by Casey Dawes
“Why would he steal from a company he partly owns?” Her mom sat back down.
“You said it yourself.” Findlay ticked the points off on her fingers. “One, he wanted the company to pay closer attention to finances. Two, he wanted to have more power. With four people—Sam, Brian, Sally, Dad—the best way to get more power was to squeeze someone out.”
“Still doesn’t feel right to me.”
“Well, we know it wasn’t Dad. Who else could it be?”
Mom leaned forward and pointed to Findlay’s paper. “My money’s on the bookkeeper. If your dad didn’t trust her, there must have been a reason.”
“But she’s no longer here.”
“All the more important to discover why your father mentioned her back then.”
Findlay nodded. “Thanks, Mom. I love you.”
“I love you, too. I’m glad you’re home. Kelly Anne brightens my day. For the first time in a long time, I have hope that things will be set right.”
• • •
The murmur of Monday-morning quarterbacking in the brewery emphasized the dreary November Saturday outside. It had been ages since she’d been in a local Missoula brewery—totally different from the gleaming sophistication of Seattle’s micro-breweries.
“Sorry your first Grizzlies-Cats game since you’ve come home game had to be a loss,” Reese said as he put the foamy-topped brew in front of Findlay. “With all the new players, though, it was inevitable.”
“There’s always next year.” She grinned at him as they clinked glasses.
“Still hate to see that trophy going down the highway.”
“I’ll give you thirty seconds to mourn.” She counted to thirty. “Okay, done with that.”
“You’re in an awfully good mood.”
“I had fun. It was good to be young and carefree for a few hours. Besides, things are improving everywhere.”
“How so?” he asked before taking a sip of his beer.
“In a month the court case will be settled. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but at least all this back and forth will be over.”
“They have to rule in your favor.”
“And we’re supposed to win the Griz-Cats game.” She shook her head. “I’m beginning to accept life doesn’t always give you what you think you’re supposed to have.”
“True. Otherwise we’d be married for a decade with four or five rug rats.”
“Good Lord, no.” She laughed. She liked being happy. Sure made the world a better place. “But maybe we’re close to figuring out went so awry back then. I feel like we’ve almost figured it out.
“My dad mentioned Deborah,” she added. “Just a brief note. I hadn’t really paid attention before. I don’t think he trusted her. He also said something about her dating choice being strange. I wish we knew who that man was.”
Reese nodded.
“And, I tackled my mother again,” she continued. “She remembers Roger—she and Dad really liked him. She doesn’t remember anything about the bookkeeper but agreed that if Dad thought she was off, it would be good to find out more about her.”
“Yeah, I did a little more digging on her, but there wasn’t much. It was almost as if someone tried to erase her existence.” He settled on his stool. “It appears she was only there for a few years.”
“Did she leave or quit?”
“Looks like she left, but she might have seen the ax coming. Sam’s reviews were positive in the beginning but were disappointing as time went on.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. If she were his partner, wouldn’t he be praising her? Unless Sam isn’t the one.” She crumpled her napkin.
“Maybe, but a bad review could have been necessary to distance himself from her.”
“Any idea where she went? What happened to her? Is she still around Missoula?”
“Not from what my mother said. She thought Deborah had gone to Arizona.” He hesitated for a second.
“You didn’t ask Sam about her, did you?”
“Of course not.” He chuckled. “Do I look like that bad of a private eye?”
“Well,” she leaned back and looked him over, “you seemed to have lost your deerstalker cap.”
He mockingly ran his hand over his hair. “Oh, no! You are right!”
His grin faded.
“What is it?” she asked, hesitating for a second then laying her hand on his.
He smiled and took it in his grasp.
“I think my mother knows something she’s not saying.”
“Why’s that?”
“She said something about people getting hurt if I keep poking around.”
“Oh.” Could Sally Moore be involved? She certainly had the ability and access. “Why would she hide something?” Findlay asked.
“Don’t know. Only thing I think is that she is trying to protect my father. I don’t know what happened to them over the years, but they were happy once. Maybe she’s trying to get back to that.”
“Mmm.” Could be. Or could be that Sally had been the one trying to get rid of her ex-boyfriend all those years ago. And now Findlay was in her sights. Was Sally’s friendship with Findlay’s mother just a show?
Or would her mother be hurt because Dad really had been involved?
She sighed.
“I know.” He squeezed her hand. “It’s a tangled mess. But at least we have each other.”
Did they? Or would the unresolved suspicions always be in their way? Did he really believe she had nothing to do with the current problems? And that her father was innocent as well?
Or was he trying to protect his parents?
“We need to figure this out,” she said.
“Agreed. But how?”
“We need to find out more about the bookkeeper—try to talk with her—even if it means a flight to Arizona.”
“I’ve done as much as I can in company records.”
“I meant to look at the Internet to see what I could find, but I keep getting yanked away by other things—work stuff, Kelly Anne, court . . . ”
“You’ve got a lot on your plate.” He kissed her cheek. “I wish I could help more.”
