Scared Money (Savannah Martin Mysteries Book 13)

by Jenna Bennett

  Or—with a slightly different angle—maybe someone who wanted to make sure she didn’t get her hands on Miss Harper’s antebellum home. Either because they didn’t think she deserved it, or because they were afraid of what she might do to it.

  That probably meant I’d have to take a closer look at both Miss Harper herself, and her attorney. The money hadn’t been wired where it was supposed to go, no... but what if Miss Harper’s attorney, or Miss Harper herself, were on the take? They arranged for the half a million to go to a secret account somewhere, and kept the house. Or kept the first half a million, and then got another half a million from the insurance company eventually. Or from Tim.

  Maybe Miss Harper was resentful that he’d talked her into selling her family home. Maybe this was a way for her to keep both the house and the money, and get Tim in trouble at the same time.

  It was a lot of calculation to attribute to a little eighty-year-old woman. But on paper, at least, it made sense.

  And then there was Tim. Not Tim himself, but someone who didn’t like Tim. Someone who didn’t want Tim to benefit from his association with Magnolia, or just someone trying to get back at him for something he’d done. In that scenario, the money was a nice bonus, but getting Tim in trouble was the main goal.

  So any enemies of Tim went on the list.

  I sat back and contemplated it. It was getting lengthy. And I had no idea how to approach anyone on it. I mean, it was one thing for me to sit here and look at people’s taxable income and say that so-and-so—Brittany, for example—had reason to steal Magnolia Houston’s half a million dollars and implicate Tim, because she wasn’t making a lot of money and Tim was bossing her around. Brittany might disagree. Hell—heck—if she wasn’t involved, she’d certainly disagree.

  After all, who was I to say what would constitute a motive for theft in someone else’s mind? What might seem like a good reason to me, might not be anything resembling a reason—good or bad—to the person in question. They say that everyone has a price, but some people are just inherently honest and wouldn’t steal, no matter how big or small the amount.

  Whoever did it, had some computer knowledge. And enough understanding of real estate to know how closings worked, not to mention enough information about LB&A to know the parties involved in the Magnolia Houston closing.

  I added the cleaning crew to the list. They had access to the office, to the computers, to information about our pending transactions. And they could use the system while they were here, cleaning. After hours, when the place was mostly empty. If that email had originated here, the cleaning crew was a good place to start looking for suspects.

  Chances were, one or more of them would have a financial motive. Cleaning offices at night isn’t something that’ll make you rich.

  Or they could all be honest as the day was long, and would never consider stealing.

  I leaned back with a sigh. I was getting nowhere. And somewhere, someone I didn’t know—or maybe someone I knew—was gloating over an unexpected windfall of half a million dollars.

  THREE

  By the time Brittany came back, it was close to two o’clock, and I was starving. The baby lets me feel it if I don’t feed it regularly, and I was past my usual lunch time by almost two hours.

  “About time you came back,” I told her when she sauntered in, hands laden with shopping bags. “I’m about to pass out. I haven’t had anything to eat since breakfast. The baby’s chewing on my stomach lining.”

  Brittany made a face. “Ewww. TMI.”

  She’s in her early twenties, and hasn’t quite moved past that teenage stage where pregnancies are gross and pregnant women are fat and ugly. And while she must be getting her job done somehow, since she still has one, pretty much all I ever see her do, is polishing her nails and leafing through fashion magazines.

  I eyed the bags as I got up. “I thought you had an appointment.”

  “At the county clerk’s office,” Brittany said, dumping the bags in the area behind her chair. “Then I went to get something to eat, and since I was at the mall anyway, I figured I might as well look around.”

  She nudged me out of the way and folded her skinny frame into the desk chair, reaching out a pink-tipped hand to wiggle the mouse. “What did you do?”

  “What do you mean, what did I do? I answered the phone when it rang. Other than that, I didn’t do much of anything.”

  “You used my computer.”

