The Stolen Bride

by Jacqueline Diamond

  “Thanks, but it’s better if I go alone.” Erin wasn’t worried about being attacked within the walls of the Marshall Company’s headquarters. “The less we’re seen in public together, the better. This could hurt you, too, you know.”

  “The chief’s already got it in for me, so what the heck?” Joseph didn’t seem fazed by the glare of publicity. She realized he must have endured much worse during his father’s trial. “If you don’t need me, though, I’ll drop you off and go visit Chief Lima.”

  “Great,” she said. “I’ll meet you afterward at the mall.” She named their favorite ice cream shop.

  “Not the arcade?” he teased.

  Erin chuckled. “I miss the place, but I doubt it’s still there, with all the competition from video games.”

  “You never know,” he said. “But ice cream’s fine with me. You’re sure you don’t want me tagging along this morning?”

  “I can handle it.” She put more bravado into the words than she felt.

  After six weeks of convalescence, the prospect of marching into her father’s company to ask for an advance on her quarterly payments gave Erin pause. She didn’t look forward to facing people who, until now, had seemed so much older and wiser that she’d never even considered herself their boss.

  But she had to get her hands on some of her money. And, with Alice under Lance’s influence, she ought to take a closer look at the responsibilities that came with her father’s legacy. Ready or not, she had to take the first step of simply walking in there and making it clear she was going to be around for a while.

  She didn’t have much of a choice. By now, Erin’s notoriety had probably reached Orange County, so she could hardly go back to work as an anonymous assistant at Bea’s firm. When the van struck her in the parking lot, it had effectively ended that phase of her life.

  Whatever the future held, she could no longer pretend she wasn’t Andrew Marshall’s daughter. How ironic if, by trying to get rid of her, someone had catapulted her into assuming the mantle she’d long avoided.

  Less than an hour later, as she ventured into the lobby of the Marshall building, Erin gripped her purse and reminded herself to breathe. The soaring two-story entryway, with its curved staircase and open mezzanine, dwarfed her. Once, she’d thought she might enjoy working in the public relations and promotions office, until she learned that its primary activities were assembling brochures and annual reports.

  That’s not the way Erin would run things if she were in charge. At the Homework Center, she’d learned that the local school libraries suffered from slashed budgets. Also, that a proposed central science high school had failed to get off the ground due to inadequate funding. There was so much this company could do.

  She didn’t recognize any of the people bustling by and, although surely some of them had seen her photograph plastered across the newspaper, none of them seemed to notice her. When she’d last come here eight months ago to attend the annual board meeting, Erin had barely said a word.

  That naïve girl was gone. Smoothing down her blue, high-collared dress, Erin took a deep breath and gathered her courage.

  The elevator doors opened. Out came Stanley Rogers, his hair a little grayer than she remembered but his smile as warm as ever. When she’d phoned him an hour ago, he’d immediately agreed to meet with her.

  “Miss Marshall!” The chief financial officer, who’d worked for Erin’s father for as long as she could remember, caught her hands in his. “You’re looking well. I’ve been worried about you.”

  Her uncertainty eased. Stanley’s familiar creased face and fatherly concern reminded her that she belonged here.

  “I haven’t entirely recovered,” Erin admitted as he escorted her onto the elevator. “Sometimes I get headaches.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it.” He pushed the button for the fifth floor, the location of the executive and board offices. “How’s the memory?”

  “The doctors say that may never come back,” Erin admitted.

  “The important thing is that you’re healthy in every other way.” Stanley stayed in good shape for a man in his sixties, she noticed. He and her father used to go hunting together, trekking up and down the hills, so perhaps that accounted for it. “We’ll get you fixed up financially, don’t worry about that.”

  They emerged into a plush, carpeted antechamber. At a broad reception desk, an unfamiliar woman looked up from her computer. “This is Elena Gabriel, the new board secretary,” Stanley said.

  “Welcome aboard,” she said.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Marshall.” The young woman ducked her head shyly.

