by Rayna Morgan
“John is head of the accounting department. He saw vouchers submitted by sales reps for unbudgeted travel expense. When he asked a salesman about it, he was told Jacobson ordered the trips.” He walked over and refilled his coffee. “John asked Jacobson for more detail. Managers hate dealing with the accounting department, especially to justify expenses submitted for reimbursement. His response was a curt email with a copy of the memo attached. Jacobson probably wasn’t thinking about repercussions at the time.”
Lea let Eric top off her coffee. “You think he’s had second thoughts about sending that attachment to John?”
“Have you ever hit the send button and kicked yourself a moment later wishing you had it back?”
“Are you kidding!” Maddy covered her cup when Eric offered more. “The question isn’t if I’ve done it, the question is how many times I’ve done it.”
Lea ignored her sister’s response. She looked at Eric. “Have you seen the memo?”
“No, I’m only relating what John told me. He presented a vague outline of the situation at the reunion. He didn’t know if he had enough to justify blowing a whistle. I told him I’d look at what he had, and offer my opinion.” He replaced the pot on the burner and returned to the bed. “He lives halfway between Buena Viaje and the D & M campus. My being here was an opportunity for him to give me the file in person. I told him I’d review the information and get back to him next week.”
“Without those papers, you can’t testify to anything he told you,” Lea said. “It would only be hearsay, I’m afraid.”
Eric snapped his fingers and looked at Maddy. “I sent copies of everything John gave me to my assistant. That’s what I was doing when you met me for a drink.”
She nodded. “I remember. You were taking pictures with your phone.”
“There was some information in his reports I wanted my assistant to verify.”
Lea stood up and walked toward Eric. “Show me the documents you sent your assistant.”
“That’s the problem.” Eric raised his hand to stop her. “I can only access the file from a company phone.”
“A company phone?” Maddy exclaimed. “What’s a company phone?”
“Our phones are embedded with identification codes to get through the security firewall.”
“So get out this fancy phone of yours,” she ordered.
“I can’t.” Eric shrugged. “Cranston is keeping it as evidence until he’s had a chance to go through it.” He stood and started to pace. Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead. “I’m sure that’s what happened.” His voice rose an octave. “John got cold feet. He came to get the file. I wasn’t there, but Kim was. John forced his way into the room to find the documents. She tried to stop him. They argued, and—”
“That’s why you haven’t heard from him,” Maddy reasoned.
“That doesn’t work,” Lea objected. “If he came to your room to ask for the file, why did he call and arrange to meet you at the bar?”
“I didn’t recognize the voice.” Eric tapped his forehead. “But now that I think about it, I’m sure it was John.” He sounded desperate, a man grabbing at straws, searching for a way to prove his innocence. “He’d already made up his mind to take the file. He wanted me out of the way. He had no reason to think I wasn’t alone in the room.”
“I agree he needs to be considered as a suspect,” Lea conceded, “but without that file, there’s no way to prove his involvement or possible motive.”
“And you can’t access the file on your phone,” Maddy reminded him.
“But you could get the file from my assistant’s computer.” Eric pleaded. “The office will be closed tomorrow for the holiday. I’ll give you my key. You know your way around my office.”
“Get it yourself,” Maddy grumbled.
“I can’t leave town until the investigation is finished.”
“All right, I suppose I can do it.” Maddy’s tone conveyed her reluctance.
“Will my sister be able to access that computer?” Lea asked. “Doesn’t your assistant use a password?”
“I figured out her password a long time ago,” Eric replied. “It’s the name of her cat.”
“Aren’t passwords supposed to be secret?” Maddy quipped.
Eric ignored her sarcasm. He scribbled two words on a pad, tore off the sheet, and handed it to her. “Here are the passwords, hers and mine.”
“She named a cat Persnickety?”
“Focus, Maddy,” he ordered. “Look for an email with the caption ‘Do Tuesday ASAP.’”
“You’re the only person I know who can be bossy in the subject line of an email,” Maddy declared.
