Drawing Close: The Fourth Novel in the Rosemont Series

by Barbara Hinske

  How in the world can she look so appealing with red-rimmed eyes and a runny nose? “I’m sure it’s not your fault,” he said feebly. “What did the doctors say?”

  “They put her back on the full dose and she was doing better, but then the babysitter called this afternoon to say that she was much worse.”

  “So why are you here?” he asked.

  “I came back to lock up. Then I found you in here—at my desk—doing my job and clearly mad as hell. And rightly so,” she added.

  “How is she now?”

  “She’s better.”

  “No more dialysis?”

  Loretta shook her head. “Thankfully, no.” She leaned back in her chair and sighed. “I overreacted to the whole thing, Frank. When the sitter called, I just lost it. I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop. I tore out of here like a bat out of hell, leaving the day’s deposit on my desk. When I thought I might not have locked the door, I really freaked out. Then I found you here, and I knew you would fire me. You trusted me, and I let you down.” She chocked on the words.

  Haynes held up his hands. “You don’t need to worry about that, Loretta. I’m not going to fire you. I understand how hard this is on you.”

  Loretta brushed a long blond lock from her face and attempted to smile at him.

  “If the money had been stolen, we’d have survived.” He was amazed to hear himself say it. “And if you need money for medicine, you can come to me. I’m not going to let Nicole go without anything she needs.”

  “Thank you, Frank.” She then uttered words he’d never heard directed at himself. “You’re very kind.”

  Haynes cleared his throat and spun on his heel. “We’re both tired. I’ll drop that deposit in the night box at the bank. Let’s get out of here.”

  Loretta handed him the bank bag and preceded him out the door.

  “I’ll lock up, and see you in the morning.”

  She headed to her car. “It’s good to have you back,” she called over her shoulder.

  Chapter 23

  Maggie had just started up the long staircase that swept along the front wall when she heard the knock on the door. John had left for a late-night emergency at the animal hospital, and she wanted nothing more than to get to bed early. She could use a few extra hours of sleep before facing the busy week ahead.

  “Now who could that be at this hour?” she asked Eve, who had already raced to the top of the stairs. “Come on, girl, let’s go see,” she called as she peered out the window on the second-floor landing. She was surprised that she didn’t see a car on the driveway. It would be unusual for anyone to make the long trek uphill on foot.

  Maggie retraced her steps and found Roman waiting patiently by the front door. Although she knew that John’s faithful golden retriever would greet any intruder with a wagging tail and profuse doggy kisses, she felt comforted that he was there. “Who is it?” she called through the massive mahogany door.

  “It’s David. David Wheeler.”

  “David,” Maggie said, opening the door. “I thought that you were moving this weekend.”

  “We did, ma’am,” he said.

  “Is there something wrong at John’s house?” she asked, expecting that the water heater didn’t work or they couldn’t find the remote control for the garage door. “John just left on an emergency call, but we can reach him on his cell.”

  “It’s nothing like that. The house is great. I rode my bike over here to tell you that I overheard you talking to my mom the other day.”

  Maggie motioned for him to come inside, but he shook his head. He paused and drew a deep breath. “I want to search for more papers my dad may have hidden. I may not like what we learn about him if we find them, but I have to know.”

  Maggie nodded. “I understand. I’d want to know, too.”

  “I started ripping out baseboards right away, but my mom got real upset. So I decided to wait to let her cool down.” He looked over his shoulder at the sloping front lawn. “Except now I’m out of time. It’s now or never.”

  Maggie waited silently for him to continue. “So I’m going to do it now. After we left there with the last load, my mom said she’ll never set foot in that place again.”

  “That’s understandable,” Maggie said.

  “Mom made me leave Dodger at our old house last night, so we could get settled without him getting into stuff. I plan to find anything that’s hidden there before I bring Dodger home with me tonight.”

