Charles grunted, and Tara took that as agreement. She returned to her desk and set up the system login and password for Charles. She jotted down the alphanumeric code on a sticky note as Dinah and Fred arrived with their sniffly grandson, Bryson Paul. Everyone called him Boppy. Much of Carterville had hoped the unfortunate nickname would fade before he reached school age, but it stuck like the peanut butter smeared on the side of his mouth.
“Hi. Have a seat. I’ll be right back.” Tara pulled the paper off the pad and brought it to Charles. He grumbled about the complicated code. Tara rolled her eyes.
“The Halloways are here. Their return is done, so I only have to go over it with them. You can get yourself settled.”
Dinah was unwinding a scarf from Boppy’s neck as he sneezed three times in succession. After each sneeze, Dinah blessed him. Fred pulled a red handkerchief from his rear jeans pocket and swished it across Boppy’s face.
“Grandpa.” Boppy giggled between sniffs.
“Hello Tara. We didn’t mean to be late. Judi called and asked us to pick up Boppy. She couldn’t send him to preschool today because of his cold, and she had an appointment in Glendale this morning.”
“No problem. It shouldn’t take long to go over your return.” Tara eased into a routine she had performed many times. That was all she needed to do right now. Her job. “Boppy can play with the toys.” The dark-haired boy had already spied the toy box and wiggled out of Fred’s grasp. Fred let him go, and Boppy dug through the toys. He sorted out the Matchbox cars and flung them around the floor screaming, “Are there more?” after each one.
Dinah stood and directed him to pick up the cars. He retrieved them and dropped them on the play table.
Tara eased the Halloways' file from the stack on her desk. She handed them a copy of their return and explained the numbers and the bottom line. As she spoke, Boppy’s play sounds grew louder. The cars were having a high speed chase around the office floor complete with screeching brakes, police sirens, and gunfire. Dinah and Fred admonished him to keep it down, but the gunfire grew to machine guns and dive bombers. He was loud but not disruptive to Tara’s conversation.
“What is going on out here?” Charles stood in the office doorway. He glared at the boy as if he’d never seen a small child before.
Tara spun on her chair. “This is Fred and Dinah Halloway. I’m reviewing their personal tax return. They are part owners of Halloways’ Tractor Repair and Halloways’ Custom Hot Rods.”
Charles grimaced, but Tara thought it might have been an attempt at a smile. Even if he wouldn’t be here for long, it would help him to do his job to know who the movers and shakers in Carterville were. “Tara, can I speak with you for a second?”
“Sure.” Tara excused herself to the Halloways and followed Charles into Leslie’s office.
“Why’s the kid here?” Charles asked as soon as she was in the office and he had shut the door.
“His grandparents are watching him while his mother is at a meeting.” She crossed her arms over her chest and his gaze shifted downward.
“Did they have to take him along? This is no place for a kid.”
She tipped her head, so he had to look in her eyes again. “They can’t very well leave a five-year-old home alone.”
“Can’t he sit quietly while you finish up? Kids are supposed to be seen and not heard. I’d prefer not seen as well.”
“We have the toys so children can play while their parents have their taxes done. We have drawn several new clients because the parents don’t have to arrange for and pay a babysitter.”
“Ridiculous. No wonder Leslie needs help here.” Charles rolled his eyes.
Enough with the digs at Leslie already. Why was he here if he thought so little of her?
“Leslie’s doing fine. Most children we barely notice. Boppy would be noisy even if he was sleeping.”
Charles shrugged. He waved his hand as if everything around him was ridiculous. “Whatever. I’ll keep my door closed until they leave.”
Okay, Tara mouthed to herself as she walked back to her desk. Obviously wherever Charles normally worked, it wasn’t with the general public. Maybe he only had corporate clients in the big city. She settled in her seat and picked up where she left off with the Halloways. She’d have to cut him some slack. It would take him a day or two to get used to how they did things here.
