The Time Travelling Taxman Series Box Set

by Rachel Ford

  Here, it was Alfred’s turn to bring some clarity. He shook his head, saying, “No, he’s done for.”

  “How? We can’t prove things that didn’t happen in our timeline.”

  “That’s only murder,” the taxman declared sagely. “He committed far worse crimes. From the law’s perspective, anyway. He compromised IRS security, committed conspiracy to defraud, stole money, engaged in tax fraud.” He shook his head. “Where the law’s concerned, attempted murder is child’s play compared to stealing Uncle Sam’s money.”

  All of these musings, of course, they kept from the officers. To the police, they told a much simpler story. Nancy had worked an audit earlier in the week, and something had been bugging her about it. She wasn’t quite sure what was wrong, but something had stood out as being off. So she pulled the file again this morning. “And that,” Alfred told the officer who was questioning him, “is when the sugar cookies really hit the fan.”

  “Sorry, what?”

  “It’s when all heck broke out.”

  “Oh.”

  As far as proving Walker’s involvement, this was done much more quickly than anyone would have guessed. Nancy had already texted Caspersen a brief report on the morning. The branch director had ordered an immediate lockdown of the network engineer’s access, and called the police. Becket, meanwhile, was already hinting that he was open to a plea deal in exchange for turning in his partner in the IRS. “It looks like Becket’s been doing more than embezzling. He’s been filing fishy reports of his own for years. My hunch is Walker was his inside man to make sure no one got wise.” But by time the police showed up, Walker had vanished. “We’ll catch him,” Caspersen wrote. “It’s just a matter of time.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Between giving statements and conferencing with Caspersen, the day was almost spent. “Outstanding work, Abbot,” the director said. “And you too, Favero. We’ll talk with payroll Monday, to get your PTO cancelled – since you’re on the job today – and bill your expenses.

  “And I’ve cleared your schedules until Wednesday, and pulled Agent Dixon in too. We’re going to work a full audit, and put together an ironclad case against these sons-of-bitches.”

  Now, though, she pulled a faux frown. “But, for the love of God, try to enjoy your weekend without getting into a shootout with anyone else.”

  Alfred grinned. “Roger that, Director.”

  Caspersen smiled. “Good.”

  Nancy, though, was glum as the video chat ended.

  “Why the long face, beautiful?” he asked. As far as he could tell, they had every reason to celebrate. They’d caught the bad guys. A pair of killers, a pair of low-down tax cheats, had been taken down. Justice had been served. And, most importantly, Nancy was safe.

  She smiled, but it was a wan smile. “I was just thinking…”

  “About…?”

  “I can’t believe Swell Dude was going to kill us.”

  He frowned. “You mean, Becket.”

  “Yeah.”

  He shrugged. “He’s a tax cheat, babe. A swindler. Stealing from your country is the gateway drug of crimes. If you’re willing to do that, anything’s on the table.”

  It was her turn to frown. “I’m serious, Alfred.”

  So was he, but he gathered from her expression that now was not the time to argue his thesis on ethics and tax law compliance. “What I mean, babe, is that he’s not worth worrying about.”

  “I just can’t believe it. I mean, we’re talking about Swell Dude.”

  “He’s just an actor, Nance. He’s no more Swell Dude than the guy who plays the big purple guy – what’s his name? Clodhopper? Anyway, he’s no more Swell Dude than that other guy is Clodhopper.”

  “I know.” She sighed. “But he always seemed so nice. So genuine. Like it was more than a role.”

  “Well,” Alfred exhaled slowly, “and I never in my life thought I’d say this, but I guess Becket was a better actor than anyone gave him credit for.”

  She laughed now, and hugged him. “Oh Alfred.”

  “So, what are we going to do now? Are there any sessions left for the day on your schedule?” After the cleanup, and despite a sizeable exodus of attendees, MarvelousCon had rolled on without much interruption.

  She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Come on, babe. You’re the one with the fifteen-page schedule committed to memory.”

  “I mean…I wonder if we should just pack up and go home.”