  “Would you like me to send someone to help you? I’m sure Alex …” She stopped short as he vehemently shook his head. “Sam, then? Or Dr. Allen?”

  David continued to shake his head. “Just you. You already know about the other numbers, so you’re the one to come with me.”

  “Let me get my keys,” she said over her shoulder. “We can put your bike in the back of my SUV.” She snatched her purse from the kitchen counter, and they set off.

  ***

  Maggie turned into the driveway of the Wheeler home at nine fifteen on the sleepy, late summer Sunday night. She pulled as far into the shadows as possible, wondering why in the world she was trying to be so secretive. She turned to David and smiled encouragingly. “I’ll be right in. I just want to text John to tell him where I am, in case he gets home before I do.”

  David nodded and approached the house. Dodger let loose with a set of plaintive barks that were one part fear and two parts loneliness. Maggie watched as David fumbled with the key before it found purchase and the door swung open.

  She plunged her hand into the cavern that was her purse and began churning the contents like a cement mixer, feeling for her cell phone. She sighed impatiently and turned on the overhead lamp in her car, holding her purse directly under the weak circle of light. After a careful but fruitless examination, she abandoned her search and got out of the car. She must have left her phone at home. A chill ran down her spine. She knew she was being silly. Nothing was going to happen to them, and John would almost certainly be gone for hours. She and the dogs would be sound asleep by the time he got home.

  Despite her resolve to be rational, Maggie hurried up the walkway and across the threshold. The kitchen and hallway were illuminated by overhead lights, but the remaining rooms were in deep shadow now that all lamps had been removed. Dodger greeted Maggie with a friendly wag of his tail, but he didn’t leave David’s side.

  “You’ve made a good start,” Maggie said, looking at the six-foot piece of molding that David had already dislodged.

  “I’ve done this with Mr. Torres,” David said. “It’s easy. He gave me some of his old tools. Said every handyman starts with used tools. That way the tools know what they’re doing even if the handyman doesn’t.”

  Maggie smiled. “That sounds like something Sam would say. My aunts used to say that about pie tins, too. If the cook didn’t know how to bake a pie, the tin did. Sort of a comforting superstition, don’t you think?”

  David didn’t answer, concentrating on his work.

  “Do you have another pry bar? Can you show me how to use it?” Maggie asked.

  ***

  The sedan with the darkly tinted windows sat at the curb two doors down from the Wheeler house, on the other side of the street.

  “They’ve been at it for almost two hours, sir.”

  “What the hell are they doing in there? You think our newly married mayor is gettin’ it on with the young stud?”

  The man shook his head. “I can’t see what they’re doing. Maybe cleaning? Wheeler moved out today.”

  “Cleaning before their house is foreclosed? Not likely, you moron.”

  The man remained silent.

  “Get outta that car and take a look. Don’t get seen, okay? Call me right back.” The man reached for the handle of his car door. “And if our mayor is doing that kid, get pictures.” Delgado cackled as the phone went dead.

  ***

  Spying on Mayor Martin and David Wheeler proved difficult. All of the blinds and curtains we
re drawn tightly shut. He found a window in the laundry room that wasn’t obstructed, and when he leaned to the far left, he could view down the hallway and into the living room. The room was vacant and he could make out David Wheeler, removing baseboards. Satisfied that he wouldn’t be able to see anything else, he returned to his car.

  “Sorry to disappoint you, sir, but it appears that all they’re doing in there is removing baseboards.” He waited for the anticipated explosion from the other end of the line.

  “Sir?” he said and was interrupted by Delgado’s throaty chuckle.

  “There’s something hidden in that house.” Delgado paused, formulating his plan. “Got something to write with? I’m gonna buy myself a house tomorrow. I’m gonna tell you what you need to write down for me from the foreclosure notice that’s posted by the front door.”

  The man clicked his pen, then cursed. “Hang on. I’m out of ink. Let me get a new pen out of my glove box.” He leaned over to retrieve the pen and missed Maggie, David, and Dodger leaving the house.

