For Love of Money

by Cathy Perkins

  The next thought was equally unsettling. If hiring the excess workers was fraud, was Marcy the instigator or merely a co-conspirator? Had she invented employees, looking to steal money, or had Tim put her up to padding the payroll to remove excess cash from the company accounts?

  Lillian’s expression probably mirrored hers. Worry. Concern. Hoping somehow there was another reason.

  Alrighty. Holly squared her shoulders, even though it hurt in more than the physical sense. If something illegal was going on, she needed proof. Pasting on what she hoped was a reassuring smile, she signed, “Do you have a list of the extra employees? And a copy of the paperwork?”

  “I’ll get it to you,” Lillian promised.

  “One more question. Did Marcy and Tim ever…” She couldn’t remember the sign for “flirt” so she finger-spelled it.

  Lillian gestured, not understanding.

  She was running out of time to be circumspect. If Tim was responsible for last night’s truck incident, she wanted to know where—and how—to watch her back. “Did you ever see them act like they were more than friends?”

  “They never hugged or kissed, but there were signs.” The expression on Lillian’s face might’ve been dismay or disappointment. “Looks, smiles, comfort in each other’s personal space.”

  Of course, Lillian had noticed the body language. More than most people, she was attuned to that layer of communication. “You didn’t mention it to the detective.”

  “He didn’t ask about them, only if someone would hurt Marcy. Tim would never hurt her.”

  Holly wasn’t so sure about that. Lillian’s hands moved slowly. “I miss Marcy. I still expect to look up and see her.”

  “Me, too.” Holly let her expression say the silent part. That she hoped they were both wrong about Marcy’s involvement in whatever this was.

  …

  “Well, aren’t you Ms. Popular this week?” Tracey beamed at Holly once she managed to wrestle the trolley into Desert Accounting’s office. A vase of roses graced the corner of the receptionist’s desk.

  “For me?” Surely Alex wouldn’t spring for flowers two days in a row. The first bouquet had surprised her. Two seemed excessive, even for him.

  “They came this morning. Open the card. Who are they from?” Tracey extended a white florist’s envelope.

  Holly fumbled with the small card until Tracey grabbed it and extracted the note.

  “To second chances.” Tracey peered over her reading glasses. “What does that mean?”

  She gave the receptionist a perplexed look. “I’m not sure.”

  A second chance with who? Alex? Her heart skipped a beat. JC?

  She cautiously peeked into her college memory file. Had JC ever sent her flowers? She couldn’t remember, and she had no idea what kind of dating moves he currently used.

  “There’s no name.” Tracey flipped the card front to back. “Alex? Or someone new?”

  The receptionist’s eyes held an avid gleam as she sensed the possibility of juicy details.

  “I don’t know.”

  Was JC really looking for a second chance? Showing up at the library last night, that hadn’t been police work.

  Or manipulation.

  Was it?

  Could he have faked the way he’d held her? She’d felt not just safe, but cherished.

  “Let me see the card.” She studied the words. It wasn’t JC’s distinctive handwriting, but he could’ve called in the order. And the cryptic message sounded like something a guy would say when he didn’t want to commit himself.

  Unfortunately, she couldn’t exactly call up JC and ask if the flowers came from him.

  She sighed with frustration. She really didn’t need another mystery right now.

  …

  Holly had maneuvered the trolley and flowers into her office when she heard her mother’s voice.

  Donna Price burst through the door in a flurry of maternal concern. “I heard about the accident on the news this morning. Are you okay? Why didn’t you call me?”

  “It wasn’t that big a deal,” she began.

  Her mother stared at Holly’s forehead before shifting her attention to her daughter’s hands. “Not that big a deal?”

  “It looks worse than it is.”

  Donna stepped closer, then brushed back Holly’s hair. “I was worried sick when I heard. I called, but your phone went straight to voicemail.”

  “I was exhausted. I didn’t get home until late last night. I needed to sleep, so I turned it off. I let Tracey know I’d be late.”

