Death, Taxes, and Green Tea Ice Cream

by Diane Kelly

  My cursing ceased and I looked up in shock and horror as the female doctor strapped the nitrous oxide mask to my face.

  Could a person overdose on laughing gas?

  Would their evil faces be the last things I’d ever see?

  chapter thirty

  No Laughing Matter

  I woke to the feel of a hand gently slapping my face.

  Eddie’s concerned voice came through a haze, as if he were far away. “Tara? You okay?”

  Okay? Of course I was okay. In fact, I was feeling groovy! Hahaha!

  I giggled as my eyes fluttered open. Eddie, William Dorsey, and a female paramedic hunkered around the chair, looking down at me.

  “She’s coming to,” Eddie said. “It’s about time.” He stood and stepped back to let the emergency medical technician tend to me.

  Waking up more fully now, I tried to push the mask off my face.

  “No, no,” the woman said. “This is oxygen. You need it.”

  I took deep breaths and closed my eyes, trying to will the fog in my head to clear. In a moment or two, I felt mostly myself again. I opened my eyes and struggled to sit up in the seat. Big mistake. Nausea rolled through me. I turned my head just in time to prevent from urping latte all over myself. Instead, I urped it all over Dorsey’s tassel loafers.

  Oh, well. I’d always thought tassel loafers looked pretentious.

  Eddie yanked a couple of latex gloves from the box on the counter. “Here you go, buddy.” He handed them to William, who slid them onto his hands before removing his shoes.

  I looked up at William. “Sorry.”

  He raised his palms. “Not your fault.”

  The paramedic crouched down next to me with a small penlight. “Let me take a quick look in your eyes.”

  “Okay.”

  She held open the lid on first my right, then my left, eye. “Looking good.” She instructed me to remove my blazer and pushed up the sleeve of my sweater, affixing the Velcro blood pressure cuff to my arm. She squeezed the rubber pump. Kshh-kshh-kshh. Eyeing the readout, she said, “Your blood pressure’s normal now. That’s good.”

  She whipped out a cold stethoscope next and stuck it down into the V of my sweater, the cold of the metal making my nipples pucker in response. Her gaze locked on her sports watch as she counted my heartbeats. “Your heart rate is fine, too.” She stood. “Overexposure to nitrous oxide can cause nerve damage and paralysis. Too much can be lethal. You’re lucky you’ve got your partner looking out for you.” She hiked a thumb at Eddie.

  I turned my gaze on him.

  He shrugged, as if saving my life were a routine matter. Of course, for the two of us it kinda was. “I got a bad vibe when you didn’t call me back. I tried Rosedale Dental’s number five times and nobody answered, so I called Fort Worth PD and asked if they could do a courtesy drive-by.”

  A male cop stepped forward, a white police-style motorcycle helmet in his hand. “I swung by and found a note taped to the door that the practice had closed due to an ‘unexpected emergency.’ Your car was still in the lot. I peeked in the windows and saw you tied to the chair.”

  I looked down at my arms and legs, noting the floss had dug wrinkles into my clothes. Someone had cut the floss off me and it lay in piles on the floor around the chair.

  “What about the dentists?” I asked. “And the bookkeeper? They’re the ones who tied me to the chair.”

  “We’ve sent officers to each of their residences and put out an APB on their license plates. No word yet.”

  The cop pulled out a notepad and asked me a few questions. When he finished, he slid the pad back into his pocket, activated a button on his shoulder-mounted mic to update Dispatch, and stepped to the door. “We’ll be in touch when we find the doctors and their staff.”

  “Thanks.” Was it wrong of me to hope they’d find them at the bottom of the Trinity River?

  The paramedic had me stand and perform some basic physical maneuvers to make sure I was okay. When I’d passed muster, she packed her things back into her bag. “You’re good to go.”

  I thanked her as well.

  It was three in the afternoon by then. I called my new boss and told him what happened.

  “Are you for real?” Hartford asked.

  “Yep.”

  “I’ve worked for the IRS for decades and nothing even remotely like this has ever happened to any of my staff.”

