She suppressed a smile. Rick always referred to the paper as the Tri-Cycle—baby reporters running around with training wheels. “So, where’s the risk with our client?”
He gestured again at the newspaper. “Read the article. Bad press scares off buyers. No buyers, no cash flow. No cash, no company. The article’s mostly speculation, not long on facts, but it says the truck crashed because the tie rod broke.”
Holly blinked. “What’s a tie rod? What a minute. Is that part of what George makes? Tate’s invention?”
“No. The tie rod’s connected to the steering. Their new device is part of the suspension. Unfortunately, the reporter didn’t know the difference.” Rick grimaced. “The article mentions sabotage though.”
“Sabotage?”
“Like I said, pure speculation.”
She frowned at the newspaper. “So, the article implies George’s part caused the wreck?”
“It doesn’t come right out and say so, but...kind of. The article isn’t clear on whether the reporter is saying the car or a part on the car was tampered with.”
She blew out a breath. “It’d be awful if the part that broke really was one George made.” The part her cousin, Tate designed. Internal warning lights flashed. Would either be equally liable if the suspension had failed? As awful as the wreck and the driver’s injury were, she hoped neither her client nor her cousin was responsible.
“I wouldn’t put much stock in whatever the reporter picked up at the event. Probably just gossip.”
Holly was still processing potential repercussions. “But if George’s part was the cause—”
“He’ll feel responsible.” Rick finished her thought.
“George will be devastated. There could be lots of reasons the thing, the whatchamacallit, broke.” She glanced down, searching for the name of the part. “Cars break down all the time.”
“Yeah,” Rick said. “But George would still feel responsible, if it’s a Cascade part.”
“I assume there will be some kind of investigation. Hopefully, that will clear him.” Holly studied Rick. She and Rick worked well together. Having someone like him to trust with business issues was a lifesaver. “I already consider Cascade Precision your client,” she said. “Do you want to take on Mikhail Petrov and Quality Distributing? We aren’t doing any work for him yet. If you want to go after his business, that would be great. You know cars, and clearly I don’t.”
Rick was shaking his head before she finished talking. “I told you already, I’m not gunning for partner. I don’t want the stress or the hours.”
“Okay.” Don’t push. Don’t lose him. She tapped her computer’s keyboard and brought up her task list. “Are you going to see George today? Or should I? I did work with him on evaluating the subcontractors.”
Helping George run that analysis had been part of her mother’s grand sales agenda.
Those projects... Whew. Talk about a vicious cycle. Successes like the vendor analyses meant more work for everybody, including her.
Especially her.
Rick might’ve read the fatigue weighing her shoulders, or he could’ve been his usual loyal self. “I’ll go test the waters with George. Earn that bonus.”
“You keep dreaming those dreams.” She dumped the newspaper in the recycle bin. “Gotta run. I told Tate I’d pick him up this morning.”
“You mean bail him out?”
She cut her eyes in Rick’s direction, her eyebrow raised.
“Small town. I heard both of the guys fighting at Boulder Bounders were arrested.”
“No thanks to JC,” she muttered. She rose and gathered her jacket and purse. “Here’s a bonus for you.” She swept the Spudnut bag from her desk and dumped the greasy mess into Rick’s hands.
His face brightened as he opened the sack and fished out a puffed potato doughnut. “Cool. Maple nut.” He popped one in his mouth, smiled blissfully, and swallowed. “You coming back to the office afterward or do you have something else scheduled?”
“I’m coming back to the office. Let’s get some advance year-end planning done. I’m getting calls about deductions and income timing with the new tax law.”
“Okay.” Rick rose and dramatically clutched his back. “If you cripple me with this chair, can I get workman’s comp?”
“Out.” She pointed at the door.
Rick grinned. “How about bringing me lunch since I didn’t get to use those music tickets last night.”
“If you start dating Laurie—and I seriously think it’s a bad idea”—she shook a finger at him—”you hurt her and I’ll have to kill you.”
Although given her shaky relationship history, she had exactly zero room to talk about messing one up.
Chapter Four
Mama Will You Bail Me Outta Jail (Kit Nelson)
The historical Franklin County courthouse held no charm for Holly that morning. Normally, the red brick building with its soaring, turn of the century dome offered historical context and regional pride of place. Both elements were sorely lacking in Richland County’s hulking bunker of a courthouse. Today, she focused on the low annex sprawled behind the Franklin courthouse.
She made her way past the gateside security checkpoint and headed down the sidewalk and around the corner to the county jail. She’d known this area of the complex existed, but had never before had a reason to visit.
She kept her mouth shut and her thoughts to herself, even when Tate emerged from the holding area. Like her mother and aunt, Tate was short. Although he barely topped her five feet, eight inches, she’d never considered him a pushover—or a target. Always athletic, he’d retained the muscle he’d put on while he was in the Marines. His olive skin, however, didn’t hide yesterday’s bruises. She took in his swollen, battered face. Clearly ice packs and medical care weren’t part of a jail cell’s amenities.
The paperwork completed, she stalked out the door with Tate right on her heels.
“I’m fine. I look like shit, but it’ll fade.”