  He frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  “You’ve been a good sport, babe. But…” She shook her head. “I wanted us to have fun. I didn’t think we’d end up almost getting shot. By Swell Dude, no less.”

  His frown deepened. “You listen to me, Nancy Abbot: I am having fun. And so were you. And who cares about that stupid actor? You had a whole schedule picked out, and none of it had to do with Becket.”

  He pulled her to him, and kissed her. She shook her head at him, but a tentative smile crossed her lips. “So no more sulking,” he told her gently. “That’s my job, remember? You’re the one who is supposed to make sure we have fun.”

  She grinned a little broader now. “Was that the division of duties this trip?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t remember agreeing to that,” she said, pecking him on the lips.

  “Well, you should have read the fine print.” He returned the kiss with one of his own. “Everyone knows that.”

  She giggled, and for a moment they remained wrapped in each other’s arms, kissing and talking delightful nonsense. Then, her phone dinged.

  “Oh hell,” Alfred said. “Someone’s got very bad timing.”

  She grinned. “I should check that. In case it’s Caspersen.”

  Despite himself, he nodded. “And then put it on silent mode.”

  She laughed, extricating herself from his arms, and retrieved the phone. “It’s Josh.”

  Alfred’s brow creased. After the conference with Caspersen, he’d all but forgotten about the marine. “What happened to him, anyway?”

  “It sounds like he’s been talking to Ashworth and Dallas.”

  “The comic book people?”

  She nodded. “I guess they were pretty impressed with him. They want to know if we’ll join them for dinner.”

  Now that he knew Dallas wasn’t hiring hitmen to kill Nancy, he had nothing against them. Nothing, at least, more than the usual charge of mass-producing the fluffy drivel known as superhero movies. And it sounded like precisely the sort of thing she’d enjoy. “You want to?”

  She glanced at him with a tentative expression. “Well, yeah. If you do, I mean.”

  He smiled. “I am yours to command, my lady.”

  The night was reasonably enjoyable, considering their company. And, Alfred had to admit, Ashworth and Dallas seemed like decent people. He could almost forgive them their terrible contributions to art. Kate was, he thought, genuinely affected by the betrayal, and what it meant for the future of her organization. Now and again, she would bemoan, “We were doing such good things. Who will want to work with us now?”

  And Ashworth would tell her, “We’ll figure it out, Kate. I promise.”

  Mostly, the evening’s conversation revolved around Josh, and his heroics. They’d managed to find a room for Josh, now that so many had left the hotel, and they repeated some several dozen times how grateful they were that he’d agreed to stay on. “People will want to see the hero of MarvelousCon.” This got to be a little much for the taxman, but he endeavored not to be a poor sport. If not for the marine, he knew, he’d likely be occupying a cold plot of earth now.

  The meal itself, it seemed, was intended as a kind of peace offering. “We’re really so sorry that this happened to you and Alfred,” Kate told Nancy. “We’re so grateful Josh was there. Who knows what Chris might’ve done otherwise.”

  “Kill us, probably,” the taxman observed. The pair had spent so much of the night fawning over the marine
that he didn’t feel any particular compunction in reminding them now and again of the stakes Nance and he had faced.

  Kate shuddered, and Rick wrapped an arm around her. “Thank God that didn’t happen.”

  “Yes,” Alfred agreed. “I’m rather partial to life myself.”

  Nancy nudged him, and he grinned into his wine glass. Still, the taxman enjoyed his night, and, he was delighted to see, so did Nance. There was no more talk of leaving early.

  Instead, on the way back, she reviewed their schedule of events for the next day. “There’s another drawing for autographs at nine. We need to be there.”

  “Okay.”

  “And then we’ve got the alien makeup session. And there’s a new game preview.”

  Alfred yawned. “I didn’t realize Ashworth and Dallas were dating.”

  “What?”

  “Ashworth and Dallas. I didn’t realize they were a couple.”

  Nancy grinned. “I’m not sure they realize it, babe.”

  “What do you mean? Ashworth’s clearly in love with her. And you saw the way Dallas looked at him.”