  Her mother’s lips narrowed just a tiny bit and Holly realized calling Tracey and not her mother was probably a strategic error.

  “Well, I hope there is a special spot in hell reserved for drunk drivers.” Her mother crossed her arms in universal parental disapproval mode. “Especially ones who hit and run.”

  Holly did a double-take. She could count the number of times she’d heard her mother curse on one hand.

  “I nearly dropped my coffee cup when the news anchor mentioned it this morning.”

  Holly blessed the cameraman, the film editor, and everyone else at the television station involved in the decision to feature Laurie on the stretcher and the smashed-in cars, rather than Holly curled up in JC’s arms. The thought of explaining that little encounter to her friends and mother made her head hurt nearly as much as the blow to her temple.

  “Do the police have any idea who did it?”

  Holly shook her head. JC hadn’t told her much. Fortunately, Shrimp—why couldn’t she remember the guy’s name?—had vanished at some point during the evening, but the Pasco cops had been even less forthcoming than JC. “I’m not sure how much they have to go on.”

  “Maybe they’ll find the car.” Donna’s expression softened. She again stroked Holly’s hair, then cupped her undamaged cheek. “You didn’t have to come in today. We’ll manage.”

  Since when? Holly shook off the grumpy reaction. “It’s sweet of you to be concerned, but really, I’m fine.”

  She moved to her desk and struggled to un-strap her briefcase from the trolley.

  “Let me get that.” Her mother bustled across the office. She removed the satchel from the cart, placed it on the desk, and opened the leather case. The phone rang and she reached across the wooden surface toward the receiver.

  Holly glanced at the caller ID. Tom-Tom Casino. “Let it go to voicemail.”

  Her mother’s surprised expression asked, Are you sure?

  Okay, so it wasn’t her normal operating style, but whatever the caller wanted could wait until Monday. She didn’t want to deal with the casino audit, Peter’s remorse over outing Tim, or Creepy Security Guy today.

  Holly pressed the power button on her computer and logged in. “I’m tired. My hands and knees are scraped and sore. If I get caught up on some paperwork today, I’ll have the weekend to rest and recover. I’ll be good to go on Monday.”

  “Okay.” Feet dragging, her mother headed for the door. “I’m right down the hall if you need anything.”

  “Mom? I mean, Donna?” It felt really weird to call her mother by her first name, even if she was the one who suggested it for “in the office.”

  “Yes?” Donna glanced over her shoulder.

  “There is one thing. What’s going on with you this week? Missing meetings, being so distracted. You’re acting more like yourself today, but…I’ve been concerned.”

  Her mother stepped back into the office and closed the door.

  Holly eyed the closed door and wondered if she was ready to hear whatever her mother planned to say.

  Hands clasped in front of her, Donna seemed to be struggling for words or the right place to start. Finally, she said, “Your father called. Apparently he likes sitting on his behind in the sun.”

  Holly blinked at the tart expression. “And?”

  Donna perched on the edge of the visitor chair. “I had to come to terms with it, Holly. Actually face it. Our marriage is really ove
r. Trying to do that and deal with all the calls from the attorneys…” She shook her head.

  Holly didn’t know what to say.

  Donna brushed a hand over the smooth leather of Holly’s briefcase. “Unraveling a lifetime is rough. Untangling it from a business is a bitch.”

  My God, cursing twice in one day. Is this the “new” Donna Price? Still, at a deeper level, Holly didn’t want to know too much about her parents’ marriage. “I’m here if you want to talk.” Please don’t talk to me about Dad. “And Mom, I’m part of this business now.” She waved a bandaged hand at the office. “I need to know where you’re headed with Desert Accounting. What your plans are, period.”

  “I know. I’ve already dumped so much on you. You’re doing a wonderful job, but if you’re leaving, I have to figure out how to manage on my own. Unless, of course, you want to stay.”

  Holly traced a finger across the computer keyboard. “I’m thinking about it. Let’s sit down this weekend and brainstorm. My head’s not up to it right this minute.”