She didn’t bother to respond. At this point, she just wanted to get both of them into her car before—
“Holly?”
Crap. She knew better than to think she could go anywhere in this town without stumbling over someone she knew. Pasting a smile on her face, she turned.
A rangy, blond man approached them.
“Hi, Walt.”
He flicked a curious glance from Holly to Tate. “What are you doing here?”
She’d worked with Walt Chambers, a local attorney, on various client matters. As far as she knew, he didn’t do criminal law. Resigned to the inevitable—he’d eventually find out why she was there, anyway—she said, “My cousin was on the receiving end of a few punches. The deputies couldn’t be bothered to sort it out.”
Tate’s hand landed on her shoulder, a gesture she remembered from their childhood. The short version of the warning pressure meant, “Shut up.”
He held out his other hand to Walt and introduced himself. “Neither of us was blameless.”
Walt gave him a quick inspection. “First offense?”
“Yep.” Tate’s lips flattened.
“Look decent on your court date, and most likely it’ll be a fine and time served.”
Tate nodded.
“The whole thing is ridiculous,” Holly said. “They got in a fight. No broken bones or permanent damage.” She made a quick inspection of Tate’s face and took in the stony expression. Hopefully, no broken bones. She’d noticed he walked hunched to one side, like his ribs were killing him. “The other guy started it. What were you supposed to do? Stand there and let him beat you up?”
“Holly. Shut up.” He no longer bothered with subtle.
“Okay. Fine.” She threw up her hands. “Thanks for the advice, Walt.”
The guys exchanged looks.
Oh right. Make me the idiot here.
She stalked toward her car. Tate could park his butt in the front seat in the next thirty seconds or walk home.
&
nbsp; Seconds later, he closed the passenger door and buckled his seat belt. “I know you thought you were helping, but you weren’t.”
She was never going to understand men. “I’ll drop you at the house so you can clean up.”
“Would you mind making that the hospital?”
Her head whipped toward him. “You’re hurt?”
“I want to talk to Shaw.”
Shaw was the guy who’d had the truck accident at the Boulder Bounders rockcrawler event, which the reporter had implied was caused by a defect in Tate’s part. She wasn’t sure talking to Shaw was a good idea, but her cousin was a big boy and could make his own decisions.
She took in his disheveled condition. “I’ll take you to my place. You’re cleaning up first.”
***
The drive across the Columbia River bridge passed in silence. At the Queensgate exit, traffic around the new shopping area was its usual hopeless tangle. Eventually, Holly scooted through a break in the traffic, turned onto Columbia Trail, then climbed the hill toward her house.
While Tate headed downstairs to the guest room, she kicked off her heels and shed her suit jacket. She used the time while he was in the shower to clear her voice mail and firm up appointments for later in the week, including the meeting with the Cascade Café her mother wanted arranged. Perched on a counter stool in her kitchen, Holly scribbled notes on a legal pad, updated Outlook, and returned calls. A mug of coffee cooled at her elbow.
Finally she reached the last item on the day’s list and tapped Amanda Defaccio’s contact. Her senior auditor was—thankfully—handling most of the work for the Tom Tom Casino.
Frank Phalen’s current employer.
Her favorite person.
Not.
“How’s the cage accountability job going?” Holly asked Amanda. The auditor had spent the previous week at the casino, going through the accounts.
“We’re about to wrap-up fieldwork. I should have the report for the casino board ready for your review by next week.”
“Sounds good.” For the ten millionth time, Holly silently cursed her father for running out on both her mother and their business. Casino accounting was one of the many areas in which she’d had to take crash-learning courses.
Then there was the Frank Factor. Having Amanda lead the project meant Holly had been able to avoid the casino and Frank. Win-win.
“Can you stop by today?” Amanda asked.
Damn. “Problems?” Please, don’t let there be problems.
“No. Just a few things I need to go over with you.”
Holly checked the clock. How long would Tate’s session at the hospital with Shaw take? “How’s this afternoon?”
After arranging a meeting and wrapping the phone call, Holly dumped the last of her coffee and stuffed her notes into her briefcase. Her schedule booked, she wandered into the living room. Morning sun warmed the creamy white walls and caressed the pristine rug. Oversized windows offered a view over the Chamna nature preserve to the distant Blue Mountains.
With a contented sigh, she admired the newly-renovated living space. A smile twitched her lips as she remembered the night JC had shown up at her house while she was painting the room. She’d threatened to beat him with a paint-loaded brush, but instead, they’d had an overdue discussion—okay, argument—about the crash and burn of their long ago engagement.
She’d foolishly thought resolving that issue would let them move forward with a new relationship. Instead…
She shook her head. She couldn’t fix it today.
Arms spread wide, she stretched out on the living room carpet. Her lovely, brand new carpet that wasn’t a hideous 70s-era shag and didn’t smell vaguely of cat pee.
Heaven.
If she was going to stay in Richland, she should retrieve her furniture from the storage unit in Seattle. Then there was the sell or continue to rent out her Capital Hill condo decision...
Why was everything so complicated?
She crossed her arms behind her head. If she was going to stay, which of the nine million items on her renovation To Do list should she tackle next?
