“What are you doing?”
“Asking for a raise.”
Chapter forty-nine
The bank statements were packed away. They were no longer needed for Steely’s purpose. Nick had given her access to the JHI accounting system. Accounts-receivable and accounts-payable information in the known company accounts could provide what she needed. Her focus was on amounts paid to vendors all the way back to her dad’s death. Flash Away was central. She knew that. Keaton had connected Flash Away to JHI. There were certainly tentacles reaching out to others. It was time to tie them together.
JHI’s other 107 vendors proved legit. She quickly dismissed them and took a magnifying glass to Flash Away.
There were no receivables from Flash, and rightly so. There should not have been. Only payables. Her head stayed in the monitor. Her fingers tapped on the keyboard for most the day. She hadn’t taken a break until there was a noise at the door.
She casually put her monitor to sleep and turned to welcome her incoming guest.
“Mrs. Ray! You startled me,” she said, standing.
“Well, I’m surprised you heard me.”
“Mrs. Ray, I usually hear more than I should.”
Benita gazed at the phone on Nick’s desk. “Does that thing work?”
“Yes, ma’am. Did you call?”
“A hundred times.”
Steely picked up the phone, turned it over, and flipped a lever. “Oh, Nick—I mean, Mr. Dichiara must have accidently cut off the sound.”
Ray placed one foot perpendicular to the other. “Do I look stupid?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Don’t ‘Mr. Dichiara’ me. I know you two have fuzzy lines between employee and employer.” Ray viewed Nick’s desk butting up to hers. “I don’t even want to know what’s going on in here.”
“Mrs. Ray, no—”
“Keep it to yourself.”
“Mrs. Ray, really, we—”
“Didn’t I just say keep it to yourself?”
Steely zipped her lips.
“You’re in here hibernating together.” Ray looked up at the deer. “How do you concentrate with that thing staring at you?”
“We’re on friendly terms.”
Benita scanned the room. “This is the last time I’m going to tell you. Don’t come in before eight a.m. or stay past five.”
“Yes, ma’am. I was just trying to work ahead.”
“Well, quit it. And if you see anyone on this floor, besides Monte, call security. I told him to watch out for you. Not one minute early. Not one minute late. I’m not your babysitter. Do what I asked you to do.”
“Yes, ma’am. I sure don’t want—”
Ray gave Nick’s desk two quick taps with her solar nails. “Where is he?”
“He’s out.”
“Where? Or are you not supposed to tell? Because I’m the human-resource vice president. You’d better answer me. Now, where is he?”
“He’s out on business.”
“Where?”
“I really don’t know.”
“Uh-huh. Can you take a message? Do you know how to write the antiquated way?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Steely searched the desk for a pen and paper. “Just one second.” She ran around to Nick’s desk. She pulled out the middle drawer, picked up a pen and a pad, and pushed the drawer in. Steely grabbed a cup and headed for the kitchen.
Ray rubbed her head and followed. “Where are you going? I’m talking to you.”
“My coffee is cold. May I get you a cup?”
“I don’t drink coffee.”
Steely stuck a filter into the machine, positioned her cup under it, and turned around. “Now we can talk.”
Ray caught up with Steely. “Bugged?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’ll get it swept.” She looked back at the closet.
“I think Nick wanted to leave it for now.” Coffee dripped, filled the cup.
“I don’t like it, but fine. When you hear from Nick, tell him Jacqueline Dupree, who was an accounts-payable clerk, quit showing up. She and her entire family went missing about a year ago.”
“Got it.”
“Tell him I finally found Juan Rios. He’s in the Harris County detention center, awaiting trial for dealing drugs. Never would have thought it…”
Steely shook her head. “No. Mr. Hunter’s assistant?”
“More like a friend. He wouldn’t see me. Maybe Nick can talk to him.”
“He’s not a drug dealer.”
Ray got in Steely’s face.
“Mrs. Ray, he’s not. I know he’s not a drug dealer.”
Ray whispered, “You should have told me who you were, Mrs. Hunter.”
