by Val Tobin
He ended the call with Carl, trying not to hold him responsible for what had happened. He started the car but didn’t put it into gear. Instead, he turned his thoughts back to that night—that wonderful, awful night with Ellen.
The moment she’d invited him back to her apartment, he knew she wanted him as much as he wanted her. All those months of flirting and uncertainty had culminated in this, and he couldn’t have been happier. He never pushed her into anything—he made sure of that—and they hadn’t had too much to drink before and during the meal they’d shared. He’d sensed this would be the night they became intimate, and he didn’t want alcohol to cloud her judgment. So, when she’d made clear to him she was not only willing but also eager to take him to her bed, he knew she meant it.
Recalling what they’d done together as soon as they stepped into her apartment still aroused him. He’d relived it in the sleepless nights he’d had since then, but these remembrances always ended in pain and fury. They’d both known he’d leave for London the next day, and that they’d have to have a long-distance relationship, but they’d expected his absence to last only two months.
Two weeks into his trip, though, his father appeared in Gabriel’s temporary office, and that changed everything. His father made an excellent case for why Gabriel should remain in London. The experience the promotion would give him would prepare him to take over the entire company when his father retired. Losing the president Gabriel would replace left that branch in dire straits, and his father insisted Gabriel taking the post was their best strategy. While it wasn’t what he’d wanted to do with his life, he couldn’t say no to his dad. He had to stay on, and he wanted Ellen to join him.
Admittedly, he’d broached the subject inappropriately. He assumed she loved him and would be eager to pick up stakes and move to London to be with him. So what if it wasn’t a proposal of marriage? Didn’t they need to do a test-run first to see if it was the real thing?
As they argued about it over the airwaves and the ocean between them, Gabriel came close to saying the words that might’ve changed everything. Not “marry me” but “I love you.” However, the words never left his lips—nor hers, if it came to it, so his behaviour was justified—and before he knew what had happened, he found himself sitting on the side of his hotel room bed with a silent phone in his hand. They’d never spoken again. Until now.
As soon as he’d laid eyes on her this morning in Carol’s office, all his feelings for her returned in force as if no time at all had passed.
Gabriel drove from the parking lot and headed to his new company, ready to focus on work for a while.
***
Confusion and tension greeted Gabriel when he stepped into the BRI office building. People scurried through the hallways as though scrambling to important meetings, their expressions strained. Gabriel strode through the lobby to the reception desk and found himself second in line to a police detective who introduced himself to the receptionist as Detective Howard Morris. He followed that up with what sounded like a request, but Gabriel didn’t catch the words.
Morris wore a parka, though it hung open revealing a black suit, so Gabriel assumed the man had arrived recently. The receptionist, a prim woman in a tailored navy dress whose name Gabriel couldn’t recall even though it’d been only a week ago he’d visited, greeted him and returned to her conversation with the detective. She introduced herself to the man as Karen, jogging Gabriel’s memory.
She offered to take Morris’s coat, and he shrugged out of it and passed it to her. Gabriel had left his coat in his car, which was parked in the building’s underground lot.
“What’s going on here?” Gabriel asked.
“Detective Morris asked to speak to the owner of the company. I was just trying to figure out whether I should call your office or your cell.” She turned from Gabriel to the detective. “Mr. Duncan bought BRI and assumed control three weeks ago.” She looked hesitantly at Gabriel and then directed her words to him. “Your assistant said you’d be in today.”
“Where is Mr. Merrick?” the detective asked, referring to BRI’s former owner.
“At home. He’s been in and out these last few weeks, helping with the transition, but as of this morning, he won’t be coming in anymore. Do you want his phone number?”
“I have his contact information already. I wanted to start with the BRI offices. I assumed he’d be here today.”
As the conversation paused, Gabriel cut in. “Start what, Detective?”
Morris glanced at Karen and said, “May we speak privately, Mr. Duncan?”
“Sure. Is the conference room available, Karen?”
She checked her computer and replied, “Conference Room A is free. It’s unlocked.”
“Thank you. Can you ask someone to bring us coffee, please?” When she said she’d take care of it, Gabriel led the detective to the elevators. As they walked, he asked, “What’s this about?”
“Do you know Francesca Newton?”
“We’ve never met, but I know she worked here as a controller. I let her go three weeks ago.” He chose not to elaborate with anything else until the detective revealed why he asked.
They arrived on the third floor and walked the short distance to Conference Room A. Morris stepped in ahead of Gabriel when he opened the door. He shivered in the room’s empty chill and switched on the gas fireplace behind the eight-seat conference table.
Though sparsely furnished, the room was small and would heat quickly. The wallpaper looked slightly out of date, as did the painting on the wall. A low cabinet underneath the painting held a glass vase with flowers offset to the right of the painting. Gabriel made a mental note to have the entire floor of offices and rooms that belonged to them redecorated.
“Have a seat, Detective.” Gabriel took a seat at the end of the mahogany table.
Morris sat on Gabriel’s left in the padded chair and produced a notebook and pen from his suit jacket.
