by Sara Rosett
“Another thing that had to remain confidential, but now it will all come out so I don’t think it matters. It was Colonel Stanek.”
“I don’t recognize the name,” I said.
“He was in the squadron a few years ago, but he’s retired. I see him at the gym a lot. He was on the board at Helping Hands and suspected someone was embezzling money. He wanted someone completely disassociated with the charity to look at the books.”
“But why pick you?” I asked.
“Thanks. Thanks a lot for that vote of confidence,” Mitch said in a mocking tone.
“No, I know you’re good with numbers. You’re like a human calculator, but you don’t have any accounting experience.”
“That’s what I told Colonel Stanek, but he said that was what he needed. ‘Fresh eyes’ is what he called it. I couldn’t find anything until last night. That was when I found the first discrepancies. Tiny things, really. And very cleverly done. But there was enough there that it got me to thinking. By then, I was pretty sure the books belonged to Helping Hands because of some of the entries. I knew Simon was on the board. And when I realized it had been over an hour since you’d texted me . . . I just had a bad feeling.”
“So Simon was embezzling money?” I thought I’d worked it what happened while I was trapped in the closet, but I didn’t know for sure I’d gotten it right.
“I’m pretty sure. While you were with Marie, I called Colonel Stanek and he said he’d also hired an independent accountant from somewhere outside of North Dawkins to look over the books and they’d found discrepancies, too.”
“Why would Simon do that? Didn’t they have plenty of money?” I asked, but the last word got lost in a huge yawn. The adrenaline that had been fueling me had seeped away and I found I was incredibly tired.
“No idea,” Mitch said. “Come on, let’s go home.”
Sunday
That steaming hot shower and a good night’s sleep did help and twenty-four hours later, life was feeling almost normal as we herded the kids up the steps and into the church lobby for the single performance of the Christmas pageant. It was interesting how a building could take on a certain atmosphere. The whole place buzzed with energy. As we greeted people, Livvy and Nathan were vibrating like tuning forks, their excitement ratcheting up as they took in the dimmed lights in the auditorium, the bales of fresh hay around the manger scene, and the other kids already in costume dodging through the crowd.
Mitch saw Gary and headed over to say hello. I was sure he’d get the inside scoop on Simon, who had been arrested.
My phone buzzed and I saw it was Waraday. My stomach didn’t do its usual nervous flip. I’d called him this morning and told him about the feeling I’d had at Marie’s house, that I was being watched, and the strange placement of the stick on the stairs that had caused my fall. There had been a marked change in his attitude toward me—he was actually nice and his voice had the same cordial tones now. “Mrs. Avery,” he said, “I’m calling to let you know that we’ve put together a timeline of Simon’s movements over the last few days, using his cell phone and data from his car navigation and emergency system. He was near Marie’s house on the day you fell down the stairs. Unfortunately, even though he was in the neighborhood, we don’t have any direct evidence linking him to the placement of the branch that caused your fall. No fingerprints or witnesses who saw him place it there.”
“You sound disappointed,” I said.
“I wouldn’t have minded adding assault to the list of charges against Simon, but I suppose what we’ve got will do. Happy holidays, Mrs. Avery.”
“Ellie!” someone cried as I hung up, and I was engulfed in a smothering lily-scented hug, my vision obliterated by masses of dark hair. Gabrielle pulled away, scarlet fingernails flashing, and pressed her hand to her chest. “I was so scared for you when I heard what happened. Simon with a gun!” Her eyes narrowed. “I never liked him. I always knew he didn’t have Jean’s best interests at heart. And poor Kurt, his family destroyed, and for what? So he can have a degree from some Ivy League school? Ridiculous.”
Nathan pulled on my arm and I whispered it would be a minute. “This was about Kurt?”
Gabrielle nodded and I again saw the serious side of her. Beneath her gushy manner was a core of steel. “Yes. When Kurt got into Harvard, Simon decided he would go no matter what it cost the family. Jean didn’t want him to go. Kurt was ambivalent about it because of the cost, but Simon insisted, said their investments were doing great and they could afford it.”
