Funny Money

by Traci DePree

  Kitchen staff bustled back and forth, going about their prep work for the coming day. No one seemed to notice her, so she meandered around the building, looking for the sake of looking. It had become part of the job, she supposed, of amateur sleuth. She was merely a concerned citizen who found herself intervening for people in need.

  Sybil Hudson, the general manager of the Hamilton Springs Hotel, was bent over her desk when Kate found her in her office. Her glasses were down her nose, and she pushed them up as she stood to greet Kate.

  “Kate.” Sybil motioned for her to take a seat. “Please, come on in. To what do I owe this honor?”

  Kate positioned herself on one of the two wingback chairs across from Sybil.

  “I heard that some of the counterfeit bills showed up here,” Kate said.

  Sybil nodded, her brown eyes intent on Kate. She was an attractive woman who seemed ageless. Her skin was smooth and clear, with faint smile lines at the corners of her eyes. Her brown hair was pulled back in a no-nonsense knot at the nape of her neck.

  “We didn’t realize it until Monday when the bank called us,” she said. “And we’ve had some others as well.”

  “What date was that?”

  Sybil paused to look at her calendar. “June 30.”

  “So about a week ago,” Kate said as a mental note to herself. She pulled out a pen and a small notebook and wrote the date down. “Whoever prepared your deposit didn’t spot the bills?”

  Sybil shook her head.

  “So if you don’t mind telling me...what was in Monday’s deposit? Just Sunday’s earnings?” Kate paused, and when she saw hesitation on Sybil’s face, she explained her curiosity. “The truth is, Sybil, I believe there’s more to this case than meets the eye, so I’m trying to do some of my own sleuthing to see if I can come up with anything that’s helpful.”

  “I see. Well, I certainly wish you the best. Let me think...I was out of town over the weekend. I usually do Friday’s deposit on Saturday morning; then on Monday, we take in the cash from the rest of the weekend. But we kept all three days’ earnings in the safe and deposited it in one lump sum first thing Monday morning.”

  “So last Friday, Saturday and Sunday?” Kate wrote down the dates.

  Sybil nodded.

  “And was that just the income from the restaurant or both the restaurant and the hotel?”

  “Both.” She shook her head. “Once we record where the money came from, it’s all put together. We keep track of everything on our end, but once it’s at the bank, it’s all in one account.”

  “Is there any way I can look at your guest log?”

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t give that out.” She smiled apologetically.

  Kate knew she was pushing her luck with the request. “I understand. Let me ask you this: have you ever heard the name Max Lee?”

  The woman shook her head. “No, not that I can recall.”

  Kate chewed her lower lip as she paused to think. “And did the bank tell you what denominations the bills were?”

  “Twenties—one hundred and twenty dollars in twenties.”

  “Was it a busy weekend for the restaurant?”

  “Very. We were packed all three nights.”

  “Did any of your staff mention anything? See anything suspicious?”

  “No. It was a pretty standard weekend, I’m afraid. The Secret Service questioned everyone who worked the weekend. No one saw anything.”

  “Nothing?” Kate asked. “No one seems to know anything.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Old dogs could be taught, Kate decided the following Monday. She and Paul were starting to get the hang of dancing. He’d even stopped counting out every step as they memorized their routine. There were still aspects of the dance that needed improvement, like form and style, and dramatic impact. But the fact that they could move from one position to the next without having to concentrate quite so hard meant they were making progress.

  The Cline sisters, on the other hand, were naturals. Georgia and Joe Tucker moved across the floor with such ease, it was breathtaking, especially considering Joe’s walking stick. Audrey had found a way to work the cane into the routine so it looked like a prop that contributed to the drama of the dance and not like the helpful walking aid that it was.

  Evelyn and Fish had definite chemistry on the dance floor—her shy yet admiring demeanor as they moved, and the way he grinned at her as she took his hand were all part of the drama of dance—and it had freed something in the blue-haired twin.

  Just when Kate thought she had her figured out, the woman surprised her.