“I couldn’t risk you not hiring me.”
“That would have been a reason to hire you.”
“I see.”
“Now, you be careful down here. Dial zero-one on that phone if you need help. It’ll go directly to security. I’ve instructed them to run up here if you call. It appears as if some of our executives are nothing more than hoodlums. I’ve got two very disturbed receptionists downstairs. One of them almost walked out a few minutes ago. The other wants a raise.”
“Mrs. Ray, do you know anything about Flash Away?”
“Mr. Keaton hired them over my objections. Alexis Canker is as crazy as her daughter.”
“Who’s her daughter?”
“Cricket Maunder.”
Steely quickly inhaled. “Cricket?”
“I had a nightmare the other night. She was in handcuffs, getting hauled off. It’d be a dream come true.”
“That’s why she has been coming in and out of here. I’ve never seen her mother. Her name has changed several times.”
“When I found out the person who owned Flash Away was married to Zev Chevoski, I was ready to pitch a fit, but it was too late. Mr. Hunter resigned before I could tell him.”
“Who is Zev Chevoski?”
“A sociopath who claims Mr. Hunter was his father. He tried to buy the company once.”
“Does Miss Bea know about this?”
“Of course. She used his DNA, taken from a wad of gum, to prove it wasn’t true. What does Bea think about what you’re doing here with Nick?”
“I didn’t tell her. She’s too fragile.” Steely sipped from her cup.
“Fragile? I’ve known Beatrice Hunter over thirty-five years; I’ve never heard anyone call her fragile. A heart of gold, maybe.”
Steely shot her eyes at Benita. “Heart of gold?”
“You know she and Mrs. Dichiara pitched in to send you a check every month after your father passed.”
“They did it?”
“I mailed the checks myself. They split it right down the middle. Arranged for your housing in college when they found out you were sleeping in the library.”
“How’d they know?”
“Nick found out.”
“He’s so…Mrs. Dichiara is really nice. I can’t believe Miss Bea.”
“You mean ’cause she pitched a fit about you marrying David?”
“Well, that and—”
“She didn’t want anyone emptying her nest. She did your makeup and hair, didn’t she?”
“You can tell?”
“She wouldn’t fix you up if she didn’t like you. Oh, before I forget. Let Nick know Jacqueline Dupree’s husband, Warren, was an employee of Energy Oil—one of JHI’s biggest accounts. I don’t—”
“The Energy Oil in Grey Canyon?”
“Yes. Mr. Dupree commuted back and forth from Houston on the weekends.”
Steely composed herself. “Mrs. Ray, do you know when Mrs. Dupree quit showing up for work?”
“It was about a year ago,” Benita said.
“I see.”
“I better get back downstairs. Don’t forget what I told you.”
She indicated she wouldn’t.
Benita left.
Steely rummaged for her cell. “Nick, please pick up.
” The phone rang three times. No answer. She put it away. She woke up her computer and started a new search in payroll. Only Keaton, Ray, and Nick had access to payroll. And now Steely—thanks to Nick’s leaving the pass code and a fob.
Her first search: former employee, Jacqueline Dupree. Her hire date was five and a half years prior to Jack’s accident.
All amounts paid to Dupree should have been the same, since she was a salaried clerk. Steely scoured every pay statement. It proved to be a swift search.
Every pay slip was the same, except one categorized as a bonus.
Dupree had never received a ten-thousand-dollar bonus or even a ten-cent bonus before the week she went missing.
Was that normal for the company?
Steely quickly searched to find out. Every other bonus was disbursed in December. Not another one was disbursed in May. She scrolled back to view the line-item description: major issue eliminated. The check was issued the day after Jack’s accident. Dupree hadn’t been seen since. Steely’s heart raced. Keaton signed the check. This was significant. Coincidence was not in her vocabulary. Nailing Keaton was not about money to her. It was about murder. And maybe he was vulnerable in both.
Juan Rios had to be cleared of any of this. He received regular pay except a bonus paid in December, just like every other employee except Dupree.