“The email includes the contents of the file. Copy it from my assistant’s computer and send it to me from my office.”
“Copy me, Maddy,” Lea interjected.
Eric hesitated. “I’ll give you a copy as soon as I’ve reviewed the information. It won’t be hard for me to determine if cause exists to question the drug, or if John is simply the victim of an over-active imagination.”
“Alright.” Lea agreed. “If there’s no valid cause for alarm, we don’t want to muddy the investigation by sending the police on a false trail.”
Eric pulled out a flash drive and handed it to Maddy. “Make a copy of the email. You’ll have to open the attachments to copy them to the flash drive.”
“Any other orders?” Maddy gave a mock salute.
Eric’s face reddened. “I meant to say please, Maddy.”
“While you’re doing that, I’ll drive by John’s house,” Lea suggested. “If I’m lucky, he’ll be home and I can ask a few questions.”
“What reason could you give for paying him a visit?” Eric asked.
“Don’t worry.” Maddy leaned over and patted Lea’s arm. “My sister is an expert at subterfuge.”
Chapter Nineteen
Lea pointed to one of the few open spaces in the downtown public lot. “There’s a parking spot.”
“You sure you’re willing to go slumming?” Paul turned off the engine. “Or did you suggest this place because you suspect Barney of stealing the necklace and want to check him out?”
Sometimes she hated that Paul knew her so well. “He was on the premises the day the necklace was stolen. He has to be on my list.”
Paul grinned as he locked the car. “Do you intend to grill Barney the way he grills ribs?”
“Don’t worry.” Lea shook her head and walked around the car. “I won’t hold his feet to the fire. Besides, I have an ulterior motive. I need Tom’s help, so if treating him to his favorite place puts him in the right frame of mind…”
“Brave words coming from someone who doesn’t eat meat.” He took his wife’s arm to cross the street.
“Chicken will do just fine.”
“I’m sure you didn’t have trouble convincing Maddy. She can polish off a rack of ribs like nobody’s business.”
“I hope we’re here ahead of them.” Lea looked up and down the street. “I’m not sure they’re being civil to each other yet. Barney’s may not be big enough for the two of them if we’re not there to referee.”
She relaxed when they entered Barney’s and saw Tom sitting alone at one of the six rustic tables. On each table was a glass stuffed with paper napkins and a bottle of barbecue sauce. The hour was early for dinner, so they had the place to themselves. Within a few hours, there would be a line out the door.
Paul tapped Tom’s knuckles, pointed at his beer mug, and signaled the waitress for two more. “You look relaxed, pal. Suspension seems to agree with you.”
“Involuntary vacation.” Tom and Lea spoke in unison and laughed.
“Is this your way of bribing me for something,” Tom asked her, “or does this count as our weekly wine and dine?”
“If you’re asking if Maddy’s coming, the answer is yes. It will be the four of us for dinner.”
“You’ve lowered your standards.” Tom poked Lea’s arm. “Paul and I usually
have to spring for one of those places with tablecloths.”
The waitress placed a mug of golden liquid in front of Lea. She took a sip. “You two seem to have a misperception of my dining requirements.”
Neither man responded. Instead, they grinned and tapped their mugs.
“Here comes someone up to her neck in misperception,” Tom said. He jerked his head toward the front door.
Maddy entered, wearing jeans and a boyfriend shirt with her hair pulled back in a ponytail. “I’ll have what they’re having,” she told the waitress before she sat down.
“And bring us the house special for four,” Tom added.
The sisters listened to the men talk about their weekly softball game until the waitress set a platter of barbecued chicken wings in front of them.
“It’s your turn, you two,” Paul said, filling a small plate.
“Nice to let us talk while you polish off the appetizer,” Maddy whined.
“What’s the latest on the police investigation?” Lea asked.
“It looks as though Maddy’s ex can stop worrying.” Tom gulped his beer. “My replacement is hell bent on pinning the murder on the guy who threatened you at the hotel.”
