Right.
“How long have you been home?” she asked her daughter.
“Since four. They cancelled practice because of the rain.”
“You know the rules about no company in the house if I’m not here, right?”
Innocent eyes gazed at her. “Sure.”
“So no one else was here with you today?” Please tell me the truth.
Kayla turned back to her book. “Just me, Mom. That’s the rule.”
Bonnie hid her anger. The little liar. “Thank you, honey. I really appreciate being able to trust you. You’re such a good daughter.” She tucked her purse in its cubby next to the back door, walked over to Kayla, and kissed the top of her head. “Let me get supper going.” She headed toward the kitchen. After she got everybody fed, she was going to Radio Shack to fix her daughter’s little red wagon.
****
Bonnie continued in her search for Brandt Sherrod. Nothing on any of the social networks many people usually wasted their time on. She drummed her fingers on the keyboard. If Brandt had grown up here, then he would have gone to school here. Louise Tackett had said he was popular with the girls. Maybe I can talk to someone in his class.
She went to a social media site specializing in reuniting classmates from schools around the country and typed in both high schools in town. Of course, neither list included Brandt Sherrod’s name when she searched. Going to the library, she went to their local history room. Unfortunately, only one of the high schools had books here. She made a mental note to check the electronic files for the other school and selected a yearbook for the year Brandt would have been either a junior or a senior, if Mrs. Tackett were correct in her estimation of his age. No luck. Going back to the shelf, she pulled several more books for the years before and after. She found him on page twenty-four—soulful dark eyes and black hair nearly to his shoulders. A senior, which would make him forty-one.
The same age as me.
His class was too big for her to write down every name, so she decided to search later for the year he graduated and contact any of his classmates online.
She showed up on Mrs. Tackett’s doorstep hoping for an invitation inside. She’d set her cell phone alarm to ten minutes hoping to get a little more information on the elusive Brandt Sherrod.
At Bonnie’s knock, a surprised Mrs. Tackett opened the door. By the look in the woman’s eyes, Bonnie knew she remembered who she was and was hoping she wouldn’t ever come back. Southern decorum dictated she should invite Bonnie in, which she did. They sat down, and Bonnie began.
“I haven’t heard from Mr. Sherrod. Were you able to get a hold of him?”
“I tried. Sometimes he’s…err…unavailable.”
“Because of his job?”
“Yes.”
“What did you tell me he did?”
“I don’t know what he does.”
Either she was a good liar, or she really didn’t know.
“What did he do after he graduated high school? Did he go on to college?”
The older woman raised a shaky hand to her hair and smoothed it around her ear. “It was a long time ago. He was doing really well in high school and then…” She sighed.
“And then?” Bonnie prompted seeing a spark of something in the woman’s eyes. Whatever she had remembered, it hadn’t been pleasant. Mrs. Tackett’s gaze dropped, and Bonnie leaned forward. “I think that Brand was a good boy. But even good people make mistakes sometimes. If he got into trouble, obviously Delores didn’t hold it against—”
“Don’t.” Shock and pain played along her face. For a moment she stared at Bonnie, and Bonnie had her answer. So he had gotten into trouble. But what kind? Had he been arrested?
“Your sister loved Brandt. She named him as her beneficiary. She wanted to do that one last thing for him when she died.”
A look of resolve finally settled on her. “I can’t help you. This is for Brandt to resolve. Give him time.”
“We’d really like to close out Mrs. Park’s case. I don’t want to be heartless, Mrs. Tackett, but the inability to reach Mr. Sherrod about your sister’s death benefits costs the Commonwealth of Kentucky revenue in employee time.”
“Your time.”
“Yes, ma’am. Perhaps Mr. Sherrod would sign an affidavit making you the beneficiary?”
Mrs. Tackett shook her head. “No, dear.”
Bonnie raised her hands in a helpless gesture.
“I’m sorry this inconveniences you, but I think Brandt will take the money. You have to give him time.”