Flash Away received monthly invoices for $30,000, which seemed exorbitant but consistent, until she hit on a $150,000 check. She breathlessly checked the description: major issue eliminated. The check was issued the day after her dad died.
It took several minutes to regain her composure. Maybe this was all circumstantial. Maybe something that would be meaningless to a judge or jury. But not to Steely. See had waited patiently, for years, for this kind of information to be in her hands.
This was confirmation that Cricket’s mother was connected to her father’s death. Fred had cut all business ties with Alexis and her bogus Flash Away the week before he passed. He returned the income he earned. And he was ready to report what he knew to Mr. Hunter.
Emotionally, she was relieved, proud of what her dad had done. This confirmed, at least in her mind, that he was murdered. If it were even possible, she was even more resolved to get those responsible.
Nick’s voice mail was full. He had suspended communication with the world. Most likely, he wouldn’t be answering until he took the final blow to Keaton.
No longer caring if Keaton or anyone else was listening, she parked herself in front of the deer. She might as well chuck her deductions, like mud at the wall, and see if they stuck.
She ran to the stairwell and called Sheriff Tucker. He picked up quickly. “Tucker, here.”
“Sheriff, this is Steely Hunter. Did you retrieve the truck?”
“We tried two other cranes. They couldn’t hold the weight. They’re setting up a new one as we speak. It should be stable enough to hold the weight. You’ll be the first call I make when I get it checked out.”
“Thank you.” She ran back to the office. Her pain had eased. It didn’t matter if she had no hard, incriminating proof. Bonus checks could be explained away. And even if they couldn’t be, she knew no grand jury would recommend Keaton and Canker to stand trial.
Chapter fifty
“Bold lettering,” Keaton said airily to the caller. “Harry Keaton Industries!” He wrote it out on a pad. “I don’t care how much it costs…yes, every letter capitalized. Get the permits. I want to see it in one week. Do you know who I am? I’m one of the most successful CEOs in the country! I’ll call the mayor if I have to…You have one week.” Finally, he was getting the recognition he craved. He shaded the block letters and held it up by the window.
Donna knocked and then cracked the door. “Mr. Keaton—”
Keaton hollered, “Just a minute! I’m on an important call.”
Donna rolled her eyes toward the lobby and tilted her head in that direction. “Mr.…uh, Mr. Keaton, I think you’d better let these officers in.”
“Unless it’s the president of the United States, tell them to wait.” He continued the call. “That’s right. All letters lit…How bright? Bright enough to see from the moon!” he said.
Donovan shoved the door open. Two bulletproof officers were at his side. He was dressed like everyone else in the building until he flipped over his lapel and brandished a shield. The two staring uniformed officers waited by the door as Donovan marched in. “Mr. Keaton, I’m Sergeant Donovan with HPD. I’m not the president, but it’d be a good idea to answer my questions unless you prefer me to take you by your suit tail and haul you in.”
Keaton dropped the phone and stood at attention. His important call dangled off the edge of his desk. He buttoned his tailored coat. “Is there a problem, Officer?”
“I have some questions for you, sir.”
“There’s nothing you need to talk to me about.” Keaton gnawed on a fingernail.
Stone-faced, Donovan was abrupt. “Last time. We can talk here, or you can take a ride in my backseat. You won’t be the first CEO who has and probably won’t be the last. Now sit yourself down. I don’t want you leaping out that window.”
Keaton complied, dropping into his seat as ordered. He scraped his fingers, frantically, on the arm of the chair. “I have nothing to hide. Ask whatever you want.”
Donovan towered over the desk. “What do you know about Jacqueline Dupree and her family?”
“Jacqueline who? I don’t know any Jacqueline anybody!”
“She was an employee here.”
Keaton swiped at the sweat dripping down the side of his face. “I don’t know all the employees in this company.”
“According to the Grey Canyon sheriff, Warren Dupree and his wife, Jacqueline, and their eight-year-old son had an accident on the day of the Hunter funeral. Someone ran them off the road and into a creek. They’re all missing. So I’m going to ask you again. What do you know about them?”