She rolled her eyes. “And this while the economy was tanking. Jean was too sweet by half. She trusted him too much. And when she did find out what was going on, he murdered her so Kurt could get his precious degree. Fifty thousand dollars a year in tuition,” Gabrielle said, outraged. “And no financial aid.”
“Why was it so important to Simon?”
“Because he’s warped,” Gabrielle said, practically spitting her words. “He was ranting on today about how taking money from Helping Hands was really a good thing. He was going to insist that Kurt go to medical school and then practice in some rural area or third world country. Like that would ever have happened. It was all about prestige, first being able to say he had a son at Harvard and then later it was about his prestige in the community. He couldn’t let Jean say anything or he’d lose his position on the board and Kurt would have had to come home. Not to mention whatever criminal charges there would have been.”
“So he’s talking? He confessed?” I asked as I gave Nathan another warning look for yanking on my arm again.
“No. He was only trying to get me on his side. That will be the last time I visit him in jail, let me tell you.”
“Did the suitcase turn up?” I’d told her and Waraday about my assumption that Jean was planning to leave Simon. Her face infused with sadness as she said, “Yes. Apparently he took it when he left the garage and tossed it in a Dumpster on his way back to the food bank along with the printouts Jean had with the details on his embezzlement. I guess he didn’t look inside, just assumed it was her clothes. He dropped it behind a business that had moved to a new location. The trash wasn’t picked up. It was sitting there waiting for the police.”
“So she really was leaving him.”
Gabrielle nodded. “Just not fast enough.”
“What will happen to Kurt?”
She sighed. “That poor boy. My heart goes out to him. I’m not sure what he’ll do. He can’t go to school at Harvard anymore. There’s no money. And with his family in this state . . .” she shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ll try to convince him to go somewhere less expensive and finish his degree. He’ll always have a home with me and I will not let Simon hurt him anymore,” she said with that same steely glint in her eye.
“Sounds like he’ll be in good hands,” I said, thinking that having Gabrielle on your side could be a good thing.
“Now,” Gabrielle said, squaring her shoulders and shaking her hair away from her face, “to work.” She scanned the crowd and waved at someone over my shoulder.
“Work? Aren’t you here for the pageant?”
“Of course, I’ll watch it, but church is one of the best places to network. Got to keep those clients rolling in. Looks like I’ve got another college tuition to pay for now, too.” She flitted away.
“Same old Gabrielle,” I muttered to myself.
Mitch rejoined me. “Gary says the word is that Simon will be charged with Jean’s murder. The bloody scarf was pretty incriminating.”
I shivered, thinking of how he wanted to use it to implicate Marie. Before I could reply to Mitch, Nathan pulled on my hand again. I was ready to say some sharp words to him about how interrupting is bad manners, but the reprimand died on my lips as I took in his frightened face. His eyes were wide and his death grip on my hand tightened as he said, “Mom, I don’t want to be in the pageant.”
“Why not?”
His gaze swept the crowded room, then he shrugged and ducked his
head. “Just don’t want to,” he muttered.
“But you love wearing your shepherd costume. If you want to wear it, you have to be in the pageant,” I coaxed. “And your shepherd’s crook. You want to hold that, too, don’t you?”
He shrugged again.
Livvy, who’d been orbiting around me, talking to various friends, returned to my side. “Mom, it’s time. We have to go get dressed.”
“Just a minute,” I said, trying to think of some other enticement to get Nathan into his costume and on stage. I wasn’t going to force him to be in it, but I knew he’d be disappointed later if he sat out.
“Miss Molly is counting on you. You know all the words and she needs you to sing really loud.”
No reply.
I exchanged a glance with Mitch, signaling Your turn. I’m out of ideas, but before Mitch could squat down and get on Nathan’s level, Livvy grabbed Nathan’s free hand and said, “Come on, it’ll be okay. I’ll be there the whole time.” She wasn’t using her usual bossy older sister tone. She sounded matter-of-fact and slightly comforting.