“It’s been eight months.”
“With Brandt you have to be patient.”
“The letters sent to the address we have on file have been returned to us unopened. I don’t think Brandt even knows he is the beneficiary.”
The older woman shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t know what to tell you. It’s difficult to get in touch with him, I know. I wasn’t even sure he knew about Delores’s death until he showed up at the visitation. He’s just…” She sighed. “He’s not one who is easily located.”
Bonnie’s alarm sounded. She pulled her cell phone out of her purse and looked at the screen, a look of concern on her face. Pushing a button, she shook her head. “I can’t get a signal here. Mrs. Tackett, do you mind? I’d like to use your phone.”
She pointed to one on the wall.
“Is there another one which is private? I’m sorry, but I’m having some family issues right now.” It wasn’t a lie. Not in the least. She was about ready to choke Kayla and Rex. The little jerk boyfriend wouldn’t stay away from her daughter, and the more rules Bonnie imposed, the more Kayla found ways to be with him. The misrepresentation was that the alarm was about Kayla rather than a ruse to invade Mrs. Tackett’s privacy.
Mrs. Tackett hesitated then showed Bonnie to a small room that obviously served as an office. With a desk and its requisite computer, Bonnie refrained from rubbing her hands together in glee. Oh, yeah. This was perfect!
When the other woman left, Bonnie wasted no time checking the recent activity on the device. Hmmm. Skype. Bonnie looked through the contacts. No Brandt or Brand. Next, Bonnie opened Mrs. Tackett’s email. Quickly she went through the contacts.
[email protected]
Hmmm.
Since finding the word ninja on Brandt’s w-2, Bonnie had done a little research on the Japanese spies. Sengoku had been the warring period when ninjas had been prominent.
Could he be that obvious?
It wouldn’t hurt to send an email to the address just in case it was Brandt Sherrod.
Bonnie copied the email address on a piece of paper and tucked it in her purse. You are going to take your foster mom’s money, you jerk, so I can put this case to bed.
Chapter Two
Bonnie sat behind her desk and drummed her fingers against the keyboard and stared at the monitor in front of her while she tucked the telephone receiver to her shoulder. Patrice Simmons, who was a fifteen-year teacher for the state, had filled out her Category A form wrong. Geez, you had to get a Bachelor’s Degree to teach in this state. How hard is it to fill out a form listing two of your closest relatives to get the remainder of your retirement money you didn’t spend in the nursing home?
“I understand that, Ms. Simmons, but I have to have the Social Security numbers of the beneficiaries before the form is complete.”
“Why do you have to have their social security numbers? I’ve given you their addresses and phone numbers.”
“Lord willing, Ms. Simmons, you’ll live many more years. It is likely that their information will change before your death.”
“I’ll give you their new addresses if they move.”
Grrrr. “In case you can’t, having those numbers would really help the Commonwealth help you take care of your loved ones when you’re no longer alive.”
Movement from the doorway caught her attention. A man in coveralls entered the door with an empty trash bag. Bonnie glanced at the clock on the computer
screen. What was housekeeping doing here this early? They usually didn’t start their rounds until after four. And where was Billy, the usual man who came in to empty the garbage? This guy presently bending over her desk and picking up her wastebasket was younger, his head bald though his skin tone and the shadow on his scalp hinted that his hair would be jet black if he hadn’t shaved it. Bonnie’s gaze roved over him, attempting to judge his age, not as easy to do without the hair. The tan coveralls stretched over wide shoulders and nicely formed biceps.
“Ms. Simmons, I’m going to send you the incomplete form so that you can gather that information and send it back to us.”
Bonnie ended the call as the man walked to the door with her bagged garbage in his hand.
“Hi,” she called. “I haven’t seen you before. Is Billy okay?”
Though he paused, he kept his back to her. “Yeah.”
