copy of the first check in that booklet visible. The name of the organization was at the top, with a P.O. box in Latney listed as the address. The check had been made out to the craft store in Winston, dated just a few weeks earlier. There was a voided check in the book, too, one made out to some organization, with the word VOID written across the entire surface. Sophia’s signature was there, a swirl of flourishes on the bottom. I thumbed through the checkbook, flipping past the duplicates until I came to the first blank check. I checked the carbon copy next to it, the one to the check that would have been written last. The carbon was there. And it was blank.
I turned the checkbook so Sophia could see it. “Do you know what happened to this check?”
Sophia leaned close, squinting. “No. What is it?”
“It’s a carbon copy to a check. And it’s blank.”
She let out a little gasp. Her eyes were wide and her mouth hung open. “Is that…?”
I finished her sentence. “The missing check?”
She didn’t say anything.
“Everything is blank,” I told her. “The signature, the payee, the amount.”
Her lips moved into a thin line and her expression clouded. “So someone stole the check out of the checkbook?”
“It looks like it, yes,” I said, still staring at the checkbook in my hand.
“But I didn’t give a blank check to anyone!” She gripped the edge of the couch, her knuckles practically white. “I swear it.”
“And the checkbook has stayed in your purse, correct? You didn’t take it out anywhere?”
“No,” Sophia said firmly.
I sat there for a minute, thinking. I didn’t have an explanation as to how a blank check might have disappeared from Sophia’s purse, nor how it could have ended up with her signature, made out to her.
Unless she did it.
I swallowed. I didn’t want to focus on that possibility. Not yet, anyway.
“Okay,” I said, shifting gears. “You said the check was cashed in Richmond, correct?”
Sophia’s expression cleared and she nodded. “Yes, Walter said it was cashed at some check-cashing place down there.”
“Friday, correct?”
She nodded again.
“And you weren’t in Richmond on Friday?”
“Of course not,” she said. “That’s the day we left for Miami.”
“And did you fly out of Charlottesville?” I hadn’t had an opportunity to fly anywhere since moving to Latney, but I did know that Charlottesville had the closest airport.
“No.” Sophia’s voice was small. “Charlottesville is a regional airport. Flights to DC and Philly, not to farther destinations.”
My stomach sank. “So where did you fly out of?”
“Richmond.”
ELEVEN
“It’s not what you think.”
I just stared at the checkbook in my hand. I couldn’t bring myself to look at Sophia. She’d just lied to me. Flat-out. I’d asked her if she’d been to Richmond and she’d said no. And then five seconds later, told me she had. What else was I supposed to think?
“Rainy, please believe me!” Her tone was desperate. “Yes, we flew out of Richmond and yes, it was on Friday. But the only place I went was the airport, I swear. Walter can vouch for me—he was with me the whole time!”
I didn’t want to say it out loud, but I was fairly certain that having her banker husband, someone who also had his hands on the account, albeit in a professional way, was probably not a good person to use as an alibi. And I also didn’t want to admit that everything I’d learned thus far was making her seem less like a victim and more like a suspect.
I stole a quick glance at her. She was watching me, her eyes narrowed, her mouth turned upside down. “You think I did it, don’t you?” she finally said. “You think I tore that check out of the register, made it out to myself and signed it, took it to a check-cashing place in Richmond and stole money from the organization I’ve dedicated my life to!”
I raised my eyebrows. Dedicated her life to the Latney Ladies Society? I knew she was an active member of the organization, but I’d seen no evidence that she lived and breathed being a member.
“Well, nothing could be further from the truth!” she huffed. Her cheeks were red again, but this time I was certain it was from anger. “And I am going to prove it!”
“Sophia, I don’t think you did it,” I told her. I felt bad saying it because those were the words I wanted to believe and not necessarily what I was thinking. “But these are the kinds of things we need to get on the table, so we know what we’re up against.”
“Up against?” Her jaw trembled and she took a deep breath. “Now you sound like a lawyer. Like I need defending or something.”
I had a sneaking suspicion that she might need some defending, but it didn’t feel like the right time to mention this. “No,” I said carefully. “But wouldn’t you like to have all of the details you can?”
“Not if they make me look like the prime suspect!” She frowned. “Besides, anyone who knows me knows that I wouldn’t steal money, especially not a measly three thousand dollars.”
She did have a point. As the wife of a well-to-do banker and the owner of an upscale boutique, she really did appear to be the least likely person to steal cash from a charitable organization she volunteered for.
Sophia suddenly gasped and Tallulah jumped.
“What?” I asked, thinking she might have remembered something.
“The boutique.”
“The boutique?”
Sophia reached for her purse and slung it over her shoulder. Tallulah was already tucked in the crook of her arm.
“I need to open it,” she told me. “It was closed all weekend because of our vacation.”
“Oh, of course.” I stood up too so I could show her to the door. “I bet you have a lot of people wanting holiday decorations. Halloween now—Vivian had those cute pumpkins on display in her living room—and then Thanksgiving and Christmas.” I knew I was babbling, but I was pretty sure she could use the diversion.
“With any luck, they will,” Sophia said. “Lord knows I’ve purchased enough inventory. Now I just need to sell it.”
“That shouldn’t be hard,” I said. “People love the things you find for the boutique.”
“They don’t just need to love them; they need to buy them, too.” She dug her keys out of her purse and held them between her fingers.