  “Of course. Let me know if you need anything today.” Donna rose and hurried out of the office.

  In the vacuum of silence following her mother’s overwhelming energy, Holly dropped the stoic pretense. Shoulders slumped, hands limp, she sat at her desk, ignoring the blinking message light and the prompts from Outlook. Instead, she wondered about Tim and Marcy. Tim was building layers of companies to hide something. Marcy knew about it. Beyond the irregularities in the business, what was happening to the pair on a personal level?

  Whatever they were doing, did Tim have it in him to kill the woman?

  Had Tim been behind the wheel of the old truck at the library?

  She hated feeling this way about a guy she liked. At the beginning of the week—just a few short days ago—she’d told JC everybody liked Tim. He was a fun-loving extrovert.

  The police were keyed on Lee Alders as the prime suspect. Allegedly, he’d killed once to protect a fortune. Nothing would stop him from doing it again.

  She’d never met Alders, but she did not like him. Even if the police couldn’t prove he killed Marcy, she had another idea about getting justice for Marcy and her family. She tapped in the number for La Boutique.

  “Yessica? Hi, it’s Holly. Do you have time for another question about the day Lee surprised Marcy at work?”

  Anger rippled through Yessica’s voice. “You have more ideas about why that man killed my sister?”

  “It’s more legal stuff. Paperwork.”

  “If you’re wondering about the papers, I think Lee wanted to see her reaction that day, to see her get angry or upset. Or maybe he just wanted to intimidate her like he used to. Or—”

  “Yessica.” She leaned closer to the speaker, as if that would somehow get the woman’s attention. “I want to make sure I understand the situation correctly. Marcy and Lee were separated and not divorced.”

  Holly could envision Yessica puffing up like an angry hen. “That’s right. She hired the attorney to divorce him because he was so cruel to her.”

  “And the papers in the envelope he gave her, the ones that upset her, that was a property settlement offer.”

  “The offer was an insult. He should’ve given her half.” Marcy’s sister sputtered with fury. “He’d calculated what a housekeeper would’ve charged him for all the years they were married.” Yessica’s voice grew louder. “He didn’t even add in what a prostitute would charge.”

  Holly cringed at the mental image the bitter comment evoked.

  “He said the company was his, that Maricella hadn’t done anything to deserve part of the profit. Who did he think managed the rest of his life when he was working? Who kept the other workers from quitting when that man was so awful? She gave everything to him and their marriage, and what did he do? Treated her like…like…”

  She didn’t want Yessica wrapped up in the domestic violence that probably followed Marcy’s benevolent interference in Lee’s business. “Did—”

  “She never had a chance—a life.” Tears thickened Yessica’s voice. “He killed my sister.”

  For a long moment, the only sound was the woman’s sobs.

  Holly’s fingers twisted the phone cord. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  There was a long sniffle, then silence. “Some days everything gets to me.”

  “I know. Something will remind me of Marcy and it’ll hit me all over again.”

  A muffled sniff came from the speaker.

  They talked for a few more minutes, reminiscing, until Yessica sounded calm again. “One last question,” Holly said. “Do you know if Marcy made a will?”

  “I doubt it. Who thinks about death when you’re so young?”

  In Holly’s circles, wills weren’t about death. They were about power. Passing wealth to the next generation. A subtle form of immortality. “It won’t bring Marcy back, but this might make things, well, different for your family.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If Marcy wrote a will when she got married, it was probably reciprocal. She and Lee most likely left everything to each other. But if she didn’t or if she made out a new will when she came back here…”

  Understanding strengthened Yessica’s voice. “Then part of what that cabrón owns goes to my family.”

  “Right. But like I said, I don’t have any idea where any of this stands—the will, a separation agreement, anything.”

  “Maricella’s attorney will know.” Determination added power to Yessica’s words.

  Yessica had a new mission now—hit Lee Alders where it hurt most.