  “I don’t disagree. I just mean, they’re not officially a couple. Yet.”

  The taxman frowned. “Why not?”

  Her eyes twinkled. “I don’t know, Mr. Favero. Some people aren’t very good at recognizing their own feelings, I guess. They miss all the hints.”

  He was about to remark on how stupid that was when he realized she meant him. He remembered how many hints he’d missed in the early stages of his relationship with Nance. “Oh. Well, relationships and human emotions are complex,” he decided.

  She grinned. “Yes, they are.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  They were back in costume for Saturday’s festivities, and Nancy was all smiles. “Hey, you mind if we have dinner tonight with Randy and Dave?” she asked as she applied his makeup.

  Alfred shrugged. “Well, they’re not actually the killers. So I guess not.”

  “Good. I haven’t had a chance to catch up with Randy in forever. And, honestly, I feel a little bad that we thought he was the mole.”

  “Well, that one’s on me,” he reminded her.

  “Still.”

  They did not win autograph tickets that morning, but Nance barely noticed. “Oh well. That gives us more time for sessions anyway.”

  Alfred was happy to see her returned to her former high spirits, the revelation about Swell Dude notwithstanding. He, too, found himself enjoying his time, though not quite to the degree she did.

  The morning was spent in sessions, but Nance had put aside some time in the afternoon to stop at one of the tabletop gaming stations. “I thought,” she said, “this might be a good chance for you to try something other than chess.”

  Alfred was perfectly happy sticking with the tried-and-true classics, but he was determined to be a good sport. And, he found with a measure of surprise, she was right. There was something oddly satisfying about rolling the hard six to save his skirmisher from orc raiders or playing a night thief card to rob Nancy of her winnings. It was less fun to get slapped with a treason card in turn, or lose his paladin to a lowly giant garden slug. “Snake eyes should count for something. What kind of game doesn’t have a bonus for snake eyes?”

  Still, garden slugs and questionable rules notwithstanding, he had a good time. “Let’s buy that, Nance,” he said when they wrapped up.

  She grinned. “I figured you’d like it.”

  They worked their way through several more games. Before the afternoon was finished, Alfred had picked out a stack of eight games. It included the ones they’d played, and a few recommended by vendors. “Look at this one, Nance,” he said, shifting his half of the pile so he could hand her the game. “You play as a cursed goblin king. You have to create your own goblin army. You can raid other player’s villages to recruit fighters – or you can turn your goblins into cannibals to increase your food supply. Guess what I’m going to do?”

  “Good God,” she laughed. “I’ve created a monster.”

  He grinned. “Make sure you feed your goblins well, Nance. I want them nice and fat for my men. Nothing like well marbled meat to keep the troops’ strength up.”

  When they got back to the room, Nancy said, “Well, let’s get a picture of them.”

  “Why?”

  “So we can show people your sweet haul.”

  Alfred didn’t always understand Nancy’s propensity to capture and share such moments with their acquaintances and friends, but today he did. “Alright. Grab the chess board too.”

  It was done, and after fussing for a few minutes to stack the games by box size and shape, the taxman smiled in satisfaction. Then, he snapped his picture, and uploaded it with, “The weekend’s epic haul. Thanks Nance.”

  The picture was barely up when likes and comments started coming in. Caspersen said, “Glad you two are having fun.”

  Nancy’s dad offered, “Wow. That’s a lot of games.”

  “Snooze fest. LOL, just saying,” Tony Favero, Alfred’s older brother, wrote. “Anyway, saw the news this morning. That was you, right? Glad you didn’t get shot.”

  Jeff Filmore said, “Ohh, Goblin Wars of Old Antar? You’ll have to bring that to game night one of these times, Nancy.”

  It was Justin’s comment that almost ruined his mood, though. He wrote, “How exciting.” He could hear the sarcasm ringing in his ears, translated directly from the text. He found himself remembering the comments the other day about Nancy, and scrolling to Justin’s profile to see what else might have been posted in the interval.

  There wasn’t much up from Friday, but the Thursday posts put a scowl on his face. The line, “There’s another word for that,” really made his blood boil.