  MUCH OF THE REST of that week was spent in dance rehearsals. Paul and Kate would head to the studio just after breakfast, spend an hour on their routine, and then go their separate ways. Kate had come to enjoy the ritual.

  She was a morning person anyway, spending time in the Word followed by a leisurely breakfast with her husband, then off to dance. She felt a sense that she was caring for all the essentials in her life before the day really began. It was invigorating. By nine o’clock, she could go about her day, helping whenever Amy Lourdes needed a hand with Jake, visiting Tim in the jail to cheer his spirits or getting some work done in her studio when she wasn’t ferreting out more clues to solve Tim’s case.

  JAKE WAS WRAPPED IN A BLANKET as he sat at the dining room table doing his schoolwork when Kate came over to babysit after dance rehearsal. She set her handbag on the kitchen counter, where Amy was writing a note.

  “Keep an eye on him please,” Amy said. “He hasn’t been quite himself.”

  “We’ll be fine,” Kate said, waving her concerns away.

  Amy walked over to her son and bent to kiss the top of his head. A burst of coughing rattled his thin frame. She patted his back until it was over. Jake lifted his big eyes.

  “Mrs. Hanlon and I will be okay, Mom.”

  “I know you will.”

  Once she had gone, Kate took a chair across from the six-year-old. He was so intent on what he was doing that he didn’t even lift his head. His eyes scanned the page in front of him.

  “Your mom’s note says to not let you work too hard,” Kate said.

  “I like to read,” he said.

  “What are you reading?”

  He turned the book toward her. It was Curious George by H. A. Rey.

  “I love that book,” Kate said. “Can you read it to me?”

  His face lit up. They moved to the couch in the living room, and he began to read. Kate could tell that he’d read the book often; it flowed from him as if memorized, but when she pointed out individual words, he knew them immediately.

  “You’re an excellent reader,” Kate said.

  “My mom’s a good teacher. She says I’m way ahead for my age. But if she has to keep working, she might not be able to teach me like she used to.”

  “Let’s hope your dad will come home soon,” Kate said. “Then life can go back to normal.”

  “But that tall guy said Daddy was in caboots. What does that mean?”

  “You mean cahoots,” Kate said. “It means the man thinks your daddy is doing illegal things with a partner. But, honey, you should know that your mommy and I believe that man is wrong.”

  It pained Kate to know that someone would talk so insensitively to a child. She only hoped she could rectify that injustice. She knew she was getting closer to the truth, little by little. It was a jigsaw puzzle with several key pieces missing, but she would figure it out. She had to.

  Another round of coughing overtook the boy. He seemed too weak to defend himself from the onslaught. Kate pounded on his back as she’d seen Amy do. Finally he took a breath in and out, then rested his head on the couch.

  “You’re getting better at that,” he said, though he seemed weaker, more lethargic.

  Kate touched his forehead. He was cool.

  “Can I have some water?”

  She’d already gotten him two glasses of ice water since she’d arrived. “Sure.�
� She got up and refilled his glass.

  Jake took a long, slow drink, closing his eyes as the liquid slid down his throat.

  “I’ve been so thirsty,” he said. “And tired.”

  “Do you like chocolate-chip cookies, Jake?”

  “Yum,” he said, a smile spreading across his face. In that moment, Kate felt glad to see him acting like the child he was.

  She moved to the cupboard Amy had shown her before leaving and pulled out the ingredients for her world-famous chocolate-chip cookies.

  “I make pretty good cookies,” she said. “I’ll make you a deal. If you take a good nap while I bake, you can have two warm cookies, okay?”

  He nodded compliantly.

  Once he’d dozed off, Kate dialed Amy at work. She told her about the thirst and Jake’s languid state. “I’m a little worried about him. What do you want me to do?” Kate asked.

  “Check him in half an hour and call me.” Amy paused. “Thank you, Kate.”

  Kate hung up. She finished mixing cookie dough—rearranging her mental puzzle pieces about the case over and over—and soon the house smelled of delicious chocolate-chip cookies.

