The Time Travelling Taxman Series Box Set

by Rachel Ford

  Alfred frowned. Sergeant Joshua Stevenson was a mutual acquaintance. They’d met during the Futureprise’s investigation, when a time travel mishap had left Stevenson and his team stranded in the past. He had never particularly cared for the marine, but that was due more to his interest in Nancy than any actual character flaws. The fact that he and Nance had dated briefly solidified the taxman’s negative opinion of him. He would have been happy moving forward to see no more of Stevenson. But Nance’s friendship had not ended when the relationship did, so, like a bad case of the flu, the marine was a part of his life long after he’d expected him to be gone. “Oh. That’s…nice.”

  “Yeah. It’s a good job. He’ll be doing private security for the executive board at Mile Investments.”

  Being the human shield for a bunch of fat cats didn’t sound like a good job to Alfred, but he nodded anyway. “Great.”

  “I hope he gets it,” she continued. “He’s very excited.”

  “I would have thought Futureprise might have soured his taste for private security,” Alfred observed, adding, “Then again, he probably can’t handle anything else.”

  Nance frowned. “Josh is great at what he does.”

  “Hopefully Mild Investments thinks so,” he said, trying to muster enthusiasm.

  “Mile. And I think they will. He’s certainly got the experience.”

  “Yeah. Anyway, what are we doing tonight?”

  She shrugged. “Don’t know. We could try that new Greek place-” She cut off as her phone went off, then grimaced. “I’m getting paged. I better get. Let’s figure it out later, okay?”

  He nodded. “Alright.”

  “See you later, babe.” And with that, she was gone.

  Alfred frowned at his computer screen. He didn’t mind Nancy hanging out with her ex, of course. He trusted her, and he was far too mature for anything like insecurity or jealousy. But, still, something about their exchange bothered him. It was the presumption of Stevenson, he supposed. Couldn’t Josh just take a cab? his mind argued. What if Nance had plans? And, anyway, now that’s time she’s going to have to make up.

  A voice interrupted his thoughts. “Josh’s got an interview, eh?”

  Alfred scowled. “What, Justin?”

  “Josh. Nance was saying he’s got an interview. That that same Josh I met? The bodybuilder marine?”

  “Ex-marine,” the taxman snapped. “And he’s not a bodybuilder.”

  “He’s the one who was dating Nancy, though, right?”

  “He’s the one she broke up with, yes.”

  “Oh.” Lyon smirked. “Well, I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about, in that case.”

  “I’m not sure how it concerns you anyway,” Alfred declared pointedly.

  The other man shrugged. “You’re my friend, Freddie.” The taxman fixed him with a gaze intended to challenge the assumption. Justin seemed not to notice. “I don’t want to see you get burned.”

  “How considerate.”

  “All I’m saying is, the thing with hanging out with exes? That’s what my ex-wife did. Right before she moved in with the ex. And took me to the cleaners.” He shrugged. “I’m sure Nance isn’t that kind of person, but, you know…women are women.”

  “That’s a record,” Alfred said dryly, “even for you.”

  “What is?”

  “How many HR policies you violated in a single statement.”

  “Come on, man. You know what I’m saying. Just keeping it real.”

  “Don’t you have work?” Alfred wondered. “Because I do.”

  “Alright, alright. I’m just trying to look out for you, Freddie. But if you don’t want to hear it, I’ll shut up.” He raised his palms in an exaggerated placating fashion. “I can take a hint.”

  Chapter Two

  Alfred sat at his desk, his forehead furrowed into a deep frown. He was staring with unseeing eyes at his monitor. Somehow, despite his best efforts, he couldn’t shake Justin’s words. That’s what my ex-wife did. Right before she moved in with the ex.

  He knew it was stupid to be worried about Nance, of course. She’d only dated Josh for two weeks, and she’d been the one to call it off. It was stupid to worry.

  Of course it was.

  But, somehow, worry was what he did. He worried through the morning, as he skimmed the reports that came across his desk, as he half-heartedly responded to emails and disinterestedly put off voicemails.