  “Of course I used your computer. It wasn’t like I could go back and forth to my own.”

  I waited a second, and when she didn’t say anything else, I added, “And it isn’t your computer. It’s LB&A’s computer. The reception computer. Everyone has access to it.”

  And if I’d known just a little more about how computers work, I might have been able to figure out whether the email to DeWitts had been sent from this particular computer. As it was, I had checked the email program, the sent emails and the deleted emails, and had found nothing. Which was exactly what I had expected to find. If whoever had sent the email to DeWitts had sent it from here, he or she had probably been smart enough to delete it—completely, from the entire email program—after they did it. A computer tech might be able to dig it out, but I wasn’t one of those and didn’t know where to find one.

  “I’m back now,” Brittany said, and waved those pink talons. “You can go back to your own office.”

  It was almost like she wanted to get rid of me. And because it was, I lingered. “What did you buy?”

  “Nothing that would fit you,” Brittany said, which was more than a little rude, if accurate. She’s skinny as a snake, and I wouldn’t have fit into her clothes even before I got pregnant.

  “I probably wouldn’t like anything you bought, anyway.” She dressed like a tramp, not that I’d ever say so. My mother raised a lady. Obviously Brittany’s mother didn’t.

  She sniffed. “Not that it’s any of your business, but Devon and I are going to get married on Friday. That’s what I did at the county clerk’s office. Got a marriage license.”

  Devon’s the boyfriend. They’ve been together more than a year. Brittany was dating him when I started working at Walker Lamont Realty, when Walker was still with us.

  “How romantic,” I said. “Don’t you think maybe you should wait until you’re a little older?”

  “I’m twenty-two,” Brittany informed me, with a toss of the ponytail, “and Devon’s twenty-three.”

  “I was twenty-three when I married Bradley. It didn’t work out well.” In fact, it had lasted less than two years before I discovered that he was sleeping with his paralegal. The fact that I’d been young and stupid had certainly had something to do with it. Not with his sleeping around—although he tried to tell me it did—but with my not realizing he would.

  “I’m not you,” Brittany said. The implication, of course, was that she wasn’t stupid, and it couldn’t happen to her.

  I had only met Devon a couple of times. I didn’t know him, certainly not well enough to be able to tell whether he’d cheat. He had struck me as just another long-haired musician type, who probably was a musician, since half of Nashville is involved in the music industry in one way or another.

  Was it in any way significant that he and Brittany had suddenly decided to get married, and that Brittany had spent a bunch of money at some very expensive stores, just a couple of days after five hundred thousand dollars had gone missing from Magnolia Houston’s account?

  If Brittany had rerouted it, was she stupid enough to draw attention to the fact that she was suddenly flush by buying a bunch of stuff she wouldn’t normally buy?

  Getting married was a good excuse. A bride needs a trousseau, and nobody would think twice about a prospective bride going a little crazy at the mall.

  Nobody but me, I guess.

  I wanted to stay and chat longer, but by now my stomach was starting to cramp, and I swear the baby was kicking me in the ribs to get my attention. Brittany probably wasn’t like
ly to tell me anything beyond what she already had, anyway. I went to my own office for my bag. “I’m going to get something to eat.”

  Brittany nodded. “Is Heidi back?”

  “I haven’t seen her.” And that wasn’t cool, either. A trip to the office store for manila envelopes shouldn’t take the best part of four hours. Not when the nearest office store was fifteen minutes away, tops. “She might have come in the back.” And avoided me.

  “I’m going out that way,” I added, since the parking lot was back there and it’s where my car was parked. “If I see her, do you want me to send her up here?”

  Brittany shook her head. “I’ll page her if I want her.”

  “Suit yourself.” I put the strap of my purse over my shoulder and walked away.

  Heidi’s office—a little anteroom across the hall from Tim’s office, was empty, though. So she must still be out there getting manila envelopes, and God knew what else Tim had come up with for her to do. Since it doesn’t take more than three hours to buy office supplies, she must have moved on from there and into another activity. Maybe she was getting married too, and was shopping for a trousseau.