Fred signed the bottom of his return, then handed Dinah the paper and pen to sign on her line.
“How’s Leslie doing?” Dinah passed the paper back to Tara.
“She’s going to be in the hospital for a few days yet.” Tara tilted her head toward Leslie’s office. “Charles has agreed to help us out while she is out of commission.”
“Oh.” Dinah made a face, then whispered, “You couldn’t find anyone else? He’s not very personable.”
Tara sighed. “He arrived this morning. I think he’ll come around. We do things a bit differently than he’s used to.” She hoped he would. This beginning wasn’t promising.
“Maybe he won’t be so uptight after he warms up.” Dinah stood and pulled on her coat. “We better go. Fred needs to get back to the shop.”
As Fred rounded up Boppy, Charles stepped out of his office and stood next to Tara’s desk. He scowled at the little boy as he picked up the cars and pitched them into the toy box with explosions as they landed. As Fred and Boppy walked passed him, Boppy sneezed, leaving a sprayed arc across Charles’ pants.
“Have a nice day.” The Halloways waved and left.
Charles looked down at his pinstriped trousers in disgust. “I assume there is anti-bacterial spray around here somewhere.”
Tara hid her evil grin behind a tax form. “In the break room under the sink.”
“If any more kids come in, I’m leaving.” He slapped the folder on her desk.
Tara was tempted to say, “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out,” but she needed his help and she couldn’t afford to have him walk out. He’d barely been here an hour, and she’d already had to bite her tongue a half-dozen times. This did not bode well for the next two weeks.
“I’ll make sure they stay in the play area.” Most kids did anyway. Boppy’s visit was actually pretty quiet. For him. When his parents, Bryce and Judi, had come in, he had run up and down the hall singing nursery rhymes until Bryce caught him and held him in a straight jacket hold until he fell asleep. Between snores bits of the nursery rhymes popped out. After that visit, Tara had learned not to offer him a cookie until they were about to leave. Boppy’s little sister had been entirely pleasant, but she was only four months old and couldn’t get into much trouble yet.
“Any other weird practices you have here I should know about? Do people hitch their horses up outside? Roll up the sidewalks at night?”
Tara decided to ignore the last comments, figuring he was grumpy because he had gotten up so early. She picked up a stack of files on her desk. “Here are the rest of the client files for today. And this is the schedule. I’ve starred the ones I can take care of.”
“You’re giving me orders?” Charles shook the files at her. “Who’s the CPA here?”
This guy was pulling rank on her? What was his deal? He agreed to come here, and now he was acting like it was a huge inconvenience to actually do the work.
“We can tear up the contract any time. You are free to walk out of here.”
As soon as she said the words, she wished she could snatch them back. What if he did leave? Who was left to call? She knew Leslie well enough to know she wouldn’t have recommended him if there was anyone else. Charles was the rock bottom.
Charles shook his head. “No. No. I’ll stay. I don’t want you telling me what to do. If you want me to help you, you need to let me work the way I need to work.”
Tara sighed. “I can’t do anything about people bringing their children with them. It’s a service we advertise. We can’t change it now. Anything else, you let me know what you need and I’ll do my best.” She ha
ted how appeasing that sounded.
Charles’s gaze slid to the front of her blouse. He tucked the folders under his arm. “You could start by getting me some cream for my coffee.”
Tara glanced at her watch. They had an appointment in five minutes. She could make it to the grocery store and back… If she could find an open cashier. Not likely on senior day. “Sure thing. I’ll be right back. The Winstons usually arrive early, so I’ll be back as soon as I can. Is there anything else?”
“Some donuts. Not those plain ones, something with filling and sprinkles.”
Tara grabbed her keys from her desk drawer and dashed out the door, wondering if having Charles around would ease her workload or increase it.