Nathan’s gaze slid from me to Livvy, clearly undecided.
“Shepherd’s crook,” I cajoled. “It’s back there with your costume.”
He nodded once, then said, “Okay,” and allowed Livvy to lead him away down the hall toward Molly, who was energetically waving the kids into the dressing room.
Mitch and I hurried into the auditorium and snagged two seats on the aisle near the front. We were lucky to get them. I’d forgotten what a crush kids’ plays and pageants were. The enthusiasm of the families with parents angling for the best video position had to rival Hollywood red-carpet events.
Abby and Jeff were one row up from us and she twisted around to talk to me over the back of her chair, exclaiming that she was glad I was okay, then she leaned farther over and lowered her voice.
“I’m getting the duck back,” she confided.
“They found it?” I asked.
“Yes. The police contacted that dealer you found online. He’s the premier dealer in that type of collectible. They asked him to be on the lookout for it. He called them this afternoon. There was a couple in his gallery with a decoy just like the police were looking for.”
“Cecilia and Gavin?” I asked.
“Yep. The police took them into custody. Apparently, it will take awhile to get them moved back down here—this was somewhere up northeast—but they will be charged. At least, Cecilia will be charged in North Dawkins. I suppose Gavin will have to face the military justice system.”
“And the decoy?”
“I’ve been assured it will be returned to me after it’s photographed and fingerprinted. The dealer even said he’d be interested in it. He said it’s not quite as valuable as the record-breaking one because it’s not in as good a shape, but it should still generate significant interest. Those were his exact words. And I figured out who brought it—Gabrielle.”
“Really? What are you going to do?”
“Split the sale with her.”
“Are you sure you want to do that?” I asked, wondering how the two women would get along. They were both very strong personalities.
“Yes, I’m sure. Jeff and I talked it over. I haven’t mentioned it to her. As soon as I get the decoy back, we’re going to have some legal papers drawn up describing exactly how I got it and how the proceeds of any sale will be split—fifty, fifty.”
I smiled at her. “That’s a very generous thing to do.”
She waved her hand in dismissal. “She needs it, considering she’s helping her daughters and her nephew with college tuition.”
The lights dimmed and Abby twisted forward, camera at the ready as a shaky high-pitched voice read the verses from Luke about Caesar Augustus issuing a census decree. “Mary” and “Joseph” entered and settled down in the hay around the manger. The narrator described the shepherds. Mitch raised our video camera and hit the RECORD button as Nathan filed into place. I studied his face anxiously, but, except for one quick stolen glance at the audience, he kept his eyes on the angel. I breathed an inward sigh of relief.
An uncomfortably long silence stretched across the room as everyone waited for the angel to say her line, but she had the classic deer-in-the-headlights stare on her face as she took in the packed auditorium. There was a hissing from the wings, but the angel remained speechless.
“Don’t be afraid,” whispered one of the shepherds so loudly that it carried to the last row.
A look of relief flooded the girl’s face and she rushed through her announcement of the birth of Jesus. Spotlights came on illuminating the angel choir and I found Livvy in the top row singing with gusto, her glittery halo sparkling. Mitch still had one hand raised as he recorded the pageant. He slid his other arm along the back of my chair and I snuggled into the curve of his arm, glad that he was here to see the pageant and not deployed. With his unpredictable schedule, we often had to celebrate holidays either before or after the actual date. But this year we were together, at least for a few more weeks before he left on his next deployment. I realized I’d hardly thought about the deployment. There had been too much going on lately—so many stressful things in my everyday existence that I’d completely forgotten to worry about it.
Mitch zoomed in on Nathan, who was singing along, looking completely comfortable. I shared a quick smile with Mitch, vowing to enjoy every minute of this holiday without worrying about the upcoming deployment. We’d get through the deployment. We always did. And now was the time to enjoy our family and the Christmas season. The wise men trooped in with their gifts and after a few more songs it was over. The applause was deafening.