  When Kate checked on Jake, he was still asleep, his breathing labored. She watched him for a while, then retrieved a small New Testament from her handbag and read from Romans 12 about what true life in Christ meant.

  The first section struck her anew. It read, “Give your bodies to God because of all he has done for you. Let them be a living and holy sacrifice—the kind he will find acceptable.” Then later in verse 17, “Never pay back evil with more evil. Do things in such a way that everyone can see you are honorable.”

  She closed her eyes and prayed fervently for this child and his parents.

  “Father, you love the Lourdes family. I know you won’t desert them in their time of need. Please don’t let false witnesses tear them down. Help them not to return evil for evil but to overcome evil with good. Your Word says that the righteous will prevail, but that seems far from what is happening right now. Please reveal yourself to this family in a miraculous way. I know that you will show your unending love in the big and the small things. And, Lord, I ask you to give me wisdom so I can help them find the truth.”

  When she opened her eyes, Jake moaned in his sleep. She touched his forehead. He seemed warm, so she slipped a thermometer under his armpit so she wouldn’t wake him.

  His fever was one hundred and two degrees. She called Amy immediately. “I’ll be home right away,” Amy said. “He needs to go to Urgent Care.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The Pine Ridge medical staff gathered around Jake practically from the moment Amy and Kate brought him into Urgent Care that Monday. When the nurse had placed an oxygen monitor on his index finger, his levels were dangerously low. She immediately hooked him up to oxygen and started him on an IV. His face flushed, and he no longer seemed to notice when someone came or left the room. Eventually he fell asleep, despite the bright examination room and the uncomfortable-looking vinyl mattress that squeaked with each movement.

  “The medicine is helping him sleep,” Dr. McLaughlin said when he came in to check on Jake. “And I have him on a strong antibiotic.”

  “I should really take him to his pulmonologist in Chattanooga—” Amy began, but the doctor cut in.

  “If we need to consult him, we sure can. But Jake has to get past whatever is pulling him down right now. If these antibiotics do their job, we might not have to resort to that. But I’m concerned about some of the other things going on with him, quite frankly.”

  Amy passed Kate a worried look.

  “We need to keep his organs functioning properly, and they’re struggling right now. There’s potential for a lung infection, so with the weakened condition he’s in...well, let’s just say, a little prayer wouldn’t hurt.” His eyes were kind, caring.

  Amy crossed her arms over her chest and studied her son for a long moment. “How long will it be before we know if the antibiotics are doing their job?”

  “Shouldn’t be too long—next couple of hours. But he will be here at least overnight. Then we can talk about transporting him to Chattanooga, if necessary, sometime tomorrow.”

  When the physician finally left, Amy lost it. She cried in a blubbering heap while Kate held her. Her thin body shook with each sob.

  Finally she pulled back, wiping at the tears that streamed down her cheeks. “I wish Tim was here, you know? This is just wrong. A son needs his daddy at his bedside.” She touched the lightweight bedspread that covered him. “They’re so close to each other. And Jake has been so brave.” Her eyes clouded as she brushed his bangs out of his face. “If I’d been more attentive, maybe he wouldn’t have gotten sick.”

  “Don’t say that, Amy. You are an incredible mother,” Kate said.

  Amy blew out a long breath, still staring at her son. His chest moved up and down in the rhythm of life.

  “I’m not nearly as strong as he is.”

  “You’re as strong as you need to be,” Kate said.

  AS KATE SAT WITH AMY that night and into the next morning, the truth that much of life was beyond a person’s control sank in. Jake managed to sleep despite the racking coughs that continued to seize him.

  Amy, on the other hand, didn’t seem to have slept at all. Kate noticed that she sat by his bed most of the night, sometimes rising to pace the dimly lit room, sometimes simply staring at her son.

  At six o’clock, Kate convinced her to go get something to eat, though she protested that she didn’t want to miss the doctor when he did his rounds.

  “I’ll call your cell if he shows up,” Kate promised.