“Like I said, prove my father’s innocence.” She smiled to take the sting from her words. “I know it’s going to take both of us.”
“I’ll see if I can figure out what my mother’s hiding—maybe take another run at discovering who Deborah was dating while you do the internet search.”
She nodded.
“I doubt the company still has them, but if we could find the old programs from that time, I could look through them.” She shrugged. “Not sure what I’d find, but it’s worth a try.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“Yep.”
She stared into his eyes for a few lingering seconds. If only she could believe . . .
“We’ll figure it out, honey. I know we will.” He smiled and leaned forward.
They sealed the deal.
Chapter 15
“Another problem,” Sam told Reese the middle of the following week. “This time more severe. It looted huge portions of people’s 401(k) contributions.”
“Any idea where the money went?” Reese asked. Someone was definitely upping the ante.
He leaned back in his chair and let out a breath.
“No. Brian wants you to fire the Findlay girl,” Sam continued. “He’s convinced she’s the problem.”
“The three months aren’t up. I’ve got two months to go. Besides, what grounds would I use?”
“Like father, like daughter.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Reese’s chair flew back and hit the wall as he leapt to his feet. He leaned forward, his fists on his desk as he glared at Sam. “You tell my father—and take it to heart—I’m not firing anyone, anyone, without just cause. He gave me three months, and he’d better honor that promise. My mother will back me up. So that’s two against . . . what? Two? You agree with my father?”
Sam shrugged.
Damn, he was hard to pin down.
“You’ll need to show me the proof,” Reese said.
“I thought you might see it that way.” Sam didn’t budge. “Now, if you’ll simmer down, we can talk about this rationally. We do need to find a solution, you know. This can’t go on.”
“I know. We’re working on it.” Damn. He shouldn’t have used that pronoun.
“Who’s we? You and that Findlay girl?”
“Would you stop calling her a ‘girl’? She’s a grown woman with a kid. Not to mention college-educated and a damn good programmer—you said so yourself.”
Sam nodded. “That she is. All the more reason to look at her closely.”
“It could be anyone in that department—that Grace woman, for example.”
“You can’t be serious.” Sam chuckled. “She wears knit vests with colored lights, for God’s sake.”
It was a little far-fetched. Even he couldn’t buy Grace as a villain.
“The same thing is happening now that happened ten years ago.” Reese tried to recover the upper hand. “It’s a place to start since the methods are similar.”
“Not quite. There’s a lot more skill in these recent maneuvers than the thefts years ago. Those were crude. That’s why it was so easy to catch Frank.”
“What if Frank wasn’t guilty?”
“Look, we’ve been through this already.” Sam tapped one of the printouts.
His fingers were too smooth. The damn man must get manicures.
What kind of man did that?
“I’ve worked with Wayne, on every inch of the code on the last two issues,” Sam said.
A detail-oriented man; that’s who got a manicure.
“He narrowed it down to two people. Findlay . . . and John Potter, the team lead,” Sam continued.
He and Findlay had followed the right path after all.
“I’ve asked Wayne to tell them they are both on notice,” Sam said.
Reese opened his mouth to speak.
“Ah—” Sam raised his finger. “It’s the only way I know to calm down your father without crossing the line you’ve drawn. It doesn’t single out the Findlay—uh, woman—alone.”
“It’s already done? I didn’t give you permission to do that.”
“It’s my department.” Sam’s smile was thin. “Besides I don’t need permission—I’m a partner, remember. Your father and I agree. That’s all that’s needed.” He stood. “I’ll keep you posted about what I find.” He strode to the door, but paused with his hand on the knob. “It would be nice if you would do the same.”
After he left, Reese stared at the closed door.
This thing was tumbling out of his control.
Findlay. She must be devastated.
Her cubicle was empty.
“Where is she?” he asked Wayne.
“You know, then?”
Reese nodded.
“After I told her she was on probation, she looked so terrible, I asked her if she wanted to take the rest of the day off. She left about fifteen minutes ago.”
“Thanks.”
Reese dashed to the parking lot, but a quick scan told him she wasn’t there.
He should go after her—but where? As convenient as it was, she probably wouldn’t go home. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed her number.
No answer.
But he hadn’t really expected any.
He slammed his head against the metal exterior door.
Damn. That hurt.
He was going to have to let her go for now. He’d leave a bit early, drive over to her house, and see if her car was there.
He dialed again, and this time he left a message.
“Call me.”
• • •
The carousel went ’round and ’round. The horse went up and down. Meaningless motions going nowhere.
Kind of like Findlay’s life.
No matter how hard she tried, the Fates, those three old women spinning away, kept making knots in her life.
Probation. She’d done nothing wrong.
Which one of the people they’d identified had a grudge against her? Was he, or she, covering up the tracks?
She’d glimpsed Roger at lunch one day. He seemed more like an overgrown elf than a serious scientist. Would someone who’d plotted a crime that forced a man to commit suicide be that happy?
