by Kayt Miller
There’s more written on the inside front of the book. Just below Rachel’s signature it reads:
For my beautiful, inquisitive Agatha on her Sweet 16. May you always enjoy life’s little mysteries. I love you with all my heart, my darling girl. I will always be with you. Mom
Shit, I feel the sting of tears as I read it. It’s not surprising Agatha’s eyes are getting a little pink from emotion. Hoping she doesn’t cry, I replace the paper cover, and slide it back onto the shelf. Looking down at her, I say softly, “It’s my favorite book too. Your mom had great taste.”
She nods, and I can see her swallow. “So, are you a car chase, explosions kind of guy or do you prefer something more classic?”
I look above her head and see Rear Window by Alfred Hitchcock. Reaching above her head I pull it off the shelf to see if it’s the old version or the new one. “I love this movie.” I hold it up, showing her the image of Jimmy Stewart holding a long-lens camera and a gorgeous Grace Kelly in the background.
“Me too. Let’s watch it.”
I place the DVD in her hands and watch her handle several remotes until I see the opening credits roll across her small television. When she sits on her sofa, I move to her left and sit down as well. It’s certainly not a big couch. It’s not a love seat either, but something in between. We’re close but not touching.
“Would you like something to drink? Popcorn?”
“I’m good for now, Agatha. But, thanks.” I reach out and squeeze her knee and pull back. I’m not sure why I did that, but I wish I would have kept my hand there.
Agatha leans back and throws her sock-clad feet onto her coffee table. “May I?” I point to my feet.
“Of course. Mi casa es su casa.”
My house is your house. I like the sound of that. I kick off my shoes, hoping my feet don’t stink. When I’m sure they don’t, I stretch my legs out onto the coffee table as well. My legs extend far beyond hers. If I didn’t think her petite frame was cute as hell, I’d probably cringe at the freakish difference in our legs, but I do think she’s cute as hell.
“You’ve got a hole in your sock,” she says reaching out to touch the tip of the big toe on my right foot.
When her finger touches my bare skin, I feel a shiver. Her touch was delicate, like her. “Most of my socks have holes,” I chuckle. “I need a good woman to darn them for me or something.”
“No,” she says with a gasp. “Ian. You didn’t just say that.” She’s blinking at me. Her expression serious.
I blink, trying to recall what I just said. When I remember, I squeeze my eyes shut. “Yes, I did, but I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not a Neanderthal who expects a woman to stay home and darn my socks. I just…” I run my hands through my hair. “Shit.”
When I hear her laughing, I look up. She’s shaking her head while cracking up at the same time. When she calms a bit, she says, “God, I hope not. That was as a pretty sexist thing to say, Ian.”
“I know.” I mumble. Reaching out, I touch her knee again, letting my hand linger there a little longer. “I’m not like that. I promise, Agatha.”
She’s stopped laughing altogether now. Looking down at my hand, then up at my face, she gives me a small smile. “Good. Glad to hear it.” Seconds after that, I’ve got my hand back on my lap and we’re both watching the film.
Chapter 15
Agatha
Pulling the blanket up closer to my face, I snuggle in to get warmer, so I can get back to my dream. The one where I’m wrapped up in big, warm arms. The one where a finger runs gently over my cheek, pushing the hair out of my face. The one that felt like lips were kissing mine. Yeah, that one. I don’t remember the last time I felt so safe, cared for, protected.
The loud roar of a motorcycle outside my window startles me awake. Opening one eye at a time, I realize I’m on my sofa. “How’d I get…?” Oh, right. I was here watching a movie. With Ian. I quickly sit up and look around my living room. There’s no sign of him. “Ian?” Maybe he’s in the bathroom? Standing up from the couch, I look down at myself. I’m wearing the clothes from the night before. Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?
I step down the short hallway and see my bathroom door wide open. “He’s not here.” He’s gone. I think back to the night before. We were watching a movie. We were talking. It was nice, relaxed. I vaguely remember falling asleep at some point. “Yay, Agatha. Way to go. Fall asleep on the hottest guy you’ve ever met.” I’m such a shitty date. Wait. That wasn’t a date. Sure, he brought food. The guy’s got to eat. Besides, he was just doing his job; he’s here for the thumb drive. “Shoot. Did I give him the thumb drive?” I look over at my dining table and see no sign of it. “I must have given it to him.” Maybe I should ask him about it in a quick text? “No, Aggie. Don’t be that girl.”
Peeking at the clock on the wall, I realize it’s the middle of the night. I wonder what time he left? I think about the night before and smile. Dinner was nice. Ian was nicer. Looking over at my sofa, I realize he must have covered me up before he left. I recall feeling someone touching my face. Or was it all a dream? If it wasn’t, does that mean he actually kissed me?
Yawning, I decide to go to my own bed. At my bookcase, I take Mom’s book off the shelf. Holding it close to my chest, I walk to my bedroom, stripping off my jeans, I slip on my clean pajama pants. The ones with the frolicking kittens all over them. Sadie gave them to me on my last birthday. Since she’s not super demonstrative, like Lainie or even Keely tend to be, these cat pajamas are her way of showing love and to make up for the fact that I’ve always wanted a cat but I’m allergic. No, it’s not the same, but it’s the thought that counts, right?
