“Don’t be so hard on yourself. From what you’ve told me, it wasn’t as if you were in a gang or committed arson or robbed a convenience store. Besides, it was a long time ago, and now you’re a responsible, hard-working adult.”
“Oh, yeah. Except for the fact that I happen to be out on bond for murder, I’m a real paragon.” The undercurrent was stronger now, just a hint of self-directed distaste that made her hurt for him.
“I’m sure the truth will come out,” she said, praying it was true and feeling a pang of guilt as she thought about the remainder of Mike’s things that she had yet to go through.
“Maybe.” He gave a shrug that sent their seat rocking. “But the one thing I know—” he managed a good imitation of his usual devil-may-care smile “—is that I’m not going to let it ruin our evening. Okay?”
She studied his face, then nodded, seeing how genuinely it mattered to him. “Okay.”
“So what do you want to do next?”
“I don’t know. Maybe get some cotton candy?”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No.”
“Maybe it’s slipped your mind, but you’ve already had a snow cone, a caramel apple and a giant pretzel, and that was just in the last hour.”
“Don’t be a spoilsport,” she said sweetly. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m eating for two. Not to mention that I need my strength to keep up with you.”
“Poor baby. Have I been wearing you out the past few days?”
The concern in his eyes made her feel warm all over. So did the way he gathered her closer, so that her head rested against the curve of his shoulder. With a sense of wonder, she realized she’d never felt more secure in her life. “I think I’ll survive,” she said softly.
He traced a circle on her arm with his fingertip. “You’re not sorry, are you?”
“About what?”
“That we made love?”
“Which time?”
He sent her a chiding look. “Angel.”
She smiled. “No. Not at all. But I’m not sorry we waited a few weeks, either.
“It felt a hell of a lot longer than that to me.”
“That’s because patience isn’t your strong suit,” she teased.
His elegant black eyebrows rose in reproof. “That’s not what you said last night.”
A burst of heat went through her at the reminder. They’d been out by the pool, watching the stars as they lay side-by-side on the deck. And then he’d kissed her, and one thing had led to another… “That was then and this is now,” she said primly. “Although, if you’re really nice to me, keep me fed and maybe win me one of those cute pink snakes I’ve seen people carrying around, you could get lucky tonight and have a chance to show me what you can do.”
“I could, huh?”
The Ferris wheel began to slow. “Yes, I think so.”
He tipped his head and kissed her. “One cotton candy and one snake coming up,” he promised as he finally pulled away.
Angelica wasn’t sure if it was a threat or a promise.
Then again, she didn’t care. She was too busy looking forward to later.
Angelica gently rubbed her thumb over the snapshot of Mike’s smiling face. She’d come across the photo of him, beaming in his cap and gown at his high school graduation, just seconds ago. It had been stuck in the middle of a pile of auto part receipts and it had caught her by surprise.
Unexpectedly, tears prickled her eyes. She blinked them back and told herself now was not the time to get sentimental. Even if it was perfectly understandable, given how tired she was. But then in the three days since the carnival, between finals—she’d taken her last one yesterday afternoon—and making love with Riley, she hadn’t been getting a lot of sleep.
She could have slept in this morning, she supposed. But when Riley had told her last night that he had some errands to run today, and that as long as he was out he thought he’d drop by the athletic club and see if he could scare up a racquetball game, she’d known what she had to do.
With one last bittersweet glance, she added Mike’s photo to the small pile of things she’d set aside to keep, and tossed the receipts back in the box she’d taken them from. Climbing to her feet, she carried the box over and set it with the rest of the containers to be discarded that were now stacked near the door. As she turned around and saw that there were only two boxes left to go through, a kernel of panic blossomed in the pit of her stomach.
With sudden clarity, she realized that while she may have told herself she wanted to know the truth, when she’d first started going through Mike’s things there’d been a part of her that had hoped she wouldn’t find anything. On some level she’d had her fingers crossed that her suspicions about her brother would prove groundless.
Then, in those first few days after she and Riley had gotten married, when she’d really started to hope she’d find something, it had been mostly for the baby, because she hadn’t wanted her child to grow up thinking his or her father was a murderer.
But now, what she wanted most in the world was to give Riley his life back. If that meant exposing her brother as less than honest, if it meant proving once and for all that the Dodds really were nothing but trailer trash, she’d live with it.
Because she loved Riley, and nothing mattered more than that.
As she knelt and yanked the lid off the nearest box, she found herself praying fervently that she’d find something. She looked down, and a half-dressed, come-hither model on the cover of a glossy girlie magazine stared back at her, topping what looked to be a substantial pile of more of the same. More disappointed than disgusted, wondering what had ever possessed her to pack this lot, she started to replace the lid, then stopped.
It would be foolish to quit being thorough at this point. So with a sigh, she reached in and rifled through the stack. She wasn’t really surprised, however, when, except for a trio of auto rebuild manuals and a single copy of Investors Weekly, all she found were more magazines boasting half-naked cover girls.