  He was quiet and pensive during lunch as Nancy talked about MarvelousCon. He barely heard her as she asked him, “You know how Marvelous Detective Comics started, right?” When he didn’t answer, she prodded, “Alfred?”

  “Huh? Sorry, what?”

  She frowned. “You okay?”

  “Oh, yeah. Just thinking.”

  She reached across the table and took his hand, smiling. “Alright then. Penny for your thoughts?”

  “Oh, nothing important. Just one of the cases I’m working on. But you were saying – the comics. What about them?”

  She grinned. “MDC: Marvelous Detective Comics. Do you know how they started?”

  “No.”

  “It was a guy, Rick Ashworth, working in his basement, making parodies of popular comics. It started with Swell Dude, and then Arachnid Kid.”

  “Oh.”

  “And then he drew a panel that went viral. It caught the attention of investors, and MDC was really born. And in half a decade it went from his afterwork hobby to a billion-dollar industry.”

  “That’s…impressive.”

  “I’m boring you,” she grinned.

  “No. No, you’re not.”

  “You’re a shitty liar, Alfred.” She shrugged. “Which is definitely points in your favor. Still…what’s wrong, babe?”

  “Nothing, Nance. Nothing. I’m just tired. And thinking of work.”

  His mood probably should have, but didn’t, improve when two-thirty rolled around, and Nancy texted, “Heading out. Fingers crossed it’s a good gig. See you tonight, handsome.”

  It certainly didn’t lift his spirits that Justin stopped by around three-thirty, all solicitude. “Hey, Freddie. How’s it going?”

  “Fine.”

  The other man nodded, watching him with sympathy – and barely constrained curiosity. “Well. Good.”

  Alfred ignored him, turning back to his screen.

  “Nice weather, though.”

  “It is almost spring. It goes with the territory.”

  “Yeah. Still. Nice day.”

  “Yup.”

  “Well, I should probably get back to my desk.”

  “Probably…”

  “Alright then. Talk to you later, Freddo.”

  Alfred wondered in passing if he should keep a journal of his dealings with Justin. It might come in handy when I argue self-defense in the homicide trial.

  Still, the other man’s unwarranted solicitude made him reconsider, just a little, how unwarranted it really was. He found himself scrolling through Josh’s social media timelines, pausing at every picture of the square jawed marine beside Nancy. There were a lot of them. And she always seemed happy. There was a sparkle in her blue eyes, a smile on her face.

  Then again, she always looked happy in her pictures. Whether it was with Josh or her girlfriends, Nance’s inner joy radiated outward.

  It was her profile pictures that held his attention, though. They were shots with him. Alfred frowned at the images of himself grinning stupidly. But he smiled at her, at the sight of her arm wrapped around him, of her cheek pressed to his. She was gorgeous and happy; and hugging him. Not Josh; him.

  He was being absurd, he decided. Nance was his best friend, and he trusted her more than anyone. So he needed to act like it.

  He closed the app, and returned to his work. Five o’clock came around before he knew it, and he headed home with a lighter step. Five-thirty rolled around before he heard from Nancy. “Interview ran long, I’ll be there soon.”

  She was as good as her word, arriving just a
fter six. “Sorry,” she said, kissing him by way of greeting, “that lasted longer than we thought it would. They were really impressed.”

  He nodded. “Good.”

  “Yeah. I hope you’re hungry. I grabbed food on the way back, from Fanelli’s.” She was carrying a bag of takeout.

  A heavenly smell wafted over him. “Is that eggplant parmigiana?”

  She grinned. “Yup.”

  “There go my plans for a beach body,” he sighed, feigning disappointment.

  “Your body,” she said, kissing him again, this time with a warmth that rather put dinner out of his mind, “is just fine how it is, Mr. Favero. Now come on, let’s eat before this gets cold.”

  They did, then Nancy produced another surprise. It was a DVD with a case insert that was clearly printed at home. It was emblazoned with word art that seemed to have been produced in the mid-nineties, and it read, “UFOs: Truth is Stranger than Fiction.” If the title alone wouldn’t have elicited a groan, the cheesy illustrations of humanoid figures with great, dark eyes that accompanied it certainly did.