Snuggled beneath the covers, I open Mom’s book. It wasn’t my intention to read the book tonight. Instead, I wanted to read the letter I’ve got tucked inside. Before she died, she wrote us each a letter to be given to us on our sixteenth birthday along with one of her most prized possessions. I got her book. Lainie was given a lamp that has a cat as the base. It sat next to Mom’s side of the bed for as long as I could remember. She even had it in her room when she was a girl. As for Sadie? She got Mom’s recipe box. Sadie and Mom used to spend Sundays together in the kitchen making something sweet. Mom always called her Sadie-cakes, which was the inspiration behind her bakery name.
I slide the letter out of the book and think about the twins’ gifts. Keely was given her music box with the dancing ballerina inside. I recall Keely playing with that for hours on end when she was little, dreaming of being a ballerina one day. Violet got Mom’s locket. One she never took off. We all thought she’d been buried with it, but when Vi got that on her birthday, we were brought to tears. It was heart shaped with small flowers carved on the top half and a small diamond embedded on the bottom. The back was engraved with the words: Violet. Always in my heart.
“Shit,” I mutter. Thinking of all of those gifts, and the thought she put into them makes me so sad.
As carefully as possible, I unfold her letter. I know I should keep this in a safer place. I’ve made copies, but there’s something about reading from the paper she actually touched that brings her closer to me. I lift the paper to my nose and inhale. Her scent is long gone but it was there for a while. I wish I could have saved that––bottled it up. I sniffle as my eyes water and my nose gets runny. “I miss you so much, Mom.”
Opening the letter, I read.
Happy Sweet 16th Birthday, my darling Aggie!
Even though I’m not there to celebrate with you on this most auspicious occasion, I wanted you to know I’m thinking about you today and always.
Being sixteen means that you’re no longer a little girl. You’re a young woman now. Not that you won’t always be a little girl to your dad and me. But it’s possible to be both. I can only imagine the young woman you’ve become. If I had to wager, I’d say you’re smart, beautiful, and clever.
How do I know this? Because some things never change, no matter your age. I’d like to think y
ou got those things from me but that wouldn’t be true. You got as many wonderful things from your father as you did from me, but I think I’ll go ahead and claim those three for myself. :) I’m sure your dad won’t mind.
Aggie, it breaks my heart that I can’t be there with you, but I don’t want this to be a sad letter. So, let me take the opportunity to tell you all of my hopes and wishes for you, my darling.
I wish you adventure. You’re my thoughtful girl, always trying to solve life’s little mysteries. I hope you will always look at life with wonder, but I also hope you take a few risks along the way, even if things don’t turn out the way you’d like.
I hope you make some mistakes along the way. Mistakes help us grow and learn. Mistakes make us more interesting people. Rest assured, Aggie, no matter what happens to you throughout your life––good, bad, or ugly––I promise your father and I will always, always be proud of you.
And finally, I wish you love. Not just from your dad and your sisters but love like I found with your father. It was love at first sight, but my love for him grew the longer I knew him. He was the love of my life, my person. Rob made all my dreams come true. He gave me you, after all.
While I know each of my beautiful girls are all different, I love you all the same. Be good to your father. He loves you as much as I do. Please give him a kiss for me. Hug your sisters tight and know that I’m in all of you.
I love you, Mom.
Shit, why do I torture myself? Every time I read it, I lose it. I wonder if she’d still be proud of me if she were here now? Proud of her daughter being accused of embezzling money. I also wonder if I’ll ever be able to read her words and smile. Probably not since it seems I pull this letter out whenever my life takes a nosedive.
As gently as possible, I fold the letter and place it back inside the pages of her book. My book now. Clutching it to me, I lay beneath my sheets and let the tears fall.
Chapter 16
Ian
“Whoa, you look like shit, old man. You up all night with one of your lady-friends?”
This is exactly what I don’t need this morning. I don’t need a guy seventeen years my junior giving me shit first thing in the fucking morning. “No. Just can’t sleep on those fucking hotel beds.” Not to mention the fact that I didn’t get into said lumpy bed until well after three in the morning. I woke up with Agatha Palmer wrapped around me like a python. Luckily, I was able to slither out from beneath her, cover her up with a blanket, and get out of her house before she woke up. I did take a moment, before I snuck out, to watch her sleep like a creeper. I couldn’t help myself. She looked so fucking beautiful. Serene. I felt a sudden surge of protectiveness right then. I’m sure that’s the reason I bent down, moved the hair away from her pretty face, and kissed her lips. Yeah. That’s it. Protective. Fuck.
“Sure. Sure. I gotcha, man. So, you wanna hear how my night was?”
“Yeah. Shoot.” I take a long pull from the coffee I picked up at the coffee shop on the main level, Java Jane’s. Damn good coffee.
“I found no trace of that software on the desktop computers of any of our mains.”
By mains, Jason is referring to our main suspects. “Not shocking. They could have used a laptop.”