Grace was a typical grandmother type—given a cup of coffee, she’d pull out her phone and go on about the latest exploits of her progeny. Wayne seemed happy with his relatively young family. And he’d always been kind to her.
John Potter seemed like the typical nerdy, awkward programmer who was happy as long as he had a puzzle to solve.
Sam had been out for her from the very beginning. It had to be him.
Had to be.
The motion slowed, but she stayed where she was. She’d paid for ten rides. If that didn’t do the trick, she’d pay for ten more. She’d texted her mother and said she’d pick up Kelly Anne. Might as well keep going around until it was time to do that.
How was she going to face anyone if she lost her job? How would she find another one, with a black mark on her record?
Worse, it would play right into Chris’s hands. She’d lose Kelly Anne.
She couldn’t be fired from her job. Couldn’t.
‘Round and ’round.
Past the same old story—pretty and glittery. The brass ring just out of reach.
The music of fantasy.
She glanced to the center of the carousel. All the machinery, the workhorse behind the glitz, lay in there covered by mirrored glass reflecting only what the builders wanted the riders to see.
Her reflection showed a woman with slumped shoulders, a frown on her face.
Defeated.
By Chris, life, and a ghost from the past.
Another circuit.
She straightened her shoulders. Someone had defeated her father, but she wasn’t going down the same path. Kelly Anne deserved more.
Her personal computer was in the trunk of her car. Time to finally do that search on Deborah Forrester.
• • •
“Is Findlay here?” Reese asked Mrs. Callahan when she answered the door. “I need to talk to her.”
“Any minute. She went to pick up Kelly Anne after work. Why don’t you come in and wait? There’s a chill to the air.”
He’d been right. Findlay hadn’t gone home.
“Some coffee? There’s a pot on. Always is.” She smiled.
“That would be nice.” He glanced around the living room as he waited, but didn’t sit down. Restlessness drove him from one corner to another. Familiar knickknacks intertwined with things that were new. A flat-screen television that hadn’t been there the last time he was here.
Must have been Findlay’s doing. Losing her job would fracture their fragile finances.
The crunch of tires on the gravel drive seeped through the old wood frame windows.
Findlay unbuckled the car seat and Kelly Anne scampered to the doorstep, her tiny pink backpack thumping against her back.
He opened the door as she reached for the handle.
She shrieked.
Damn. He’d forgotten to not startle her.
Crouching down, he said, “Hi, Kelly Anne. I didn’t mean to surprise you. Are you okay?”
Her gaze focused on his face. Remembrance smoothed her features and she smiled.
“Reese!” She threw her tiny arms around his neck.
That was the moment he fell in love. Those warm limbs trusting him to do the right thing, be someone better than he was. No wonder Chris wanted more access to his daughter. How could he have ever given her up at all?
“Kelly Anne, get out of . . . the . . . way.” Hands full, Findlay stopped still behind her daughter. “What are you doing here?”
“I heard.”
“Oh.”
“Kelly Anne, let’s give your mommy some room to get in. It’s cold out there.” He sto
od and let the little girl make her way to her grandmother.
“How was your day?” Mrs. Callahan asked her.
“Good. Ms. Sooter says I’m a good speller.”
“That makes one of us,” Findlay muttered.
“I remember that about you.” He chuckled. “No matter how hard I drilled you in the weekly list when we were kids, you’d get most of them wrong.”
“That’s why God invented spellcheck,” she said, pushing past him and heading toward the back.
Mrs. Callahan looked at him.
“Kelly Anne, let’s go in the kitchen. I have some cookies and milk.”
“’Kay. Bye, Reese.” Her little hand waved, but she didn’t turn as she followed her grandmother.
He looked around the empty room.
Now what?
“Mom, did you get the mail?” Findlay came from the back, went through the living room, and toward what he assumed was the kitchen.
It was if he wasn’t there.
A minute later she wandered back in, an envelope in her hand. She plopped on the couch and stared at the return address. Before opening it, she looked up at him, almost in a daze. “What did you want?”
He hated that they’d done that to her.
“We need to talk.”
“Later. Not now. Now, I have to give my attention to my family, not to a job that may or may not be there in the future.” She waved her hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He hesitated, a bad feeling in his gut as she stared at the envelope.
She ripped it open and unfolded the thick pieces of paper. Flipping pages, she scanned it to the end before throwing it on the floor.
“Crap!”
“Findlay, language!” Her mother’s voice wafted from the kitchen.
“Sorry.”
He crossed to her and sat down.
She turned to him. Her face was empty of any emotion. He’d seen that look before. Shock.
“Findlay, honey, what is it? Talk to me. I promise we can fix it. Everything will be okay.”
She didn’t move, not even to open her mouth.
He picked up the letter.
How could the court expect a little girl—a little girl with issues—to fly for hours by herself?
“Findlay. We’ll fight it. There must be something we can do.”
She shook her head. “I threw everything I had at them. It’s hopeless. What am I going to do, Reese? He doesn’t understand what she needs. He’ll ruin all the progress I’ve made with her.”