“I’m Bonnie Moore.” Bonnie came around the desk to greet the man. She made a point to know who worked in the building with her and made a concerted effort to treat the housekeeping staff no differently than Mr. Brewer, head of the retirement systems.
He grunted and shook the bag striding from her office before she could talk to him face-to-face. Bonnie rested her hands on her hips.
Huh. Well, the new guy must be in a hurry to get his work done. Obviously, he hasn’t been a state employee for very long.
Turning to her computer, Bonnie checked her email. She’d sent a message to the address she’d pulled off of Mrs. Tackett’s computer along with her contact information.
Bonnie used her carrot dangle email, a standard message she sent to beneficiaries when she wasn’t sure they were who she was looking for:
Greetings:
I am looking for Brandt Sherrod who has been named beneficiary by an employee of the Commonwealth of Kentucky. If you are he, please contact me as soon as possible to claim your money.
It had been nearly a week, and she hadn’t gotten a response back.
Her telephone rang and she answered it.
“Is this Bonnie Moore?” a woman’s voice asked.
“Yes.”
“This is Sheri Stillthorpe of the office of David Bentley, Vice President of Security of the Commonwealth Retirement Systems. Mr. Bentley would like to meet with you at your earliest convenience.
David Bentley? She’d never heard of him.
Bonnie tucked the phone receiver in between her head and shoulder and searched David Bentley’s name in the staff directory.
His name popped up on the screen.
Wow. Executive offices.
Anxiety filled her chest. “Concerning what, may I ask?”
“Your job. Can you come today?”
My job? That revved up her heart rate. “Today?”
“Sure.”
“I can come right now.”
“Very good. We’ll be expecting you. The fourteenth floor, suite 20.”
****
Bonnie ignored the butterflies in her stomach as she waited in the outer room of David Bentley’s office. A frumpy woman sat behind a desk typing on a computer. She’d picked up her phone and announced Bonnie’s arrival, but so far, the door had stayed closed.
So, what? The secretary had said they’d be expecting her. Bonnie crossed her legs on the loveseat and sighed.
I guess they expect me to wait.
The telephone dinged, and the woman picked it up. “Yes, Mr. Bentley?” She paused. “Yes, Mr. Bentley.” She placed the receiver back in its cradle and stood. Looking at Bonnie, she spoke. “Mr. Bentley will see you now.”
Walking around her desk, she went to the door, knocked twice, and then opened it gesturing for Bonnie to go inside. Bonnie walked into the office toward a man in a suit and tie who stood in front of a plate glass window looking over the city. His keen gaze assessed her as she approached him.
“Mrs. Moore?”
She’d rather go by Ms., but Bonnie didn’t bother to correct him. She held her hand out to shake his. “Hello, Mr. Bentley, I presume?”
He nodded. His shake was firm, but brief. Stepping back, Bonnie held eye contact. “What can I do for you?”
He gestured toward a leather couch and chair on the far side of the room. “Won’t you sit down?”
More butterflies, but Bonnie didn’t show them. She hadn’t done anything wrong. Well, except for hacking into the state’s revenue files, but she had a good reason. Was that what this was about? She chose to sit on the chair, figuring it was the power seat in this set-up. Crossing her legs at the ankles, she waited. Mr. Bentley sat on the middle of the couch and gifted her with a smile.
Yep. He knew why she’d chosen the chair.
“How is work going?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Bentley. Have we met before? I don’t work on this floor. My supervisor is Charles Brewer.”
One of his eyebrows quirked. “Yes. Charlie. Perhaps I should invite him to sit in with us. Would you prefer that he be here?”
“I suppose it depends on what your business is with me.”
“You work in death benefits.”
“Yes.”
“How many cases are you pursuing presently?”
Bonnie shrugged. “Perhaps twenty. I’d have to look at my spreadsheet to give you an exact number. I’m constantly closing files, and obtaining new ones.”
“What methods do you use to find beneficiaries?”