“Well deserved punishment for anyone assaulting my wife,” Paul declared.
“I have more reason than anyone to want to see him behind bars,” Lea told them, “but it should be for the right reason. Accusing Gus of murder might be misplaced.”
Tom leaned sideways, giving the waitress room to set a plate of meat, beans, and coleslaw in front of him. “I’m going to dig into these ribs while you tell me about your conversation with Eric.”
Scraping the tender chicken off the bones, Lea repeated the story about John Simpson. “John and Eric made arrangements to meet after Eric had a chance to read the file.” She finished between mouthfuls. “He should have called when Eric didn’t show, but there’s been no word.”
Maddy wiped barbecue sauce from her chin. “Eric called him several times today and left messages, but he hasn’t heard from the guy. Simpson seems to be blowing in the wind.”
“It’s probably a matter of your blowing this out of proportion rather than him blowing in the wind,” Tom suggested. “He could be enjoying the holiday with his family.”
“How could he enjoy the holiday if he heard about the murder and Eric’s arrest?” Maddy asked. “Don’t you think that might have him a tad bit worried?”
Tom shrugged. “I suppose. But what do you expect me to do about it?”
Sensing tension between the two, Lea intervened.
“I was hoping you could help us track him down,” Lea said. “I’m going to John’s house tomorrow. If he’s not there, I can at least talk with his wife to make sure everything is okay.”
“But if he’s not there,” Maddy jumped in, “you’ll be back on duty Tuesday. You can stop by John’s office. You know, find out if he showed up for work, talk to his boss—”
“On what grounds?” Tom moved his empty plate to the side.
“Depending on what I find out from his wife,” Lea said, “he could be a missing person.”
They waited as the waitress put dishes of cobbler in front of them.
“I suppose it’s worth looking into,” Tom mused. “But I can’t get in Cranston’s way. He’s in charge of the investigation. I’ve been assigned to other cases.”
“You said he’s focused on Gus. He knows nothing about this,” Lea argued. “Besides, it might be nothing in spite of the missing file.”
Tom tapped the side of his bowl. “This dessert is—”
“Amazing, I know,” Lea agreed. She licked whipped cream from her spoon. “What about it, Tom?”
“All right, I’m in, but only if Simpson’s not at home when you go tomorrow.” He pushed his chair away from the table and stretched out his legs.
At that moment, a man wearing a white chef’s apron appeared at their table. Barney greeted Tom with a light boxer’s jab to the shoulder. “Two of my best customers,” he said, nodding at Paul. “I’m glad you brought the ladies with you today. I see enough of your ugly mugs.” His smile widened into the prominent feature on his face. “Enjoying the food?”
“First rate, as always,” Paul assured him.
“Delicious!” Maddy chimed in. “As a lover of sweets, I can vouch that this dessert is to die for.”
Barney nodded. “My wife gets as many compliments on her cobbler as I get on the ribs.”
“How’s the surfing, Barney?” Tom asked.
“I had a couple of great rides last week, but you know how it goes. You have to hit it just right. Your timing has to be perfect.” They heard someone calling his name. “Oh, oh, I’m needed in the kitchen,” he said. “Good to see you, folks. Enjoy your day.”
After Barney left, Paul leaned toward Tom. “You might want to know, my wife considered your favorite cook a suspect in the jewel heist.”
Lea kicked Paul under the table.
“It’s all right,” Tom acknowledged. “He was at the scene; she had a reason to put him on her list. But there’s no way anyone who cooks this good could be a thief.”
“Because he grills a mean rack of ribs?” Paul asked.
“Because he makes a heck of a good living at it,” Tom answered. He held up the bottle of sauce and pointed to the label. “This is his own stuff. They make batches and bottle it in their kitchen.”
“It’s delicious,” Lea said. “He should sell it.”
“He does,” Tom replied, “but only to his customers. People drive from miles away to eat here and stock up on the sauce.”