  Hesitantly Amy obeyed, stopping one last time at the doorway to offer a look at Jake. His eyes remained closed, his face flushed.

  As soon as she was alone, Kate pulled out paper and pen from her handbag to see if she could gain a fresh perspective on what she’d discovered in all her sleuthing.

  Most of her assumptions about Tim Lourdes’ innocence were based on a gut instinct and a few inconsistencies that seemed glaringly obvious to her. Why hadn’t the Secret Service agents seen the problem with Tim’s supposed motivation for what happened at the church? What possible meaning could there have been, in their opinion, for adding counterfeit money to his own offering?

  Sure, there had been the computer evidence and the e-mails to Max Lee. That was compelling, to say the least. And yet with the anticounterfeit devices built in and the printer’s dpi limitations, there was plenty of room for reasonable doubt. And, of course, there was the print-shop evidence at the storage facility, where several of Tim’s items had been identified along with Tim’s fingerprints. But according to Amy and Tim, the signature on the lease wasn’t his. Unfortunately, they hadn’t heard back from the lawyer regarding the handwriting analysis. What was the holdup on that?

  Kate’s phone rang. It was Livvy.

  “How’s Jake? I heard he was admitted,” Livvy said.

  “Struggling,” Kate answered honestly.

  “Can you let me know if there’s anything I can do? I’ll come sit with him, make meals, whatever.”

  “You could come later today after you finish work,” Kate suggested. “Maybe then we can convince Amy to take a nap.” She smiled.

  “I’ll be there,” Livvy promised.

  Jake coughed as she hung up. How many times had the youngster been in this situation? Battling for life when life should be abundant. His mother was downstairs, buying food at the hospital cafeteria with money she was struggling to earn. Kate wished Amy had taken the offering money. What else was the church for if not to help the hurting?

  Maybe that was what God had been communicating to her before, when she’d felt so strongly that he still wanted Kate to help financially. Amy wouldn’t take the offering money because it had been given, at least in the eyes of those who would object, under false pretenses.

  But if, knowing all they knew now, Amy saw the church responding as Christ would, d
irectly, compassionately, with eyes wide open? Then she couldn’t refuse their help, could she? An idea sprung to mind: Kate would host a bake sale, with all proceeds going to Jake’s medical expenses.

  Dialing again, this time she called her husband.

  “You know,” Paul said, after she’d told him what was on her heart, “a bake sale might draw out the counterfeiter too.”

  “I thought of that. But it’d be risky for him.”

  She’d gone into the hallway to make the call, since it was still early and she didn’t want to wake Jake. A nurse walked by, and she lowered her voice. “More than anything, it’s an opportunity for the church to show true compassion.”

  “I’d say that’s good enough reason right there.”

  Kate stared at her phone well after Paul hung up. Perhaps it was unlikely that the counterfeiter would show up at the bake sale, but it wouldn’t hurt to be prepared. She’d call around about staffing it with younger Copper Mill folks. Whoever had been passing the bills seemed to prefer inexperienced clerks. And she’d make sure her clerks were on the lookout for the funny money.

  JAKE AWOKE BY NOON, though the flush in his cheeks remained, along with the glassy look in his eyes.

  “He’s not out of the woods,” the doctor said as he turned his gaze from son to mother. “He still has a fever, so dehydration is a very real concern. We still need to watch for signs of a lung infection. I’m still debating sending him to T. C. Thompson Children’s in Chattanooga, but we’ll wait and see for now.”

  Amy and Jake nodded mutely as if they’d heard those same words time and again.

  When Dr. McLaughlin finally ruffled Jake’s hair and said farewell, Amy looked at Kate. Kate knew the younger woman was depleted, exhausted from what she’d already endured. She patted her back.

  “I’ll stay with him. You need to go to work, see your husband.”

  “I don’t expect you to miss out on all your responsibilities though.” Amy shook her head. “You have a life to get back to.”

  Kate shook her head. “I’ll be here as long as you need me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five