  Good heavens, Erin thought, I intimidate her. That was a new experience.

  “What happened to Betsy Rydell?” she asked Stanley.

  “We promoted her to assistant manager of the mall. She was thrilled.”

  As they passed into his outer office, Erin found she didn’t recognize Stanley’s secretary, either. Turnover had to be high, she supposed. Bea had complained about the same problem at her firm.

  The wood-paneled inner office extended to include a conference table, bookcases, a massive desk and a computer stand. A large window overlooked the parklike grounds and the mall next door.

  “Great view,” Erin said.

  “Thanks.” The financial officer gestured her to a leather swivel chair and sat behind the desk. “On the phone, you mentioned an advance on your quarterly payment,” he prompted.

  “I already donated the last one to my foundation,” Erin explained. “I know I’m not due for another payment until January but circumstances have changed.”

  “Don’t think twice about it.” The executive waved a hand. “How much do you need?”

  “I don’t know.” It was hard to assess her expenses for the next few months because there were so many variables. “A few thousand, I guess.”

  “That’s all?” Stanley rested his elbows on the desk. “Miss Marshall…”

  “Erin,” she corrected politely.

  “All right, Erin,” he said. “I don’t see how you can pay your expenses for very long on so small an amount.”

  “I don’t want to deplete my capital,” she said. “The foundation relies on the income.”

  His forehead wrinkled. “You know, your trust fund contains more than thirty million dollars.”

  “What?” She blinked, scarcely believing she’d heard right. “I thought it was ten million.”

  “As half owner of the Marshall Company, you’re also entitled to half the annual profits,” he said. “You may recall that you instructed me two years ago to add that money to your trust fund.”

  “I’d forgotten.” She hoped she didn’t sound as ignorant as she felt. “I was in a daze after Dad died. I don’t remember what I said.”

  “Those were your instructions,” Stanley told her. “You also told me to roll over most of the investment profits because you feared the payouts would swamp your foundation. I offered to send you a full accounting quarterly, but you said you wouldn’t understand it anyway.”

  Had she really said such a foolish thing? She must have, Erin mused. “You’re telling me I could draw a check for millions if I wanted to?”

  “It’s not quite that simple,” he admitted. “The money is in stocks, bonds and real estate, and you’d take a loss if you tried to liquidate it too quickly. However, I’m sure I can arrange for whatever you need.”

  Erin was embarrassed to realize that she could ask for a million dollars and this man would give it to her. It was ridiculous. Such an incredibly large amount of money that she’d done nothing to earn.

  She glanced past him out the window at the mall her father had built. Andrew Marshall had been pleased that his daughter valued public service above personal luxuries. He’d be proud of her now—or would he?

  She was worth thirty million dollars—actually, much more—and what was she doing with it? Making small grants here and there. With that kind of money, she could not only fund al
l the projects she’d learned about at the Homework Center but also buy the old fishing pier and build a nature preserve. And there had to be other projects that would benefit the whole community.

  It was time to stop thinking small. She ought to ask for enough money to hire guards if Joseph went back to work and to find another place to live if she had to. She couldn’t impose on him forever.

  “A hundred thousand dollars.” She tried not to gulp after she said it.

  “No problem. We can transfer it directly to your bank account if you like.”

  “That would be fine.” She could scarcely believe he’d agreed without blinking. Even though she’d grown up surrounded by wealth, Erin’s father hadn’t believed in spoiling her. She’d never even owned a car until college.

  Over the intercom, Stanley instructed his secretary to take care of the matter. “If you require more, don’t hesitate to ask,” he told Erin afterward. “I’m not sure where you’re staying, but if you need a place, I can help you there as well. As you know, this company owns a lot of property.”

  “A friend is putting me up,” she said.

  “Detective Lowery?” He might have read that in the newspaper, or perhaps Chet had mentioned it. “Your father thought highly of him.”

  “I know.” She was glad to hear it confirmed by an objective party.