  I hesitated for a second before I slipped through the door and pulled it shut behind me. Not all the way shut; I wanted to hear if someone came down the hall. But shut enough that someone walking by wouldn’t immediately notice me being in there.

  It wasn’t the first time I’d been snooping in Heidi’s office. Just about a year ago, after my colleague Brenda Puckett had had her throat slit in Rafe’s grandmother’s house, I had taken it upon myself to search her office, and her assistant’s office, and Heidi’s office, for any clues as to why the crime had been committed (and whether it was likely that Rafe had any part in it).

  Back then, it had been dark, after hours, not the middle of the day. The place had been empty. And Clarice, Brenda’s assistant, had still come in and caught me in the act.

  It occurred to me that it would probably be smarter to wait until after hours to search Heidi’s office, too. Why take chances?

  I was on my way back to the door when it opened and she walked in.

  I stopped. So did she. And looked around suspiciously. “What are you doing here?”

  “Looking to see if you’re back,” I said. And—offense being the best defense—I added, “It took you long enough to go to the office store for manila envelopes.”

  “I stopped for lunch,” Heidi said.

  She didn’t have to tell me that. Her ample bosom showed evidence of recent consumption. Sesame seeds, unless my eyes were playing tricks. Maybe a burger bun?

  My own stomach rumbled audibly at the idea, and I moved a step closer to the door. “Well, I’m on my way to lunch now. Brittany came back and took over the front desk. She asked if you were back, so I stepped in to see.”

  Heidi moved aside so I could make my way to the door, but her eyes were still narrowed in suspicion.

  “She said she’d page you if she needed you,” I added as I moved past her, “but you might want to check in with her, just in case there’s something specific she wants.”

  Heidi turned to watch me go through the door and into the hallway.

  “She went shopping,” I added. “Maybe she bought something she wants to show you.”

  I didn’t wait for an answer, just hot-footed it down the hallway to the back door and out.

  * * *

  MY PALE BLUE VOLVO—the only thing, along with my self-respect, that I had salvaged from my short-lived marriage to Bradley Ferguson—was parked in the lot. I didn’t get into it, though; just gave the rear corner a little pat as I made my way past. There are a couple of eateries within a block of the LB&A office, at the Five Points intersection in East Nashville, and one of them, the FinBar, has a nice selection of burgers. I wanted one.

  Three minutes later I was tucked into a booth by the window, waiting for a vanilla milkshake and a bacon cheeseburger with a side of fries. All the major food groups.

  The waitress had taken pity on me and had brought me a little bowl of pretzels from the bar, just so I could put something in my stomach while I waited. Maybe the rumbling had gotten so loud she’d been able to hear it when I came in.

  So I sat there with the pages I had torn off Brittany’s yellow legal pad, covered with all my scribbles, and stuffed myself with pretzels while I looked them over.

  I didn’t know much about anything yet, so I had made a list of things I needed to find out. And things I needed to do.

  I should probably drive up to Goodlettsville and take a look at the Harper house, just so I could say I had. I didn’t know what I’d learn by doing it, but it seemed like I ought to. At the same time, I should perhaps stop by Miss Harper’s attorney’s office, just to get a look at him. Not that it’s possible to tell by looking at someone whether they’re crooked or not, but just in case he seemed shifty.

  I had to go back to the office tonight, and look through Heidi’s desk and computer. I didn’t think I’d find anything of interest, but it had to be done, if for no other reason than to eliminate her.

  If she was guilty, I’d probably have more luck going through her townhouse. I knew where she lived, but going there would entail breaking and entering, and I didn’t like Tim enough to risk going to prison for him. If I found anything that pointed to Heidi being involved, I’d tackle that prospect then.