“I…don’t…know…them. I’ve never even heard their names. Officer, I’m a successful man.” Keaton drew blood ripping off a fingernail. “I’m telling you, I don’t know a thing about this woman.” Keaton loosened his tie, took off his jacket, and laid it on the credenza behind his desk.
“That’s all for now.” Sergeant Donovan motioned to the officers. “Let’s go.”
“Good.” Keaton dabbed his face with a tissue. “I’m glad we cleared this up.”
Donovan twisted his head back at Keaton. “This is not cleared up, Mr. Keaton.” He turned and left.
Keaton pounded three numbers on his phone and chewed his bleeding finger. “Get down here!” he shouted and hung up.
Seconds later, Qualls stomped in, rattling the wall when he slammed the door. “What’d you do? Take a shower with your clothes on?”
“Who is Jacqueline Dupree?”
“You don’t need to know.”
“The police came in here asking about her accident. I’ve never been questioned before, and I don’t ever want it to happen again.”
“Don’t worry about it. Mr. and Mrs. Dupree’s only friend was a plastic bag of escape from reality.”
Keaton dropped forward, cradled his head in his hands, and groaned. “What happened to them?”
“They got greedy.”
“Where are they?”
“Mr. Dupree had a terrible driving record.”
“Had?”
“Drove his family right into a creek,” Qualls sneered. “Doors popped opened. They’re in the gulf by now.”
Keaton stood up. “I can’t take this! Being questioned by the cops?”
Qualls gruffly replied, “Why? You don’t know anything.”
“That’s right. I don’t. I didn’t agree to anybody getting hurt.” Keaton pounded a fist on the desk. “We had a plan. Everybody wins. Even Jack, if he hadn’t paid off the company debt. You and Chevoski should have stuck to it.”
“You screwed it up by signing that idiotic agreement. I’ve been cleaning up your mess eve
r since.”
“You agreed. No more murders!”
“You can’t bind me. I’ll take care of anyone who becomes a threat.”
Keaton stood. “I won’t be a part of this!”
Qualls darted around the desk and knocked Keaton back into his leather chair. “Don’t you know the law?” He leveled himself, eye to eye. “You’re an accessory to everything that goes on around here.” He grasped a fistful of Keaton’s shirt, pinning him, and then shoved him toward the windows. Qualls jammed his left forearm between Keaton’s chin and chest. Keaton felt faint. The glass was the only thing between him and sudden death. He could die three different ways in a matter of seconds. Slightly more pressure could sever the miniscule amount of air seeping into his lungs. His heart could lose the ferocious battle it was waging to push blood through his cholesterol-laden veins, or he could fly, like a bird with clipped wings, out the fiftieth-floor window.
“You’re no better than me.” Qualls was out of control. His mind seemed to have snapped. “You’re bought and paid for. Mr. Chevoski owns you.” Qualls released his hold. Keaton wilted, sliding to the floor, gasping for air. “You’re pathetic,” Qualls spit at him.
Keaton was plagued with regret. He was involved in everything they did, whether he agreed or not. He had blood on his hands.
And for a handful of people, it was too late to reverse anything. His solution was to play dumb. He was really good at that.
Chapter fifty-one
Bea fiddled with a newspaper in her usual spot. A few feet away, the local news blared from the TV. Steely came in the front door and locked it behind her. “Hi, Miss Bea. Please remember to lock the door. Anyone could walk in.”
“If they do, they won’t walk out,” Bea said, flipping a page.
“You don’t want to invite trouble.”
“It doesn’t seem to need an invitation.” Two more pages were uninteresting to her. “You missed dinner.”
“Did you cook again?” she said in a high pitch.
“Chicken enchiladas.”
Steely crossed over the crack in the living-room floor that grew every time a train vibrated the tracks behind the house.
Steely set her purse and keys on an entry table and went to the kitchen. On the stove was a foil-covered casserole. She lifted the silver wrap and peeked inside at the green sauce she was not fond of.
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