  “I thought you’d like it,” she grinned.

  He nodded. Ever since the Landing Site Earth case, where he’d stumbled into the bizarre world of Ufology – and the even more bizarre crumbs of truth behind it – he’d developed a love of these awful, campy so-called exposés. It was a guilty pleasure, to be sure, but a pleasure nonetheless. He enjoyed seeing just how outlandish the conspiracies could get. “Where the hell did you find that? It looks like it was produced decades ago.”

  “Actually, this one was Josh,” she said. Alfred frowned as he powered on the DVD player. “I’d told him about the Tulli papyrus one we saw last week. No idea where he got it though.”

  “Oh.” He took a seat beside her on the sofa.

  She nestled closer, saying, “So, what mystifying truths do you think we’re going to learn this time?”

  “Who knows.” He didn’t feel like playing along, and so they lapsed into silence as the program rolled.

  A bright screen and loud music appeared, and a bespectacled man in a bad suit walked on set, introducing himself as a Professor Wooding. The professor promptly listed his credentials, which included a doctorate in Ufology from a university that Alfred was quite sure was unaccredited. He groaned. This was worse than he’d hoped.

  Nancy laughed. “Come now, you don’t trust the good doctor?”

  Alfred found himself sighing throughout the introductory spiel. It was the standard load of innuendo and half-truths that, presented by such a straight-faced and ridiculous narrator, normally would have elicited laughter of his own. But tonight it didn’t strike him as very funny.

  As Dr. Wooding moved from a summary of his own “decades of extensive research” to “a very special journey into the hidden truths of extraterrestrials,” the taxman was ready to throw in the towel.

  Until, that is, he saw Nancy glance at her phone. A text had flashed across the screen, and he scowled at the name: Josh.

  “Hey Nance,” it read, “I hate to ask this…but I got a callback about the job. They want to schedule a follow up for Friday. My car won’t be out until next week. Any chance I could bum another ride?”

  Alfred paused the film. “What’s up?” he asked, feigning nonchalance.

  “Just a text from Josh,” Nancy said. “You don’t have to pause it.”

  “Oh. I thought we were watching it?”

  She drew back enough to glance up at him, and frowned. “It’s not like I’m going to miss anything, is it?”

  He flushed a little for the sharpness of his tone, if nothing else. “No.” Then, he added, as if he’d not already read the message, “What does he want?”

  “He got a callback. They want to see him again on Friday.”

  “Oh. Well, that’s good.”

  “Yeah. But he needs a ride.”

  “Well, that’s what Uber’s for.”

  She frowned again. “Come on, Alfred. Would you want to show up to an interview in a cab?”

  He scowled and turned back to the TV.

  She continued, “I was thinking I’d just let him borrow my car.”

  This was an improvement, as it meant less time alone with the marine. Still, it wasn’t much of an improvement, because it introduced its own host of difficulties. “How will you get to work then?”

  “Well,” she said, nestling in by him again, “I was hoping I could get a ride in with you.”

  “Oh.” That did put rather a new spin on things. “Alright. That’d work, I suppose. But what about being discrete? If we show up together, people will notice.”

  She shrugged. “I don’t mind, if you don’t mind.”

  He didn’t mind at all. “I don’t mind.”

  “Good. Then I can tell him he can borrow the car?”

  “Yeah.”

  She pecked him on the cheek. “Sounds good.”

  He wrapped an arm around her, drawing her closer, and played the film. Dr. Wooding delved into primary sources on medieval UFO sightings, and he found himself laughing again. The show was definitely on an upward trajectory, and he was feeling pretty good, all things considered, when the phone buzzed again.

  It was Josh, again. This time, though, he didn’t bother pausing. And despite his inclination to glance over and read the text, he didn’t.

  Nance responded, and said, “He says that works well. And thanks.”

  “Good.”

  He’d forgotten about Josh when the screen flashed again. He fought a grimace, but kept his eyes on the television.

