Jon looked at her for a long moment, then turned and walked away.
Oka-ay. What did that mean? That it was obvious? That Jon wasn’t going to commit himself? That she was an idiot?
She called it a day and headed for the parking lot, mulling over the afternoon’s revelations.
Was it possible the part Danny Shaw bought was a street-level knockoff? Tate had said the broken suspension appeared to be their design, but might not be their genuine part.
If that was true, where did the knockoff part come from?
She sat in her car. She hadn’t learned any facts that would pass the JC test, but clearly, Randy Kapaska was disliked and had reasons to undermine Tate.
The fake parts nagged at her. She really wished the cops would pull on that thread, but right now they didn’t have a clear reason to investigate. As far as she knew, no one had filed a formal complaint.
With a sigh, she pulled out her cell and checked the missed calls and voicemails. Clients, a friend from book club, the usual. The next message straightened her spine.
“Butt out,” a nondescript voice said. He might’ve been going for a threatening whisper, but couldn’t pull it off.
She pulled the phone away from her ear. What was this, amateur hour?
The tinny sound continued and she tapped the speaker icon.
“Don’t do it no more if you know what’s good for you.”
The message ended. She stared at the phone for a minute. Who was that, and what was he talking about? And what was she doing that had gotten this guy’s panties in a wad?
Client? Tate? DEA?
Take your pick.
She started to delete the message, then changed her mind. She didn’t have time for stupid, empty phone threats, but the way her life had been going, she ought to save it.
Not that she planned to tell JC about it. He’d dig a moat around her house and lock her in the tower, while swearing he was protecting her.
Chapter Twenty-One
Insane in the Brain (Cypress Hill)
“Are you out of your mind?” Tate glared at Holly from the far side of the kitchen peninsula.
“What?” She carefully placed a roasted chicken from the deli on the counter. “I know it isn’t home cooked, but I didn’t have time to bake—”
“You were at the course pestering the drivers.”
“I wasn’t—”
His chin thrust forward. “Did you really think they wouldn’t call and warn me some blonde was asking nosy questions?”
She dropped the other grocery bag on the counter. “So what if I was? I learned a lot about Randy that you didn’t bother to tell me. And those guys, the ones who called you, they totally support you, by the way. I needed to know that too.”
He slammed his hands onto the counter. “Oh, so you don’t trust me?”
“Don’t be an ass. I’ve backed you every step.” She lifted plates from the cabinet and set them beside the food. “Look. I’m starving. Can we talk about this over dinner? You know, like civilized people?”
He pushed away from the counter. “I’d rather not talk about it at all.”
“Big surprise.” She found a cutting board.
“Give me the knife.” He extended a hand.
She held out the implements, then opened the second bag and removed roasted sweet potatoes and a packet of mixed greens. While Tate sliced the chicken, she dumped the salad into a colander.
“You do know the lettuce is pre-washed.” He plunged the knife into the chicken breast.
She turned her head and gave him her best, Right, sure look. “Tell me you washed the salad the other night.”
He transferred chicken to the waiting plates. An innocent-as-a-school-boy smile turned up his lips.
“Gross. When you get salmonella, don’t expect me to take care of you.” She sprayed the greens a second time.
“Where’s that cousinly luv?” A hint of humor returned to his voice.
“Bite me.”
Minutes later, they took their places at the dining room table. Other than forks clicking against china, silence reigned.
Darkness pressed against the oversized windows. During the day, the rivers and nature preserve provided a constantly changing nature slideshow. Now with the sun down, little was visible in the inky pool of darkness below her house.
Both beauty and danger lurked in the dark. She was stumbling around in the blackness of this Boulder Bounders mess, tripping over hidden obstacles that could reach up and bite her in the ass. She wondered about the threatening phone message. How concerned should she be? Apparently, like the coyotes, snakes and mountain lions that roamed the nature preserve, some of her two-legged opponents had lethal potential.
Tate broke the silence. “George and I talked. That attorney we met with is notifying the paper. Demanding a retraction—one that isn’t buried in the want ads.”
“Hope that works. I still think you should sue them for defamation. Fact check, anyone?”
He shrugged and forked up more chicken. “As long as they quit screwing up our product sales, I don’t care what they say about me. George and I are disappointed we haven’t sold many this week at the event. I’m kinda pissed at Mikhail. He had maybe two boxes in the back of his vendor tent.”
She blinked. And hesitated. She didn’t know why Mikhail told the driver to take the parts away, or where Tattoo Guy was going with the extra stock.
She glanced again at the darkened window. A stream of headlights on the highway defined the edge of the nature preserve. A moon, some stars and bright lights offered definition for the scene. She speared another piece of chicken, chewed, and wondered where the guideposts for her life were hiding.
“What?” Tate’s voice intruded.
She glanced over and found her cousin staring at her. “I...heard...”
She couldn’t say JC told her there were questions swirling around George and his partners. Had JC meant Mikhail as well? “How well do you know Mikhail?”