Oh, darn it. This was about breaking into the revenue files. Bonnie wasn’t going to admit anything though. “Initially, I send a letter to the beneficiary informing that person he—or she—has been named beneficiary.”
Mr. Bentley waited for her to continue. When she didn’t, he crossed his ankle over his knee. “And if you get no response from the letter?”
“I send another one and wait.”
“And what then?”
“I assume the address is inaccurate and try to find the correct address.”
“With Internet Search engines?”
“Sometimes.”
“And what at other times?”
“I try to find next of kin, but often they are not helpful because they are not the beneficiaries.”
He didn’t speak—just watched her. Bonnie returned his look. She had a teenager. She knew all about interrogation.
“Have you ever used unethical methods to obtain information?”
“Such as what?”
“Looked at unauthorized computer files?”
“What do you mean by unauthorized? Every case I handle is information-sensitive. I am very careful.”
“Do you attempt to access files which you are not authorized to view?”
Bonnie lifted her chin. “Nothing specific comes to mind. Can you give me an example of what files you may be referring to or a certain case this pertains to?”
“I thought you might share that information with me. Surely there are one or two beneficiaries who have been more difficult to locate. And in your efforts to find them, maybe you justified…going the extra mile?”
“I believe having Mr. Brewer here is appropriate since you seem to have concerns about my performance. Would you like to contact him, or shall I?”
He bent his head in acknowledgement and stood. Going over his desk, he picked up the phone and dialed a number. “Sheri, get me Charlie Brewer please.” He put the receiver down, and leaned back on his desk regarding Bonnie from across the room.
The silence bothered her. She broke eye contact and looked out the window. Ticking off the Vice President of Security of the Retirement Systems was probably not a good method of keeping job security. Still. Even if he was VP, Bonnie wasn’t sure he should know the specifics of the cases she worked.
His phone rang, and he picked it up. “Hi, Charlie, this is David Bentley. How are you?” He laughed. “Do you have a few minutes to come to my office? …Sure. Very good… Yes. Goodbye.”
The click of him hanging up carried across the space. He came over to the couch and sat down again. Leaning forwar
d, he now struck a we’re buddies pose—yet another tactic Bonnie herself had used with Kayla.
“Do you have children, Mr. Bentley?” she asked.
His earnest expression fell a bit. He hesitated before answering. “Yes.”
Bonnie watched him steadily. The nervous butterflies in her stomach had morphed into hornets. “Have you found that your method of intimidation first, then playing the nice guy second works? Because in my experience, I have found if I’m nice first, then resort to intimidation later if necessary, I am much more successful.”
He sat back, his mouth turning up on one side. “Is there anything else you’d like to tell me before your supervisor gets here? Once he becomes involved, we will have to follow proper procedure for censure, probation, or termination if necessary. But if you would like to share anything with me now, we could deal with it…” He glanced down at her legs then back to her face. “Mono a mono. How’s that for a method?”
Anger bubbled in Bonnie’s chest, but she didn’t show it. “If I admit to looking at unauthorized files, then you will deal with it in what way? Censure me yourself? Slap me on the wrist or the butt? Or did you have something else in mind?” She blinked at him. “I believe harassment practices—sexual or otherwise—are not tolerated here. As Vice President, I’m sure you know that.”
He stood, his expression turning angry. “Did you access files you did not have clearance to?”
Bonnie arched her neck to look at him. Calm. Keep calm. “Feel free to look at all the activity on my computer if you suspect me of wrongdoing. But I’ll tell you this. I’m a model employee, and I’m good at what I do. I’ve never had anything but glowing reviews on job performance.” Bonnie stood up too. “I’m sorry, but I think I need to go. If you would like to schedule an appointment with Mr. Brewer and me, I will be happy to accommodate you.”
She walked to the door without looking back at him. Opening it, she walked through the office and to the elevator. Once inside, she let out a pent-up breath and gripped the wall in case her shaky legs gave way under her.
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