by Score, Lucy
“What kind of accounting?” Ryan asked.
“Mostly small business,” Mason said. “Apparently, a lot of Mooners thought paying taxes was voluntary,” Mason said.
“Why does that not surprise me?” Ryan mused.
Sammy resisted the urge to kick him under the table.
“It’s my favorite ex-boyfriend and his lovely wife,” Emma said, strolling up with a stack of dessert menus in her hands. “Are you ready for the big ceremony?”
Ryan appeared to be watching the conversation with concern and vague interest, like a man sitting down to watch his first episode of Real Housewives. But he didn’t realize what it meant to have two Beautification Committee members appear at the same time. Sammy was starting to get a bad feeling about this.
“Yes,” Mason said, with a shy head bob.
He was a man of few words.
Ellery beamed at her husband with abject adoration.
“Mason and I used to date when I lived on the West Coast,” Emma explained to Ryan. “There’s a few of us transplants here in town.”
“You must miss it,” Ryan guessed.
Mason and Emma exchanged a grin. “Not really,” the accountant said.
“Blue Moon has its own special appeal,” Emma agreed.
“What are you guys up to?” Sammy asked, crossing her arms.
“Up to? I’m just enjoying lunch with my handsome hubby,” Ellery said innocently.
“And I’m just greeting my dad’s patrons,” Emma promised, looking at Sammy like she was the crazy one. “I wasn’t even supposed to be here today.”
“I don’t like what this smells like,” Sammy insisted.
“What does it smell like?” Ryan interjected, sniffing the last mushroom cap.
“Are you feeling okay, Sammy?” Ellery asked. “You’ve had a busy couple of days. Do you need help with your wreaths? We’re all so excited about supporting Down on the Farm.”
“Thanks, but I’m fine,” Sammy said. She didn’t need help. She could still do it all. As long as she got rid of Ryan and double-timed her errands, she could get back on track in time for the Solstice. Probably.
“Lunchtime,” Fennel announced, arriving with a tray of steaming hot entrees.
“We’ll let you two get back to your meal,” Emma said.
“Don’t forget! We want a wreath with cute little skulls on the bow,” Ellery said, blowing them a kiss as she and Mason headed for the door.
Blue Moon Community Facebook Gossip Group
This month’s meeting of the Blue Moon Astrologers Group has been postponed until next month’s full moon. This is not to be confused with the Blue Moon Astronomers Pot Luck, which will still occur at Destiny Wheedlemeyer’s house on the 27th.
14
Muttering something about running an errand, Sammy dumped Ryan at the curb half a block down from the crowd of people. The woman was clearly not over the thing they weren’t going to mention ever again.
He’d tried to explain, but she’d shot him down. As far as he was concerned, it was her own fault for being pissed off.
His conscience was clear. Mostly. Besides. He had more important things than a pissed off veterinarian to worry about.
Assuming he’d find the elusive Rainbow Berkowicz with the small crowd of outdoorsy folk down the block, he headed in that direction.
Ryan’s New List
1. Stop thinking about Sammy’s now-rescinded offer.
2. Find Rainbow Berkowicz.
3. Get his hands on all pertinent paperwork.
4. Figure out the solution or loophole and exploit the hell out of it.
5. Be on a plane by midnight tonight.
Everyone was bundled up against the cold in bright coats and a neon nightmare of hats and scarves. They were milling about, trying to hold glasses of champagne and napkins of appetizers with mittened hands.
The conversations he overheard seemed too lively, too friendly for this to be a work thing.
The professional events he’d attended—before his unceremonious firing—consisted of small social circles predicting dramatic exits of co-workers and spreading rumors like contagion. The backstabbing and sabotage some of the staff used to get ahead. He hadn’t cared for that part of it. He also had never shown up for a work event covered in llama spit before.
He recognized Mayor Pierce in a narrow alleyway next to the building. The man was in a suit and wool coat, making time with a petite redhead in leggings and a white fleecy jacket that reminded him of Stan.