“I can tell you a story about Barney.” Paul moved his empty bowl to the end of the table. “One of my clients wanted to set Barney up in one of his shopping centers. Build him a big restaurant with a bar and modern kitchen. He was even willing to front the costs to set up packaging and distribution of the sauce to retail outlets. He wanted to make Barney a wealthy man. Told him he could have everything he ever dreamed of.”
“Barney must have turned him down,” Tom reasoned, “since he’s been in this location for twenty years.”
“He told my client he has everything he wants and needs.” Paul wiped his mouth and dropped the napkin on his plate. “People pay to let him cook for them, which is his passion. He has a comfortable house, a beautiful wife who enjoys baking the desserts, two healthy, happy kids, and an ocean where he surfs every day. He doesn't feel a need to work harder and earn a lot of money.”
“If Eric would have displayed more of that attitude when we were married,” Maddy observed, “we might have spent more time together and been happier.”
Paul leaned toward Tom. “You don’t think there's a message hidden in there for us, do you?” He looked to his wife for confirmation, but she was staring absently into space. “Never a good sign,” he warned. He snapped his fingers in front of her face. “Earth to Lea. Are you with us, babe?”
“What Barney said about surfing.” She tapped her nails on the table. “Hitting the waves just right. Your timing has to be perfect. Would you say it’s true for investing, Paul?”
“Sure, but what are you getting at?”
Crows’ feet formed at the corners of her eyes. “Maybe there’s another angle to this whole thing.”
Tom leaned forward. “Such as?”
Lea’s eyes narrowed as she drilled in on her thoughts. Her words tumbled out. “Paul, do you remember when I tried my hand at investing some of our savings?”
“Yeah,” Paul replied. “You took an on-line course, lost a hundred dollars on one stock, and quit.”
“I remember reading about short sales.” She raised a finger. “It sounded exciting, but you warned me against it.”
“As a first-time investor, short sales were over your head,” he reminded her.
“That was good advice,” she agreed. “But from what I learned, I’d say the scenario Eric described regarding the D & M stock paints a perfect opportunity for a short sale.”
> Paul scratched the back of his neck, then nodded slowly. “You could be right. When the news comes out about problems with the drug, it will create havoc with the stock. That’s a perfect opportunity for an investor to cash in by selling short.”
“Here we go again with stock gibberish,” Maddy grumbled.
“Explain it, babe,” Lea encouraged him. “It will make more sense coming from you.”
“Okay.” Paul nodded. “Let’s see…”
He traced circles on his empty mug as he sorted his thoughts. “Short selling is a concept where you borrow a stock, sell the stock, and then buy the stock back at a lower price to return it to the lender.”
“How do you borrow a stock?” Maddy asked.
“Your broker lends it to you. You sell the shares at the going price and the proceeds are credited to your account. Sooner or later, you must buy back the shares and return them to your broker.” He leaned back as the waitress removed their plates. “If the price drops, you can buy back the stock at the lower price and make a profit on the difference. If the price of the stock rises, you have to buy it back at the higher price and you lose money. So short selling is used only when someone feels certain a stock will decline and wants to profit from that.”
“Give us an example,” Lea suggested.
“Let’s say you have reason to believe a certain stock will drop in price. You borrow one share of the stock from a broker and sell it at its current market price of twenty dollars. When it comes time to buy back the stock and return it to the broker, the value of the stock has dropped to fifteen dollars. You buy it back at the going price of fifteen dollars and return it to the broker. You’ve made five dollars on the transaction.”
“Go on.” Maddy leaned forward on her elbows.
“The trick,” Paul warned, “lies in the timing and knowing the stock will drop in value. Because if it goes the other way—”
“I get it!” Maddy snapped her fingers. “If the value goes up five dollars, you have to pay twenty-five dollars to buy the stock back to return it to the broker. You’ve lost five dollars.”
“In other words, you’re screwed.” Tom slammed his hands on the table. “It’s like betting roulette. If you bet on black and it comes up red, you lose.”