  ***

  Maggie opened her trunk and David removed his bicycle. “Can’t I drive the two of you home?” she asked softly.

  “No. That’ll make Mom mad. Dodger will like running with my bike. We do it all the time. And it’s not far.”

  Maggie nodded and put her hand on his shoulder. “You’ve been very brave and very helpful, David. More than you know.”

  David shrugged and bent down to stroke Dodger.

  “I’m sorry about how hard this has been on both you and your mother,” Maggie said. “I know what it feels like to have a family member do things they shouldn’t.”

  David turned away and mounted his bike.

  “Call me or John if you need anything, David. Day or night.”

  He waved and set off pedaling in the opposite direction of the sedan. Maggie got into her car, double-checked for the hundredth time that the sheaf of papers they’d uncovered behind the baseboard in the back of David’s closet was safely stashed in her purse, and started her ignition. She wanted nothing more than to climb the stairs to bed.

  Chapter 24

  Maggie Martin crossed the street in front of the sedan with darkly tinted windows and entered the offices of Stetson & Graham. In addition to offering the town the services of Forest Smith to assist in the fraud investigation, the firm also allowed the town to use its conference rooms. Maggie preferred to meet with Special Counsel Alex Scanlon and Forest Smith outside of the prying eyes at Town Hall. The simple fact that she was meeting with the two men in charge of the prosecution of the case would appear on the front page of the next days’ Westbury Gazette, accompanied by the usual editorial lambasting the investigation’s lack of progress. It was better this way.

  She nodded to the receptionist, who pointed her in the direction of their usual conference room. She was a few minutes early and was surprised to see that Chief Thomas was already seated at one end of the large marble table.

  “Good afternoon, Chief,” Maggie said, taking a seat across from him.

  “I understand you uncovered some evidence on your own,” he said with an unmistakable note of reproach. “You’re doing my job, now, too.”

  “Nothing of the kind. You know I have a relationship with David. He’s done odd jobs for me at Rosemont. You can also understand why he refused to come to you,” she said, staring at him over the top of her glasses. “We were on a very tight time schedule,” she continued, picking up steam. “The house is going into foreclosure today, and it was ‘now or never’ if we were going to go through that house without a warrant.”

  The door to the conference room opened, and Alex Scanlon and Forest Smith stepped into the room.

  “You didn’t follow proper channels,” the chief retorted.

  Maggie turned to the new arrivals. “The chief is upset about how we obtained this latest spreadsheet.”

  Alex nodded. “I understand. It was unorthodox. I approved of it—Maggie didn’t act on her own.”

  “What if it hadn’t worked?” the chief asked. “What then?”

  “I have a search warrant ready to serve on whoever buys it at the foreclosure sale.”

  The chief nodded stiffly and turned to Maggie. “What did you find?”

  Maggie handed each of them a copy of the spreadsheet that they’d uncovered in the Wheeler home. “These are the accounts that the offshore banks wired the stolen money into. They all belong to a Delaware limited liability company.”

  Alex raised an eyebrow. “The Delaware LLC we already know about from the records produced in response to our subpoena?”

  “The same one,” Maggie said.

  “The LLC where William Wheeler is—or rather was—the sole member?” Forest Smith asked.

  “I’m afraid so. These two spreadsheets corroborate the evidence we already have. We can prove that the money went from the town general fund and the pension fund into the offshore banks. It was transferred by a whole series of wire transfers,” she said, pointing to the spreadsheet in front of them, “to accounts of this limited liability company that were owned by William Wheeler.”

  “There are no new account numbers on there that could belong to Delgado? Or anybody else?” Alex asked.

  Maggie slowly shook her head. Alex sagged back into his chair.

