Hidden Agenda

by Kara Lennox

  But Celeste hadn’t had as many choices.

  “My older sister adopted her. But on the condition we never tell her the truth. We thought it would be too confusing. And I preferred to be Judy’s favorite Aunty Celeste than that woman who gave her away.”

  Jillian swallowed hard. She reached across the table and took her friend’s hand. “That must be incredibly difficult. Even today, she doesn’t know?”

  “She doesn’t know. My sister and brother-in-law are both passed, and I think it would be okay to tell her now, but I just can’t. What if she hated me? We have a good relationship now. I don’t want to ruin that.”

  Normally Jillian would recommend the truth—full disclosure. But she hadn’t been doing a very good job with her own personal life. Not now, not ever. So she kept her counsel to herself.

  “I have a grandson, too. Jason.”

  “The one who came to Daniel’s Fourth of July party?”

  Celeste nodded, radiating her fondness for the boy. “He’s an amazing young man.”

  “You two seem to share a special bond. I believe he’s the one who conspired with you about bringing a live baby javelina to the office?”

  “Please, don’t remind me. I’m still paying off the damage that stupid beast did to the carpets.” But at least Celeste had smiled. “Yes, that’s my grandson. Don’t tell anyone, Jillian.”

  “I would never.”

  “I just wanted you to know. So you won’t repeat my mistakes.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m done with men.”

  If anything, Celeste looked more worried. “No, you’re not getting it. The mistake I made was to throw away any chance of personal happiness for my career.”

  Now Jillian was confused. “I thought you loved being a police officer.”

  “I’m proud of what I achieved. I blazed a path for other women. I held my ground. I didn’t let them bully and intimidate me. But was I happy?” She shrugged. “Royally pissed off, most of the time. It’s no way to live. If I had it to do over again…”

  “What? You’d have quit?”

  “I’d have kept my baby girl. Moved to a new town, passed myself off as a widow, and started over.”

  “Celeste. I’ve spent a lot of time and energy convincing myself not to let my emotions rule me. To focus on the career I want. Working for Project Justice is important to me. Are you telling me that’s wrong? I should fall in love, marry, have kids and give up being an investigator?”

  Celeste drained her wineglass in two gulps. “Not at all. It’s not fifty years ago. You can do whatever you want, be whoever you want. You’re going to be one of the best investigators Project Justice ever had. Just don’t cut yourself off from all other possibilities. There’s room in your life for more than one dream.”

  Nothing was said for a few minutes. Jillian picked the peppers off her last piece of pizza and ate them. There’s room in your life for more than one dream. What a concept. She would mull that one over—right after she found out who killed Greg and Mark and saw them behind bars.

  “Celeste, I need to ask you a favor. And please, feel free to say no. It’s a little on the illegal side.”

  Celeste’s eyes shined brightly. “I’m your girl. What is it?”

  “Do you know anything about breaking into cars?”

  “Are you kidding? I worked in Auto Theft for seven years.”

  “Yeah, but cars are a little trickier these days. They have all kinds of fancy computerized locks and alarms and whatnot.”

  Celeste waved away Jillian’s concern. “Please. All you need is a code grabber or a scanner box, and you can defeat any alarm in the world. Between that and a Slim Jim I can steal you a car in under thirty seconds.”

  “Oh, I don’t need you to steal any cars. Just get inside them. And the trunks. And check for bloodstains with luminol. Take pictures, if possible, and don’t leave any evidence of the break-in behind. No broken windows or popped locks.” She didn’t want to get either Letitia or Celeste into trouble.

  Celeste shrugged as if it were no big deal. “I have everything I need at home. Where are these cars?”

  “In the lumber company garage.”

  “What about security?”

  “I’ve already bribed the security guard to look the other way.”

  Celeste gave her an admiring look. “Nice work. Give me the address and tell me when to show up.”

  * * *

  FOR THE REST of that evening, every time her phone rang Jillian jumped, hoping it would be some news about Conner. But no one called her, no one saw fit to keep her informed.

  That was okay, she was just the hopelessly romantic intern whose only qualifications for this job was that she could type 110 words a minute. She finally had to just turn the phone off, rather than wait for it to ring like some heartsick teenager. To help herself fall asleep, she mentally went over the list of things she would have to take care of in the morning for the party. The process actually relaxed her; lists, tasks and chores were as easy as breathing to her. Whatever else happened, Mayall Lumber’s company picnic was going to rock.

  Hey, if she failed at Project Justice, she could always get a job as an event planner, right?

  She slept surprisingly well under the circumstances, and when she powered up her phone the next morning, she discovered a voice mail from Daniel.

  “Just wanted you to know we got Conner released. It’s two in the morning, hope you’re getting some sleep. We’ll touch base tomorrow. But at least Conner will sleep in his own bed tonight.”

  She could read between the lines: Conner had better sleep in his own bed.

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Daniel,” she murmured. Had she actually once considered herself in love with him? How had she never realized how arrogant and superior he acted toward her? If she ever got involved with a man again, it would be someone who could be her equal.