  When Nancy responded and yet another text appeared, though, he could no longer resist the urge to see what was occupying her attention. The marine was asking her opinion on which suit to wear to the interview. His grimace turned into a proper scowl. “Can’t you tell him we’re busy?” he sighed as another message popped up.

  “One second,” she said. “He’s just figuring out which suit to wear.”

  He sighed again, more audibly this time, and watched as she typed, “Definitely the black one. But I got to go, I’m about to find out how we know the black plague was actually introduced by hostile extraterrestrials.”

  “Oh God,” Josh texted back. “Better you than me.” Then, another line added, “Thanks again, Nance. I owe you.”

  “No problem. Have a good one.”

  “You too.”

  Alfred’s scowl was set now. He stared with stony eyes at the television. There was, he found, nothing at all amusing to be gleaned from Dr. Wooding’s hypothesis on the real source of Black Death.

  The program rolled on, but didn’t improve in the taxman’s estimation. They’d reached Wooding’s theories on the secret abduction of author H. G. Wells when Nancy spoke. “Hey, by the way, did you have a chance to think about MarvelousCon? Next weekend will be here before you know it. If we’re going to get you a costume, we need to get started sooner rather than later.”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know if I want to put up with all those crowds of crazy people.”

  “Crazy people?” Nancy repeated. Her tone was playful, but it was touched with a hint of annoyance.

  “You know what I mean. A bunch of weirdos dressed up like characters from comic books.”

  “Or TV shows?” she asked. Hints had made way for full-blown annoyance.

  “Come on. You’re not a weirdo,” he said.

  “Just people who like the things I like?”

  “You know what I’m saying.”

  “Not really, actually.”

  It was now, of all times, that Josh Stevenson chose to message Nancy again. Alfred caught the name, but the phone was too far away to read the message. Still, it was enough. “Jesus Christ. Can’t he leave you alone for two seconds?”

  Nancy sat back to frown at him. “Is that what this is all about, Alfred?”

  “Is what? And about what?” he prevaricated, flushing.

  “Why you’ve been huffing all night long? Why you’ve been in suc
h a bad mood? Because I took Josh to his interview?”

  “Of course not,” he lied. “And I haven’t been in a bad mood. But, come on, Nance. Does the guy really have to talk to you every second of the day?”

  “That is what this is about.” She shook her head. “You’re really going to be pissy because I gave him a ride?”

  “I’m not pissy,” he snapped. “And you didn’t just give him a ride. You’re lending him your car. You’re advising him on what to wear.”

  “He’s my friend.”

  “He’s your ex.”

  “That’s right,” she said. “He is. I’m dating you, not him, Alfred. But he’s still my friend. He’s been there for me when I needed help. He’s put himself in harm’s way for me on our cases. A ride to a job interview isn’t too much to ask in return.”

  Alfred scowled. “And nonstop private chats either, apparently. Even after you tell him we’re watching TV.”

  “He was telling me that he’s home all Thursday, so we can drop the car off whenever. But private? Jesus, Alfred.” She grabbed the phone and thrust it toward him. “Here. Read them for yourself if you’re so damned insecure.”

  “Insecure?” Her gesture of openness combined with the use of that word both shamed and mortified him. The two sentiments morphed into an ugly stew of anger. “Well, if I’m insecure, who the hell can blame me? How would you like if I was always on the phone with my exes?”

  Nancy let the opportunity to observe that it would be a very short series of conversations slide. “I’m not always on the phone with Josh. We’ve barely talked in weeks, until he got this interview.” She scowled. “And what do you think, Alfred? I’m what? Cheating on you?”

  “Of course not, Nance,” he snapped. “I just don’t like you talking to that damned jarhead.”

  “Don’t call him that.”

  “Why? You’re defending him, now?”

  “He didn’t do anything wrong, Alfred. Dammit, you’re the one making a big deal out of nothing.”

  “Nothing? That’s probably what Justin’s ex used to say too.”

  “Justin? You mean, Justin at work?” She shook her head, confused. “What the hell does he have to do with any of this?”