  “This spreadsheet, and the other papers that David found and gave us, were made in chronological order. They’re all neatly done by hand. No erasures or whiteout anywhere. If I had to guess, I suspect Wheeler copied these from other worksheets and organized them into categories: money out of the town and pension fund; money out of the offshore banks into the limited liability company; and there should be another spreadsheet that shows the money going from the limited liability company to the accounts of the perpetrators of the fraud.”

  “You think there’s another spreadsheet out there?” Smith asked.

  Maggie nodded. “I feel sure of it. What I’ve seen was methodically prepared and very accurate. Everything matches the limited records we already have. Wheeler did this for a reason. He didn’t trust these guys and thought he was protecting himself. In fact, now that I think about it, this reminds me of something that Tonya Holmes told me.”

  The three men leaned forward.

  “Tonya was trying to get the other council members to investigate the shortage in the town’s bank account. She suspected that there was something seriously wrong with the town’s finances and was trying to get her hands on the bank statements. She was at Town Hall early one morning and overheard an argument in Wheeler’s office, when he was mayor. She heard Wheeler say ‘I’m out’ and Delgado reply that he was out when they said he was out. Something like that. Wheeler stormed out of his office and collided into Tonya.” She tapped her index finger on the table. “I’ll bet he prepared these spreadsheets after that meeting.”

  The chief picked up his copy and flicked it with his finger. “All of this implicates Wheeler and only Wheeler. Why would he keep this around?”

  “I’ll bet he had no idea that they’d set him up as the sole owner of the limited liability company,” Maggie replied.

  “I have to agree,” Alex said. “Wheeler was just a good ol’ boy without much business acumen.”

  “He was smart enough to make these detailed spreadsheets,” Smith supplied. He turned to Maggie. “I agree with you. There’s got to be another spreadsheet.”

  “If there is,” Alex said, “it’s probably still somewhere in that house. Did you look everywhere?”

  “We removed every baseboard, yes. These spreadsheets were both found behind baseboards. But that doesn’t mean he couldn’t have hidden the final one somewhere else.”

  “We need to get back into that house,” Alex declared. “Do we know who bought it at the foreclosure sale? Did it go back to the bank?”

  “Tim Knudsen will find out for us,” Maggie said. “I’ll call him when we’re finished here and let you know.”

  Chapter 25

  Maggie Martin stood
back and admired the painting now hanging above the carved stone mantel in Rosemont’s living room. She’d tracked its journey across the Atlantic and had cleared her calendar of appointments so she could be at Rosemont to sign for it when it arrived. She and Sam Torres had uncrated it and placed it in its new home. Maggie clasped her hands under her chin. Just wait until John sees this.

  Sam broke her reverie as he came down the stairs. “I leaned the old painting against the furniture stacked up by the window in the attic.”

  “Thanks, Sam. The appraiser is coming back to look at all of that. Who knows—maybe that old painting is valuable. I didn’t see a signature on it, though.”

  “This one’s a mighty pretty picture,” he said, pointing to the mantel. “I can tell what it is. I’m not a fan of shapes and lines that don’t look like anything.”

  Maggie smiled at him as she snatched Blossom from the back of one of the wing chairs flanking the fireplace. “You don’t belong up there,” she scolded as she set the cat on the floor. “John’s with you on that. We both fell in love with this one. It’s not signed—in fact it’s not completely finished—but it may be the work of a famous artist.”

  “Pretty countryside. The people look old-fashioned.”

  “It was probably done in the early 1900s. That’s exactly the way Cornwall looks today. You and Joan should plan on going there,” she said and instantly regretted it. Sam and Joan Torres had worked hard all their lives, putting money into the pension fund so that they could travel when they retired. The pension fund was now in serious financial trouble, thanks to the fraud and embezzlement at Town Hall. The way things were, the Torreses would be lucky if they got to retire in the next ten years, let alone travel.

  Sam cleared his throat. “If you want it raised or lowered, just take it down and adjust the wire on the back. John can do that. I’ll gather up this packing material and get it out of your way. I was headed to another job when I got your call, so I’d better go.”