Footsteps sounded in the hall and Tate appeared. “Your hot water heater sucks.”
Project #9 on her Renovation To Do list.
“Yep.” She rolled onto her side.
He cocked his head and studied her. “What are you doing?”
“Planning my next project. Sounds like maybe it should be replacing the hot water heater.”
Tate regarded her curiously. “If you’re only going to be in Richland for a year, why’d you buy a house?”
She pushed to a sitting position and shrugged. “I planned to fix it up and flip it.”
“Aunt Donna said you work on it all the time. Then again...” He slouched against the fireplace. “You have a tendency to throw yourself into crazy projects.”
“Yeah, yeah, projects other people think are crazy.” She always pulled them off, though.
“You’re still nuts.” Tate wandered to window. “Great view.”
JC had expressed the same reservations about her ability to fix up the place. She wasn’t crazy. She hired contractors for parts she couldn’t handle. “The view’s the best part.”
What JC, and apparently Tate, didn’t get was she loved the ugly little house. Everything about the house and the renovation was tangible. Did she fix the water heater or not? Get the room painted or not? There were none of the murky gray areas like there were in the rest of her life, where maybe she succeeded—or maybe she didn’t.
Murky or not, all she could do was keep moving forward.
She scrambled to her feet and slid back into her heels, jacket and professional personae. She grabbed her keys, purse and briefcase. “Let’s go.”
Chapter Five
Hospitals Center Blues (Skip James)
Twenty-five minutes later, Holly pulled into the hospital parking lot. She cruised the lanes, looking for an available visitor spot.
“Why don’t you use valet parking?” Tate’s head swiveled, his gaze roving the parked cars.
She watched him from the corner of her eye and resisted the instinctive urge to head straight for the emergency entrance. Like he’d admit he was hurt. “In this econo-box?” she muttered. “Besides, seriously? Valet parking at the hospital?”
“Some pregnant woman and her husband could be rushing to the hospital to have the baby. He’d need to go inside with her.”
She’d give him that. “Well, maybe. But neither of us is pregnant, and we’re both capable of walking.”
“Speak for yourself,” he grumbled.
Her gaze whipped toward him. If he was actually admitting he was in pain. “Maybe—”
“Shaw first,” he interrupted.
Fine. She parked, locked the car and looked for a row marker. “Help me remember where I left this thing.”
He peered around for landmarks. “If you hate the car so much, why don’t you buy a new one?”
“Because my insurance company only gave me Blue Book on my BMW and I can’t afford a new one?”
“Good reason. How much longer will they let you have the rental?”
“I’m not sure.” She pulled out her cell and made a note to call her insurance agent. Again. “They’re still settling with the other agency. I’m supposed to hear this week about their offer. My attorney says I have a good case since my wreck was deliberate and—” She stopped talking.
Tate’s face had clouded over the second she’d used “wreck” and “deliberate” in the same sentence.
“Look,” she said as they approached the hospital entrance. “Shaw’s wreck was an accident.”
Tate picked at the cuticle on his thumb. “I’m not so sure.”
She nearly tripped over the curb. “What makes you say that?”
He glanced around, as if someone might overhear them. “Later. I want to see Shaw first.”
Echo-chamber much? She arched an eyebrow. “Oka-ay.”
They enter
ed the lobby and headed for the information desk. A Christmas tree anchored the waiting area. Wrapped presents and garlands carried the theme down the halls.
“Rushing the season, aren’t they?” Tate observed dryly. “We haven’t even had Thanksgiving.”
She shook her head. “I saw Christmas decorations at Target before Halloween.”
They stepped up to the Help Desk. “Hi. Where’s room number 4486?” Tate asked.
“How’d you know which room?” Holly asked as the attendant slid a piece of paper over the counter toward Tate. Brightly colored lines on the page connected various building in the hospital complex.
“I called while you were communing with your living room carpet,” he said.
She started to punch him, remembered his sore ribs, and muttered, “Smartass.”
“That room’s in the Tower.” The attendant traced a finger over the map. “You’ll want to follow the Green Line. Down that way to the elevator.”
“A map? Seriously?” Tate looked rather offended. He folded the paper and stuffed it into his back pocket.
The attendant smiled. “We recently expanded. Our visitors find it helpful.”
“I’m sure they do.”
Holly nudged Tate away from the desk and tugged the map out of his pocket. She found the map useful. The last few times she’d been at the hospital, she’d arrived and left through the Emergency Room. “Find the pharmacy for me. I have to pick up a script while we’re here.”
***
The elevator doors dinged open. After a quick detour into the pharmacy, Holly and Tate walked down the Tower hall following the signs toward Shaw’s room. Tall windows gave the hospital a spacious air and offered a bird’s eye view of downtown Richland.
“Downtown” was a relative term. They mostly saw treetops, punctuated by an occasional ugly, low-rise government building covering a square block with bland concrete. A pang hit her, longing for the Seattle skyline outside her old office window. In addition to the tree-lined city streets, those views included the Puget Sound and white-capped mountains, architecturally interesting buildings, the Space Needle, and the Seattle library’s glass pyramid.
In It For the Money Page 4