Chapter Eight
Tara checked her calendar. Fourteen more days of tax season. Then she could breathe again. Charles would be out of her hair. She could survive a few more days. She might turn into a walking zombie but at least she’d be alive. Or was it undead? Undead would certainly describe her current state. The bags under her eyes already required a thick coating of concealer to hide the purple. She could use some cucumber slices to reduce the puffiness, but she didn’t have time to keep her eyes closed.
She sipped her coffee, hoping for a jolt from the caffeine. The double shot espresso didn’t have the punch it used to. She might need to bump up to a triple for the next two weeks.
“Tara!” Charles called.
She also needed to hide her letter opener. The one with the long, shiny point, resembling a knife. Despite Charles’s accounting acumen, the man couldn’t do a personal errand. He took care of the most complicated tax returns and assisted her with tricky deductions, but Tara suspected she had spent more time buying him organic pastries and getting his dry cleaning than she would have researching the tax code for those questions.
She pushed herself away from her desk and stood in the doorway to Leslie’s office. “What can I help you with?”
“I need to access the previous returns for the Barnstein account. I want to see how their depreciation has been handled.”
Tara stepped into the office to look at the file open on the desk. “It’s not in the printouts?”
“No. Not the breakout. There’s a lump sum, and I can’t tell how long some of their equipment has been depreciated.”
That was strange. Leslie always kept a printed record of purchase dates for equipment, but anyone could make a mistake. “Okay. There should be a depreciation schedule in their client folder.”
“I checked. I didn’t see one.” He took a sip of his coffee with the twelve drops of Bavarian cream in it. “Perhaps it is in Leslie’s private files.”
“I’ll log in to her account, then email you the file. If I find it.” She glanced at the clock, stepping toward the door. “I have a client coming in a few minutes.”
“Why don’t you log me in here and I’ll look for it.”
Squicky. That was the only way to describe how she felt about Charles nosing around in Leslie’s files. But what choice did she have? He needed to finish that return, and she had other work to do. This was the simplest and quickest way. “Okay.”
Charles wheeled his chair away from the desk to give Tara room to access the keyboard. She stepped in front of him and performed the necessary operations on the computer. As she waited for the system to restart, Charles eased his chair closer to her. The castors squeaked ominously. Tara made a mental note to have Mark oil them.
“I think you have a lot of potential,” Charles said, talking mostly to her posterior.
“Thank you.” Tara wasn’t sure what he was referring to, but she’d take a compliment. It was the only nice thing he’d said to her. Leslie gave her great feedback all the time, but it would be nice to hear it from someone she didn’t know as well.
“You could do so much better than this place.” Charles leaned forward. His gaze inched up her legs. She wanted to swat it away like a biting fly. “In the city, there are so many opportunities, especially for an attractive woman like you.”
The computer chirped that the login screen was now available. Tara glanced to the side to check the location of Charles’s hands, then typed the necessary information into the computer.
“I happen to like it here.” She punched the enter key. “You should be all set. Logout when you’re done, and you’ll be able to get back to your server space.”
“If you change your mind, I’d be happy to exchange favors.”
Tara plastered a grimace-like smile on her face and tried to return to her desk. Charles had inched his chair so close to her she couldn’t escape without brushing against his knees.
“I better get back to my desk. I have a return to finish before the client arrives.”
Charles nodded, but didn’t move. What was she supposed to do – climb over his lap? No doubt exactly what he intended.
This had to be the day she’d chosen the narrow, black pencil skirt that didn’t allow less than lady-like movements, but she had paired it with her favorite spike-heeled pumps. She lifted her foot, intending to jam it down on his Italian leather encased foot, but she caught her toe on the caster of his chair and lost her balance. She tumbled forward, directly into this chest.
“Well now.” Charles chuckled. "Right now? It’ll have to be quick, but I’m sure I can manage.” He reached for her waist. Before she could extricate herself, the bell on the front door rang. She shoved herself off Charles’s chest in time to see Ryan limp in. She gave Charles an extra hard push and stumbled away from him. From the squeal elicited from Charles, her heel had finally found its intended target.