  As she took her shower, her thoughts drifted to Conner. During a few brief shining days, they’d worked together as a team. Yes, he’d been her boss, but her organizational and clerical skills had awarded her power in the relationship, too. They had functioned well together.

  He wasn’t the mythical hero she’d worshiped in her youth, nor was he the villain she’d built up in her mind. He was a wholly imperfect man.

  There’s room in your life for more than one dream. Once this case was solved, she would no longer have any professional connection with Conner. Daniel wouldn’t have a damn thing to say about whether they slept together.

  Recognizing the dangerous nature of her train of thought, she squelched it and got down to business. She had a zillion things to deal with this morning, like confirming with various people about picnic food and entertainment—the band, the bounce house, the pony rides, the brisket, the bartender. She’d called in favors from vendors she’d hired for Daniel’s parties, and they’d given her their best prices, so she was still under budget.

  Take that, Isaac Cuddy. She wondered if anyone would even notice her economic efficiency, now that he was gone.

  She dressed with care in a retro, sleeveless summery dress with a full skirt. The bright floral print seemed appropriate for a picnic.

  After searching fruitlessly for her sunglasses, she gave up and headed out the door, her phone wedged between her shoulder and chin as she made rapid-fire decisions about how many bags of ice to buy and where to locate the porta-potties.

  She was supposed to meet Beatrice Payne at the Mill at nine o’clock. The first busful of guests was scheduled to arrive at 11:00 a.m.

  Every time she hit a stop light, she grabbed an envelope from the pile of mail in her passenger seat and ripped it open with her teeth. Electric bill, a plea for membership from the Sierra Club…that one she set aside. Her brief stint with Conner in the woods had convinced her she needed to do more to preserve nature. His reverence for trees was a bit infectious.

  She didn’t look at the return address on the bulky manila envelope, just ripped it open as she waited a
t a light at Milam and Capitol.

  A thumb drive fell out into her lap.

  What the hell?

  The light turned green. She whipped into a gas station parking lot and threw her car into Park. The envelope also contained a sheet torn from a reporter’s notebook.

  “I didn’t want to chance sending this to your office email where it might be intercepted. Here’s what someone you work with killed for. I think I know who, but I need your help to prove it. Please get back to me. Stan Mayall is innocent.”

  The hastily scrawled note wasn’t signed and there was no return address on the envelope, but none of that was necessary. Jillian knew who sent this to her. It was Mark Bowen. He must have put it in the mail mere hours before he died.

  He’d been murdered for what was on that thumb drive. And if anyone knew she had it, she was in danger, too.

  She tucked the letter and envelope under the floor mat and dropped the thumb drive into her purse. Surely she could get hold of a computer at the mill, maybe in the office, and find out what was on the drive.

  Then she would take it to Daniel. And that detective, Hudson Vale, who was in charge of the Mark Bowen murder case.

  Unless, of course, the evidence pointed to Conner. Then she didn’t know what she would do.

  Beatrice Payne was supposed to meet Jillian at the little gift shop, which sold a number of items made from at least a dozen varieties of exotic woods. Visitors could buy everything from a chainsaw-hewn totem pole to a carved bunny rabbit no bigger than her thumb.

  And paper dresses. A mannequin took pride of place in the center of the store, wearing a low-cut halter dress in a rich royal-blue cinched with a wide belt. The styling was a vast improvement over that potato sack of a dress Conner had asked her to wear in high school. She had to look close and feel the fabric with her fingertips to notice that it wasn’t normal fabric. Cellophane packages containing several sizes and colors of the dress sat in a basket near the mannequin, and a sign explaining how the dresses were made and the ecological implications.

  On impulse, Jillian selected one of the dresses in hot pink and tucked the package under her arm, intending to pay for it as soon as Lucas had readied the store for business. He was there now, setting up displays and turning on lights.

  Just then Beatrice Payne rushed in, out of breath. “Sorry I’m late.” She looked like she ought to be on one of those Real Housewives shows—velour tracksuit, teased hair, long acrylic nails and enough makeup for Halloween.

  Another trophy wife—what was it with the Mayall executives, anyway? Was marrying a woman twenty years younger a qualification for getting on the board of directors? Maybe Conner ought to be trolling the junior colleges.

  “It’s nice to finally meet you after the barrage of emails,” Beatrice said. “You are quite the organized one, aren’t you?”

  Jillian hardly considered three emails a barrage, but she wasn’t going to argue. “Nice to meet you, too. I so much appreciate your offer of help.”

  “As the acting CEO’s wife, I really didn’t have much choice.” She smiled while she said this, as if it wasn’t a dig. Beatrice was friends with Ariel and had made it clear she was helping under protest, solely because her husband had practically ordered her to step in.

  It’s just one day. I just have to get through this one day. If there really was proof on the thumb drive as to what illegal activity had been going on behind the scenes and who was responsible, Jillian had done her part. The party would be her swan song.

  “So what is it that you need me to do?”

  “Here’s a map of the grounds.” She handed Beatrice an eight-by-ten sheet of paper with a rough drawing showing where the buildings, machinery and trees were located. “I sketched in where the various attractions should go. The guys with the bounce house drove up behind me in the parking lot. You can meet with them and show them where to set up. They’ll need access to electricity—they can run their cords to this building.”