  What could I say to that? “I bring out the crazy in people.”

  I was still feeling a little queasy, so Hartford suggested I take the rest of the day off.

  On the way out, Eddie grabbed a bright yellow helium balloon from the half dozen tied to the receptionist’s chair. “Here you go,” he said, handing the string to me. “A souvenir.”

  “Yay.”

  William and Eddie had driven over from Dallas in Dorsey’s car, so Eddie drove me back to my place. We went inside, where I tied the balloon to the back of a kitchen chair. I reached into the fridge and pulled out a beer for Eddie, then fried us up a couple of baloney sandwiches. The only thing I’d had all day was the latte and, like I mentioned earlier, it hadn’t exactly stuck with me.

  “Not bad,” Eddie said after he’d taken a bite. “Who would’ve thought white-trash food would taste so good?”

  “I’d be happy to share the family recipe for squirrel stew.”

  His lip curled in disgust. “I’ll pass on that. But thanks.”

  Eddie’s cell phone chirped and he took the call. From his end of the conversation I gleaned that the IRS office in San Francisco had sent an agent out with a photograph of Sundaram to make the rounds of boardinghouses. He’d hit pay dirt at a rooming house in the Pacific Heights neighborhood. Sundaram maintained a prepaid room there under yet another alias—Neelam Rangarajan.

  Unfortunately, the pay dirt turned out to be dust in the wind. The landlord noted that the man he knew as Rangarajan had packed up and left that morning without saying where he was headed. A search of the room turned up no useful evidence. Like Cindy Allen, the landlord promised to let agents know if the man returned.

  A few minutes later, Eddie’s wife swung by to pick him up and take him home.

  I walked him to the door when she arrived. “I’d be dead if it wasn’t for you, Eddie.”

  Again, he shrugged. “You’ve had my back before. Isn’t that what partners are for?”

  I looked up into his brown eyes. “We’re not partners anymore.”

  “I seem to keep forgetting that.”

  I hated to ask, but at the same time I wanted to know. “Working with William. What’s that like?”

  Eddie looked down for a moment in thought. “Well, he’s smart. Determined. Knows the special agent manual backward and forward. Likes to talk sports.”

  “Sounds like the perfect partner.”

  “He is,” Eddie said. “That’s why I can’t figure out why I miss working with you.”

  I replied with a friendly punch in the arm.

  “Take care of yourself,” he said.

  “I will.”

  After Eddie left I lay down on the couch with Nutty beside me. It wasn’t until I woke early that evening that I realized I hadn’t heard from Jeremy.

  I retrieved my cell phone from my purse. I’d missed a call from him that came in at two, when I’d been lying unconscious in the dentist chair. I listened to the voice-mail message.

  “Hi, Tara. It’s Jeremy. Listen, Chloe called and said her husband’s having car trouble. Dad and I realize this is dragging out far longer than necessary and we don’t want to put you out any more. He’s going to head over to Chloe’s house this evening for the key. We’ll have it for you first thing tomorrow morning.”

  Looked like I’d finally get my hands on those hard copies. A child’s illness was one thing, but now car trouble, too? Call me suspicious, but the repeated excuses felt like delaying tactics.

  Now, more than ever, I was curious to see what was in those records.

  chapter thirt
y-one

  Bad Credit

  I arrived at Cowtown Candy Company at nine o’clock sharp Wednesday morning, ready to get to work. Chloe still hadn’t returned. No big surprise there. The receptionist paged Jeremy for me. He led me upstairs to the offices.

  We found Dennis standing in front of Chloe’s door, a screwdriver in his hand.

  Jeremy’s brows angled in confusion. “What are you doing, Dad?”

  He gestured to Chloe’s door. “Fixing to take this door off its hinges.”

  Anger heated the blood in my veins. “I take it you didn’t get the key last night?”

  Dennis cut an apologetic look my way. “I drove by Chloe’s house, but she wasn’t there when I arrived. She’d gone out with some of her former sorority sisters to a play in Dallas. She must’ve forgotten I was coming.”

  A play? What happened to her flu?

  “Was her husband home?” I asked.