The look on Ryan’s face said it all. She had a good idea what the kerfuffle with Charles must have looked like. Why did these things always happen to her? When a nice guy was on the radar she looked a like a floozy. Granted she hadn’t much cared a few years before, but she had worked hard to cultivate a professional image and these embarrassing situations still happened all too frequently.
“Sorry if I’m interrupting something,” Ryan said. “I’m early.”
“Not at all.” Tara tried to settle her rattled nerves, but seeing Ryan jumbled them in a totally different way. She smoothed her skirt and ran her hand over her hair. Everything appeared to be in place.
She was going to have to talk to Leslie about Charles. Surely this was a side of him Leslie didn’t know about. After Ryan left, she’d give Leslie a call. Then she remembered she’d have to pass the information through Mark. Mark was a good friend, but she didn’t feel comfortable talking to him about Charles’s innuendos and advances.
Tara knew how to defend herself in these types of situations, but he was Leslie’s friend. She’d give him the benefit of the doubt until she heard more about Leslie’s condition. She didn’t want to offend Leslie by introducing him to her right hook.
“I’ve got your return all set. Why don’t you have a seat and we’ll go over it?” Tara gestured to the chair beside her desk. She straightened her jacket, then sat down and woke up her computer. “This will only take a minute. I like to have the computer file up, so we can make any necessary changes or corrections as we talk. It seems to go more smoothly.” The hourglass spun on her screen. “So, how’s it been going?”
Ryan unzipped his windbreaker and shifted in his seat. “Not bad. I was hoping to run into you at the library again.”
Did that mean he wanted to see her again or did he think she was vegging out in front of the television every night? “I know I sound like a broken record, but it’s been so busy here. Charles is helping with the complicated returns, but I still do the filing with the IRS. I’ve been stuck here until after ten most nights.”
“I’m sorry this is taking so long. I don’t know what’s wrong.” She tapped her fingers against the mouse pad. Why couldn’t his return simply pop up? She wanted him out of here, so she could have a moment to breathe. He had to be contemplating what he might have interrupted. It was so embarrassing. She wanted to shout, “It wasn’t anything.”
But doing so would imply that she was nervous about what she was doing and what he thought about it. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction on either account.
“The IRS servers are probably getting bogged down with so many returns coming in.” Ryan picked up a pencil and bounced it on the eraser. The stupid computer was giving her long enough to wonder why she cared. Ryan had been so easy to talk to and so encouraging. She hated feeling like she disappointed him. Even if the incident wasn’t her fault, she frustrated herself. Maybe the only way to be taken seriously in accounting would be to have her implants removed, but the thought of another surgery filled her with dread.
“It wasn’t what it looked like. I tripped,” she said. Her voice felt higher pitched than normal.
“I don’t think it’s any of my business.” He studied his fingernails.
She wanted to shake him. I thought we had connected at the library. You acted like you saw more to me!
The hourglass still spun.
“Soo…” What to talk about? Besides her propensity for failure. His T-shirt had a pig with wings on it. “Cool T-shirt. Where’d you get it?”
He glanced down. “It came with the race entry.”
“How far is a marathon anyway?” she asked, reading the lettering on the shirt. “Isn’t that like a hundred miles?”
“Twenty-six point two. Slightly shorter than a hundred. I finished third.” Ryan put the pencil back on her desk.
“You’re kidding.”
Ryan shook his head and moved his bad leg. He winced. “I’ve run twenty-nine and a half marathons.”
“Is that when you hurt your leg?”
“No. My first chance at the Boston Marathon was the half. I didn’t drink enough fluids and collapsed from dehydration at mile twenty-one. In the middle of Heartbreak Hill.”
“I can’t imagine running one mile, let alone twenty-one and still having five to go. I think I would cry about any hill.”
“That’s why they call it Heartbreak Hill. It’s a long, hard hill, and lots of runners cry as they climb it. But when you make it, you are so close to the end.”
Climbing Heartbreak Hill Page 5