Discouraged, she let the magazines fall back into the box and pushed it away. Crossing her fingers that the best had been saved for last, she reached for the remaining box and pulled off the lid.
The result wasn’t encouraging. Like most of the others that she’d been through, this one appeared to contain a jumble of odds and ends and what looked to be a ream of miscellaneous papers.
Knowing it was probably a waste of time, but not about to quit—there was still a chance, she told herself fiercely—she lifted out a messy heap of papers and began to separate them into piles. Finding yet another fistful of money order stubs, her brother’s preferred way of paying his bills, she shook her head. Mike’s finances had always teetered on the edge of disaster, not surprising when he’d lacked even enough self-discipline to handle a checking account.
So what on earth would he want with a copy of Investors Weekly?
The errant thought froze her in place for one endless second.
Then she leaned forward, grabbed the box of magazines and dragged it toward her. Rocking back on her heels, she reached in and sorted through the stack until she found the magazine in question. She pulled it out and started to fan through the pages.
It didn’t take long for her to find what she was looking for. Inserted in the middle of the slick pages was a single sheet of lined notebook paper, folded in half. She pulled it out, her heart pounding as she saw that taped to the page beneath it was a flat silver skeleton key. A tag was attached. She turned it over and Mike’s cramped handwriting leapt out at her. First Central Bank, Rio Hermosa Br., Tucson, 442. It had to refer to a safety deposit box, she realized.
For a moment she just sat there, stunned, excited, hopeful, yet also filled with dread at the possible implications of her discovery. Taking a deep breath, she set down the magazine with its unexpected key and picked up the piece of paper.
She opened it up with hands that shook and saw a neat list of dated entries. Most of them app
eared to be a straightforward record of money received, totaling what at a glance looked to be more than twenty-five thousand dollars. Stunned by the dollar amount, it took her a moment to realize that here and there her brother had added an observation. With a sinking feeling, she slowly began to read through them.
Sept. 5—A grand and all it took was my signature and a little paper shuffling. Man, is this easy money or what?
Sept. 18—Signed off on another shipment. Piece of cake. I like it.
Oct. 21—Damned if I didn’t almost get caught by Jason Fortune this morning. I talked my way out of it, but I’ve told the Boss it’s gonna cost him. I deserve it.
Dec. 15—A double damn Christmas bonus. Bitchin’!
Jan. 5—Mr. Riley Fortune himself was here today, walking around, poking into things. He thinks he’s so cool, but the jokes on him. The smug S.O.B. doesn’t have a clue.
Jan. 18—Told the Boss $5000 a pop won’t fly anymore. He’s raking it in while I take all the chances. It’s my butt on the line, and I let him know it.
Feb 2—Gave the Boss an ultimatum. Either he cuts me in big-time and gives me one million dollars or I go have a little talk with the good old VP of Finance and open his eyes to what’s going on right under his Fortune nose.
Angelica squeezed her eyes shut. Oh, Mike, how could you? For the first time in your life you had a decent job and a shot at a decent life, and you threw it all away for some fast money.
Nevertheless, the implication was clear. Mike had been dead less than a week after that final entry. Not only had he clearly been in on some sort of scam to cheat the Fortunes, but when he’d tried to shake down the “Boss”—whoever that was—the man must have had enough and decided to put a permanent end to his problem.
Yet even in the midst of her shame at Mike’s actions, and her sorrow at his needless death, she felt a growing sense of elation, since the entries also made it clear that Riley was innocent in all of this.
And though there was still a chance he might despise her when he learned that her brother had been swindling his company, and was therefore partly responsible for his current legal jeopardy, there was no question about what she had to do.
Climbing to her feet, she went to call Cynthia.
Eleven
“So.” Sinking down on the couch next to Angelica, Riley stretched out his legs and slung his arm behind her. “Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you or not?”
He wasn’t a bit surprised when she tensed. She’d been on pins and needles ever since he’d walked in the door an hour and a half ago. At first he’d thought she was mad at him because he’d played an extra game of racquetball and gotten home later than planned. But when he’d looped his arm around her neck and drawn her close for a kiss, she’d responded with such unbridled passion that he’d known that wasn’t it.
Then things had gotten interesting and he’d forgotten to be concerned about anything but the sweetness of her mouth and the ardor of her response.
Until the doorbell rang and she’d stiffened up as if she were expecting a SWAT team to rush in and drag her away.
Perplexed, and more than a little annoyed by the interruption, he’d stalked to the door to find his mother and Isabelle had dropped by for a visit. And though Angelica had made an obvious effort to be a good hostess, the longer they’d stayed the quieter she’d become.
But now the female members of his family were finally gone and he intended to get some answers.
He watched as she dampened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “Why do you think something’s bothering me?” she said carefully.
He slid his hand under the glossy cloak of her hair and gently kneaded her nape. “Because you’re jumpier than a pogo stick.”