When they were both settled, Gabriel asked, “What’s this about, then?”
“I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
“Did something happen to Miss Newton?” Gabriel tried to remember if he’d heard anything from or about Francesca Newton after telling Bradley to give her a severance package. Perhaps she was suing the company for wrongful termination. But that wouldn’t require a detective.
“Yes. She was found deceased last night, and the death is suspicious.”
Chapter Seven
At five o’clock, Ellen walked into the Foundation Saloon and, when she gave her name, the hostess led her to a table with a booth near the back of the dining room. Gabriel was already there, a half-empty stein of beer in front of him.
“Got an early start?” she asked. The hostess set a menu in front of Ellen, who took a seat across from him.
He waited for the hostess to leave and then said, his expression serious, his tone dark, “We have a problem.”
She smiled—a cross between a smirk and amusement. “You being dramatic?”
“No. You ever hear of Francesca Newton?”
“I trained her on the financial software BRI uses. She replaced me as controller when I quit.”
He leaned toward her and said in a low voice, “She’s dead.”
Cold dread washed over Ellen. “What do you mean dead?”
“When I got to the BRI offices today, a detective was there. He told me her husband found her body in their apartment. Looks like suicide, but the police are investigating and treating it as a suspicious death.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. She seemed like a nice woman. Young. What a waste. I’m sure it’s just a routine investigation. They do that for any death that isn’t natural, don’t they?” And why would this be a problem for her, or more specifically, them? There was no “them.”
“He said there were indications she was murdered.”
The oxygen in the room seemed to vanish and Ellen gasped. “What indications?”
“He wouldn’t tell me. But
if they think someone killed her, they likely have evidence.”
She nodded, unable to speak. Francesca had been a pretty woman in her late twenties. She’d been so full of life. Yes, that was a cliché, but in Francesca’s case, it was an accurate description. The young woman had been eager to start the new job and had learned the software quickly. Ellen had been positive she’d work out well.
“What could’ve happened?” she said aloud though she spoke more to herself than to Gabriel.
He replied anyway. “I don’t know.”
She recalled his comment at the start of the conversation. “Why is this a problem for us?” The publicity might be bad for him, but she’d left that company too long ago for anyone to associate her with it. Unless she took over their books, as Carol had assigned her to do.
She needed to clear this up immediately. “It won’t be a problem for me. I’m not taking the account. Are you really thinking only of the bad press over this? A woman died. She either killed herself or someone murdered her. Isn’t that more important than what the media might say about you over it?”
Anger flared in his eyes and he scowled. “That’s not where my mind went. How could you think that?”
“Why wouldn’t I think that? I don’t know you anymore. What else is there?”
“Don’t you think it’s strange that such a successful company went downhill after you left?”
Before she could respond, the server, a perky, petite redhead with braids and freckles, arrived to take Ellen’s drink order. Deciding she needed one, she ordered a glass of red wine—the nine-ounce rather than the six-ounce option. When the woman left, Ellen picked up the menu. She didn’t feel hungry, but stress eating was one of her go-to coping mechanisms, and the news of what could be the murder of an acquaintance had definitely stressed her.
“Want to order food?” she asked.
When he remained silent, she peeked up from the menu. He stared at her, his lips pressed together.
“What’s wrong?” Did he think her callous for wanting to order food? “I stress eat, Gabe. I’m not heartless.”
He set his palms on the table, bracketing his mug of beer, and said, “It’s not that. I have to leave soon. I’m going somewhere else for dinner.”
Her whole body went cold. “You have a date,” she stated. “On a Thursday.”
“Yes. One I made two weeks ago. I’m sort of seeing someone ...”
“Sort of?” Francesca’s death popped into her head, and she waved a hand at him. “Never mind. I don’t care. You’re free to see whomever you want and do whatever you want with her. What matters is what happened to Fran.”
He gave her a slow nod. “Right. So, answer my question.”
“What question?”
“The company was prosperous. They had substantial revenues. Still do, from what I can tell. Their problems started after you left.”
She gasped. “You pinning that on Fran? Is that why you think she killed herself?”
“Or was murdered.”
Ellen brushed a hand through her hair, pulling errant strands off her face. The server arrived with her wine and set it in front of her.
“I’ll take an order of sweet potato fries,” Ellen told her. “Nothing for him,” she added with a nod in Gabriel’s direction.
After the redhead left again, Gabriel checked the time on his phone. “I have to go. Drinks and your food are on me. I’ll settle the tab on my way out. Order anything else you want. They’ll put it on my card.” He gazed at her contemplatively for a moment. “Don’t use it to get revenge on me.”
“Wow. Don’t worry. I can pay for my own food.”
“That was a joke, Ellen. Can we please forget the past? I’m sorry for what happened. We’ll figure it out. In the meantime, help me with BRI. Take on the account. Maybe, together, we can figure out if anything in the records could’ve triggered her death, whether by her own hand or someone else’s.”
“I don’t know. What I’ll do is think about it tonight and give you an answer in the morning. If I decide we shouldn’t work together, I’ll tell Carol to give it to someone else.”