  I also needed to find out about the ins and outs of email. I use email, but I don’t know much about how it works. DeWitts had said that the email changing the wiring instructions for the money had to have come from within LB&A, but was that true? Could it have come from somewhere else instead?

  I don’t know enough about it to be able to say one way or the other, so I’d have to find someone who did.

  And somehow I’d have to find a way to look into Magnolia Houston, just in case this was something she could have done herself, to keep her half a million smackers. A big hoax to get Miss Harper’s house and the money too, by seeming to lose it, while actually siphoning it off into another account somewhere, and then having DeWitts’ insurance company cover the loss.

  Getting a half a million dollar house for free is nice work if you can get it. And since she’d have to put about the same amount into renovations once she got the house, getting it free would make the deal all the sweeter.

  Not that Magnolia was any higher on my suspect list than anyone else. I just didn’t know her—and didn’t like what I did know—so it was easy to consider her a suspect. Easier than suspecting people I actually knew. And I didn’t have much of a problem there.

  The burger arrived, and I wolfed it down, along with all the fries and the milkshake. My mother would have been appalled. A Southern Belle is supposed to have a wasp waist and the appetite of a bird. I don’t have either at the moment, and really never did.

  However, the thought of Mother reminded me that I hadn’t heard from my brother yet today.

  Yesterday, I had started the morning in Sweetwater, in the Martin and McCall law office on the town square, with some shocking news. Shocking to me, Dix, and Catherine—my brother and sister—who had discovered that we had another sister we’d known nothing about.

  And devastating for Mother, who had learned that her best friend had been in love with her husband—Mother’s husband, my father—and had borne his child.

  When I left Mother yesterday morning, after following her home to the mansion, she’d been looking at the bottom of a bottle of brandy. She’d been angry enough about the whole situation that when I registered disapproval of the brandy, she had told me it was her house and her brandy, and if I didn’t like her drinking it, I could get out. So I had. Dix and Catherine had dried her out, and by evening she was reasonably sober but still angry. I didn’t know what was going on today, since nobody had bothered to call me, and since—frankly—I had had some personal matters of my own taking up real estate in my head.

  This seemed like a good time to call my brother and get an update.r />
  I dialed the number for the law office, without thinking. And had a moment of absolute blankness when Darcy answered the phone. “Martin and McCall.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Um...” My new half sister. I wasn’t as upset as Mother, but it was still strange for me, too. “It’s Savannah.”

  “Hi, Savannah.” Darcy sounded equally leery. Hard to blame her for that. She had gone from being a sibling-less orphan to having two sisters, a brother, two brothers-in-law, a bunch of nephews and nieces, not to mention a step-mother and a biological mother, all in one morning. It was understandable that she was a bit overwhelmed, and—given Mother’s reaction to the news—more than a little nervous about the whole thing. Darcy had always gotten along well with all of us. Dix had hired her for the law office long before he knew who she was. But this was tricky for everyone concerned.

  “Is Dix around?” I asked. “I wanted an update on Mother.”

  “He’s in with a client,” Darcy said. “I can have him call you when he’s free.”

  I told her that that would work. “Did he go over there this morning?”

  He had. “He said your mother was sober but still angry.”

  I would hope she was sober, since it had been early. As for being angry... it would probably take her a while to get over that. More than twenty-four hours, at any rate.

  “Is he going over there again later?”

  “He didn’t say,” Darcy said, “but I assume so.”

  “Can you tell him to give me a call after he has?”

  Darcy said she would, and an awkward, short silence ensued.

  “So how are you doing?” I asked.

  She sighed. “I’m fine.”

  “You could have stayed home today, you know. Dix wouldn’t have minded.”

  “It’s better to have something to do,” Darcy said. “At home I’d just sit and think. Even if it’s a little weird to be here, now that things have changed, I’d rather be here than home alone.”

  I could definitely imagine that. “Dix and Jonathan aren’t treating you any differently, are they? In a bad way, I mean?”