“You know me—if something bugs me I keep going until I’ve found an answer.”
“What was bugging you?”
She sat on a kitchen stool. “I’ve got one ultra-wealthy widow who is the darling of the social circuit, a nonprofit charity that receives a lot of money, and a bank account that doesn’t make sense.”
Harry dropped two slices of bread into the toaster. “I hope it’s the wealthy widow’s bank account that doesn’t make sense and not yours.”
“You’re just worried that one day I’m going to come and live with you.”
He snorted. “You forgot about the security camera over my front door. At the first sign of a woman carrying anything larger than a folder, a solid steel door drops in front of her.”
Ashley waved her folder in the air. “Your bachelor status is not under threat, but I’ve got a feeling Jasmine Alfredo might be.”
“What do you mean?”
“She doesn’t need to defraud anything. Her charities have all got plenty of money, except The Reaching High Foundation. It’s the largest nonprofit she manages. They haven’t done half the projects they were supposed to, but they’ve spent the federal grant money they received.”
Harry buttered a piece of toast and held it toward her.
“No, thanks. I’ve already eaten.” She opened her folder. “If you don’t spend the grant money on the services or products the government is funding, you’re supposed to pay it back. The Reaching High Foundation can’t afford to repay any money.”
Harry wiped his hands on his jeans and looked through Ashley’s folder. “If the funding didn’t go to the projects it was supposed to, where has it gone?”
“That’s what I tried to find out. Not all nonprofits have to complete an independent audit. But this one should have. Last year, they received three federal grants worth between two- and three-hundred thousand dollars each.”
“And the money’s disappeared?”
“Most of it.”
“I hope you didn’t do anything illegal to figure that out?”
“Not really.”
“Don’t tell me what you did. I’ll only get stressed.” Harry frowned as he read the notes she’d made. “How do the photos from the dinner party tie in with the grants?”
“The people invited to the dinner party are all involved in Jasmine’s nonprofit charities. She wanted to thank them for their support. I looked for their profiles on the Internet, but a lot of them are camera shy. I’m hoping you and Bonnie can tell me their names.”
Harry turned to the first sheet of photos. “That’s Jason Le Blanc. He manages an art auction house called Taylor and Mitchell.”
Ashley wrote his name under the photo.
He pointed to another image. “Stephanie Malcolm, Chief Financial Strategist for Duncan and Malcolm. Her father owns the company.” Harry turned to the next page. “James Gardiner, big whiz in the telecommunications industry.”
“How do you know these people?”
“I’ve been working in New York for ten years. You see a lot of faces in that time. That’s Marty Williams—great guy—owns a yacht in the Bahamas. I can’t believe he’d be involved in anything illegal.”
Ashley added Marty’s name to his photo. “I don’t know which charities each of these people support, but I’m going to find out.”
Harry told her the names of another four people. “Are you sure you want to investigate Jasmine’s nonprofit charities?”
“She needs to be held accountable for the money the charities have received.”
“Apart from Jasmine, the people in this folder are some of the wealthiest and influential in New York. If you annoy them, your career could be over.”
Ashley closed the folder. “I know. That’s why I’m being careful.”
“Define careful.”
“You and Bonnie are the only people who know what I’m doing.”
“And?”
“And nothing. That’s it.”
Harry shook his head. “It’s not enough. Some of these people have bodyguards. You were lucky to get away with taking the photos at Jasmine’s party.”
“No one knew what I was doing.”
“Are you sure?”
Ashley bit her bottom lip. “No one said anything.”
Harry crossed his arms. “You’re living in New York, not Bozeman. If you make false accusations about these people, you’ll be run out of town. They’re not going to let a reporter from The Daily Times ruin their lives.”
“Someone needs to investigate what’s happening.”
“All I’m saying is to be careful. Keep backups of everything on a cloud storage system. Don’t let your laptop out of your sight and be careful with your emails. Have you been working on this from home?”
Ashley nodded. “And work.”