  Justin’s posts didn’t, he noticed, have many reactions: a stray “like” here, a crying emoji there… Mostly, though, they were untouched. Under that particular post there was one comment thread. Alfred couldn’t help himself. He had to bring it up.

  It started with a post from Andy Brecht. “Sorry things didn’t work out, man.” Justin responded with a question mark. Andy wrote, “You and Stacey broke up, right?”

  A minute later, Lyon replied, “Wth dude? Of course not lol.”

  “Oh,” Andy replied, with an embarrassed emoji. “I thought that’s what these posts were about.”

  “Hell no, man. We’re strong as ever. This is just an observation.”

  “Oh, my bad. Sorry.”

  “It’s all cool.”

  Alfred read and then re-read the exchange. Then, he laughed out loud, and shared it with Nancy. She was as amused as he was. “What a dumbass,” she said.

  The taxman nodded. He was feeling a lot better about the Justin situation when he took the phone back and refreshed his feed. Then, he scowled a second time. There, posted half a minute ago, was a new pearl of wisdom from Justin Lyon. It read, “If you need things to make you happy, the people in your life aren’t doing it.”

  Nancy, though, only laughed when he showed her this post. “Babe, he’s not worth getting upset over. Honestly, he’s a – a turd sandwich.”

  Alfred nodded. It was true enough, he knew. Still, he felt as if, on some level, he needed to respond. So he typed his own message on his own page, and hit submit. It read, “Truly happy people don’t waste their time trying to invalidate other people’s happiness.”

  Nancy smiled when she saw it. “I’m going to go like that,” she said. “In fact, I’ll even share it. But then we’re going to put our phones away and forget about Justin. Okay?”

  “Alright,” he agreed.

  He didn’t entirely stick to his word. He did check his notifications a few more times that afternoon. There were quite a few of them, and he smiled to see that they were all positive.

  Andy Brecht liked the post. Caspersen commented, “Isn’t that the truth?”

  On Nancy’s page, Monica Abbot wrote, “Damned straight. Just be you, cousin, and ignore the haters.”
/>   On his own, his mother replied, “Very true, Alfred. Very mature outlook.”

  Even Josh Stevenson liked the post.

  Alfred, finally, was able to convince himself to ignore Justin Lyon. He was, as Nancy had so eloquently put it, a turd sandwich. And he was not going to spoil his getaway with Nance by worrying about what a turd sandwich had to say about him and her.

  So, he focused on the activities of the day. It passed quickly, and before he knew it, dinner rolled around and he was meeting Randy Barret and his partner, Dave Contrino. Barret had given up his Swell Dude costume – “For obvious reasons,” he explained – and was in jeans and a Marvelous Comics t-shirt. Dave Contrino was still in his Captain Patriot uniform, though.

  Alfred was glad of that. It meant he wasn’t the silliest dressed man at their table. Still, costume aside, Mr. Contrino impressed the taxman as being a sensible kind of man. He liked Barret too.

  The data developer was certainly awkward, but that was something with which Alfred could empathize. How many days, after all, had it taken before he was entirely comfortable here? But he was intelligent – and he had a healthy respect for Nancy, which, of course, solidified the taxman’s opinion of him.

  “No one was surprised when she got the promotion,” he confided. “Just disappointed – you should see the idiot who took her place.”

  Dave smacked him playfully, and he grinned, explaining most unnecessarily, “It was Dave.”

  “I gathered,” Alfred said. “But I’m glad she did.”

  Randy smiled. “Me too.”

  When the conversation turned to the events the day before, and the revelations about Chris Becket, Nancy and Randy shook their heads dolefully. “I still can’t believe it,” Barret said.

  This was so very similar to what he’d heard from Nance half a dozen times already that Alfred had to stifle a laugh. “Well,” he offered sagely, “I guess Swell Dude wasn’t so swell after all.”

  This earned him a frown from Nancy and Randy, and a snort of laughter from Dave. “Sorry, babe,” he apologized, with – if he was honest with himself – not much sorrow. “But I couldn’t resist.”