“I’m sure they will.”
Her gaze drifted to me, and for once, the anger and fear were gone. In its place was something new, a hopeful expression. “I’m sorry I was so emotional,” she said. “I…I just don’t know what to do about all of this.”
The one-eighty in her demeanor was like being on a rollercoaster. Gone was the hysteria and the accusations that I thought she had stolen the money. This was the Sophia I knew: calm and cool, the honeyed twang back in her voice.
“I don’t know what to do, either,” I reminded her.
She nodded, forcing a smile. “I know. It just helps to be able to talk about it, and to know that you’ll be on my side.”
Before I could respond, she turned and headed across the front porch, down the steps and toward her car. Tallulah bounced in her arms, staring at me as she was carried away, her brown eyes locked on mine, her expression almost pleading.
I looked away.
I didn’t know what the dog wanted, but I knew what her owner expected.
For me to believe her. For me to defend her, to be on her side.
But I wasn’t sure I was.
TWELVE
I went into town shortly after Sophia left.
Not to check to see if she’d actually reported to the boutique—although the temptation was there.
No, I’d decided to head into town to pick up a few Halloween decorations of my own, of the living variety. I’d grown several things in my garden this year, but pumpkins hadn’t been one of them. And I realized, after seeing Vivian’s cute decorations, that I wanted a few to liven up the front porch, to make the house look and feel a little more festive. I knew I wouldn’t be getting any trick-or-treaters; I wanted them for me.
I also knew that shopping could provide a necessary diversion, because if I stayed at home, all I would think about was Sophia and the missing money.
And I knew that I would become even more convinced that she was somehow involved.
I was at Toby’s Market fifteen minutes later, pulling into a parking spot close to the cart return. There was a young man I didn’t know collecting carts, his orange safety vest flapping in the brisk autumn breeze. The sky was robin’s egg blue, and the smell of hay from the neighboring fields scented the morning air. Glenn’s hay, I realized.
There were enormous boxes of pumpkins on either side of the entrance, and I stopped to inspect them. Through the glass sliding doors, I could see more on display inside and after a cursory once-over of the outdoor bins, I stepped forward to head inside to check out the inventory there. Choosing pumpkins was serious work; or at least I told myself it was.
The bakery was baking cookies and pies, and a heady mix of smells permeated the air, melted chocolate from the cookies and the scent of cinnamon and baked apples from the pies. I breathed in deeply, the temptation to buy those goodies high. But then I glanced at my waistline, noting the snug fit of the waistband of my jeans, and sighed. No cookies. No pie. Pumpkins, and pumpkins only.
I sifted through the boxes in the produce section, lifting and heaving pumpkins out of the way to dig to the bottom, determined that the perfect ones were just out of sight. Each pumpkin was like an oversized, awkward barbell, and I wondered if I could count this as weightlifting for the day. Maybe a cookie or a pie could be in my future, after all.
I found one good pumpkin, an oval-shaped, bright orange one with a flat side that would be good for carving if I decided to go that route. I set it aside and reached into the box again, hoping to find one more, when I heard a familiar voice near the bakery counter.
“Twenty dozen,” Vivian was saying to the man standing next to her.
It was the manager of Toby’s, the same gentleman who had interrupted one of my fights with Martha, the surly worker at the prescription counter I’d tussled with over the summer.
The man nodded and noted something on the clipboard in his hand. “All sugar cookies? The frosted ones?”
Vivian thought for a moment, her finger to her lips. She was dressed in jeans and a dark gray sweater, with a variegated infinity scarf encircled around her neck.
Her hair was twisted into a loose bun, and tiny tendrils had broken free, by accident or design, and were framing her face. She looked beautiful, like always.
“Frosted and chocolate chip,” she finally decided. She smiled. “We’ll need apple cider, too. And some pumpkins for decorations. What kind of price can you give me on those?”
I turned away. She was ordering items for the Fall Festival party, and I suddenly didn’t want to hear any of the details. Because it would lead me right back to thinking about Sophia and the money.
I found another pumpkin, perfectly round and with a long, thick stem, and set it next to my other find. Two were plenty. I would buy them and take them home and set them on the front porch, and I would feel better because I’d taken steps to decorate for Halloween.
At least that’s what I told myself.
I glanced at my pumpkins, realizing I wasn’t going to be able to carry both of them to the checkout. I left them on the floor and went to go find a cart.
When I returned a minute later, a middle-aged woman was loading my pumpkins into her own cart.
“Excuse me,” I said, gliding up next to her. “But those are mine.”
She gave me a dubious look, her brown, bean-like eyes narrowed. “Yours?” She stared pointedly at the floor. “Seems to me they were right here on display.”
I gripped the handle of my shopping cart and tried to smile. “Well, yes, but I’d looked through the boxes and pulled those two out to buy. I didn’t have a cart yet so I just ran to get one so I’d have a way to check out with them.”
She let out a little huff. “Well, I like these pumpkins. They’re perfect.”
I knew that. Because I was the one who had picked them out.
I stared at the woman. She looked slightly familiar, but I couldn’t place her. I didn’t think she was a regular at St. Simon’s—I’d gradually started getting to know all of the congregation there, if only by name. Perhaps I’d seen her at the Wicked Wich during one of my stops for lunch, or maybe at the Dorothy Days festival at the end of summer—it seemed as though the entire town had shown up for that.