“But you know the company already. If anyone can spot inconsistencies or anything that’s not right, you can.”
“You think she was deliberately cooking the books?”
“How would I know? It could be anything. You’d find the issue faster than anyone else. Will you do it?”
She pictured herself working with Gabriel, perhaps for weeks. She’d see or talk to him every day, given the unusual situation. But he was correct she’d find errors faster than anyone else. Plus, if it helped the police catch a killer or helped them understand why Francesca killed herself, didn’t Ellen owe it to everyone to do anything she could to figure it out?
Reluctantly, she said, “On one condition: When I’ve post-mortemed the files, when I’ve cleaned them up and everything’s in order, you turn the account over to someone else.”
“No problem,” he blurted. His expression told her he thought by that point she’d change her mind.
Ellen swore to herself she wouldn’t. She’d give him no choice but to put someone else on the account. By the time this was over, she’d find another job and remove herself from Gabriel’s life the way he’d removed himself from hers three years ago.
She reached out her hand. “Deal.”
They shook on it, and he walked away, her gaze following him out of sight.
Chapter Eight
Even though she didn’t enjoy eating alone, she ordered a plate of wings to go with the fries as soon as she lost sight of Gabriel. If he was paying for it, she might as well. While she was at it, she ordered another glass of wine—a more expensive one this time. Her own credit cards were close to maxed out, and her most recent online shopping spree didn’t help. Once more, she vowed to reduce her spending, but how the hell could she do that when Gabriel’s presence added more stress to her life and she stress shopped as often as she stress ate?
While she waited for her food and wine to arrive, she contemplated what she knew about Francesca. Would the detective want to talk to Ellen about the death even though she hadn’t worked with the victim in almost three years? Even then, it was only for about two weeks—long enough to show Francesca how things worked and then leave.
After she’d left BRI, Ellen had fallen into a depression that lasted for six weeks. She didn’t search for new employment, and she did a lot of shopping and eating. She ran her credit cards up and gained ten pounds. By the time it was all over, she’d given up her apartment and moved back in with her parents to get her life back in order.
While it would be easy to lay the blame for her breakdown at Gabriel’s feet, she had to admit he could only take a small portion of accountability for it. Most of the fault lay with her. She’d given him her heart, had trusted him, and he’d betrayed her. He’d returned to Toronto and hadn’t contacted her. What was worse, he’d believed a rumour and hadn’t had the decency to confront her. What did it say about him that he’d give up on her so easily? What did it say about her that she wasn’t worth pursuing?
This proved they shouldn’t be together. All she had to do was clean up his books and move on to something else. Another company. Or she’d start her own business and accept only the jobs she wanted.
A man’s voice interrupted her plotting. “Hi. You by yourself tonight?”
When she looked up, she found John Aylmer, the man she’d met when she’d celebrated her birthday here with Rhonda, staring back at her.
“Hi. Yup. Just me tonight.”
“Feel like company?”
He hadn’t lit a fire in her the way Gabriel instantly had when they’d first met, but he was nice enough. She indicated the empty bench across from her and said, “Have a seat. Help yourself to the fries. I’ve got wings coming too.”
John waved the server over and sat. After ordering a beer, he plucked a fry off her plate and ate it.
“Where’s Max tonight?” she asked.
“Out. With your friend.” He didn’t sound annoyed by the turn of events.
“So you came here by yourself?”
“No. I had a blind date. We were meeting here.” He chuckled a little. “She cancelled the moment I arrived.” He waved a hand at her. “I was still in the parking lot, so she didn’t see me. I’m sure it was legit. I figured I’d come in and eat anyway, seeing how I was already here. Spotted you when I walked in and thought we could commiserate.”
“Rhonda never told me she was seeing Max tonight.” Ellen checked her phone and saw two missed text messages. She checked them and both were from Rhonda. The first said she was going out with Max that evening and the second provided restaurant details.
“I guess she did tell me.” She’d been too absorbed with Gabriel to notice. No, I was too gobsmacked by news of Francesca’s possible murder.
She quickly responded to Rhonda’s texts: Have a great time and let me know when you’re home.
Their drinks arrived then, followed shortly after by the chicken wings.
“So,” he asked, “how’s the accounting business treating you?”
“Fine. Busy. It’s always busy.” She didn’t want to talk about her work and especially didn’t want to say anything about Francesca and BRI. “How’s the labour law game?”
He smiled. “Fine. Busy. It’s always busy.”
“Lots of lawsuits?”
“I don’t know what constitutes a lot. More now, I guess, since the economy took a downturn. That’s expected though.” He leaned back on the bench, draping one arm casually across the back. “I guess you’re getting more business these days as well?”
“They’ve assigned me more accounts lately. Not sure if it’s related to the economy or if my coworkers are also getting more assignments. Some companies see a savings by farming the financial accounting out to another company rather than hiring employees.” She really didn’t want to talk about work. Time to change the subject. “So, what did Max say to you about Rhonda?”
“You want me to rat him out to you so you can report to her? I don’t think so.”