For that matter, how well did she know George? How bad was his cash flow crunch after the recent expansion? Could he be desperate enough to do something treacherous, like sell cheaper parts without telling Tate?
“Why?” Tate returned his attention to his dinner.
She placed her fork on her plate. “I hate to spread rumors. I don’t know anything for sure. Someone told me there were vague concerns. I don’t know if there’s criminal activity.”
He stopped eating. “Where’d you hear this?”
“I shouldn’t have said anything.” She toyed with her silverware, pushing the dinner remnants around the plate. “I’m just worried about you.”
“Nothing’s going to happen to me.”
“Where have I heard that before?” She crumpled her napkin and tossed it onto the table.
“I haven’t seen any indication Mikhail’s doing anything except setting up a sales network for our part. With George being a sponsor of Boulder Bounders, I’d have thought Mikhail would be more help.” Tate shrugged. “We can’t force him to shelve a product, but George told him he expected the new part to be totally stocked for the weekend.
She again considered the pulled boxes. “Maybe—”
“I can’t help but wonder—”
They both stopped and eyed each other. “Go ahead,” she said. “Wonder about what?”
He glanced at the window, idly tapped his fingers against the table. “Maybe this thing with Shaw is different. I don’t think the failed parts—the other parts, not mine—were actually defective. It’s more... The ones I told you about, the earlier ones, they just weren’t heavy-duty enough to cut it on the course.”
She nodded. “One of the guys I talked to today said the same thing. That it looked like street parts were being sold as competition stuff. I wondered at first if that could be what happened to Danny. Instead of a material defect or a design flaw, could someone have made a copy of your part? One that wasn’t strong enough for the competition?”
“I keep wondering
the same thing. But my part hasn’t been released long enough for anyone to reverse engineer it. The valving system is too complicated for most people.” The frown was back on Tate’s face. “There aren’t supposed to be any secondary, street-grade products out there.”
“So if it’s a knockoff part—a copy—where did it come from?”
He grimaced. “They call that the million dollar question.”
She rose and picked up her plate. “The way your conversations with the cops are going, I’d call it the Get Out of Jail Free card.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Taking’ Care of Business (Bachman Turner Overdrive)
Friday morning, a lollipop tree stood in the middle of Holly’s desk. Colorful suckers ringed a central stand, a red, star-shaped treat forming a crown.
She cocked her head, studying it for a moment before plucking the card off the base. She used to love lollipops but hadn’t had one since college. Since JC.
His distinctive bold handwriting scrawled across the card. “Went past the shop on the Parkway that makes these. Thought about you.”
She unwrapped a pop and licked it. Yum. Watermelon.
Rather than overthink it, she tapped her cell, and said, “Call JC.”
The phone connected and seconds later, she heard, “Dimitrak.” Hard, clipped. Hopefully, he’d answered the phone without checking the screen for the caller first.
“Thanks for the lollipops.”
“As soon as I saw them in the window, I had this flash of you twirling one around while you studied.” His voice melted into warm syrup. “I thought you might like some while you’re reviewing client files.”
“Great idea.” She licked the pop again.
While they chatted, the investigation into Shaw’s death cycled through the back of her mind. She considered her conversations with the Boulder Bounders drivers. Maybe there was a way to redirect the focus of the investigation without getting in the middle of it. JC did constantly tell her to give him information instead of following up herself.
“I have a question,” she said. “Maybe more of a tip.”
“Holly—”
“I’m not interfering. Remember, back at the hospital, Tate mentioned that Randy Kapaska was pissed because Tate got the Chen ride. When I was at Boulder Bounders yesterday, several of the drivers mentioned Randy has other reasons to want both Danny and Tate out of the way. Can you pass along Randy’s name to whoever’s heading up the investigation into Shaw’s death? It can’t hurt to ask him a few questions, can it?”
She could imagine JC doing a silent ten-count.
“I’ll pass along the name.”
“Thanks.” Gee, don’t trip over your enthusiasm. “Now, are you going to tell me what we’re doing tonight?”
“Nope.” The smile was back in his voice. “It’s a surprise. See you tonight.”
She ended the call and popped the sucker into her mouth. Damn, she’d forgotten how much she liked them.
JC hadn’t asked about Randy’s possible motives, but the cops might’ve already questioned the guy. None of the drivers mentioned the cops questioning them, but maybe they just hadn’t gotten to them yet. Whatever the case, she felt rather virtuous for passing the suggestion along to JC.
Lollipop tucked in the corner of her mouth, she spread the newspaper across her desk and studied today’s article. Instead of another story about Tate—Walt’s warning about a possible lawsuit might’ve helped, after all—the lead story had a large photo.
Do you know this man? the headline asked.
She studied the grainy photo. It appeared to be lifted from a security camera, most likely one at the hospital. The man wore a ball cap pulled low over his forehead, effectively screening his face. His chin was tucked, further disguising his appearance. Would his own mother recognize him from that picture?
At least it clearly wasn’t Tate.