Harry rubbed his forehead. “As soon as you arrive at your desk, remove anything to do with Jasmine’s story. Send it to a cloud account. I’ll delete the photos off my computer.”
She closed the folder and slipped it into her bag. “I’ll be more careful.”
“Don’t do anything stupid.”
It was just as well Harry didn’t know about the early breakfast she’d had at Jasmine’s favorite café.
“If something doesn’t feel right, call me straight away.”
“I will.” She gave Harry a quick hug before leaving. “Good luck with the job you’re doing today.”
“Thanks. Remember to be careful.”
Ashley ran down the stairs and out of the building. She needed to get to her desk as fast as possible. What Harry didn’t know was that Jasmine Alfredo hadn’t eaten breakfast on her own this morning. Congressman Welsh had been with her, and from what Ashley had seen, Jasmine didn’t seem happy.
Being careful could wait until tomorrow. Right now, she had a lot of missing money to find.
***
Ashley met Bonnie after work for dinner. In-between working on her next column and finding stories to add to the newspaper, she’d moved all of her files about Jasmine onto another drive. It had taken longer than she thought, but hopefully, it would make it harder for anyone to find the information.
Bonnie pushed her bowl of fries away. “You can’t be serious? Congressman Welsh wouldn’t become involved in anything illegal.”
“It cost more than a million dollars to run his mayoral campaign. He had to find that money from somewhere.”
“That doesn’t mean Jasmine used money from her nonprofit charity to pay for his campaign.”
The door to the diner opened and a group of teenagers walked inside.
“She wasn’t very happy this morning,” Ashley whispered. “What if the congressman took the money from The Foundation’s budget? The accounts have never been audited. Jasmine wouldn’t know until it was too late to do anything about it.”
Bonnie dropped her head into her hands. “Do you know how crazy you sound? Not only are you accusing a congressman of fraud, but you’re telling me that Jasmine is an accomplice.”
“I’ve got proof.”
Bonnie’s eyes widened. She slowly scanned the people sitting close to them. “I’ve watched enough episodes of CSI to know this isn’t a safe place to talk. Let’s go.”
Ashley grabbed her bag. “Where are we going?”
Bonnie pulled Ashley onto the street. “We’re going to your apartment. If we’re mugged or shot on our way there, I’m blaming you.”
“Nothing will happen.”
“I hope for your sake you’re right.” She stuck out her hand and hailed a cab. “What did Harry tell you when you saw him this morning?”
“To be careful.”
Bonnie’s eyebrows rose. “And you consider listening to a conversation between Jasmine Alfredo and Congressman Welsh, being careful?”
“That happened before I saw Harry. And I wasn’t listening—I wasn’t close enough to hear everything. All I heard was the occasional word.”
“It’s called stalking,” Bonnie
whispered. “You shouldn’t have been at the café this morning. What if Jasmine or Congressman Welsh recognized you?”
Ashley didn’t tell her about the weird feeling she’d had all week—it would only freak her out. They climbed into a cab and she gave the driver her address.
On the way to her apartment, Bonnie didn’t say anything. Every time Ashley started to speak, Bonnie held her hand in the air. It wasn’t until they were standing outside her apartment building that her friend broke her silence.
“I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“You said yourself that this could be the story of the year. This is why I became a reporter.”
“Have you ever heard the saying, ‘Be careful what you wish for?’”
Ashley opened her apartment building’s front door. “Once or twice.”
“Take more notice next time.”
They stepped into the foyer and Mrs. Moretti, Ashley’s well-meaning, eccentric, neighbor, opened her apartment door.
She waved her hand at them, beckoning them forward. “You need to come with me,” she whispered.
Ashley was used to Mrs. Moretti’s dramatic personality, but Bonnie wasn’t.
“What’s happened?” Bonnie asked in an equally low whisper.
“There was a man. He was tall…” Mrs. Moretti held her hand above her head. “He came looking for Ashley. He had…how do you say?…a roughness to his person. Like the men in Sicily who do no good.”