She angled her head to look at him, a strained smile on her face. “Am I really that obvious?”
“I don’t think my mom or Isabelle noticed, but yeah, you are to me.”
Her expression seemed to turn inward once again. “I see.”
He waited, but when she didn’t immediately say anything more, his impatience got the better of him. “Is everything all right with the baby?”
She looked up, startled. “Yes, of course.”
“Then whatever it is, it can’t be that bad,” he said flatly.
“It’s not bad at all,” she said in a rush. “Actually, it’s good. Maybe even great.”
“Then what?”
She knit her fingers together, let out a pent-up breath and turned toward him, her gaze locking on his face. “You know the boxes you moved out of the garage for me?”
“Yeah.”
“They weren’t mine and I wasn’t looking for class notes. That is, they are mine, but the stuff in them is Mike’s. Nothing very important, just miscellaneous things that were in various drawers or just sitting around his apartment that I should have gone through after he died. Except that I didn’t. I just…couldn’t at the time.”
She paused, looking at him as if to make sure he understood, and he nodded, although he couldn’t imagine where this was going.
She swallowed nervously. “The thing is…a few days before he died, Mike said something that really bothered me, about how he was going to come into some big money. He always believed he was smarter than everybody else, and when he said that, it made me think he was involved in something he shouldn’t be. And then, after he died, even though the police went through his things eventually, I couldn’t help but wonder if they’d missed something. I kept thinking it would be just like Mike to make some sort of record of what was going on, that it would increase his sense of outsmarting everyone.” She shrugged unhappily. “I guess you just had to know him to understand.”
Riley didn’t know what to say. All this time she’d been carrying this around inside her and she’d never said a word? “That’s why you’ve been going through the boxes?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Two dots of color flooded her pale cheeks, but her voice remained steady. “Because I wasn’t sure about anything. And if nothing turned up, I didn’t want to get your hopes up. And because—” her chin rose a fraction of an inch “—even though I’m not proud of it, part of me was hoping I wouldn’t find anything. I just didn’t want to believe that my brother had done something wrong.” Her shoulders sagged. “But then, this morning, I found it.”
“You found what?”
“Proof that Mike was involved in something. He left a record of the amounts of money he was getting from someone he called the Boss—and he wrote some things down that make it clear that the Boss isn’t you, that you’re weren’t a part of what was going on. I also found the key to a safety deposit box in Tucson.”
It took a good long moment for what she was saying to sink in. When it finally did, he suddenly found himself on his feet, adrenaline rushing through him. “Where is this stuff? I want to see it.”
She shook her head. “I called Cynthia, who called Link, and they came and got it.”
“What? Dammit, Angelica, you should have waited until I got home! You should’ve let me look at it.”
“I couldn’t! Cynthia thought this might be how you’d react and she didn’t want you involved. She was afraid it might raise questions, further compromise an already questionable chain of evidence and come back on you somehow. She was adamant.”
He stared at her in disbelief, his mind racing in a dozen different directions. “Even so—”
The phone rang and they both jumped. He gave her one long, searching look and then stalked across the floor and snatched up the phone, ready to take the caller’s head off for the interruption. “What?”
“Riley?”
Cynthia’s mellow voice had its usual grounding effect. He took a deep breath, got a hold on his emotions and forced himself to respond with a semblance of calm. “Yeah, it’s me.”
“Have you and Angelica had a chance to talk?” she asked tactfully in her best lawyer’s voice.
“Yeah.
”
“Good. Because I just got off the phone with Link Templeton, who called me from Tucson, and I’ve got wonderful news.”
He didn’t say anything, just waited.
“Link got a court order to open Mike’s safety deposit box, and he says he’s got the evidence to clear you. He’s calling the D.A.’s office right now and recommending they drop all of the charges against you.”
The blood roared in his ears and he squeezed his eyes shut, so overcome that for a moment he was absolutely incapable of a response.
“Riley, are you there? Did you hear what I said?”
He sucked in a breath and struggled to get a handle on his cartwheeling emotions. “Yeah, yeah, I did.” He opened his eyes. “So who is it? Who was Dodd involved with? Is it somebody we know?”
“Link wouldn’t say. He says that while it’s clear that one of your main suppliers was overbilling the company, charging Fortune Construction for double or triple the amount of materials than were actually delivered, and that the scheme worked because Mike was getting paid to sign off on the shipments, he still has some details to nail down before he’s willing to name the murderer. And that even once he knows for sure, any announcement ought to come through official channels, not him. Personally, I doubt he’ll be able to keep the lid on this much longer, but he refused to budge.”
“But you’re sure I’m in the clear?”
Cynthia’s businesslike tone softened. “Absolutely. I’m going to call the D.A. myself as soon as we hang up. It’ll probably take a few days, but by next Monday we should be able to go back into court and have the charges officially withdrawn. By this time next week it ought to be all over.”
Husband--Or Enemy? Page 11