Ryan hoped that Stan was having fun in the snowy pasture.
The woman looked up at Beckett with the kind of adoration in her eyes that had something weird and burny happening in Ryan’s chest. When the mayor pinned the redhead to the brick and started kissing the hell out of her, Ryan decided to find someone who wasn’t busy making out to point him in the direction of an evil bank president.
He spotted Mason standing on the curb, seemingly oblivious to the clucking and fussing of people around him. He looked up at the building, a ghost of a smile and something that looked a bit like pride on his face.
It was a two-story brick storefront with a large, plate glass window with fresh lettering that said Blue Moon Accounting. The brick had been painted a deep navy, the door a cheerful purple, a color combination he wouldn’t have approved on paper. But in person, it seemed almost charming.
Deciding he didn’t want to interrupt Mason’s moment, he tapped a woman wearing a Karen’s Plumbing jacket on the shoulder. “Can you tell me where to find Rainbow Berkowicz?” he asked. She’d probably left to go to the dog groomers or headed out of town for a 10-day Panama Canal cruise. Or more likely, she’d never existed and he’d hallucinated this entire trip.
“Oh, sure. She’s inside.”
He blinked, momentarily shocked. “Uh. Thank you,” Ryan said. He’d been burned too many times to feel actual relief. He’d save that until he laid eyes on the woman.
From his vantage point on the sidewalk, he saw Beckett had finished his make out session and was heading inside. Ryan tried to make his way through the crowd as politely as possible to follow, but it was difficult when half a dozen strangers greeted him by name and asked how he was liking Blue Moon.
He finally managed to extricate himself from an overly chatty woman in a Save the Bay shirt and entered the building.
The door opened into a small, bright reception area. He’d expected coffins and skulls. But apparently Mason’s wife, Ellery, hadn’t had a hand in the decorating. The walls were a warm vanilla. Plants in glossy white pots sat on a glass shelf in the big front window. A stately bookshelf held new volumes of tax law and New York small business accounting standards. Club chairs in a supple, aged leather—probably pleather given the leanings of the town, Ryan guessed—waited for clients.
There was a coffee bar on a counter fashioned out of what looked like an airplane wing. Coffee mugs with sayings like Accounting Ninja and It’s Accrual World hung from hooks on the wall.
He spotted the redhead from the alley restocking appetizers while discussing the merits of hot yoga with a man in bell-bottom overalls.
Skirting around them, he followed the sound of voices.
Next to the reception desk—more metal like the coffee bar—was a wall of cubbies, big enough to hold binders and packages or thick packets of financial reports. Beyond the desk was a small glassed-in conference room and restroom divided by a short hallway. He liked the vibe of the space. It felt… friendly, healthy. There was no sea of cubicles. No stifling lack of natural light. Basically the exact opposite of his offices in Seattle. And for the first time he considered the fact that maybe it wasn’t the worst thing in the world to be looking for a new challenge.
The first office was already furnished with a desk, workstation, and built-ins. There was a large photo of Ellery in a white wedding dress on the wall. The voices were coming from across the hall. It was another office, this one unfurnished but with a glass door that led outside to a sm
all patio area.
Beckett was in discussion with Bruce the bearded Santa guy he remembered from the liquor store. A middle-aged woman in a crap brown business suit frowned at them and paced the carpet while she listened. In the corner, a woman with a very shiny gray beehive wrung her hands.
“I tried to tell you last night,” Santa Bruce said with the distinct note of a whine in his voice.
The mayor was staring at the floor, hands on hips. Ryan knew that stance. It was the “give me patience before I murder someone” posture.
“What do you mean the state auditor found discrepancies in the paperwork, Bruce?” Beckett said, rubbing the back of his neck and staring at the ceiling. Another not good sign.
“Well, it’s not so much a discrepancy. It’s more that they haven’t received any of the paperwork.”
The woman in brown ceased her pacing immediately. “Why the hell not, Bruce?” she bellowed.