  “Oh. Okay. Is that the, um, drying shed?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “Where the body was found?”

  “I’m really hoping we can not mention anything about that today. Most of the employees don’t know.”

  “I’m just not sure I can bring myself to go inside that building. There could be a madman on the loose.”

  “You don’t have to go inside. Just point to the door.”

  “Well, okay. I might have to leave a little early today. Ham and I are leaving for vacation this evening. For a cruise to the Cayman Islands.”

  “How nice for you. I’m sure Ham’s ready for some R & R, after all that’s happened.” Jillian was a little surprised no one had told her of Ham’s vacation, but she was happy he was getting away for a few days. She wished she could stow away in one of the Paynes’ suitcases. “It’s fine if you want to leave early. Once things are set up, the party will run itself.”

  “Great. What else needs to be done besides the bounce house?”

  “I’ll be supervising the Porta-Potty setup.”

  “Fun. See you later.” Beatrice shot out of the gift shop like a lightning bolt, as Jillian had figured she would at the mention of a more unsavory task than the one she’d been assigned.

  Lucas was just turning on the cash register. Despite the party, the park would still be open to visitors.

  “You do a bit of everything around here, I guess,” Jillian commented as she handed him the dress and her credit card.

  He rang up her purchase. “Yeah, I fill in wherever. Gina, who usually runs the gift shop, is running late today. I see you decided to try one of the paper dresses. I’m gonna get one for my girlfriend.”

  Don’t let her walk in the rain.

  “Is there a computer available for me to use?” she asked. “I’m having trouble getting internet on my phone out here in the boonies, and it’s crucial that I check my email.”

  “Sure. There’s a little office through that door right there. Computer’s already on.” He gestured toward a door in the corner.

  Her heart beating like a hummingbird’s wings, Jillian sat down in the cramped office. What could Mark have uncovered that not even Daniel had found? She pulled the thumb drive from her purse and inserted it into the USB drive. A few clicks later she had a list of files—several document files and a half-dozen photo files.

  She opened one of the photos first. The computer was old, with a slow processor, so the photo only gradually revealed itself. The image made Jillian’s stomach turn. It was an aerial photo of acres and acres of clear-cut forest.

  There was no caption, and Jillian couldn’t tell where in the world the photo was taken. But did it matter? Even in the short time she’d been working at Mayall Lumber, she understood that the company would never authorize this kind of tree harvest.

  Each of the photos showed another scar on the land where bulldozers and chainsaws had done their deadly work. Maybe the documents would explain something.

  She opened one at random. It seemed to be a Mayall Lumber bill of sale for lumber—teak wood—to a company in China. It was signed by Greg Tynes. The client was not anyone Jillian had ever heard of, and she’d become familiar with the company’s overseas customers.

  She opened another document. It was a copy of a letter to the same client, authorizing Greg Tynes to bid on a certain timber harvesting operation in Brazil. It was signed by Conner Blake. Except that was not Conner’s signature.

  Desperate to figure it out, Jillian opened a third document, a series of ledger sheets somehow connected to the property in Brazil and a handwritten note scrawled at the bottom of one page, indicating to someone—who?—that communication should bypass Conner Blake and come directly to—who? It was signed with initials only. H.P.

  H.P. H.P. Hamilton Payne! Her elation quickly dissipated. For heaven’s sake, that didn’t make any sense. Mr. Payne was their client. He was the one who’d contacted Project Justice in the first place. But that looked an awful lot like Mr. Payne�
�s handwriting.

  Payne was director of sales, so maybe it made sense that he would want a client to deal directly with him. But this was a landowner, not a lumber buyer.

  She could just ask Mr. Payne what this was all about. There was probably a perfectly rational explanation. But when she went back to the forged signature…there had been no attempt to make it look like Conner’s nearly illegible scrawl. In fact, the handwriting was quite distinctive, tall and thin and strongly slanted to the right. She was not a graphologist, but Project Justice had access to one.

  Hell, she couldn’t wait for that.

  She emailed all the files to herself and to Daniel, then closed them, made sure they weren’t stored anywhere on the computer, and pocketed the thumb drive.

  The door opened quickly and Jillian nearly hit the ceiling. Standing in the doorway was Conner Blake.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  FOR A FEW MOMENTS, all Jillian could do was stare. He looked so good dressed down in jeans and a baseball jersey—apparently the company had a team called the Mayall Lumber Barons.

  Finally she stirred herself. “Conner, what are you doing here? Did they drop the charges?”

  “The D.A. wouldn’t drop the charges, but Daniel bailed me out. Pretty civil of him, given his low opinion of me. He made it pretty clear he was doing it because you asked him to.”

  “You don’t seem very grateful.”

  “Sorry. The guy just bugs me.”

  Because Conner saw him as a rival? Fine, a little jealousy would be good for him. “Why are you here?” If she’d spent thirty-six hours in jail, she’d be home resting and recovering from the ordeal.

  “Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss this party for the world. Someone at the company framed me for murder. I want to see the look on that person’s face when he sees me here, smiling and festive instead of locked up.”

  “You think the person will give himself away?”