Unfortunately, it didn’t appear to be Randy, either.
“We have a new problem.” Rick’s voice came from the office doorway.
“No.” She held up a hand in her usual stop style. “No more problems this week. I’ve reached my limit.”
He dropped into the visitor chair. “Not sure the Problem Ding-god cares about your limits.”
She sighed and licked the lollipop. “Point. Who and what?”
“George.”
She dropped her head to her desk and banged her forehead against the mahogany surface. “Was I bad in a prior life?”
“Nah, just your childhood.”
She rolled her head to the side and glared up at him. “Bite me.”
He grinned. “You love it. It’s problem solving. Your specialty.”
With a groan, she straightened. “What is it now?”
“George’s inventory counts are off.”
At least it was business related. “Talk to me.”
“The shipments of Cascade’s new suspension are tracked by weight when they come from assembly in Mexico. The trucks leave Mexico, enter the US and arrive here in Washington, all with a consistent weight, so we should have all the parts here.” He paused.
“But?” She crunched into the lollipop, freeing it from the stick.
“When we did inventory today, we came up short.” He added a few details. “We’ve audited George’s company for years and his inventory has always been clean. We finished up at the Cascade Precision warehouse last week, so we went over to the Quality Distributing warehouse this week to audit the new suspension. Tate’s part.”
“Why isn’t it at the Cascade Precision warehouse?” she asked with a frown.
“I asked that too. The answer I got is, with Quality currently having an exclusive on the suspension, it’s easier to maintain the finished product inventory over there. The internal components, the parts George’s people make, are housed at the Cascade Precision warehouse until they’re sent to Mexico for final assembly.”
She rocked her hand, deciding if the explanation held water. “Okay. How bad is the shortage?” The lollipop stick hit the trashcan.
“Bad enough that I’m concerned.”
She rubbed small circles into her temples. “Will we need to restate the financials?”
It was every accounting firm’s nightmare. The liability potential always seemed to be worse for the accountant than for the client who messed up in the first place.
Rick clasped hands and propped his forearms on his thighs. “Have you read that new statement on Auditing Standards? It’s AU-C Section 560.”
Not just no, but hell no, probably wasn’t the right answer. “What’s it say?”
“It’s the process for handling restatements. First question is, should we have picked up the error in the first place?”
“You said it’s just Tate’s part?”
He nodded. “For us, the real first question becomes, when did the shrinkage start?”
She thought about that for a moment. “If it’s recent, and the rest of George’s inventory is clear, we didn’t miss anything. We just deal with the loss in this year’s audit.”
“The good news is they haven’t been making that part long enough to impact prior years.”
She thought about JC’s warning about George’s potential wrongdoing. “What if it’s a bigger problem?”
“Meaning?” Rick straightened.
She chewed her bottom lip. She couldn’t share JC’s disclosures about potential wrongdoing with Rick any more than she could share the concern with Tate. She also couldn’t ignore JC’s warning. If there was any truth to JC’s revelations, then Desert Accounting would need to react to the inventory issue as quickly as George would—and to anything else they might uncover.
“We need to talk to George. How bad will it hurt his company if the inventory is completely messed up?”
Rick shook his head. “I’d be speculating.”
“Okay.” She pulled out her cell and tapped George’s contact. His admin answered.
“George is out of the office. May
I take a message?” Lisa said.
Holly glanced at the clock on her computer. “Will he be back later this afternoon?”
“He won’t be back at the office until Monday. I can put you on his calendar for 2:30 that afternoon.”
Holly grimaced. A lot could happen in three days. “Please ask him to call me when he collects his messages. I really need to speak with him today.”
After wrapping the call, she swiveled her chair and stared out the window.
“Out of the office?” Rick asked.
“Yeah.” She swung back to face him. “Did you do a full inventory or statistical sampling?”
“Sampling.”
She heaved a sigh. “We—George—will have to do a full count.”
“Even if George can get his people lined up to do the actual inventory count, we don’t have the staff or the time on our schedule to oversee them.”
She gave a tired nod. “So... What are you doing this weekend?”
“Apparently I’m observing inventory.”
“You bringing the coffee or am I?”
“Bring the lollipops.” He snagged one from the tree and walked out the door.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Good News, Bad News (George Strait)
Holly and Rick settled into chairs at George’s conference table. George had called from the Boulder Bounders event, where he’d been trying to downplay rumors about the new suspension.
Rick placed his folio on the table but didn’t open it. She waited, willing to let him take the lead in the inventory discussion.
George leaned forward. The afternoon sunshine reflected off his bald spot. She swore it was bigger than it had been a week ago.
“I have good news and bad news,” George said.
“Give us the good news first.” A smile tugged at her mouth. “We can use some.”
“The investigators’ analysis says it is our part.” His hands rested atop a file folder.
She blinked. “That’s the good news?”
George either ignored her or, more likely, was caught up in his relief. “But it had been tampered with. It wasn’t a defect in our design.”
In It For the Money Page 16