Nathan scampered down the steps from the stage, brandishing his crook. “That was fun. I want to do it again.”
Livvy joined us as I said, “Next year,” and draped an arm around Nathan’s shoulder to guide him to the room where snacks were waiting.
“I know. I told Miss Molly I want to be a wise man next year,” Nathan said. He broke away from me, jumping along the aisle in his excitement. “I told Miss Molly you could make my wise man costume, too.”
“Oh,” I said weakly, thinking of all the velvet fabric, heavy braided trim, and my nonexistent sewing skills.
“There are cookies in that room,” Mitch said, pointing around the corner, and Nathan and Livvy hurried ahead. Mitch wrapped his arm around my shoulder and pulled me close.
“Don’t say anything about my sewing skills,” I warned.
“Costume shop,” he whispered in my ear, and I laughed. “That’s all I was going to say.”
“Great idea. I’ll put it on reserve tomorrow,” I said.
Acknowledgments
As always, a big thank you to Michaela and the team at Kensington. I’m thrilled to continue writing Ellie’s adventures. Michaela, you always hit on exactly the details that need to be refined. Thanks to the Kensington team, who work so hard and make the books look amazing.
To Faith, thanks for your steady confidence.
To my writing friends, especially the Deadly Divas, Denise Swanson, Heather Webber, and Marcia Talley. Thanks for ideas and support—you’re the best and make book tours so much fun.
To my parents, thanks for being my best cheerleaders.
To my kids, who have shown endless patience with Mom when she’s typing on the computer, thanks for inspiring me.
And to Glenn, thanks for listening and telling me to go for it.
Turn the page for an exciting preview of Sara Rosett’s next intriguing Ellie Avery mystery, coming from Kensington in Fall 2013!
“No, I don’t have any messages for you.” The desk clerk was a fiftyish woman with a deep southern drawl rolling through her words. “Sorry, darlin’,” she said after I thanked her. My Florida Gulf Coast vacation was not turning out the way I’d expected. Mitch was grounded in Canada, awaiting a part for his broken plane. The kids and I had gone ahead without him because we had nonrefundable hotel reservations as well as plans to
meet with relatives—my brother Ben and Mitch’s sister Summer, who both lived in the general area.
I made my way to the breakfast area and sat down at the table with Ben. “Nothing. No word from Angela,” I said as I set my cell phone on the table and nodded at the waiter that I’d like a glass of juice. “The cell phone reception in my room is terrible. I’d hoped I’d just missed Angela’s call and would have a message from her.”
My ideal vacation also hadn’t included meeting with Angela Day, the owner of an Internet boutique. I have a weakness for designer handbags, especially bargains that come from thrift stores or online auctions. I’d been thrilled to find a genuine Leah Marshall summer tote at Angela’s online boutique at a bargain basement price. I’d been perplexed when I’d opened the box and found a cheap knockoff. A few quick e-mails established that it was a mistake and Angela, who lived in the area, had offered to bring the authentic designer purse to my hotel, but she’d been a no-show last night. I thought the excellent customer service might be more due to the fact that she’d dated my brother than a desire to get a good online review.
Ben’s mouth was full. He shrugged one shoulder, then concentrated on cutting his Belgian waffles. I’d had pancakes and a bowl of chopped fruit while he had an omelet as an appetizer. Apparently, the waffles were the main course. I watched him work through his food, slightly amazed. “It’s so unfair you can still eat like a teenager,” I said, noting that his long, lanky frame didn’t show an ounce of flab.
He swirled more syrup on his waffle and grinned. “It’s not every day that I get a free breakfast buffet. Got to take advantage. You should have one of these waffles. They’ve got something in them . . . cinnamon, maybe.”
“No way. If I ate like you, I’d be wearing a mumu at the end of my vacation.”
“Since when did you start counting calories?”