  “Is there anything else I can do?”

  On the verge of saying no, Erin remembered her decision to begin assuming more responsibilities. “I’m afraid I’ve shirked my duties as part-owner. I’d like to remedy that.”

  “You haven’t done anything wrong,” Stanley told her.

  “Some people would say my behavior was immature, and they’d be right,” Erin told him. “I was so overwhelmed after Dad died that I didn’t want to deal with all this money. But that’s got to change.”

  He cleared his throat. “I understood from your mother that you were no longer concerned…that you’d withdrawn your request…”

  “For what?” Erin asked.

  “I’m sorry. I keep forgetting that your memory’s been affected,” he said. “We’ve got everything computerized. What kind of information would you like?”

  “The whole thing,” she said impulsively. “A complete accounting of where my money is, the rate of return, everything that’s happened for the past two years.” Seeing his startled expression, she added, “I don’t mean right this minute. Obviously, it will take a week or so.”

  “You mean for the whole company?”

  No wonder he’d been taken aback! “No, just my trust fund,” she said. “I’m sure you do all that audit stuff on a regular basis anyway, right?”

  “Of course. We’ll put together an up-to-the minute picture for you,” Stanley said. “Is there some reason for this request, or simply curiosity?”

  “I’m going to be staying in Sundown Valley,” Erin told him. “If Chet wins the election, he’ll be leaving, and my mom’s not in great shape, so I’m going to have to take a more active role with the company.” No matter how little she relished the prospect, she had to do this. “If you don’t mind, I’ll rely on you to help educate me.”

  “It will be my pleasure.” Stanley tapped his fingers on the desk. “I hope you’ll consider—that is, should Chet leave us, I’ve been considering applying for his position. I realize you’ll want to interview other candidates, but I trust my experience will count in my favor.”

  “I’m sure it will,” Erin said. “My father always believed in promoting from within.”

  Looking relieved, Stanley got to his feet and escorted her to the outer office. His secretary greeted them with a sheaf of memos. “I’ve been holding your calls, Mr. Rogers,” she explained apologetically.

  “I’ll have someone escort you downstairs,” he told Erin.

  “It’s not necessary.” People really did think of her as a little girl, she reflected. Until now, she supposed she’d given them reason to do so.

  They shook hands. “I’ll be in touch,” Stanley said. “We’ll get you that information you requested.”

  “Thank you.”

  That hadn’t taken long, Erin thought as she passed the board secretary’s desk, which was empty at the moment. Joseph’s meeting with the retired chief would probably last for a while longer. That gave her time to pick up a few items she needed at the mall.

  Smiling to herself at the prospect of shopping, she pressed the elevator button. A moment later, it opened to reveal a tall, blond man who raked her with a startled gaze.

  “Chet,” she said. “I was just…”

  “Erin.” Catching her arm, he steered her toward his office. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”

  She tried to think of a polite reason to refuse. Before she found one, he’d whisked her into his quarters and closed the door.

  RAINBOW ACRES, where Manuel Lima and his wife lived, had been built about ten years ago. As with many Marshall developments, a greenbelt meandered around the perimeter, providing a path for joggers, cyclists and dog walkers. Inside, the main street curved past a tree-shaded community pool.

  The Limas’ home occupied the end of a cul-de-sac. All the houses, subject to homeowners’ association rules, were painted in a bland assortment of earth tones. Each small yard sported a discreet mixture of grass, flowers and low-growing trees.

  When Joseph used to patrol here, the manicured perfection of the place had reminded him of a trip to Disneyland. Each time he drove through, he half expected to see team members in funny costumes run out and sweep any stray litter from the sidewalks.

  Although he’d never had occasion to visit the chief at home before, he’d known where the house was. If you were going to patrol near where your boss lived, you made sure you didn’t miss any problems.

  On the phone, Lima had said he’d be glad to talk to him. He hadn’t mentioned that morning’s newspaper account and neither had Joseph. All the same, he figured his former boss had to be wondering what the heck was going on.