“Correctamundo. That’s why I decided to look at the server and their company cloud.”
“They’ve got a cloud?”
He nods. “Part of their software licensing agreements, I suppose. Not uncommon.”
“Here.” I hand him the flash drive Agatha gave me last night. “This has some kind of HTML coding on it. Can you check it out?”
“Sure thing. Add it to the pile of shit I’m already doing.” Jason says, rolling his eyes.
“You want me to call up some help for you? I think Basil is available.”
“Nah, I hate that douche.”
“You hate Basil? No one hates Basil! He’s a pussy cat.”
“He’s an arrogant prick,” Jason mumbles.
Jason’s jealous. Basil designed an app that both big-name cell platforms picked up. My guess? Basil will be gone as soon as his giant check is in the bank. In the meantime, we’ve got him working for Phoenix. “As you wish, princess.” I mumble.
“I heard that.”
“Good.” Shit, we’re both bitchy today. “I gotta go. Drake summoned me again.”
“Sucks to be you,” Jason mutters.
It does. It really, really does. “Later.”
“Later, old man.”
Stepping out of our tiny office, I’ve got enough time to do a sweep of floors eleven, twelve, and thirteen. I don’t know what I’m looking for, but it doesn’t matter. If something’s amiss? I’ll know it when I see it. Taking the stairs two at a time, I open the door to eleven. I start walking the perimeter of the floor pretending to be on my phone. The majority of people have no idea who I am. The rumor we asked Drake to set into motion was that we were auditors from an outside company. It’s our usual cover story on embezzlement cases. It’s not necessarily a lie but it makes us appear less intimidating. Glorified accountants sound sort of nice compared to Cyber Security Specialists.
Since I’m able to multitask, I search my messages while using my peripheral vision to see what people are doing. I spot Kim Reynolds right away and run through her background check in my head.
Kim Reynolds
Age: 47
Height: 5’2”
Weight: 163
Address: 360 Cedar Street, Page, Arizona 86040
Property Type: Rental
Rent amount: $2000.00 / month
Driver’s License State: Colorado*
Title: Director of Accounting
Annual Income: $55, 793.00
Years at H&S: 6
Marital Status: Single
Children: None
Criminal record: None
Social Media: Facebook, Twitter
Why is she licensed in Colorado and not Arizona? I did some checking. Her former state of residence was Colorado. So, why, in six years, hasn’t she updated that information? She could be lazy as hell or for some other reason that I’ll need to research if she becomes a person of interest. I need to do a check of her social media sites as well. I try to do that every day or two for each of the suspects just to see if they post pictures of new purchases, stuff like that. You can learn a hell of a lot by a person’s Facebook and Twitter accounts.
I pass the aisle that houses the accounting department and step through another set of doors, taking one flight up to twelve. This floor houses the Human Resources department, marketing, and the design team. I sweep the perimeter, making sure to look into Miriam Smith and Trent Archer’s offices. Miriam’s office is empty. When I peer into Trent’s, I see Miriam sitting on the corner of Trent’s desk looking rather cozy. From the little interaction I’ve had with Miriam, she doesn’t seem like the ‘sit on the corner of your desk to chat’ kind of woman. Trent’s already checked out. I was suspicious about the fact that several of my top suspects all lived in the same apartment complex. That is until I noticed a large number of H&S employees rent there as it’s practically the only place with affordable rentals in the area. Mystery solved.
Trent Archer
Age: 28
Height: 5’11”
Weight: 193
Address: Whispering Sands Apartments,
300 Sandhill Road. Apt # 11, Page, Arizona 86040
Property Type: Rental
Rent amount: $450 / month
Driver’s License State: Arizona
Title: Assistant Director, Human Resources
Annual Income: $49,580.00
Years at H&S: 4
Marital Status: Single
Children: None
Criminal record: DUI in 2010
Social Media: Twitter, Snapchat, Tinder
Jesus. Tinder? I guess it’s one way to go.
I stay hidden behind a concrete post obscured from Archer’s office. I can’t hear what they’re saying, only murmurs. That is u
ntil Miriam laughs loud enough for the floor to hear. Apparently, Mr. Archer is a funny guy.
“You wanted to see me?” I don’t bother knocking on Garlock’s door. It’s open. Besides, he’s asleep at his desk. Better not startle the asshole.
“Oh,” he says, startled.
See?
“Mr. Burke. You finally decided to grace me with your presence.”
Ignoring his jab, I say, “I had a message you wanted to see me this morning.” Like every fucking morning.
Wiping off a bit of something from his chin, he says, “Right. I wanted an update.”
“Sir, there’s nothing new to report.” Since yesterday. “As soon as I’ve got something, I’ll knock on your door.”
“What do you mean ‘as soon as you’ve got something’? What’ve you been doing? How hard it is to find the money that stupid bitch stole from me?”
There’s so much wrong with that statement. The only remedy is to punch the fucker in the teeth. I hate guys like this. “We’ve got multiple lines at work all at once, sir. It takes time.” I hate calling his asshole sir. As far as I’m concerned, you earn that level of respect and from my background on him so far, I’m not impressed enough to respect anything about him.