“Well, you see, Amethyst was handling the bookkeeping for me. The day-to-day transactions. Except I got her a subscription to this thing called Hulu for her birthday—”
“I fell down what’s called a ‘rabbit hole,’” Beehive chimed in. “Did you know there are seven seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer on Hulu?”
“You’re saying instead of handling the town’s reporting to the state, you watched seven seasons of a TV show instead?” Beckett asked. His voice was very calm.
“To be fair, Mr. Mayor, it wasn’t just any TV show. It was Buffy,” Bruce said.
“Uh-oh.”
Ryan jumped at the whisper and found the redhead standing next to him. “That’s Beckett’s ‘you’re in huge trouble’ voice. What’s going on?”
“From the sound of it, Mrs. Beehive was supposed to be keeping track of the reporting to the state and instead spent six months watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer.”
“Oooh! Team Spike,” the redhead said.
“Amethyst, this is beyond irresponsible,” snapped the woman in brown. “The state auditor will be here on the twenty-fourth. How are we supposed to get everything in order by then?”
“It’s my fault,” the bearded man said, hands fluttering. “I never should have gotten her Hulu. I should have just gotten her a blouse or a beanbag.”
Amethyst began to wail in a manner completely undignified for someone wearing a lace turtleneck and pearls.
“This is really not good, right?” the redhead asked Ryan.
“It’s pretty bad.” Barring a miracle, the town was likely good and fucked. A state auditor would have no problem levying fines and wreaking havoc on the municipality. Funding would be frozen during an investigation.
“I’m Gia, by the way,” she whispered.
“Ryan,” he said, shaking the hand she offered. “I met your husband and daughter at the liquor store last night and your sisters today.”
Gia grinned. “Did Aurora try to give you peppermint schnapps?”
He shook his head. “Tequila.”
“Beckett, we need to deal with this now,” the woman in brown announced. “Maybe a town meeting. We can ask for volunteers. Anyone with QuickBooks or bookkeeping experience. Hell, anyone with a computer and a scanner.”
The mayor sighed heavily. “Rainbow is right.”
“That’s Rainbow Berkowicz?” Ryan asked.
“That’s her,” Gia said before stepping forward and knocking on the open door. “Sorry to interrupt. But it’s time to cut a ribbon with a comedically large pair of scissors.”
He had to wait until after the ribbon-cutting, after getting wrangled into the group photo next to Mason in front of the building. But Ryan finally got Rainbow alone.
She was aggressively puffing on a clove cigarette on the concrete patio outside the empty office.
“Rainbow Berkowicz?”
“Who wants to know?” she grumbled.
“I’m Ryan, Carson Shufflebottom’s great-nephew.”
Rainbow blew out a cloud of smoke. “What does that nincompoop’s great-nephew want with me?”
“I need a few minutes of your time to discuss the foreclosure on Carson’s farm.”
“Unfortunately, I’m in the midst of a crisis. But you’re welcome to schedule a meeting after Christmas.”
“That’s convenient, seeing as how you’re foreclosing on my uncle’s farm on Christmas Eve.”
She peered at him through a villainous cloud of smoke. “I assure you, there is nothing convenient about a foreclosure. We take our loans very seriously. Unfortunately, your uncle didn’t do the same.”
“I need to see a copy of the loan and an accounting of the overdue balance, late fees, and accrued interest.” he insisted.
“Ha!” she scoffed. “Then you better start digging through your uncle’s files. Though I don’t see why you need to bother since Carson doesn’t seem concerned.”
“Carson is helping a family member after a surgery,” Ryan said stiffly.
“Cry me a river,” she puffed. “If the man cared about saving his farm, he would have paid his debt and he would have stayed in town to fight for it.”
“You expect me to dig through decades of a man’s personal finances when you could have an employee hit email or print?” The woman was diabolical.
Her smile was Machiavellian. “Unfortunately for you, the bank’s system is offline for maintenance for the next twenty-four hours. But Carson already has all of it. Still insists on paper statements. The man never throws anything away. A smart accountant like you should find exactly what he’s looking for in no time.”