  He parked by the curb. Two houses down, a mother sat on a lawn chair, reading a novel and watching her toddlers at play. No danger of anyone breaking into his vehicle around here, he mused.

  When the bell rang, Lourdes Lima, a stocky woman with salt-and-pepper hair, ushered him inside with an unexpected hug. A retired Spanish teacher at the high school, she’d shepherded Joseph through four years of the language. He’d always suspected that her behind-the-scenes recommendation hadn’t hurt his quest to join the force.

  “Whatever is going on, I know you’re on the right side,” she told him. “How about some coffee and churros?”

  “You bet!” He hadn’t eaten any of the Mexican treats since Mrs. Lima used to bring them to Spanish class.

  “My husband is on the patio,” she said. “Please go ahead.” She pointed through the family room toward the rear sliding glass door.

  In back, Joseph found the old chief working a crossword puzzle at a table beneath a beach-style umbrella. Behind him, an emerald patch of lawn and an exuberant burst of roses testified to the Limas’ gardening talents.

  “Lowery.” The stocky man arose to shake hands. Although he had to be nearly seventy, Lima’s hair remained dark with a white crest in front. “You’re looking well.”

  “So are you, Chief.” As he sat, Joseph observed that his slacks and short-sleeved shirt looked almost formal compared to the chief’s Hawaiian top and shorts.

  “You’ve been a busy man,” the chief said. “Busted up a society wedding and found a body, all in one weekend.”

  “I try not to let any grass grow under my feet,” Joseph responded dryly.

  “You said you wanted to talk about the Nguyen murder.” As always, Lima went quickly to the point. “You see a connection to Erin Marshall’s accident?”

  “Todd Wilde was questioned about his whereabouts that night,” he explained. “Now, shortly after he’s seen spying on her mother’s house, we find him dead. To top it off, his body was floating not far from where Alice
Bolding nearly drowned. That’s a lot of coincidences.”

  “The night of the Nguyen murder, he produced a witness who gave him an alibi we couldn’t shake,” the chief said. “I presume you read the report?”

  “I figured requesting it from records would raise too many questions,” Joseph admitted. “I used the computerized library at the newspaper instead.”

  “The editors didn’t ask what you were after?”

  “The paper makes its records available to the public for an hourly fee,” he said.

  “Very enterprising.”

  The scent of cinnamon ushered the arrival of Lourdes with a tray of churros and a pot of coffee. The fluted pastry sticks, which had been fried and rolled in cinnamon sugar, looked crisp and smelled irresistible.

  “My wife only makes these once or twice a month,” Lima said. “Your timing is impeccable.”

  Lourdes set the plate in front of them. “Lean forward, both of you, so you won’t spill sugar on your clothes,” she cautioned as if they were kids.

  “Sí, Mamacita,” Manuel teased.

  Joseph lifted a pastry and savored the first mouthful, letting the flavors percolate through his senses. “This is as close to heaven as you can get without dying.”

  Mrs. Lima clucked her tongue in pretended disbelief. A smile betrayed her pleasure as she poured them each coffee.

  “Wonderful,” the chief added. “You’ve outdone yourself.” Satisfied, his wife retreated into the house, and he returned his attention to Joseph. “I lost track of our conversation. What is it you want to know?”

  “For starters, who gave Todd Wilde his alibi?” The news reports had been sketchy in that regard.

  “Ever heard the name Marie Flanders?”

  At Joseph’s start, coffee slopped onto his saucer. “I didn’t know she was involved in the case.”

  “She swore Wilde spent the night club-hopping with her in L.A.,” he said. “Why are you so surprised?”

  “She’s missing.” He outlined the circumstances.

  “In light of what happened to Wilde, that worries me,” Lima conceded. “She struck me as a troubled young woman, but it’s been years since I’ve heard anything about her. I was hoping she’d straightened out her life.”