  Dennis nodded. “Yes, but he didn’t know where the key was.”

  “Shouldn’t he have had it? According to Chloe, he was supposed to bring it by yesterday.”

  Dennis shook his head. “Seems she’d forgotten to mention it to him.”

  The oh-so-perfect Chloe had supposedly forgotten not only to give her husband the key but also that her father was coming by to get it? I didn’t believe that for a second. Any of it.

  “Wait a minute.” Jeremy looked even more confused. “Chloe called me yesterday afternoon and said he couldn’t bring it by because he was having car trouble.”

  Dennis lifted a shoulder. “There must have been some miscommunication.” He looked back at the door. “At any rate, I’m sure I can get this door off if you’ll bear with me a moment.”

  I reached into my purse, retrieved my wallet, and whipped out my Neiman Marcus credit card. “I’ve got an easier solution.”

  Dennis raised a palm in invitation. “Be my guest.”

  I stuck my card between the door and the frame, pushed it hard against the mechanism, and gave it a forceful flick while turning the knob.

  Click.

  We were in.

  “You learn that trick at the IRS?” Jeremy asked.

  “No,” I replied. “From a friend in high school.” Back then I hadn’t had a Neiman Marcus card and had to use my driver’s license. That little trick had enabled me to spring several of my friends from house arrest to sneak out after curfew.

  I stepped into Chloe’s office and flipped on the light. The men followed me in.

  “I’ll check this filing cabinet,” Dennis told his son, gesturing to the one on the left of the bookcase. “You check the other.”

  Dennis and Jeremy began pulling out the drawers one by one and looking at the file tabs on the hanging folders inside.

  Dennis read the names out loud for my benefit. “‘Insurance Policies.’ ‘Equipment Warranties.’ ‘Property Tax Statements.’”

  None of those were the items I needed.

  Jeremy did the same on his side. “‘Store Leases.’ ‘Furniture.’ ‘Light Fixtures.’”

  Nope. Nope. And nope.

  The two continued to rattle things off until Jeremy opened the third drawer down.

  “There’s not much in this one.”

  I stepped closer and looked. Sure enough, the drawer contained far fewer files than any of the others. More suspiciously, the exact files I needed were missing.

  Jeremy looked from me to Dennis. “It looks like some of the files have been removed.”

  “Maybe Chloe took some work home with her,” Dennis suggested.

  I had a hard time believing she’d just happen to take home the same files that I’d need to complete the audit. Besides, if that were the case, why not just say so?

  “Call her,” I insisted. “Ask her where the files are.”

  Dennis stepped over to Chloe’s desk and dialed her home number. He blushed slightly and turned away when he obviously reached her machine. He left a quick message and tried her cell. Same result. He left a voice mail.

  He turned to me, seeming at a loss for words. No problem. I had plenty to supply.

  “One way or another we need to get that documentation. Are you a signer on the checking account?” I asked.

  Dennis nodded. “I was the one who originally opened the account years ago. We added Chloe when she came on board as CFO.”

  “Same for the mortgage accounts? Utilities? Manufacturing supplies?”

  He nodded again.

  “Let’s go straight to the source, then.” I instructed him to give the bank, the mortgage company, the utilities, and the suppliers a call and ask for duplicate statements and invoices.

  As long as I was at it, I figured I might as well have him get invoices from the janitorial service, too. I’d thought their fees seemed somewhat excessive. It couldn’t hurt to take a look.

  “I’d like to see copies of the statements from the janitorial service, too.”

  Dennis cocked his head. “We don’t use an outside janitorial service. We’ve got a full-time employee here during business hours to take care of the cleaning, and a part-timer in the evenings.”

  “Not according to the accounting records.” Now I knew for certain. Something was definitely up.

  Dennis clearly had conflicting feelings. His eyes flashed with alarm, though he also crossed his arms over his chest, as if rejecting my insinuation. “What are you saying, Ms. Holloway?”

  I gestured to the computer on Chloe’s desk. “Log in to the accounting system and I’ll show you.”