She clamped the cigarette in her teeth like a bad guy with a cigar.
He thought of the leaning stack of shoeboxes on the couch. The note. Everything you need is here.
“You mean to tell me that not only are you refusing to take a meeting with me, no one else in your bank has room on their calendars to talk to me, and the ‘system’ is down so you can’t prove that there is a debt to be paid?”
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you,” Rainbow said smugly.
“I’m not buying it.”
She shrugged. “Prove it.”
He kissed #5 on his list goodbye. There would be no plane ticket tonight. He had a small-town bank to destroy.
“Fine. But be warned, I’m not going to allow you to foreclose on the man the day before Christmas,” Ryan said darkly.
“Then I suppose you’d better get busy,” she said, with an unsettling wink and a cloud of blue smoke in his face.
Ryan coughed.
“You’ll be hearing from me very soon,” he promised.
“Looking forward to it,” she said. Her cackling laugh turned to a fit of coughing behind him as he followed the alley to the street.
Rainbow Berkowicz had no idea who she was dealing with. If anyone was up to the challenge of finding the loophole in four hundred pounds of garbage, it was Ryan Freaking Sosa.
Blue Moon Community Facebook Gossip Group
Pete McDougall: New-in-town nephew of Carson Shufflebottom makes a public appearance without gal pal Sammy Ames. Is there trouble in paradise? Was there never any paradise in the first place?
15
“Did you rob a craft store?” Ryan asked in horror when he climbed into Sammy’s SUV.
She glanced in the rearview mirror. Her back seat was filled with ribbons, bows, reels of fine wire, festive tablecloths, and a host of other items buried beneath the rest. “Har har. It’s for the wreaths.”
“I have to admit, I’m a little disappointed the glitter really was craft-related,” he said.
She punched him in the arm. “Stop picturing me in pasties!”
“You’re the one who was all, ‘Hey, let’s have some hot sex tonight.’”
“That was after you almost impaled me with your hard-on and before you declined my invitation.”
“I thought we weren’t talking about that,” Ryan reminded her.
“Oh, shut up. Did you find Rainbow and book your flight home?” she asked, pulling away from th
e curb.
She had just enough time to dump the man back at his uncle’s place before hitting her last stop of the day. Then if she neglected her paperwork and stayed up until midnight, she might feasibly finish some of the wreaths.
“I found her,” he said, sounding annoyed. “But the situation is more complicated than I thought. So no flight home tonight.”
“Great! I’ll drop you off at Carson’s. And you can feed the chickens and the sheep tonight.”
“You don’t have to sound so cheerful about it,” he complained.
“Text message from Joey Pierce. Can you come by early? Jax has writer’s block and I need to take advantage of him this afternoon,” the robotic voice recited.
“Dammit,” she groaned.
“Do all your clients share their sex lives with you?” Ryan asked.
“Most of them. Can you handle one more stop?”
“Fine as long as nothing there bites you or spits on me,” he said.
“You can wait in the car,” Sammy decided.
“Text message from Eden. If you need to get laid and that Fake Mistletoe Kisser isn’t man enough to do it, I’ll find someone who is! Flame emoji. Eggplant emoji.”
“Oh. My. God.” Sammy patted her pockets one-handed for her phone. She’d texted her friends after dropping Ryan off at the ribbon cutting to catch them up on her humiliation.
He snorted next to her. “Typical. ‘No, Ryan. I’m not pissed off at you. Nothing’s wrong. Let’s not talk about it,’” he said, mimicking her in a falsetto.
“Text message from Layla. Find one for me too. I’m overdue for an oil change.”
“Bluetooth is so stupid!” Sammy wailed, poking the touchscreen in the dash looking for some kind of off button.
“Text message from Eva. Describe the angle of your hips when you were astride the grumpy steed on the ground. Asking for a friend who needs a sexy build-up scene in her romance novel.”
“I knew you were pissed off that I turned you down,” Ryan said triumphantly.