  In his wallet.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Holly reached out to knock on Rick’s cubicle frame, remembered her injured hands, and instead stuck her head around the corner.

  Rick and Sammy looked up from the file they were discussing.

  “I hate to interrupt, but can I see you in the conference room when you get a second?” she asked.

  “We’re at a good stopping point.” Rick set the file aside. “What’s up?”

  There was a limit on how much she wanted to say about Tim, even within the walls of Desert Accounting. “We need to perform some long overdue due diligence.”

  “I know you used to work for a transaction group,” Sammy said. “What does ‘due diligence’ mean?”

  She considered how to answer in guy terms. “Before you bought a used car, you’d want to know it ran, right?”

  Sammy gave her a look that said, Well, duh.

  “So you’d check for Bondo, rust. Get a Carfax report to see if it’d been wrecked or trashed by a flood. Maybe have a mechanic run tests.”

  “Got the picture.”

  “Buying a used company is the same thing. Is the asset labeled ‘building’ an office tower in Pasadena or a burnt-out shell in Watts? Are there liabilities hidden somewhere that are going to come back and bite you?”

  “And you want to look at one of our clients?” Rick’s surprise showed in his voice.

  She nodded.

  “Anything I can do?” Sammy asked.

  “Thanks, but not right now.”

  Sammy headed to his cubicle and Rick followed her down the hall. As soon as they entered the conference room, he said, “You’re better with the staff than you realize.”

  A faint blush warmed her face. “Thanks.”

  She closed the conference room door while Rick picked up the financial statement she’d prepared for her meeting with Tim and Alex. “Stevens Ventures. What’s bothering you?”

  “I’d like to get your take on the financials first.”

  She sat down and pointed at the chair beside her. They opened the report for the holding company—the parent company that owned all the operating subsidiaries—and for a moment examined the figures. On paper, Stevens Ventures appeared to be in good financial shape.

  Rick pulled more folders from the stack. Opening them sequentially, he studied the report for the first operating company
, then moved to a second and third entity. “The individual company increases aren’t that big, but in the aggregate, the increase—sales, profits—is impressive.”

  “Business looks like it’s improving. That may be an illusion.”

  “The numbers are right there. Numbers don’t lie.”

  But people do. “Does the increase over last year make sense in this economy?”

  He returned to the reports, studied them. Finally he said, “You’re worried the entire report is bogus.”

  “Basically. I’m trying to keep an open mind, not jump to conclusions, until I see the underlying documentation.” Tim hadn’t hired them to perform an audit. Looking at the detail might include stepping into some murky, gray areas—something she wouldn’t involve anyone else in.

  Rick folded his arms and looked at her, a thoughtful expression on his face. “The source documents on those construction projects will be with the project managers, or filed over at Tim’s office.”

  “We usually don’t see them.”

  “If we’re just doing a compilation, bookkeeping gets the downloads, filters the information to the right company, plasters ‘unaudited’ all over it, and prints the financial statement.”

  “Just so happens, I printed the registers.” She retrieved a stack of papers from the credenza.

  They spread the printouts across the conference table. The schedules revealed an interlocking grid of payments. Dollars moved from company to company. Companies she’d never heard of. Companies that paid each other, borrowed cash, passed money back and forth to everyone but the banks.

  She frowned at the numbers, willing them to change to something reasonable.

  They stayed in nice, neat black-and-white columns, telling the same story they had earlier. Her experience was mergers and acquisitions, not forensic accounting. If she’d found this kind of mess during due diligence, she’d file a three-word report: Walk away. Fast.

  “Last year, we audited the company developing Southridge,” Rick said. “It was clean. But these others…” He shook his head. “We don’t have enough information to say, one way or another.”

  “All we have right now is screaming instinct. It could be sloppy bookkeeping and correcting mispostings for all we know. But those new companies…” Holly tapped her fingers on the table. “That stack of Stevens Ventures material I gave Sammy earlier this week, we need to look at it.”