Bonnie swayed.
Ashley grabbed her arm and pulled her into Mrs. Moretti’s apartment.
“To the living room,” Mrs. Moretti instructed. “Shoo my kitty cats. Make way for Ashley’s friend.”
Three elderly cats moved with surprising speed out of the room.
“Over here,” Mrs. Moretti said as she rushed to an overstuffed sofa. She opened an orange and pink crochet blanket and wrapped it around Bonnie’s shoulders. “You are in shock—this will make you feel better. I will make a cup of tea.”
“It’s okay, Mrs. Moretti. Bonnie will be fine—she’s had a big day, that’s all.”
“You and your big days. A little tea never hurt anyone. You wait here. I have cake, too.”
Bonnie had a dazed look in her eyes as she absorbed the colorful chaos of Mrs. Moretti’s living room. “Am I still in New York?”
“I don’t know. If Harry were here, he’d say we’ve just entered The Twilight Zone.”
Bonnie took a deep breath and pushed the blanket off her shoulders. “Who do you think was looking for you?”
“It could have been anyone.” Ashley tried not to let Bonnie know how worried she was. Harry’s words kept repeating inside her head, telling her she should have been more careful. “There’s only one way to find out.”
Ashley found Mrs. Moretti in the kitchen, adding boiling water to her teapot. “Mrs. Moretti, could you tell me what happened to the man who was looking for me?”
“Mr. Stokes told him to leave the building or he would call the police.”
Ashley was confused. “How did Mr. Stokes know the man was in the building?” Mr. Stokes’ apartment was on the floor above hers.
“He was about to go on his evening walk. The strange man was hovering by your door. Mr. Stokes is such a nice person. A true gentleman.”
Ashley’s heart pounded. “The man was outside my apartment?”
“Si, but Mr. Stokes did not think he entered. He checked the door handle and it was locked.”
That didn’t make Ashley feel any better.
Mrs. Moretti handed her a plate of cake. “I will bring the tea into the living room. Take this to your friend. A piece of cake will make her feel better.”
The plate wobbled in Ashley’s hand. “Would you mind if Bonnie and I came back in ten minutes? I’d like to check my apartment.”
“Of course, I did not think. Would you like Mr. Stokes to go with you? He decided not to go for his walk.”
Ashley shook her head. “We’ll be all right.”
“And your friend? She will be okay?”
“She’s feeling better already.” She kissed Mrs. Moretti’s cheek. “We’ll be back soon. Thank you for warning us.”
“It is no problem. I will take care of you.”
Ashley handed Mrs. Moretti her plate and went back into the living room.
She just hoped Bonnie wanted to search her apartment with her. If the man had managed to break in, she didn’t know what they would find.
CHAPTER TWO
Ashley stood outside her apartment with Mrs. Moretti’s meat cleaver in her hand.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Bonnie whispered. “What if the man came back when no one was looking?”
Ashley held her finger to her lips and pressed her ear against the door. “I can’t hear anyone moving around.”
Bonnie stepped forward and held her head against the door, too. “You’re right. Unless he’s super quiet, your apartment’s empty.”
Sweat trickled down Ashley’s spine. She hoped none of her neighbors saw her standing in the hallway. They’d get the fright of their lives and call the police—which is what she should have done. And she would have—if the explanation about why the man was there hadn’t made her partly responsible for what was happening.
She bit her bottom lip. “I’ll open the door.”
“I’ll stand behind you. Be careful—the meat cleaver is heavy.”
Ashley inserted her key into the lock, wincing when the pins dropped into the tumbler. She pushed on the handle, opening the door a fraction of an inch, listening for any noise.
Bonnie stood right behind her, holding her jacket.
Taking a deep breath, Ashley opened the door wider. She tried to see beyond the deepening shadows in the room and the furniture she’d bought from thrift stores.