  Dennis hesitated a brief moment before he made his way around his daughter’s desk, sat down, and booted up her system. Once the sign-in screen popped up, he logged in and clicked on the icon for the company bookkeeping.

  I stepped up next to him, Jeremy taking a spot on the other side. I motioned to the screen. “Scroll down.”

  Dennis moved the cursor down through the accounts.

  “There.” I pointed. “‘Janitorial Service.’”

  Dennis clicked on the account to open it and leaned toward the screen, lines forming across his forehead. “I don’t understand. What is this?”

  Jeremy leaned in, too.

  I hated to be the one to break it to them, but they needed to know. “That data shows that eighty grand was paid to Squeaky Clean Custodial Service.”

  Dennis sat back, his face tight, perplexed. “Never heard of them.”

  Jeremy turned to his father. “Dad, this doesn’t look good.”

  The throbbing vein in Dennis’ neck told me he was becoming agitated. He threw up a hand, cutting Jeremy off before he could say more. “Before you go off half-cocked, Son, you need to remember this is Chloe we’re talking about. She knows how to handle basic bookkeeping. She’s a CPA, for God’s sake! It’s her financial expertise that’s keeping this company afloat.” He lowered his voice and muttered, “All you’ve done is cost this business money, what with your pet cows and edible bullshit and all those other ridiculous ideas.”

  Maybe it wasn’t my place to butt into their dysfunctional family matters, but enough was enough.

  “Jeremy’s ‘ridiculous ideas’ are what’s enabled this company to hang on,” I said. “Particularly the ‘edible bullshit.’ You realize his cow patties are bringing in major moolah?”

  Dennis looked up at me. “What do you mean?”

  I motioned for him to let me have the chair. After we’d swapped places, I generated a report showing sales figures for each type of candy the company produced. While the traditional candies on which the company had been built continued to enjoy steady sales, Jeremy’s cow patties, Licorice Lassoes, and Chickenfeed topped the sales charts. Orders were increasing exponentially.

  “All of the old-fashioned candies combined don’t match the cow patty sales.” I gave Dennis a moment to digest that information before I pointed at the screen. “Numbers don’t lie, Mr. Aberdeen. Jeremy’s a marketing genius.”

  Dennis stared at the screen for a moment or two. He glanced over a
t his son, then back at the screen, his expression incredulous, as if he seemed to be seeing his son in a different light, as if the black-and-white figures in front of him told him things about his son he’d been unable to see otherwise.

  Sure, Jeremy was a college dropout who’d knocked up his girlfriend and had a shotgun wedding. Yep, his shaggy hair was always in need of a trim. He might even have dozens of goofy ideas. But he also had some damn good ones. He was one sharp candy-coated cookie. It was time someone in the family started paying attention.

  Dennis reached over to the keyboard and hit the button to print the report. He stood up straight and looked Jeremy in the eye. “I don’t know what to say, Son, but that I’m sorry. I’ve obviously been selling you short.”

  Jeremy could have gloated. He could’ve gotten angry. He could’ve done what I would’ve done in his position and put a finger up to his father’s cheek and shouted, In yo’ face!

  But Jeremy did none of those things. Because while no one else in his family might have realized his value, Jeremy had. So had his wife. And apparently that was all that really mattered to him.

  I picked up my things and stepped to the door. “See you two tomorrow.”

  chapter thirty-two

  Death by Chocolate

  I spent the rest of the day at the IRS audit department office in Fort Worth, caged in my cubicle, reviewing paperwork sent in by a company that made engraved monuments and headstones. Talk about dull. Much more of this and they’d be inscribing a stone for me. Here lies Tara Holloway. She died of boredom.

  Nick phoned me from the airport in New Delhi that night.

  “I’ve gotten nowhere here,” he said. “The local officials won’t cooperate at all. This whole trip has been a waste of time and money.”

  I was sorry to hear his trip had been a bust, but I was also glad to know he’d be home soon. I had been awfully lonely without him, even with Nutty to keep me company. “I can’t wait to see you,” I told Nick. What’s more, Giacomo wanted to meet with Nick to go over his testimony in my upcoming trial. “Were there any more hits on the hot watch today?”