“It looks okay,” she whispered. “I think we’re safe.”
“Turn on the lights.”
Bonnie’s breath tickled Ashley’s neck. She patted the wall until she found the switches. “Are you ready?” Her jacket pulled as Bonnie’s hand gripped the fabric.
“I’m ready.”
“Okay. Here goes…one, two, three…” Ashley flicked the row of switches and stared at her living room.
“What do you see?”
Her shoulders relaxed. “Nothing.”
Bonnie gasped. “Did he take everything?”
“No. Not nothing as in no furniture. Nothing as in no one seems to be here.” Ashley moved further into the room, still holding the meat cleaver. Until they searched the entire apartment, she wasn’t giving up her only form of defense.
Bonnie followed her as they checked her bedroom, the closet, and the small bathroom. By the time they’d searched the kitchen, it was obvious that the man Mr. Stokes had seen wasn’t there.
Ashley left the cleaver on the counter and frowned. Something was wrong.
Bonnie moved around her living room, stopping when she reached the bookcase. “Your TV and sound system are still here. Where’s your laptop?”
Ashley rushed across the room. The battery recharger was where she’d left it, but her laptop was gone. “I left it there this morning.”
She ran into her bedroom and checked the bedside table, under her bed, and in her closet.
“Did you find it?”
“No—it’s gone.”
“Did you have any information about Jasmine Alfredo on it?”
“No. I moved everything to my cloud storage account.” Ashley sat on the end of her bed and sighed. “I need to tell you something.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“It’s not. I think someone has been following me.”
Bonnie’s eyes widened. “Why didn’t you say something before now?”
“I thought I’d be okay.”
“How do you feel now?”
“Worried. Harry was right. Jasmine Alfredo doesn’t want me asking questions about her charities. What am I going to do?” She felt sick just thinking about
someone being inside her apartment—about what could have happened if she’d been home.
“You know you can’t stay here, don’t you?”
Ashley took a deep breath. “I don’t have a choice. I’ve got nowhere else to go.”
“You could stay with me. My roommates won’t mind another person in our apartment.”
“I can’t do that. Whoever’s looking for me might come after you, too.”
Bonnie sighed. “I guess that rules out Harry as well. What about your dad? I know you haven’t spoken to him for a while, but you could stay with him.”
“He lives in San Francisco. I haven’t seen him since he married Trisha.”
“You could easily finish your story from San Francisco. If there’s anything you can’t do from there, Harry and I could help.”
Ashley shook her head. “It wouldn’t work. I can’t leave New York and expect to still have a job on Monday.”
“You’ve got plenty of vacation time owing. I’ll tell your editor that you had a family emergency.” Bonnie frowned at the windows overlooking the street. She held her finger to her lips and moved across to the light switches.
Ashley didn’t know what she was doing, but she wasn’t about to second-guess her best friend.
With the lights turned off, Bonnie moved quickly to the other side of the room. Lifting the edge of a curtain, she peered onto the street below.
Ashley looked over her shoulder. When Bonnie pointed to a man on the sidewalk, she frowned. No one would be silly enough to stay close to the place they’d broken into—unless they hadn’t found what they wanted.
When the same man walked past her apartment five minutes later, Ashley looked at Bonnie.
“What now?”
“Pack,” Bonnie whispered. “I know where you can stay.”
***
Ashley’s cell phone beeped. “He’s here.” She picked up her suitcases and took a deep breath.
Mr. Stokes from apartment 3C stood beside Mrs. Moretti. The long black coat he was wearing made him look dignified in an understated, elegant way. At seventy-six years of age, he definitely didn’t look like a decoy for a woman on the run.
Mrs. Moretti straightened the collar of her coat. “Remember—hurry to your friend’s car, Ashley. Mr. Stokes and I will do everything you have asked.” She held Ashley’s hand before opening her apartment door. “Godspeed to you, my dear. Are you ready Mr. Stokes?”
The Promise (The Protectors Book 4) Page 2
